“I’m sorry,” Ash said over and over again. She was sorry that she’d lied to Becca. That she hadn’t told her what was happening. She was so damn sorry. There were more punches and kicks; these people, the ones she considered friends, were unleashing holy hell on her.

“Enough,” Mo called out.

The attackers retreated. Ash grunted, trying to breathe, waves of pain coursing through her body, the metallic smell of her blood filling her nose. She squinted, Mo’s silhouette coming into focus. She was kneeling over Ash.

“You know you brought this on yourself. Got Leslie caught up in it too. You’re responsible for everything that’s happened. I hope you know that.”

Ash’s eyes welled with tears. She was so tired and scared, but she couldn’t let this awful woman win. She had to fight back. She fumbled in her pocket, the cold steel of the switchblade instantly comforting. “My mom is coming for me. She won’t stop until she finds me,” Ash said, blood filling her mouth. Wishful thinking, but she needed to buy time.

Mo leaned in close enough so Ash could make out her twisted smile. “I look forward to meeting her,” Mo said, her breath hot and stale.

This was Ash’s chance. She understood it wouldn’t save her, but she wanted to hurt Mo, the way Mo hurt Eli and Nate and God knows who else. She slashed at her, but Ash’s grip was too weak. The knife clattered to the ground. She heard a collective gasp of outrage and, within seconds, Vic and the Tribe surrounded her, unleashing all their rage. More kicks and punches. There was no mercy. None at all.

A white-hot heat radiated through Ash’s body. She tried to scream. No words came out. In the distance, she heard shouting and the sound of sirens. It sounded as though the coyote’s howls were growing louder. She prayed they’d find her and finish her off. Anything to escape this pain.

Ash’s final thought was of Becca. She wanted more than anything to see her one last time. She wanted to tell her how much she loved their pancake brunches, and walks around the reservoir with Freud. She wanted to thank Becca for forcing her to sign up for that first photography class and for spending hundreds of dollars on equipment. She wanted to tell her how much she loved that she’d framed Ash’s photos, even the terrible ones, hanging them on her bedroom walls and oversharing them on Facebook, with the world’s dorkiest captions. She wanted to tell her she was sorry for being such a bitch to Christian, and for playing a part in their relationship crumbling.