by Julie Reece
Grey holds my coat out, and I slide into its warmth. He wraps his arm around me and leads me toward the door.
“Grey?” His father calls to our backs. “Grey, I’m not finished here!” Desperation colors his voice, and sadness engulfs me for all their sakes.
“Yes,” Grey whispers over my head, “you are.”
21
Grey and I sit in his Audi at the corner of Vine and Wilson Avenues, smack in the middle of Atlanta’s warehouse district. The night is crisp and cool but toasty inside his car as Adele croons low on the radio, and the engine purrs. Leather squeaks when Fenris repositions himself in the backseat. His steady breathing and relaxed state proves we have nothing to fear—yet.
Two blocks down the road is where they took Shondra. Tonight, someone’s going to pay for that.
Jeff owns a veritable smorgasbord of weapons. I thought about raiding his stores as back up in case our ability to wield the amulet failed. However, being under twenty-one, if a cop got snoopy or the bad guys caught us, we’d be up the river, deliverance style.
I hold a stainless steel lighter in my hand, the metal smooth, unforgiving against my skin. My thumb pulls the lid back. I point and shoot. “Pow. Pow. Pow.”
Grey’s smile is smug. “Girls suck at sound effects.”
That’s true.
He bumps my knee. “Where’d you learn to use a gun, Bird? You knew before Jeff’s lessons, right?”
“Mm hmm. Mr. Torke, my sixth foster parent, ran an archery and shooting gallery. He was always worried about Russia, or Korea, or China invading, like, any second. He taught his fosters to shoot. Mr. Torke was delusional but decent. At least he took the trouble to teach me about survival … and cars.”
Fenris groans as he rolls over in the backseat. I flip the lighter’s top again and ask the spark to grow larger. When the flame reaches four inches, it dances into my palm. There’s no pain, just a light, tickling sensation.
“Tonight Alarr is my MK 47.” I try to smile but don’t quite make it. “Even Torke’s paranoia couldn’t dream the reason I’d need these mad skills tonight.”
Grey summons the fire from my hand to his. He threads the tiny flame over and under his fingers and back again like a magician rolling a coin before he casts it back to the lighter and the lid clicks shut.” Do you ever think about it? What if we have to, you know, kill somebody?”
“Bird, don’t. Stick to the plan. We go in, find the guy, dial nine-one-one and get out. The cops will do the rest.”
“Just that easy, eh, Superman?”
He doesn’t answer. What can he say? We’ve got an ugly, scary job.
Okay, get your game face on, Bird. Unless you want to go back. My watch reads twelve forty-five. “It’s time.”
“You’ve got your phone?”
We bought untraceable, prepaid phones. “Uh huh, lighter in one pocket, phone in the other, mace just in case and, of course, Alarr. It’s what all the fashionable vigilantes are packing this season ….” My joke is lame and I get nothing in response. He just stares straight ahead, glaring at the steering wheel like it’s an enemy.
“So … when I see them, I’ll hit send on my cell to let you know. After they have me, hang back. Follow us until you figure out where they’re headed. Then you and Fenris come a runnin’ …”
He still doesn’t answer.
I reach for the door handle, and Grey lunges for me. He pulls me out of my seat and across the stick shift, twisting me into his lap. It’s so fast even Fenris sits up. He puts his hands on either side of my face, his forehead resting against mine. “We have to do this, I get that, but if anything happens to you …”
It’s difficult to move squished together in the bucket seat. One hand is pinned against the door, and I stare at his black shirt, unable to meet his eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen to me or to you. We’ve been trained for this, we just need experience.”
His head drops down until his lips brush my forehead.
He rubs his bottom lip along my cheekbone to the side of my mouth. My heart beats out some funky, jungle tattoo. His arms spin a web of seduction, and he wraps me in it.
My free hand travels up his neck, fingers thread through his hair. His arms tighten around my body. I can’t breathe. My head spins.
Grey pulls away, lowered lids giving him a sleepy, dream-like quality.
