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Prime

The clock on the wall ticked loudly.

Bernice was dead.

Bob was barely hanging on.

And it was our fault.

I didn’t care that the psycho was to blame. None of it changed the truth, which sat like a cinder block on my chest.

Four strangers and now Bernice were dead because of the club.

And now Pearl sat curled into Anchor, her face hidden against his shoulder like maybe she could disappear there if she tried hard enough.

The rest of the club had gone back to Skull Island, but I’d stayed behind.

Because of her.

Shay.

She sat a few chairs away from me, folded into herself like she was trying to disappear. Her red hair was pulled over one shoulder in a messy braid, and her arms were wrapped tight around her knees. She hadn’t said a word since we sat down after finding out Bob should likely be okay, but her eyes never left the clock.

Like it owed her something. Like if she stared hard enough, it might give her a minute of her life back. One without blood. One without fear.

She didn’t ask to be here.

Shay was smack in the middle of something twisted. A game none of us had the rules for.

I watched her blink slowly, her jaw set tight. There was pain there. Not just tonight’s. Old stuff. Stuff she had only hinted at.

I clenched my fists on my knees and leaned forward to rest my elbows on my thighs.

I didn’t know why the psycho had chosen her.

But I knew this: he wasn’t getting her.

Not on my watch.

Not while I was still breathing.

Shay was under my protection. And God help whoever tried to take her from it.