“Did you want to be a part of its life?”
Maggie’s gaze drifted behind the bar, settling on a poster of a pinup girl stretching across a motorcycle.
“No. I’m not a fucking mother. Probably be shitty at it anyway. I got my own life to live.”
“What life is that?”
“You got a problem with me?”
“It was just a question.”
“A life where I get to do what I want. Live how I want. You can’t do whatever you want when a kid’s involved. It’s all about the kid. At least, that’s the way it should be.” Her gaze sank to her belly. “I had a boyfriend…” She teared up. “…well, I called him a boyfriend. He used to say, ‘Life’s not worth living if you ain’t feeling good.’ He was an asshole, but I agree. You find the things in this world that give you something—that make you feel the way you want to feel, and you gotta hold on to them. You don’t ever let them go. They’re what’ll keep you strong. They’re what’ll keep you wanting to live another day. Can’t do that with a kid. They need you. Depend on you. It’s all about them. Well, I think so.”
“Lessons from an addict?”
“Lessons from someone that’s lived life.”
“Well, Maggie, I’ve lived a long one, and I gotta say, that doesn’t seem like a way to live. That seems like a way to die.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve got. I can feel pleasure. That’s real. That’s mine. Isn’t that what Hell’s all about anyway?”
“No. Like I said—”
“Right. All that shit about how it’s the reverse of what I think. Whatever. So you demons are all a bunch of prudes? Well, thatfuckingdidn’t sound all that prudish.”
She wore a scornful expression, like the one she’d had when he’d first seen her back at Dedrus and Treycore’s. Kinzer knew there was no point in arguing. Not while she was like this. She’d been through a lot. She just needed to adjust to all the news that she’d been bombarded with.
She turned toward the other side of the bar so Kinzer only had a view of ratty waves of dirty-blonde hair.
“Don’t you fucking judge me,” Maggie said. “I’m okay with a lot of things, but a hypocrite isn’t one of them.”
***
Feels like a fucking sauna, Kid thought. He stumbled through the thick, humid air.
Sweat created a rim around his shirt collar. The sun burned against the back of his neck. Treycore didn’t appear to be nearly as affected by the climate. Kid presumed this was a benefit of being an immortal.
He and Treycore had been walking through the jungle since dawn. Now midday, it was becoming unbearable.
Kid was already on edge. What little sleep he’d managed to get the night before had been laced with nightmares—flashes of his time at Jerry’s. He was tending to clients. He was being ravaged by them. Then there was Daddy. His fingers wrapped around Kid's throat. His belt slapped against Kid's ass. His dick invaded his hole. Kid, just a child, screamed out, begging him to stop.
As Kid had roused from the hellacious sleep, he’d felt that even though he would never have to live like that again, it still would always be a part of him. It would haunt him until the day he died.
Black gnats danced around Treycore as he slapped a stick against a branch in his path. One flew at Kid, landing in a layer of sweat that steadily thickened on his forehead. Its wings were bound to the sticky moisture. As it struggled to get free, Kid brushed his fingers over it, unthinkingly smashing it into his skin. He flicked its remains to the black soil at his feet.
How long are we gonna keep walking? We’ve been doing this for hours.
A question stirred in Kid’s mind. For a while, he’d been worried that it would sound moronic. At this point, he didn’t care. He’d been walking through the stupid jungle for too long already.
“Can’t you just fly us out of here or use your power to—”
Treycore tossed a harsh gaze back. The tension in his jaw and the furrow of his brow made Kid feel like he’d insulted his dead mother.
Treycore’s lips opened, but closed just as quickly. He turned and pushed a frond out of his path. “No,” he said curtly.
Touchy subject.
“What’s the point of having wings,” Kid began, “if you can’t fucking use them? Your ex-bitch can fly.”
