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“Holy shit,” I whisper. I’m completely aware at how I’m working myself up. My pulse slowly drops and I press the button, starting the car.
“Call Tatum,” I order the Bluetooth, just as I’m pulling out of the garage.
“Calling Tatum,” she replies, and I hit the stereo on just as Figure’s “The Exorcist” starts pumping through the speakers. Turning it down a little low so I can hear Tatum, she picks up almost instantly, and I let her and the music calm me.
Except you turned on a remix song for The Exorcist. Who are you trying to calm? Your ninth demon?
“Girrrl!” Tatum squeals down the phone, her voice doused in muffled drunk tones and loud music.
I laugh, pulling onto the main highway that will take me to where they are. According to my GPS, it’s a thirty-minute drive into literally the middle of nowhere. “What?”
“This party is puuumping! And, oh my God!” she slurs. Oh dear. “Carter put us on the flattest part of the ground, you know, like sort of beside him, which is shady as fuck! But still, everyone else’s tents are a little lopsided.” She giggles and then burps. “Oops. ‘Scuse me.”
“Tate?” I laugh. “Slow down or you won’t be able to meet me when I get there. Remember, I have no service. Where’s Tillie?”
“She’s here somewhere.” She brushes me off. “Hurry up! We need you! Oh! And the Kings aren’t here. You’re safe!”
Shaking my head. “Okay, I’ll see you in thirty minutes! Get someone sober to come with you.”
She hangs up the phone. The Kings aren’t there? That’s odd, considering they were so hell-bent on making my life miserable. They must have found a new toy to play with. I should be happy, but another side of me—the girly side—wants to know what the fuck I did wrong.
Turning the volume to full blast on the radio, I let Disturbed’s lyrics from “Tyrant” absorb all my feelings. Just as I hit the exit, my phone lights up on the seat.
Unknown – Run
I swerve on the road, headlights flashing ahead of me and taking my attention away from my phone. Just as I correct the car back onto the road, another text lights up.
Unknown – Amateur move. I really hoped that would have killed you once and for all.
Throwing my phone onto the ground, I look in my rearview mirror but see nothing. No headlights, nothing but darkness and the passing glow from the street markings. A bead of sweat forms on my forehead, so I swipe it away. Am I being stalked? What the fuck is going on? Glancing down to my phone that’s on the floor on the passenger side, I ignore the incoming text and concentrate on making sure I get there in once piece.
“You have reached your destination,” the GPS announces, just as I pull down a dark, bumpy gravel road.
“And where exactly is that?” I ask myself. Two seconds later, my phone lights up on the floor again and I roll my eyes, reaching over and scooping it up. Sliding it unlocked, I open it onto the recent message.
Unknown – Hell
My panic starts to kick in and I look in my rearview mirror again, only to find I’m all alone with no road markings. Now I’m just surrounded by inky blackness, full-on creepiness, amongst the freaking forest. Looking forward, I concentrate on what I’m doing. Leaning over, I pop the glove compartment and see my dad’s pistol he keeps in there. Smiling, and feeling a lot safer than I felt two seconds ago, I pull it out and place it on my lap. My dad always said to me, “Madi, don’t ever point a gun at a man unless you have the balls to pull the trigger.” Suffice it to say, I have big balls right about now. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I’ve been trained to take care of myself, and this is how I do it. Guns don’t kill people. People kill people. Guns are there to protect people who need to be protected from people who kill people.
Just as I pull up next to a line of cars, another text comes through. “Seriously?” I groan, picking up my phone and sliding it unlocked.
Unknown – Naw, baby. That ain’t gonna do jack shit when my hands are wrapped around your neck and your mouth is sucking on my dick.
I spin around, looking outside, but no one has followed me this whole time. What the fuck? I notice I’m still getting service since his texts are coming through just fine, but when I look at the service bar, I can see it dropping in and out. “Shit.” Taking a chance anyway, I dial Carter. There’s no use in trying Tatum; she’s probably already smashed, and as far as I know, Tillie doesn’t actually own a phone. I mean, we text her when we’re not with her, but she never has a phone when she’s with us.