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Harder To Breathe - Letdown

That fucking prick bastard. I will get great pleasure stuffing my gun in his smug mouth.

For a second, I forget Rachel is beside me, but then she breathes, “My mom.”

I toss a look at her. It’s almost dark now, so she probably doesn’t notice it. It’s a shame ‘cause it’s a scorcher. “No.”

“Riley!” Rachel grabs my arm, and immediately, I shake her off. “No. He’s throwing a fit because, for once in his life, he isn’t getting what he wants.”

“He knows where my mom lives.”

I start walking back to my bike. “Of course he does. Did you think I was kidding when I told you he’s not a good person?”

Rachel scrambles to follow. “He’s going to hurt her.”

“Yes,” I drone. “He is.”

Rachel will be miserable thinking about it too. Once again, I’m grateful I don’t feel such things. They’re counterproductive.

“We have to go,” Rachel says.

“By all means, keep begging. I might come.”

Immediately, Rachel clams up. She just follows me to the bike. When we get there, I expect panic. Useless tears and emotions. But I get nothing. Despite myself, I turn to look at her.

Rachel just stands there, watching me. I can see the calculation on her face.

I stare at her. I make it a general rule not to be friendly with women. With anyone, actually. Usually, they end up acting like my mom or the men in my past—emotional and abusive.

But not Rachel. She’s calculating. Cold. A planner. It makes me smirk. She’s capable of playing the game. Good. If she’s playing, then maybe I should focus. Be a little less impulsive. A little more strategic.

I stick the key into the bike. “Let’s go, little deer. We’ll see if you’re just as brave when Manson realizes we’re not playing his game.”