by Kieran Scott
She was bluffing, right? She had to be bluffing. I swallowed. I was definitely going to throw up.
“Rico!” the guy shouted from below. “What’s going on?”
“We got a situation!” Rico shouted back.
“What kinda situation?”
“Shut up and let me think!”
Kaia looked over her shoulder. I could only hope she’d spotted cop cars in the distance. But part of the plan was to get out of here before they showed. Because if they caught us, they’d send me home. And God only knew what they’d do with Kaia.
“Put the gun away, Rico,” Kaia said. “Let him live, and I’ll come with you. Otherwise, whatever big-ass payday you’ve been offered is gone.”
“What if I don’t believe you?” Rico asked.
Kaia lifted one foot and let it dangle. I tasted bile.
“No!” Rico shouted.
“Kaia,” I bit out.
“I’ll do it!” she shouted angrily. “I swear I’ll do it.”
“Stop!” Rico put his hands up, then slowly slipped his gun into the back of his jeans. “There. I put it away.” He even took a step away from me. Which was when I remembered the precarious position I was in, gravity-wise.
“Good. Now help him up,” Kaia ordered.
Rico clucked his tongue, but reached down and gripped my shirt, hauling me up so I could get on my knees. Shakily, I staggered to the nearest metal post, which I bear hugged with absolutely no shame. Kaia jumped down and ran over to me. She gripped me with only one arm. Rico slowly walked up behind her.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah…you?”
She pulled back and looked me in the eye. Under her breath, she said, “Don’t. Move.”
What? What was she gonna do now?
“All right, blondie. Let’s go.”
Rico’s hand came down on Kaia’s shoulder. She whipped around. I heard a thunk and then Rico hit the floor, screaming like an air raid siren.
“What the—”
I looked past Kaia. The handle of her knife stuck out of Rico’s thigh.
“Rico! What is it?” Freddy shouted from the ground. “What’s wrong?”
Rico kept screaming.
“I’m coming up!”
Kaia yanked the gun out of the waistband of her jeans and pulled back on the top part, training it on Rico. Here she was, getting ready to defend us to the death, and I didn’t even know the correct name for that part of the gun.
The wind whipped around us, and I gripped the column tighter.
“You stabbed me!” Rico shouted, finally able to make a coherent sentence. Spittle clung to the corners of his lips. He sounded betrayed. This from the dude who, mere seconds ago, had a gun to my head.
“Who’re you working for?” Kaia demanded. “The Iranians? The Malaysians? The Koreans? Who?”
Her arms were steady holding the gun, and I couldn’t believe how in control she was.
“Screw you, bitch!” the man spat out.
Kaia lifted her foot and brought it down on the side of the man’s injured thigh. He screamed as tears burst from his eyes.
“Is that really necessary?” I asked.
“He was going to kill you, Oliver!” Her look of condescension shocked me. “It was either you or him. At least he’s still alive.”
I could hear Freddy barreling up the stairs. “Okay. Okay,” I said, in what I hoped was a soothing voice. “We should probably—”
“Oliver, search his pockets,” Kaia said.
“What?”
“ID. I want to know where this jackass is from.”
I somehow detached myself from the pillar, but was immediately hit by a wave of nausea so intense, I swear I could taste my stomach lining. I hit my knees, took half a second to breathe, and crawled toward the guy. The first thing my fingers closed around inside his jacket pocket was a used tissue. Awesome. Now I was going to get hepatitis on top of everything else. I yanked his jacket out from under him and found his wallet. Inside was a driver’s license.
“Oaxaca.” It was the only word I could get out. I tossed the wallet on the wood plank and breathed slowly, in through my nose, out through my mouth, until my stomach went back to its rightful place.
Kaia’s jaw clenched. “Who are you working for?” she demanded, pressing her foot down even harder on his leg.
“This guy named Hector hired us, all right? Hector T.!” He let out a wheezing whimper with each labored breath.
“What’s the T stand for?”
“I don’t know!” the man shouted. “I swear to baby Jesus, I don’t know.”
“Where’s my mother?” Kaia demanded.
“Your mother?”
“You’re from Oaxaca!” Kaia replied, her eyes shining. “That’s where they took her. You know something! I know you do. What aren’t you telling me?”
“Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. All I know is this Hector guy has a jones on for you. He hired at least a dozen guys to come after you. I’m just the lucky bastard who got to you first.”
Kaia lifted her boot from his leg and he curled into a ball. She looked at me, then lowered her weapon. I cleared my throat and carefully sat back on my butt.
“The name Hector T. mean anything to you?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Nope.”
Then she turned, and wretched over the side of the walkway.
Freddy’s footsteps were getting closer. I slowly pushed myself up.
“Kaia. It’s time to go.”
I took her hand and she let me lead her, inching ever so carefully, toward the garbage chute. I glanced inside. I could see maybe three feet before it made its first turn.
“That thing’s gonna hold us?” Kaia asked.
“They throw concrete and stuff down here all the time,” I said. There was a whoop of sirens in the distance. “We really gotta go.”
“You first,” she said.
