“You fucked with the wrong girl,” I heard Quentin say.
“You know who she belongs to?” Abe said.
I could hear mutters, but nothing concrete coming from the skeletons. They were further away.
“Nah,” Abe said. “You would have walked her to her car, to see her safe, and then took off as fast as you fucking could if you knew. That’s the gambles we take in life, though. You never know when you’re going to cut off the wrong car. Never know when you’re going to be mean to the wrong kid. Never know when you’re going to target someone who belongs to the meanest motherfucker around.”
Another mutter in Italian came from the man standing outside of my door. He was quiet, but I knew the skeletons had heard him. A few seconds later, the skeletons started to back up, moving in the opposite direction. Abe followed behind them, one hand in his pocket as he whistled.
The lights from the car across from mine hit my eyes, and I closed them for a second before I opened them again. Quentin pulled out, going in the same direction as Abe. Assanti slid into the driver’s side of my car right after.
He was encased in darkness after the light had dimmed. I wished I could see his profile. See if there was any sort of emotion playing across his face.
He didn’t start the car. He only sat there, staring ahead.
I took a deep breath in, and when I did, I smelled something coppery in the air. It tasted like a penny on my tongue. Blood. My heart hadn’t calmed since the scare with the skeletons, but at this, my stomach dipped, and my jaw clenched. I simultaneously felt weak and like I might lose all the food Ben had bought me.
“Shit,” I breathed out. I started to feel along my skin, wondering if they had stabbed me or something and I hadn’t realized it. Maybe I was in shock and only thinking I smelled blood.
“It’s not you,” Aniello said. “They didn’t touch you.”
My eyes narrowed on his profile, and for the first time, I noticed little specks of paint on him, which couldn’t have been from me. Some were on his face. I hadn’t touched him there. I would have remembered if I did. Was he at the festival? And though his face didn’t seem to change, the way he’d said, “They didn’t touch you,” sent cold fearandsomething warm rushing through my veins. It almost sounded…possessive. Like what he was really saying was, “They didn’t touchmine.”
Maybe I was in shock and imagining things.
After a few seconds of tense silence, he started the car. The engine revved to life, and for a brief moment, I got a glimpse of his face from the overhead light. It was too quick to detect any type of emotion on it, though, if there had been any to begin with. I was beginning to wonder if he was really human.
He pulled out and circled around, slowing when he came to the black version of my car. It had boxed in a van with tinted windows.
Was that where they were going to take me? It fit the typical description of a kidnapping van. The ones I avoided parking next to when I went shopping—anywhere. Aniello narrowed his eyes on it before he sped off so fast that my head hit the seat.
It seemed like he only had one speed. Fast. He continued to swerve around cars and switch lanes like he had just committed a crime and was about to get caught.
“You going to last, Midnight Rose?”
I had my head pressed against the cool window, trying to take deep breaths. Everything seemed to be catching up to me, and the smell of blood still permeated the air. I turned to look at him from the side of my eye, keeping my forehead where it was.
“Going to last?” I whispered.
“You going to pass out on me?”
“No,” I said, taking another deep breath. “But I might puke.”
“Passing out is much cleaner,” he said.
I expected him to laugh, like it was a joke to lighten the mood, but I didn’t think humor was something he was familiar with. Imagine a gorgeous statue, carved to show how dangerous the man had been in life, telling a knock-knock—it had about the same effect.
We became quiet. I continued to stare out of the window until I realized he was going too fast and had passed up the exit.
“My dog!” I shouted.
This time, he looked at me—like I was fucking crazy.
“I need to pick up my dog!” I said in a panic. “You have to go back!”
He opened his mouth to say something, and I cut him off. “I’ll just have to turn around once I get home. I’ve never left her before on purpose. I have to go back. She’ll think I’m not coming for her. I have to go back,” I repeated, realizing I was babbling, repeating some of the same panicked words.
At first, I thought he was going to ignore me, but instead, he took the next exit and doubled back. This time, I told him where to go, since reading minds was not one of his superpowers, I didn’t think. If anything, his superpower was being invisible. Part of his resume, I assumed, doing what he did.
