“The same Summit Development that tried to muscle into Stoneheart last year,” Bones continues over the noise. “The same one that burned Devil’s Bar. The same one that’s currently under federal investigation for fraud and racketeering.”
Vernick’s smile freezes as the crowd erupts, shouting questions, accusations. Mayor Roberts bangs his gavel uselessly. Vernick looks toward the back of the room like he’s seeking some sort of instruction. And when I follow his gaze, my blood runs cold.
Him.
Standing near the exit, half-hidden by the crowd. Dark hair, medium build, wearing a leather jacket. He’s watching the stage with cold calculation, and when his eyes sweep across the room, they land on me.
And I know him.
Not his name. But his face. His hands.
The van. The zip ties. The warehouse where they held me.
He was one of them.
My breath stops. The room tilts. I try to stand but my crutches clatter to the floor and suddenly I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stare at the man who held me prisoner.
He’s here. Right here. With Vernick.
My vision tunnels. I hear Dad saying my name, feel hands on my shoulders, but all I can see is that man’s face. All I can feel is the zip ties cutting into my wrists, the fear, the helplessness.
Every promise I made—to stay, to fight, to be brave—dissolves like smoke.
I have to get out.
I lurch to my feet, leaving the crutches, limping in a rush toward the side exit. People are staring but I don’t care. I have to get away from him, from this room, from the memory of cold concrete, a gag in my mouth, and thinking I was going to die.
“Emma!”
Bones’s voice. But I don’t stop. Can’t stop. I shove through the exit door into the cool night air, hopping across the parking lot. My surgical boot drags, pain shooting through my ankle with each step, but I don’t really feel it. I just need to be away, need to?—
There’s a car with the door unlocked—someone’s old sedan. I yank the door open and climb in, locking it behind me. My hands shake as I dig through the center console. Keys. Please let there be keys.
Nothing.
I look up and see Bones coming through the exit, scanning the parking lot. I duck down below the window line, holding my breath.
His footsteps get closer. Stop. I hear him talking—probably on the phone with Dad or Tank—but I can’t make out the words.
Then his footsteps fade.
I wait until I can’t hear anything, then carefully peek up. Bones is heading back toward the town hall, phone to his ear.
This is my chance.
I shift back and look under the steering column. Thank god it’s an older model—no fancy anti-theft systems. I pull down the plastic covering and find the wiring harness. Red for battery, brown for ignition, yellow for starter.
Duck taught me this when I was fifteen. “Just in case,” he’d said. “You never know when you might need to get somewhere fast.”
My hands shake as I strip the wire casings with my teeth—not ideal but I don’t have tools. I twist the red and brown wires together and the dashboard lights up. Then I touch the yellow wire to the connection.
The engine sputters to life.
I throw the car into gear and pull out of the parking spot as carefully as I can, trying not to draw attention. The town hall exit is on the other side, so I go the opposite direction, taking the back road that circles around toward the clubhouse.
My ankle throbs. I shouldn’t be driving. Definitely shouldn’t be driving a stolen car. But all I can think about is that man’s face, his cold eyes finding mine across the room.
Did they know I’d be there? Did they send him to watch me—to remind me what they can do?
