Page 19

Oil burn. Towel. Then water.
The poor woman got drenched. So much for the teamwork moment on the balcony earlier when he’d almost made her laugh.
Doyle patted the stone next to him for Jaden to sit. “She’ll be okay. Burns aren’t fun, but she’ll heal. But... you do know that when an adult asks you to stop, you should listen. We’re not trying to wreck your fun. We’re trying to keep you safe, right?”
Jaden nodded.
Some of the other boys—Lionel and the Parnell twins and Rohan—stood with stricken looks on their faces.
Except, they weren’t looking at him.
He followed their gaze and—oh no.
Kemar had Jamal by the back of the shirt, pushing him down the stairs, a backpack in his hand.
“Kemar!” Doyle stood up, headed across the courtyard, and planted himself at the bottom.
Jamal was crying, tears streaking down his face. “I don’t wanna go!”
“You’re going.” Kemar shook him.
Breathe.“Where are you going, Kemar?”
“Away from here!” Kemar spat at him, and Doyle dodged to the side.
“Hey—calm down.”
Kemar pushed Jamal the rest of the way. “You’re not giving my brother away to... to anyone. He belongs with me.” He dragged Jamal across the yard by the shirt, toward the side door.
“No, Kemar. The orphanage has custody of your brother. And you. You can’t leave!” Doyle took off after them, ran to the gate, slammed his hand on it before Kemar could open it. “You can’t leave.”
“I’m sixteen. By island law, I can leave.”
Doyle clenched his jaw. “Okay. Yes. But Jamal can’t.”
“He can. With me.”
“No. You’re not his legal guardian?—”
A scream lifted from the medical clinic, just outside the gate. Even Kemar’s eyes widened.
Doyle pushed through the gate, running to the building. He slammed through the open door into the lit hallway and stopped.
Sebold held Tia by the neck, her back against the wall, a knife pressed against the hollow of her throat. His mouth bled at the edges.
“Let her go!” Doyle advanced on him, but Sebold turned, aimed the point at him.
“You won’t get to me before I slice her.” He pushed the knife to her neck again.
Doyle stopped, held up his hands. “Let her go. Take what you want?—”
“I want what’s mine. I came for my machine.”
He sighed. “It’s not your machine,.”
“I want what she owes me. Twenty thousand dollars.”
Sebold wasn’t watching her, and suddenly Tia slapped his hand away, kneed him hard, and spun away.