four of Eric’s guys here that he’s made—possibly more. Eric is Ricky’s greatest enemy on the streets.
All around us are people way too young to become casualties of other people’s, specifically my, bad decisions.
I texted my safe word and location to the anonymous number, following protocol. Now I wait. For a reply from Mr. Anonymous, or a text from Logan saying he’s outside, and my stomach twists. If he texts or calls, I should ignore him and not drag him deeper into this nightmare than he already is, but at the same time, I don’t need Logan trying to save the day if I don’t answer and getting himself killed. Because that would seriously piss me off and make me possibly cry and I fucking hate crying.
I wait longer than I would have thought for either response then another buzz:
In my truck. You still in the club?
Yes.
Stay put. I’m coming to get you.
Right as I go to respond, another buzz and it’s not Mr. Anonymous and it’s not Logan. It’s unlisted, unknown and it’s numbers. Fear turns violent and becomes a sharp pain in my chest. It’s a code given to me by my father and it means the foundation on which I’m standing is crumbling.
It also means to trust no one, not even Ricky himself, and it means to get the fuck out.
Players, on both sides, have always been known to change allegiance in midcharge and I’m being warned that pieces are shifting.
A glance up and both of the boys on my side are watching me. So are Eric’s boys. According to the code, I’m prey and any of them staring me down could be the hunters.
Survival instincts flood my system and all the two million thoughts I’d been having streamline into one—I need to disappear.
A group of boys maneuver past me. I push off the wall, slip into the middle, and walk with them the several feet needed to reach the exit. The moment I’m out I’m texting the only piece around not knowingly playing the game: I’ll meet you halfway. I need out of here.
It’s after midnight and the sidewalk outside the bar is still packed with people willing to party. There are a ton of bars on this strip of road and they don’t host teen nights.
I asked the narc if he was a child of the night. Am I? I don’t know. I love summer nights. I love the heat rolling off the sidewalk. I love the humidity hanging in the air. I love the dark.
It doesn’t scare me. It’s the people who smile at you during the day while plunging a knife in your back that are the monsters. It’s bills I can’t pay. It’s systems that fail. It’s people preying upon the weak who fill my nightmares.
My phone rings and I accept it when I spot Logan’s face. “What?”
“You never listen.”
“I like walking. Fills my lungs with oxygen. It’s good for the circulatory system. Healthy and all that shit.”
“I told you to stay put.” I can imagine that serious expression on his face. The one where his dark eyes blow into storm clouds and everything about him becomes clipped. It’s not a huge change, it’s subtle, but I’ve memorized it.
“Miss me?” I tease because that’s more comfortable than focusing on terror. “Because I missed you, and I wanted to see you faster.”
“What happened to your plan?”
“It changed.”
“You in danger?”
Yes. “You’re cute. I forgot I’m not capable of walking down a street by myself. Just a friendly stroll and you’ll pick me up along the way.”
“You sound scared.”
As I’m scanning the crowd a flash of anger joins the fear he’s hearing. “Bite me, Logan.”
“I don’t like you on the open street.”
“Well, life fucking sucks.” I pause and switch mental directions. “You don’t want bullshit—how’s this? I’m in deep and I don’t even know what I’m dealing with.”
Logan’s silent, and I pray he’s struggling with how to tell me he’s leaving and heading home, but another part of me begs him to stay. Without a ride, I’m an easy target. My need to live and my need to protect him are colliding in my brain.
“Move!” A loud horn blaring from his end and I check out the road. It’s bumper-to-bumper. People coming into the area to party, people leaving the area to party. He won’t get here. He won’t reach me fast enough.
“I’ll come on foot,” he says.
“Don’t,” and I make no attempt to mask the fear. “You need to get as far from me as you can.”
“Do you know what I want?”
I’m betting not being in a messed-up, chemistry—based relationship with a drug dealer is currently at the top of his list. “What?”
“Quiet.”
My feet freeze on the sidewalk and a strange eerie sensation crawls along my spine. There’s an exhaustion in Logan’s voice I’ve never heard before and my mind ticks back to Rachel’s original text. Something’s wrong. Beyond me. Beyond my problems. “If you want quiet, you should go home.”
“It’s loud there, Abby. There might not be sound, but it’s still loud. All I want right now is to find you, and drive along some dark county roads. What do you say to that? Me, you, a dark night, and some quiet stars.”
An ache ripples through me. It sounds like the devil is mocking me with my idea of heaven because dreams don’t become reality for girls like me.
“Abby?” he asks. “Still there.”
Hang up. Mock him. Laugh. Make a joke. Tease. Lie.
Lie.
Lie, Abby. That’s what you’re best at. Lie.
“That sounds good.” It’s a whisper and by the relieved intake of air on his part, Logan heard it.
“You didn’t listen, did you?” he asks, and I’m grateful for his normal, condescending tone. “You were told to stay home and you didn’t listen.”
“Do you think I do what people tell me on a regular basis? That’s one step away from being a trained monkey and if you remember, I don’t like trained monkeys. Not since that one bit you in fifth grade. You said the rabies shots were a bitch.”
Logan snorts and an engine rumbles in the background. “Which side of the road are you on? I don’t want to miss you.”
A group of guys stumble out of a bar ahead of me and the hair on my arms stands on end as if the reaper had laughed in my ear. A skinny guy. A few years older than me and he appears way too happy to see me. It’s Ricky’s greatest foe on the streets. A guy I’ve threatened