I had zero problem with that. At least if there was something sharp in the Dumpster at the bottom, I would be the one impaled by it. Across the expanse of walkways and beams, the second man emerged onto the seventh floor, heaving for breath. As he reached back for his gun, the plan changed. I shoved Kaia into the tube one moment before the shot shook my eardrums.
Rico moaned, Kaia screamed, and I jumped right down the garbage chute behind her.
chapter 16
KAIA
“Now this is how I like to travel.”
Oliver dropped into his seat on the Amtrak train at Gateway Station in St. Louis and stretched out his long legs. There was a nasty purple contusion on his cheekbone, and his hair was matted with sweat, but we’d managed to wash all the dirt and grime off our hands and faces in one of the train station’s bathrooms. We were covered with cuts and bruises, but at least they were clean cuts and bruises.
Still, a mom passing by our seats veered her kid to the other side of the aisle, putting her body between him and us. I remembered my mom doing that for me, protecting me from the world, the weight of her strong hand on my shoulder, and it made my body ache.
Mom.
I remembered her pressing the gun into my hand that day. The way it slipped in my sweaty palms. I hadn’t shot another gun since. But today, I almost had. I’d wanted to. That man had held his Glock to Oliver’s head. And once I had him wrestled to the ground, I’d wanted to kill him more than I’d ever wanted anything. And that scared the crap out of me. Because I’d thought I would never shoot a gun again. I definitely didn’t think I’d ever want to.
I’d practiced sparring with Henry and Bess and kept up my fitness, but the one time Henry tried to take me to the shooting range I’d had a panic attack. I’d apparently stopped breathing for so long that Bess had freaked out and slapped me across the face to snap me out of it.
I’d scared the otherwise unflappable Henry so much, he’d never brought it up again. Now, my arm shook, and I quickly hugged it to my stomach so Oliver wouldn’t see the tremor.
“Not that I’ve ever traveled before,” he said cheerfully. “But, you know.”
I sat down next to him. “How are you? How’s your head?”
“Fine and dandy thanks to that last Red Bull. Between that and all the Excedrin, I’ve got more caffeine in me right now than your local Starbucks.”
After leaving our latest pursuers to be found by the cops, we’d doubled back and borrowed their car. Ours was totaled. Theirs wasn’t much better off, but at least it was driveable. It turns out one of the benefits of dating a car expert is that he knows how to start an engine without keys. We drove straight to St. Louis and ditched the ride in the most remote parking space we could find. Then we’d hoofed it to the local drug store to stock up on caffeine, painkillers, and water in case Oliver really did have a concussion. He’d need to stay awake as long as possible.
Now that we were on the train, I felt slightly more secure than I had on the road. What were the chances that one of our trackers was on this train? They’d have to be clairvoyant. We’d already shoved Sophia and the duffel bags up into the overhead compartments, safe and secure. I tucked my backpack under my feet and leaned my head against Oliver’s shoulder.
“Well, this is definitely an added benefit,” I said, getting comfortable.
I tilted my head and he leaned down to kiss me. It was brief, but it was sweet. After two straight days on the road, I couldn’t help wondering how I looked, and even worse, how I smelled. But hopefully, in about sixteen hours, we’d be in Texas, where I could take the longest shower ever recorded by mankind.
If my house was even still there. If it hadn’t been sold or repossessed or bulldozed to make way for a new Target. If, if, if.
“Also, I like the fact that no one can run us off the road,” Oliver said as the train began to pull away from the station.
“Really? Because I was starting to think the thrill of the chase was kind of…thrilling.”
Oliver rolled his eyes and slung his arm around me. I cuddled into his side, an overwhelming wave of gratitude crashing over me. We’d been through a lot in the past two days, but he was still here. He was still by my side. And he, somehow, did not smell bad at all.
“How are you doing?” Oliver asked.
“Better now.”
“No, I mean…seriously.” He nudged my chin up with one finger so I had to look him in the eye. “You weren’t really going to jump, were you? I mean…if he’d…you know.” Oliver paused and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “You wouldn’t have actually killed yourself.”
I took a breath. “I don’t know.”
It was the honest truth. If Oliver had died, if I’d seen his brains get splattered all over the plywood, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have taken that step.
Oliver was silent. “Thank you for saving me,” he said eventually.
My lips twitched. “Anytime.”
He kissed my head again and toyed with my fingers in my lap. “That was pretty gruesome, though. With the knife.”
My stomach shifted, as if it couldn’t get comfortable inside my body. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know how you did it. I don’t think I could ever shove a knife into another person.”
“I did it to save us,” I snapped.
“I know,” Oliver said.
“I don’t think you do,” I said. “You keep making these judgey comments… It’s like you think I enjoy violence or something.”
I was vibrating, suddenly, as a memory came back to me, full force. I saw the boy in my head. Saw him stare at me, confused—almost betrayed. I saw him fall.
“I don’t think that,” Oliver said quietly.
“Well, good. Because I don’t, okay? I’m only doing what I have to do to keep us alive. And to figure out our next move.”
Oliver raised his hands in surrender as best he could with one arm behind me. “Okay,” he said. “I understand.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out. “Good.”
