Page 23

23

ARELLA

We’re parked at the side of a Walmart. The sun blazes high in the sky, making Dennis’s car hot. We’re almost out of gas, so I don’t want to waste it on air conditioning. I’d roll the windows down, but I can’t risk someone looking in and seeing that I’ve got a bloody man sleeping in the front seat.

A while later, I’m halfway through eating a banana when Trey finally stirs and blinks his eyes open.

“Morning,” I say.

He sits up, adjusting the seat with him as he squints out the bright window. “Where are we?”

“Walmart.” I swallow down the rest of my banana, then toss the peel into a plastic bag with my sandwich and granola bar wrappers already in it.

“Where exactly is this Walmart?”

“Barstow, California—according to the signs I passed on the way in.” When we left the burning gas station, my only goal was to get as far away from it as possible, so I drove without knowing where I was going. As far as I can tell, I took us in the general direction of Las Vegas... I hope.

“Barstow,” Trey repeats. “I think that’s still another two or three hours from Vegas.”

I tear a banana off the bunch and hold it out to him. “Want one?”

He accepts the fruit from me, then peels it open and takes a small bite.

“Does your body naturally heal faster than an Ordinary’s?” I ask.

“Yep. Zordis heal during sleep, just like Ordinaries, but much faster.”

“I see that. The bruises on your face are almost gone. I can tell where they were, but it looks like what my bruises look like after a week. Is your special healing thing powerful enough to fix broken ribs or a deep thigh wound?”

He groans as he takes another bite of the banana. “I fucking wish.”

“Are you hungry for anything else?” I reach back to grab the other three grocery bags from the backseat. I dig through one as I say, “I’ve got a sandwich, granola bars, chips, apples, and water. If there’s anything else you’d like, I can run back in to grab it.”

“I’ll take a water, please.”

I pull out a bottle and hand it over.

Trey chugs it all in one breath, then scarfs down the rest of his banana. He tosses the peel into the same bag I tossed mine in.

I pluck an apple from the food bag. “Here.”

He shakes his head. “I should take it slow. I haven’t eaten much for days.”

I drop the apple back into the bag. “Oh, right.”

Now that I think about it, that makes sense. Ever since I was kidnapped, he’s been in the infirmary for most of that time. Any time he wasn’t in there, he was getting used as a test dummy for people’s powers.

I dig through the second bag and drag out a pair of black sweatpants. “I figured this would be more comfortable for you than jeans. I also got you a new shirt, socks, boxers, and some clothes for me too. We can change after I redress your wound.”

From the third bag, I pull out some first aid supplies. While in the store, I almost bought some ibuprofen until I remembered it wouldn’t do anything for him. Do Zordis have special pain medications they can take? If so, where can we get some?

“Thanks, Arella. All of this is great.”

“Thank yourself,” I say, gesturing toward his wallet sitting in the cup holder. “You paid for it.”

“With cash?”

“Of course. I’ve seen movies.”

When I made it to this Walmart, Trey was still out cold, so I dug through his jacket pockets for his wallet. That’s when I caught a glimpse of his bare chest and realized the shirt tied around my arm is probably his. Up until that point, I hadn’t thought about where this shirt had come from.

Knowing this man literally took the clothing off his back to give to me makes me feel even worse for trying to ditch him. At the time, getting away from him seemed like a good idea. Now, knowing the Royals have people everywhere, I’m positive the safest place I can be is with Trey.

“Fuck.” Trey hisses through his teeth as I clean around his wound with baby wipes. His thigh isn’t bleeding as much as it was before, but it still looks gnarly.

After I rewrap his wound with clean gauze and fresh medical tape, I use more baby wipes to clean off his bloody face. The whole time, he lies still and stares at me with an admiration in his eyes that gets my stomach to flutter with love-sick butterflies. This time, I don’t try to fight the feeling. For me, there’s no resisting this guy.

I unzip his jacket to reveal a red and purple discoloration over his right rib cage. I can’t imagine how painful it is. The rest of his torso doesn’t look any better. He groans while I help him get into his new shirt—a plain black one, of course. After that, I help get the rest of him into fresh clothes.

“Do you want to put your jacket back on?” I ask, holding it up.

He pants heavily as he slumps back into his seat. “Not right now. That requires more moving.”

