Page 34

“Where are we going?” I twist in the passenger seat and watch as the road to our house comes and goes, and we keep hurtling away.

“Somewhere safe,” she says, eyes resolutely on the road, and a shiver runs over my skin when I look at her. Like something isn’t quite the same. I tell myself that it’s just the anxiety and sit back in my seat, trying to calm down.

“I’ll put it in that damn tree house.”

“What?” I jerk back, looking over at my mom. “What did you say?”

She smiles softly, reaches over, runs the tips of her fingers over the nape of my neck. “I said, I’m going to take you somewhere safe, baby.”

That’s not what she said—I know it’s not, but everything feels strange, the world slightly blurry, so I just nod and sit back against the seat, trying to calm myself down.

We drive for five more minutes, until we’re on the outskirts of Badlands, and she turns the car, pulling into a dusty lot just outside an old wooden building. It looks like it might have been some sort of saloon, a watering hole for drifters, but it’s long-abandoned now, nothing but one other pickup truck in the drive, on the far end of the lot.

“What is this place?” I ask when she comes to a stop, turns off the car, and reaches over to undo my seatbelt. The belt tangles in my arm, and I stop, pushing it off as I climb out after her.

The sun is high in the sky, the air hot and dry, and she stalks toward the door purposefully, only sparing me a brief glance over her shoulder.

“Come on,” she says, “I’ll show you.”

I feel a distant tug, as though coming to me over miles and miles of space, begging me to stay where I’m at, but I ignore it, shake my head, and follow her inside.

My father and brother are on the council. It’s not inconceivable that they might have information about a safe house on the outskirts of town. She probably heard about it, and is bringing me here to keep me safe from whatever is going on.

But the moment I step through the doorway after her, I wish I had listened to my instincts. To that desperate call outside, begging me to stop.

“Well, hello, Kira.”

Jerrod is standing in the back of the building, flanked by two of his men. One of them is the one who kidnapped me weeks ago, dragging me out of my home in nothing more than that little silk slip. A nauseated shiver runs over my skin at the sight of them, and for the first time in my life, I decide I’m not going to stand around and let it happen to me.

It must be shocking to them, because I’m through the doorway again when I hear Jerrod shouting for them to follow me, to get me. I run around the side of the car, glancing inside, but it’s locked and my mother has the keys—I remember the remote beeping as we walked inside.

Knowing I only have seconds, I eye the old air conditioning unit outside the building and hoist myself up onto it, grab the ladder hanging from the side of the building, pray it’s strong enough to hold me, and haul my self up onto the roof just as Jerrod’s cronies come running around the side of the building.

I stay low, belly to the searing hot metal of the roof as I watch them, trying to keep my breathing as quiet as I can. They can probably smell me. My time is running out before they realize I’m up here.

Like cartoon characters, I watch them circle the building once, twice, then start shouting at one another. A second later, Jerrod walks out, and I can hear the angry timber of his voice.

“What the fuck —”

He stops in front of the guys, glancing around like he can’t believe they don’t already have me in their clutches.

“It’s not like she can outrun you,” Jerrod growls, then he crouches down, looking underneath the car, and I have to put my hand over my mouth to keep from sucking in a breath, imagining what it would have been like to see his face like that if I’d chosen that hiding spot.

Adrenaline pounds through my body, my mind only now catching up to the facts of this situation.

My mother brought me here.

My mother knew that Jerrod was here.

She’s a traitor. Stomach roiling dangerously, I clutch the edge of the building and watch as she walks out of the building, her hand coming up in the familiar gesture to cover her brow, shade her eyes.

And then she turns, meeting my eyes instantly. My mother, of course she knew exactly where I would hide. The person who raised me, who played hide-and-seek with me while Dad was at work.

For a long, lingering moment, we hold the stare, and I silently plead with her. It’s not too late to undo this, to protect me now, though she’s never made the choice to before.

And then, as though in slow motion, I watch as she raises her arm, pointing to me, and Jerrod and his cronies turn, clearly catching sight of me from where I’m peeking over the edge of the roof.

Time jolts into full-speed again, and I scramble across the roof as fast as I can, sliding on my ass, getting my foot against the rail of the ladder.

It only barely held on when I was climbing up, so, desperate sobs ripping out of me, I pull my leg back and kick once, twice—

A hand appears, swinging wildly and grazing my ankle, and I can’t help it—I scream. Jerrod’s crony pops his head up over the side of the roof and grins at me, and I take the moment to land one more solid kick to the ladder, full dislodging it.

The grin slides off his face, and this time it’s him screaming as he plummets from the side, landing with a grotesque-sounding smack on the side of the air conditioning unit before. I’m breathing hard, leaning over the side of the building, when I see the other man, Jerrod, and my mother round to the back.

My mother’s eyes flash to the crony on the ground, who is completely motionless. Did I kill him? I stare in horror, stomach churning harder.

“Get. Up. There,” Jerrod grinds out, his eyes skipping up to me as his other crony disappears around the side of the building.

This time, it’s him and me holding gazes while my mother stumbles to the side, retching into the dry, patchy grass. Distantly, somewhere behind me, I hear the roar of a truck engine, but it’s like I’m hypnotized by Jerrod’s stare, caught in the weight of it.

“Come on, Kira,” he practically sings, his voice softening, his eyes somehow managing to rake over my form even from this distance. I would laugh if I wasn’t so desperate—he’s practically licking his lips like he’s the big bad wolf. “Come on down from there.”

“Fuck you,” I clip back, pleased with myself for how his head pulls back in shock, his lip curling.

That’s when I hear a clamor from behind me and turn to see the other crony slamming one meaty arm up onto the roof, his sights set on me. And he doesn’t look happy, rage swirling in the depths.

I realize, with a pang of fear, that he probably isn’t too happy at the fact that his crony friend is motionless in the dirt below me. Hands shaking, I reach to the side, picking up a hot black pipe that nearly scorches the skin on my fingers.

“Stay back!” I shout, looking around wildly, heart thundering.

He laughs, hauling himself up onto one knee on the roof. “What are you going to do, bitch? Try an—”

Without much thought at all, I pull back and throw the pipe at him, a surprised squeak popping from my lips when it hits him square in the face. He, like his friend, dropped down from the building, but he seems to be alive.

I rush to the edge to see him on his back in the bed of a truck, a toolbox tipped on its side. He must have used it to climb up here. He lets out a mangled, wet-sounding groan and rolls to his side, blood streaming out from between his fingers.

“Fuck you, you fucking bitch—”

His words are muffled, quieting into a round of sobs, and my hands continue to shake as I back up from the ledge. Jerrod and my mother round the front of the building, and the sight of Jerrod makes my blood run cold.

The fury is gone. Now he just walks calmly over to the truck, opening the passenger side and climbing back out a moment later with something small in his hand. I stand on the edge of the roof, the sound of his cronies' groans the only thing breaking the silence as Jerrod reaches into the back of the truck and pops the lid on a gas can.

I stand quietly as he dumps it at the base of the building, then straightens back to look up at me.

“Come down,” he says, simply, as though we’re lovers and he’s asking me to bed.

“Fuck you,” I say again, crossing my arms over my chest.

Jerrod shrugs, strikes the match, and tosses it without a care onto the pile of shimmering gasoline. The last thing I hear before the wall of heat runs up against my face is my mother’s high-pitched scream.