The muscles in his arms flex. I think he might kiss me, but he rises up, and I slide into the passenger seat. My chapped lips tingle from the dry heat. I run my fingers over the cracked surface, extracting power from Alarr to heal and soften them.
“Bird?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
He smiles. “Touch your lips like that. I’m trying to focus.”
“Right. Sorry.” I open the door and a blast of winter air chills my face. “Don’t worry. I promise not to take any risks outside of what we’ve agreed, okay? And don’t you either.”
“Be careful,” he calls.
I nod. “They better be careful.”
• • •
My actions break every one of the rules I’ve lived by. Don’t go out alone, at night, in areas you’re unfamiliar with, in dark clothing, and countless others.
Ten minutes of pacing and I grind my gloved hands deeper in my pockets, drawing on the amulet’s strength to warm them. Despite the cold, there are plenty of people out at the trash bins tonight, one of only a few heat sources available. I send silent thanks to the heavens for Jeff and the money that got me off these streets.
A sudden, heavy presence surrounds me. Mrs. Moon used to say fear has many faces. Despite the fact anxiety’s been a frequent companion, I didn’t really understand what she meant.
Until now.
Terror doesn’t always jump out and scare me the way the monster under my bed wanted to when I was a kid. As I meander up and down the street, hoping to be kidnapped, I understand fear can build, slow and menacing. Oppressive, the weight grabs at my feet, slowing my pace. The sensation claws up my legs and enters through my chest to clog my heightened breathing. As clotting, gunky oil stops up an engine, dread fills me until my brain screams the logical question. What are you doing?
The squeak of brakes ahead freezes my step, and I hold my breath. Adrenaline drips into my veins, sending tiny prickles of energy throughout my frame. My eyes cut to the homeless scattered around the burning cans and back to the end of the road. Ears straining, examining the smallest sound, I tip my head toward the street corner.
Long and low, a sedan eases into the intersection ahead. A man leans out the window to his waist. He beckons to the crowd closest to the first barrel. “Hey, Joe. Wha cha doin’, man?”
Car tires inch forward. “Say, Joe, you got the stuff …”
I slip into the darker shadows of the building nearest me. All I need is a strung out addict yelling and scaring off my prey.
Several men bunch around the stopped car. Their transaction won’t take long, but my focus darts up and down the street. I bounce in place to expend the extra energy building in my muscles. My heart speeds up. I chant, go, go, go, willing the sedan to leave.
A moment more and the vehicle continues on. My breath exits in a rush. Already on full alert, the animal senses on loan from Alarr keep me skittish and raw.
Calm down. Bird, you’ll blow the whole mission.
Back to haunting the side streets and alleyways, I fill my time picturing Grey, wondering what he’s thinking. The temperature continues to plummet. With no sign of the white van, I pick up my pace, skipping a little to keep the blood moving in my veins. A big moon is out, yellow and bright, circled by a paler ring of light that slowly dissipates until it’s swallowed by the blackness. The shining orb hovers like a sentry, keeping me company as I wait.
Twenty more minutes pass and not a single car. The phone in my pocket vibrates.
I hit connect and put the receiver to my ear.
“You want to pack it i
n?” Grey asks. “I don’t think they’re coming.”
An engine rumbles in the distance, and a white vehicle turns onto the street, inching along at five miles an hour. Two headlights glare before switching off. I blink as if blinded by camera flash.
Bingo. My fingers clamp my phone. Blood pounds in my ears. “I think this is them. It’s go time.”
With the phone shut, I drop it in my pocket, turn and head down the street—away from the burning cans and anyone else who could get dragged into my plan. Tires crunch gravel as the engine revs.
It appears they’ve taken the bait.
My hands fidget in my pockets as every muscle in my body tenses. To avoid suspicion, I’ll need to fight when they come for me. No one in their right mind wants to be stolen … except me. I have to think about that one for another minute.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I decide it’s definitely the same van that took Shondra. I lengthen my strides, figuring a normal person would do that.
Closer, closer, the van draws near, and a door opens behind me. I walk faster, still. Footsteps hit the pavement at my rear, and I whirl to face them.
The man with a skeleton face stands before me.
