Me and the Devil

37.

The Twinkie’s engine roars as we barrel down the road toward the airstrip, the air inside the van thick with anticipation. Every breath feels heavier, every second stretching painfully long.

JJ leans forward from the backseat, elbows on his knees, a manic grin tugging at his lips. “Alright, here’s the plan,” he announces, voice brimming with reckless excitement. “We roll up, guns blazing, make Ward Cameron beg for mercy, abscond with as much gold as possible, and vamonos. Get the hell out of there.”

John B snorts, his hands tight on the wheel. “And then what, JJ? Send that shit down the Intercoastal?”

“Wait for the weather,” Kiara interjects from the passenger seat, shooting JJ a look over her shoulder. “You can’t just storm in without a backup plan.”

Pope, slumped next to JJ, shakes his head. “Exit to Cuba. That’s the backup plan.”

“Cuba?” I twist around, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, man. Xcalak. Jewel of the Yucatán. Lobster so thick you’d think it’s steak. Mangoes sweeter than anything you’ve ever tasted. And the best part? No word for money.”

JJ’s grin widens as he points at me. “Now that’s a plan. You’re finally thinking like a Pogue.”

The tension lifts just a fraction, laughter bubbling up between us, the kind of easy camaraderie that feels almost normal. Almost like things haven’t shifted, like there isn’t a slow unraveling happening just beneath the surface. But then the Twinkie screeches to a stop outside the airstrip, and reality comes crashing back down.

Through the chain-link fence, workers load crates onto the plane, the glint of something unmistakable catching the last rays of the sun.

“There it is,” Pope murmurs, his voice low with disbelief.

“That bastard,” JJ growls, his jaw tight.

John B reaches for the binoculars, but the second he looks through them, his whole body stiffens. His grip tightens like he’s about to crush them in his hands.

“Wait,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s Sarah.”

Every muscle in my body locks up.
The car door swings open, and Sarah steps out. Her face is pale, drawn tight with something I can’t name, and Ward is right behind her, fingers digging into her arm.

“Shit,” Kiara hisses.

“Whatever plan we had,” JJ mutters, “it’s out the window now.”

John B doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t think. Doesn’t blink. He’s already moving, already tearing for the driver’s seat of the Twinkie like a man possessed.

“John B, wait!” Kiara scrambles after him.

“Don’t do anything stupid!” Pope calls, but John B isn’t listening.

I barely manage to throw myself into the passenger seat before he floors it. My shoulder slams hard into the door as the van jerks forward. The engine screams, the Twinkie rattling beneath us.

“John B, stop! Think this through—”

“There’s no time!” he snaps, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The headlights blaze ahead, and then—crash! The fence crumples under the Twinkie’s front end with a deafening clang. Metal shrieks. The van bucks and rattles as we tear across the uneven ground, every bump a jolt through my spine. My fingers dig into the dashboard so hard it feels like I’ll leave imprints.

“John B, this is insane!” I shout, heart pounding in my throat.

“Ward’s hurting her!” he yells back, his eyes locked ahead.