Oliver studied me, and for a second I thought he was going to press the issue, but then, he kissed my forehead. “Good.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I tried to relax. I knew from experience that once that kid’s face entered my mind, it was near impossible to get rid of, so I concentrated as hard as I could on my breathing. On Oliver’s breathing.
“So, speaking of next moves, who is this Hector T. person?” Oliver asked.
“I don’t know.” My foot bounced beneath me. I hadn’t ingested any of Oliver’s caffeine stash, but I felt like I had. I was so wired my heart was floundering. “Clearly he’s yet another person my parents pissed off.”
I sat up a little to slide the old photograph of me and my parents out of my back pocket and held it in my lap so the both of us could see. “It used to be I didn’t want them to tell me what they were doing. I didn’t want to imagine them doing it, you know?”
I glanced up at him, and he ran his hand through the tangled mess of my hair. I’d had a fight with my parents a couple of weeks before Oaxaca. I’d told them I couldn’t take our life anymore. The constant worrying. Never knowing if they were coming back to whatever hotel we were calling home. I’d told them I wanted to stay in Houston, enroll at a normal school, have a normal life.
“It’s not possible,” my mother had said. “This is our life.”
“I hate our life,” I’d shouted at the two of them. “I hate you.”
The hurt had been plain in my father’s tired blue eyes. Even then, there had been a bruise on his right cheek—purple and yellow and blue. “You don’t mean that, Kaia,” he’d said.
“Yes, I do,” I’d countered. “I’d give anything for normal parents. But you two will never be normal. I can’t wait until I’m eighteen so I can get away from you!”
And then I’d done the most childish thing imaginable. I’d stormed up to my room and slammed the door. I could still hear the slam in the back of my mind. Sometimes it sounded like a gunshot.
“I get that,” Oliver assured me.
“But now…now I wish I knew more,” I told him, staring at my father’s laughing face in the photo. “Maybe then I’d know where to look for her. Maybe then I’d know who Hector T. was and why he, and all these other people, are after me.”
“Do you think Scarface is Hector T.? He kinda looked like a Hector T.”
I shivered at the memory of Scarface describing me to the man behind the gas station convenience store’s counter. I didn’t want to think about him or what he might have done to my mother that day more than a year ago. I looked into Mom’s eyes in the photo and bit back my sorrow. If I’d been stronger, quicker, more in control—if my mother hadn’t had to protect me—would any of this have happened? Would my family still be together?
“I don’t know,” I said again. “Maybe Scarface is Hector.”
But if my family were still together, I never would have met Oliver. We wouldn’t be together right now.
“Do you think he hired that woman in Kentucky too?”
I lifted my shoulders. Now both my feet were bouncing. I chewed on my bottom lip. “Maybe, but I don’t know. India Air… It doesn’t seem like I was supposed to be flying to Oaxaca.”
I didn’t want to think about Hector T. anymore. Or bounty hunters. Or Scarface. I didn’t want to think about anything. But I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was thinking about everything all at once, and none of it made sense.
“We’re going to be okay,” Oliver whispered. “We’ll figure it out. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
“I can’t. I need to help you stay up.”
“Oh, believe me. I’m staying up.”
His pupils were so tiny I didn’
t dare dispute him. I looked down at the photo, still clutched between my thumbs and forefingers.
“I don’t think I can,” I admitted. “There’s too much going on in my head.”
“C’mere.”
Oliver shifted so that I was mostly laying down, my side splayed across the double seat. In this position, I could clearly hear his heart beat, and it was pounding hard and fast. I breathed in and out, listening to its rhythm. Oliver ran his hand over my hair gently, and I felt my eyelids go heavy.
“Did I ever tell you about the time my mom took me to visit her grandfather at his farm?”
He had, but I didn’t care. I loved this story. I loved listening to his voice. He was working his magic.
“Mmmmhmmm,” I murmured.
“I was five years old, and the only thing I wanted was my very own pig,” he began, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “So my mother took me out to the farm to pick one out, but when we got there, there were no pigs. Just puppies.”
I smiled, the train rocking us back and forth. My eyelids fluttered closed.
“Turned out, my mom had another pet in mind…”
The last thing I felt before I passed out was Oliver’s warm, lingering kiss on my forehead.
• • •
The ropes were tight against my skin. So tight I couldn’t move my hands even a millimeter. My shoulder muscles ached from the strain of my wrists being bound so firmly behind me. I was scared. My teeth chattered, and snot ran down over my lips.
A man paced in the shadows. I couldn’t see his face, only the occasional glint of the knife as it caught the glow of a stray moonbeam.
“Please don’t hurt us. Please. Please!”
In the corner, something moved, shifting weight, making the floors groan.
The man stepped out of the shadows. His scar shone a purply red in the moonlight, the skin around its edges glossy. Scarface.
“Please…,” I cried. “We just want to go home. Please let us go home.”
“Oh, but that would mean you had a home to go to, Kiki.” Another man had appeared next to the first. The Handsome Man. The sound of my mother’s nickname for me on his tongue almost made me vomit.