I spin back around and throw myself into a run. My legs pump under me, propelling me forward. My breath comes hard and heavy as a new burst of adrenaline pulses through my body. I don’t have to fake that—I’m freaking scared to death.
Thinking of Grey, of how much faith it took to let me do this, I keep running.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Hey! Wait a minute.” The voice is gruff.
I yank on my own arm but can’t get free.
Another set of footsteps runs down the road toward us. “You got ’er?” A second man asks.
“Yeah. This one’s a pussycat.”
My right hook misses his face by inches. Alarr burns against my chest, begging to be used, but I don’t need it, not yet.
The first guy balls his fist.
I’d prefer not to get punched, so I wrench my arm free only to be hoisted into the air.
The skeleton tosses me over his shoulder, his clothes stinking of weed and cheap booze. His shoulder grinds against my stomach, stealing my breath. My head hangs low, giving me an upside-down view of the street. I bite back tears, not of pain but remorse, as my mind fills with visions of Shondra and the horror reflected in her eyes. My fists pound his back as my kicking legs connect with his chest. I don’t fight too hard, though—not wanting to give them a reason to get the baseball bat.
“Quit your squirming, darlin’,” says the skeleton. His silky tone slithers up my spine like a viper. The van door opens, and I’m tossed inside the black hull. “Shut them in and let’s git ’er done, ladies.”
The second man laughs. A body brushes past me, making a break for freedom. Breath whooshes out near my ear as another man punches the would-be escapee in the gut, sending her barreling back. Several whimpers emanate from the darkness behind me. Doors slam shut, sealing what little light there was out. The smell of urine hits my nose—urine and … Crap. Literally. Aw, man, one of the prisoners has definitely lost it.
“Listen to me,” I hiss. “My name is Rebecca Orin. Is everyone all right?”
Nothing.
“I know you’re scared, but I’m here to help. I’ve come to get you out. Is anyone hurt? How many of you are there?” Rap music starts a steady beat from the van speakers. I move to the back doors and grope for the handle. My eagle vision adjusts to the dark, zooming in and out, trying to focus. The van lurches into motion and makes a sharp left. I hang on as my legs slide right.
“I already tried that,” says a shaky voice from behind. “It’s locked, the handle won’t turn.”
“There’s six of us, two are hurt bad.” Another voice pulls my attention to the right.
“What’s your name?”
“Lisa.”
“Okay, Lisa, I’m going to open this door. Then you and your friends slip out when we stop at a red light. Don’t let yourselves be seen in their rearview mirrors, or it’s game over. Run straight out and then hide. Everybody understand?”
“Yeah, but these two is knocked out. They ain’t running nowhere.”
“You let me take care of them, okay? You and anyone else who can run, get ready. I’ll tell you when.”
“Amy’s my friend! I can’t leave her.”
“I relate, believe me, I do. Lisa, feel for my hand—can you reach me?” I hold out my hand. With my night vision, I watch her grope wildly in the dark until she slaps my arm down. I take hold of her coat sleeve and squeeze. “The cops are coming. Do you hear? You’ll have to trust me. Get to safety. I will protect your friends.”
“Okay.” A tiny whisper floats through the gloom.
I whirl and grasp the door handle. Siphoning power from Alarr, I apply steady pressure, not wanting to make any noise that will alert the goons. Scuffling sounds move across the metal bed of the van as four bodies file in behind me. The handle bucks, turns over, and the double doors spring ajar.
As I spin back toward the girls, their eyes open wide. “Wait until I say go. If they see you, we’re screwed. If you don’t want the cops, disappear. If you do, I’ll send a nine-one-one distress call to the street where you get out. Got it? Okay. Get ready.”
The van slows. I crack the door and look around at an empty intersection. It’s perfect, with alleyways, dumpsters and trucks parked on the roadside. Plenty of places to hide. I nudge the door open a bit more.
“Go, go!”
The van starts to creep forward.
Move faster.
Four girls leap onto the street, tripping and stumbling as they hit the ground running. The last girl falls and rolls as the vehicle speeds up. Road rash roughens her cheek. I watch herstand and limp a couple of steps and hobble off.
