Chapters (42)
- TITLE PAGE
- COPYRIGHT PAGE
- DEDICATION PAGE
- CONTENTS
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I chuckled and nudged his hip with my toe, desperate to wrench this moment back from the abyss of awkward into which it had fallen. But also, wanting him to notice. I’d beaten him. I wasn’t helpless. He didn’t have to worry about me or protect me. “Are you playing dead?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I’m recovering.” His body was sprawled out, one leg straight, one bent, his arms out to his sides, palms upward, fingers curled. His chin was still raised, his throat vulnerable.
I took a few steps back to keep myself from touching him again. “Not bad, right? You didn’t let me win, did you?”
“No.”
“So …” I bit my lip, hoping for some response. But he just lay there, completely still. “You gonna be okay down there?”
“Eventually.” His lips were barely moving.
I shuffled my feet as the moment stretched, leaving me more confused with every passing second. “Want me to help you up?”
“Lela, just go. Please. I need you to leave now.”
Every word hit me like a bullet. I’d done something right, but it was still wrong. I wanted to scream Just punch me already! I wanted to rewind, to be a different girl, one he would love, one he would reach for. But I couldn’t fix it. I didn’t even know what was wrong, not really. So I bit the inside of my cheek as my chest throbbed, stripped off the dull knives that decorated my body, and left my victim lying where he’d fallen.
FIFTEEN
FIFTEEN
HENRY AND I TROMPED into the camp around ten, after dropping off Malachi and Jim near one of the winter homeless shelters. We’d said our terse good-byes and good huntings, and I drove away, silently determined to prove myself to all of them—especially my Lieutenant. Now my head buzzed with a heavily caffeinated and highly explosive mixture of anticipation and anxiety.
Our boots crunched in the stiff, overgrown grass as we hiked off the sidewalk. We swung our stuff over a useless chain-link fence and wiggled through the ragged man-sized hole that had been cut through it. The traffic of I-95 roared above us, even at this time of night. It echoed in the chill, punctuated by gusts of wind that knifed right through my three layers of clothes. I’d straightened my hair and knotted it tight, and then pulled that thick woolen hat over it. Henry had a bright-red ski mask shoved up on his forehead, which made him look a little like a demented garden gnome. In addition to his own backpack, he’d insisted on carrying our tent, which Raphael had had to bring at the last minute to replace the one Malachi and I had killed.