I set his jacket onto the backseat, then get dressed in my own pair of black sweats and shirt.

“Matching outfits,” Trey says. “I likey.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever worn all black before. I feel like a ninja.”

“You sure shoot like one.” He places a gentle hand over my knee. “Thank you for saving me.”

I can’t look at him as I say, “I wish we could have saved Dennis.”

Trey keeps his hand over my knee. “That man was so brave. When that lady ran toward the closet, he didn’t hesitate to shoot her. He helped save you.”

“And I’ll never be able to repay him for it.”

“I’ll never be able to repay you for saving me.”

I offer him a warm smile. “I suppose we’re even now.”

He scoffs. “Not even close. You only needed saving because of me.”

“Technically, I put you in danger too. I was the one who told Dennis to call the police.”

His gaze falls to his lap. “I’ll admit that even though it makes me sad, I understand why you did that. You also didn’t know the Royals have connections with the police.”

“And you didn’t know your uncle is a psychotic evil maniac with henchmen.”

He scoffs again, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”

I place my hand over his on my knee. “Like I said, we’re even now.”

“It doesn’t feel that way, but I’ll take it.” He turns his hand over to intertwine his fingers with mine. A warm tingle spreads up my arm, all the way to my shoulders.

It’s always felt natural for us to hold hands. Like the way it’s always felt natural for us to kiss and make love. If Ordinaries aren’t meant to be with people like him, then why does being with him feel so right to me?

“Arella?”

It’s official: No matter what happens, I’ll always love the sound of my name on his lips. I flick my eyes up to meet his. “Yeah?”

He gives my hand a little squeeze. “Thanks again for not leaving me behind.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I can’t even believe you asked me to do that.”

“I didn’t ask. I was telling, but I shoulda known you’d be difficult.”

Pfft. “If I wasn’t difficult, you’d be bleeding out right now.”

“Actually, someone would have found me by now. And if it was the Royals, I’d be dead.”

I shake my head at him. “I can’t believe you were so ready to accept that fate.”

“Well, I thought I was gonna die like, fifteen different times recently, so yeah, I was ready.”

“I’m glad you’re alive. Now let’s get you to a Healer.”

* * *

Given how we left the gas station in a chaotic, gory, fiery mess, Trey and I conclude it’s best if we aren’t anywhere near Dennis’s car. The Royals or the cops are probably looking for it, so we ditch the car at the Walmart and head a few blocks down to a Greyhound station. Over my shoulders is a newly bought backpack filled with food, water, first aid supplies, and Trey’s jacket.

The sound of buses releasing air surrounds us as Trey and I step up to the Greyhound station. Correction: I step up. Trey is limping.

I’m glad I cleaned his face, because even without all the blood covering it, people are staring at us. More specifically, the women are staring at Trey.

I almost forgot what it’s like to be out in public with the YouTube-famous, gorgeous musician Trey Grant. In LA, we couldn’t walk into a single restaurant without someone approaching him for a picture. Thankfully, no one stops us as we make our way past all the people waiting on benches for their buses.

“How can I help y’all?” a lady says from behind the ticket counter. The name tag on her shirt reads latoya .

Trey flashes her a sweet smile. “Could I get ten tickets, please?”

The lady barely looks up at him from her computer. “Where to, sir?”

“I’ll take one-way tickets for the next buses to Los Angeles, San Diego, Las Vegas, New York, and Houston. Two each.”

Finally, the lady looks up at him. From behind her glasses, she knits her eyebrows together. “Is you sayin’ you want one bus that will take you to all dem places?”

“No. I’d like tickets for five different buses to all of those places. Two each.”

The lady skeptically eyes Trey, then me, then him again.

Trey doesn’t miss a beat. From his wallet, he holds out two hundred-dollar bills. “Please?”

Latoya doesn’t hesitate to seize the cash and stuff it down her bra. Sighing, she turns back to her computer. Then her long sparkly nails clack against the keyboard. “Don’t ask questions, Latoya. Don’t ask questions. Just mind ya damn business,” she mutters to herself.

A few minutes later, Latoya tells us our total. Trey pays all twelve hundred of it in cash, which only makes her shake her head at us more.

As she hands us five sets of tickets, she says, “Whatever y’all is up to, I ain’t want nothin’ to do with it. If anyone asks, I was just doin’ my damn job.”

