Page 17

When I was moved from my cell to the bike, no one was around. Seemed like just a random location. Especially since they blew it up on the way out. I was the only one who jumped at the noise of it exploding behind me as I rode on the back of Demon’s bike.

It was clear he didn’t want me there any more than I wanted to be there. I got really good at learning how not to touch him. I still felt stiff from holding myself away from him, and then Atom when I went from one captor to the next.

And that’s exactly what they are.

I know that.

No way do I get to walk away from this. Not yet at least. I witnessed a murder. That should at least guarantee that I’ll be under some sort of surveillance for a bit. Not sure if it’s to see if I’ll freak out or yap about it.

I don’t see either happening, though. When Duke was shot, I didn’t feel anything at all. Maybe it’s the kidnappings I’ve been through before. The things that have happened to me in my life. Or maybe it’s because I know what he did to Ava, and I didn’t think he should have a life at all after that. Will another death be just as lackluster for me? I don’t know. But for now, I doubt I’ll think about it. Except for wishing I’d had the gun and killed him myself. Ava’s screams kept me awake far beyond my stay in Colombia with her. Having been the person to quiet those cries might help me sleep if I dream of her again.

I only hope that once I make it back to the Hounds’ clubhouse, they’ll do what they do best: ignore me.

I’ve got plans. Made them once I saw the Hounds waiting on us. Ones that don’t involve a van but a life away from everything. I’m thinking of a boat this time. Nothing fancy, just big enough for me to live on. I might have to buy a really old one or something and fix it up, but as long as it floats, I’ll live. I’ve never been to Boston. Seems like a decent place to start over. Big enough to get lost in a sea of people and far away from everything I know.

I would go farther if I could, but if Reina can find me, then so can the family if I try to leave the country. Better to have a boat and slip out quietly to sea once I get it all set up.

General opens the door, and Jumper heads out as they exchange nods.

I’ve never understood how a head movement can replace words, but for men, it seems to work every time.

“Take off your clothes.”

I stare at the back of the man’s head and don’t move as he continues to look through his bag that he brought in earlier, sitting on the only table in the room.

He turns his head to look at me and gives me a wink. “It was worth a shot.”

“Ever worked on a woman before?” I deadpan.

He shrugs and turns back to his bag, this time taking out things that should be in a hospital and not on the back of someone’s bike. “You’d be surprised what gets a girl to take her clothes off.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” I mutter as I glance around the room. Not much to see. A TV, two queen beds, and a table with chairs. Not even a shitty coffee maker in sight.

He turns back around, this time with gloves on, a stethoscope around his neck, and a penlight between his fingers.

“Say aah.” He tilts my chin up with his free hand.

I say nothing. I don’t even open my mouth.

He waits me out, but the fool doesn’t know I can wait longer.

Finally, it’s him who huffs and releases my chin. “We can do this the hard way, you know.”

“So do it,” I call him out, daring him to do worse. I don’t want kid gloves or special treatment or whatever the hell this is.

I was compliant around them before. They expect me to just do what they ask, like I used to. But what did it get me? Nothing. I thought for so long that if I did whatever they said, I would be good. I would get something back. Karma and all. Well, karma’s bullshit. It doesn’t exist.

I’ve seen it a few times. It’s like a case where a serial rapist receives only probation and remains free to act as he pleases. Or when an entire professional baseball team cheats to win the World Series and nothing goes against them. If everyone else can do whatever the fuck they want and not deal with anything negative happening to them, then I sure as hell can tell everyone to fuck off and take my chances with the world. I’ll get the same shit I’ve dealt with in the past. But this time it’ll be on my terms, not someone else’s.

He looks at me and then takes a step back with a sigh, his shoulders dropping before he speaks. “Please.”

The way he says it has me pausing. I don’t think anyone has ever said that word to me before. Not like this. Not to help. I’ve heard it when people want things, like “Please, can you give me your notes for class?” or “Please, can you take my shift so I can go celebrate my three-week anniversary?” If you’re celebrating three weeks, that’s sad. A three-week commitment is something you have with a tub of ice cream, not a man—or woman, as the case may be. I never asked my coworker, and she could have gone either way.

Not that I care. Love who you want. As long as you love them, it doesn’t matter to me. But string them along to play with them, saying it’s love when it’s just bullshit to get something else, or someone else, and I take issue.

But General isn’t doing this for something else. Well, only to see where the pain is for me. Maybe it’s helping me, or he’s just going to report it to the Hounds. General was the doctor who examined me the last time I was in the hospital, right after being pulled out of Colombia. He already knows my wounds.

I know he saw my toe before, but I doubt he knew why it was missing till he watched the video. If he watched it. I’m not sure who saw it. Do I care? No.