Page 133 of Shrapnel

Noah looked at him. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t have a lot of time to come up with a name, ok?”

He rolled his eyes and leaned against the open window, letting his left-hand drift in the desert air. “White Sand Mesa is a warzone right now. Different factions will be gathering support—through money, promises, or violence. They’ll get as much power behind them as possible. Some will back down. Some will die. The winner will clean house—anyone loyal to those opposed to him or her will most likely end up dead.”

“Is it always like that?”

“No. That’s why a lot of the gangs started raising heirs to take over. Like a monarchy. It was easier and safer. Less bloodshed. Like Roland and Grant. By the time Wallace was ready to step back, the Weavers knew Grant. Had fought with him. Bled with him. Knew his loyalty was to them and the family.”

Owen wanted to ask why Noah wasn’t raised that way. Shouldn’t he be the same as the Weaver brothers? Was there too much of his uncle’s influence, or was Noah just not suited for the job?

“You know failing doesn’t make you a failure,” Owen said suddenly, surprising himself.

Noah scoffed. “That…that’s exactly what it means.”

He turned off the road onto a narrow trail. Two tire tracks led into the desert until they disappeared altogether. Brush and scrub were crushed beneath the Ford as Noah expertly maneuvered them through the landscape.

“All right, fair enough,” Owen conceded. “But trying and failing doesn’t make you a bad person. And you did try. We all saw you; you worked your ass off. You know White Sand Mesa better than anyone. Just because you weren’t good at it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.” Owen felt like his point wasn’t coming across and he grunted in frustration. “You didn’t kill those people. Some maniac in desperate need of therapy did. You can’t control what other people do.”

Noah looked forward, eyes never leaving the shifting sands under his tires. “I was going to let Jackson rot.”

“No, you weren’t.” Owen pointed to the bag behind them. “You could have stopped me. Or let me go alone. But you’re here, risking your life. Just because you didn’t get it right the first time doesn’t mean you’re a failure.”

His shoulders seemed to relax a little, even as the truck jolted and jarred over the terrain. Noah was right about the vehicle choice—Owen’s car would have laughed him right out of the driver’s seat the moment he tried to drive off the paved road.

“I think I see why Jamie likes you so much,” Noah observed shrewdly.

Owen blushed a little. He still wasn’t used to being tied to Jamie. He liked it. It gave him warm butterflies, a little thrill up his spine. Jamie liked him. They were a thing.

“We’re getting close,” Noah advised, his tone changing. “Grab my bag.”

Owen grabbed it, pulling it into his lap and unzipping it without being told. The first thing he pulled out was a long black metal stick. It kind of looked like a sleek flashlight but instead of a lightbulb there were two little prongs at the end.

Owen’s thumb brushed against a button on the base, and he pressed it. A spark of electricity crackled between the prongs.

“Holy shit! Is this a cattle prod?”

“Better,” Noah grinned. “A Stun Baton. Cattle Prods hurt, but they don’t incapacitate. This is like a taser but it’s easier to use and it keeps you at a distance. Press the shocky ends against an asshole and watch him dance.”

Owen hefted the weapon. He couldn’t imagine actually using it, but it made him feel good to hold it. Less complicated and deadly than a gun.

“There’s a map.”

He pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a crudely drawn map of White Sand Mesa.

“Did you actually write ‘not to scale’ on the bottom?”

“Yes. Shut up.” Noah bristled. “I’m not a map maker, but it should work.”

Noah was right. He was no cartographer, but Owen thought he could read it. A little stick figure car was drawn right beside a wall. From there a dotted line showed him the best path through the outdoor gardens to the garage.

“When you get to the garage go to the farthest bay on the left. You can lift the door manually. The guards knocked it off its tracks so they could smoke in the garage on rainy days. Once you’re in the garage, on the East wall there’s a big ass toolbox. Push it aside and you’ll find a door to some cement steps.”

Owen nodded like he was following along but he was still worried about getting over the wall.

“And once I’m in the basement/evil lair?”

“Follow the hallway. There’s only one and it dead ends. The cell is on the right.”