“And if anyone asks,” Trey says, “we were never here.”

She flashes him a thumbs-up. “Deal. Now get outta here before y’all get my ass fired.”

We exit the ticket booth as Trey slips the tickets into his sweatpants pocket. Then he smiles down at me. “You still hungry?”

I hike our backpack higher up my shoulders. “Starving.”

“Me too. Our bus won’t leave for another twenty minutes. Let’s get something to eat.”

The building next to the ticket office is a mini food court. Square tables are scattered around the center area and blissful-looking food stands are lined up around the exterior. The options range from burgers to pizza to Chinese and more. At the end sits a little shop filled with candies, bottled drinks, and souvenirs.

It doesn’t take us long to decide on something. We’re so hungry, everything sounds good. Together, we join the short line for Panda Express. Not long later, we have two Styrofoam containers of Chinese takeout in hand. We pick the closest table and sit on opposite ends to devour our meal.

“Mmm,” I moan as I have my first bite. “This is the most amazing Chinese food in the world.”

Trey stuffs his face as he nods. “Heaven is what this is.”

I’m halfway done with my lo mein when I ask, “Did you buy all those tickets to throw them off our trail, or are we going somewhere other than Vegas?”

“Still Vegas.”

“How did you know which cities to buy tickets for?”

Trey scoops up a spoonful of his fried rice. “I picked cities that have Chinatowns, because every Chinatown has a Healer. Hopefully, if they’re tracking us, and I’ll bet they are, they’ll have a good time trying to figure out which Chinatown we?—”

Something behind me catches Trey’s attention. His eyes go wide as he drops his plastic fork. Under his breath, he mutters, “Fuck.”

I freeze and resist the urge to glance behind me. “Are they here?”

“No,” he whispers. “Look.”

My chair squeaks against the floor as I spin around. I follow Trey’s gaze to a small TV hanging from the wall. I gasp as a female news anchor stares into the camera, saying words I can’t hear, while a picture of me is shown beside her head.

The closed captions read, “...twenty-two-year-old, Arella ‘Ari’ Rance, who was reported missing by a friend yesterday. The friend says Rance hasn’t answered her phone for a few days, which is unlike the missing woman. When the friend stopped by Rance’s apartment, the place had been broken into and Rance was nowhere to be found.”

The captions continue as a photo of Trey replaces mine. “Police say their number-one suspect is Rance’s most recent ex-boyfriend, Trey Grant. Grant has not been seen or heard from since around the same time Rance went missing. Grant has a violent criminal record, including two counts of disorderly conduct and one misdemeanor.”

The news anchor continues as Trey’s photo slides off screen. “This morning, we had the opportunity to interview one of Grant’s ex-girlfriends. This is what she had to say.”

My already racing heart thumps faster as the screen changes to video footage of a blonde woman being interviewed outside a red house. I recognize her right away.

Someone holds a microphone up to Jess’s moving lips as the captions read, “Trey and I have been on and off for the past few years. Whenever he gets too angry, he pops me in the face, and I leave. Weeks later, he’ll beg for me to come back with promises that he’ll change. But you know men like him; they never do.”

The screen returns to the news anchor with another picture of Trey. “We’ve asked close friends of Grant for comments. None have agreed. If you have any information that can help the police locate twenty-two–year-old Ari Rance, please call this tip line.”

I turn back to Trey, who drops his head into his hands. I reach over the table to rub his shoulder. “It’s okay. When this is all over, I’ll clear your name.”

“I hate her,” he says under his breath. “I fucking hate her. I’ve never laid a goddamn hand on her like that, and she’s gonna go tell a news station that I abused her for years? Is she fucking serious?”

I draw my hand back and rest it over the table. “Are you really more mad about that than the world thinking you’ve kidnapped me?”

“Kind of.” He huffs out a frustrated breath. “I have it in me to kidnap you, but I would never abuse a woman like that.”

“Okay, I understand what you mean when you say you’ve got it in you to kidnap me. I know you’d do it if it meant protecting me, but please, if anyone else asks, especially the police, don’t say that out loud.”

Trey offers me a tender smile as he puts his hand over mine on the table and squeezes it. “Thank you for understanding me. That is exactly what I mean. Now let’s finish eating. Once we’re done, we’re going shopping.”