In the distance, a car turns the corner. The sight of Grey’s Audi gives me courage, and I ease the doors closed. The goons driving the van must be stoned out of their minds not to hear us.
I crawl across to the two unconscious girls left with me and feel for their pulses. Veins twitch under their skin, strong and rhythmic.
We sit still in the van maybe another five minutes. I try to count how many turns we make, two left, one right, but eventually lose track. Our bodies bounce and roll as the road roughens until the van squeaks to a stop. The bed shifts as people exit the front cab, footsteps pace near the back doors.
Another set of tires rolls up behind the van. Grey and Fenris, I hope. My assumption is confirmed when Fenris howls, low and baleful outside. The sound would chill the hearts of most souls, but it evokes a silent hallelujah from me.
Something knocks into the van, rocking us back and forth. The vehicle leans to the side as if a tire’s lost air. I push my body flat against the side of the inside wall, my mind wrestling with the idea of getting out and helping, but that wasn’t the plan. If I distract Grey, he might get hurt, so I exercise faith, clench my jaw, and force myself to wait. Muffled voices carry through the metal walls, along with scuffling, heavy thuds, banging and dragging noises, before everything goes quiet.
My throat is as parched as the Mohave Desert. I try to call for Grey, and my lips stick to my teeth. Get a grip!
A sliver of light enters as the back door cracks open. “Bird?” Grey pokes his head in.
The doors open wider, and he’s knocked from view as my six foot tall werewolf replaces him, putting his two front paws on the bumper. He’s done some major shifting since I left him. Fenris pants and wags his tail as if I’m about to throw a stick.
My breath chuffs out. “Sheesh, you guys had me worried.” I rub my arms, jittery with nervous energy. “Can you help me move these girls? They’re hurt.”
I scramble from the vehicle. With no streetlamps, the area is dark but not as black as inside the van. My eyes adjust again, scanning the surrounding loading dock, boxed in by rows of brick warehouse buildings. Four bodies lie unconscious, tucked away on the pavement near
the van tires.
Nice work guys.
Grey catches me in his arms and holds me close. “Did they hurt you?”
“No, no,” I whisper. “I’m fine, just like we planned. Did you see the girls get out?”
He releases me. “Yeah.”
“I told them to wait there if they wanted help. Can you call the cops and have them picked up?”
“Already did.”
“You rock.” It’s like he thinks all my thoughts along with me.
“I do. Now let’s move these girls.”
Grey retrieves a thick, blue quilt from his car. He lays it on a ramp across the lot where they’ll be out of the way and safe. We lift the injured girls and carry them to the blanket—the young teen I tow weighs nothing, thanks to Alarr. As I study her face, I shake my head. An ugly, red gash mars her forehead.
Midway to the ramp, I hear a motor hum. We freeze and stand there like idiots holding the bodies of badly beaten girls in our arms. I glance over my shoulder at the men lying unconscious by the van’s rear tire. Sure, officer, let me just explain …
The car engine rumbles louder. My thoughts lock down with indecision. Grey jerks his head toward the loading area, and we run. Heart thudding, blood pumps in my ears until I can no longer hear the vehicle’s motor, the whoosh of increasing heartbeats drowning out every other sound.
Still cradling the girls, we crouch behind wood pallets lining the dock. Two beams of light puncture the darkness. The bass of a stereo thumps in rhythmic beats until a nondescript, dark SUV rolls up and slows to a stop. It sits there idling—a threat to all our careful plans.
Go away, go away, go away!
After what seems an eternity, the car inches forward. Headlights fade. I blow out an enormous breath, my butt hitting the ground, feet shooting out in front of me. “That totally freaked my world,” I whisper.
“Let’s move.” Grey says. I want a minute to regroup, but I guess the close call affects him differently because he goes all militant on me. “Hurry up!”
We lay the injured girls out on the blanket, close together for warmth, and wrap the edges around them. Hoping the reflective quality will help paramedics find the girls, Grey props the glow-in-the-dark Halloween masks he took off the goons against the dock.
