“Fuck you, I don’t need your money,” Mr. Parker says. “Once I synthesize Orchard, I’ll be the richest man on earth. People will sayParkerthe way they say Gates. Jobs. Musk.”
“I can think of better men to compare you to,” Eli says. “Gaddafi. Ceau?escu. Mussolini.”
“Bateman,” I add, and Eli laughs.
Mr. Parker’s face grows dark as thunder. He points the blind barrel of the gun at me. “Get back in your little safe house and shut the door, bitch.”
I don’t move, but my mind starts doing somersaults. There are so many guns and weapons behind me, but I don’t know how to use them well enough to save Eli. Mr. Parker must have disabled our security system and God knows I can’t make it start again.
“January,” Eli’s voice is low. “Go inside the cabin.”
I grab his arm. “Not without you.”
A flash of red catches my eye. Staggering out of the van is Emilia. She looks terrible. Cold sores crust her lips, and her pupils are big as houses and pointing in different directions. She doesn’t seem to know where she is.
“Boss,” one of the thugs calls. “She’s uh,out.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Mr. Parker howls. “Get back in the fucking van!”
Emilia sways on her feet. Her jacket is beautiful, pony skin with a fur lining and her thick copper hair is loose around her shoulders, but I know the look on her face. She’s going to puke. I take an involuntary step toward her, and Eli holds me back. “No,bella.”
We watch as Emilia vomits into the snow. A short greenish stream that looks like Slurpee. Despite everything else that’s happening my heart scrunches like a paper ball.
“Goddammit,” Parker shouts. “Charlie, get her a fucking wet wipe!”
As everyone’s distracted, Eli pulls me close, kisses my ear. “Go inside, my ruby, wait until you know we’re gone and—”
“Hey,” Mr. Parker demands. “Shut the fuck up!”
His face is very pink, and I know he’s angry this isn’t going the way he wanted. That nothing ever does. He lives in a fantasy world where he’s cool and powerful and all anyone does is disappoint him by being real.
As though to prove this, Emilia makes a sound somewhere between a snort and a moan and falls on all fours into her own puke. I move without thinking, run toward her and turn her over. She’s thin as bones and the color beneath her makeup is terrible. I use my sweater sleeve to wipe her mouth.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “Can you breathe?”
For a second she stares at me, vacant as an empty house and then she blinks and it’s like a new woman is looking through her face. Her gaze focuses, and I know what she’s thinking.
I hate him. I hate myself. I would do anything to get out of this.
Then her hand fumbles, she pulls open her fur-lined jacket and I see a short hunting knife. The kind Adriano would use to skin a rabbit.
Take it, her eyes say.Kill him.
My heart stops. I could take it and stab Mr. Parker. The guards might try to shoot me, but Eli could run back into the cabin and get a gun. Turn the security system back on. Mouth dry, I reach for the knife…and Emilia closes her jacket.
“No…” she moans. “No.”
“There, there,” I say loudly, trying to open her coat and get the knife but she pulls back, batting my hand away.
Asshole!
Behind me, Mr. Parker snorts. “She doesn’t want your help you dumb twat. Get away from her.”
Strong hands grip my shoulders and haul me back onto my feet. Mr. Parker’s guards. They walk me back to the house and before I can call out to Eli, they toss me inside and slam the door. I try to open it but one of them is holding it closed. I rush to the window and see Eli nodding. Watch him allow Mr. Parker’s men to zip-tie his hands. Watch him walk to the van, his handsome head bowed. I’m screaming. Screaming and pounding on the glass, but I know he can’t hear me. No one can. The cabin is soundproofed.
Mr. Parker hauls Emilia up by her fur collar and slaps her like he’s punctuating a sentence. She goes limp in his arms, and he drags her into the van behind Eli. Then he approaches the front door. My brain goes blank. He lied to Eli. He’s coming back to kill me. I look around for a weapon, picking up a fire poker and raising it just as the door opens.
“Not a chance,” Mr. Parker says, pointing the gun at me. “I just want to tell you something.”
