We peek at Velle, who’s standing at the entrance to the showers, still grinning.
He waves at us, and I huff, shaking my head.
“You go, Glen Coco.”
Now…
The battle is raging on. And if any of us have a prayer of putting an end to it—ofwinning—we’ll have to start thinking outside the box.
Specifically, outside of this stone box we’re huddling inside.
I’m not excited about driving Velle’s Harley around the island while the cartel shoots at me, shooting back and covering Felix so he can go all Flambo in the woods again, and take some of these pricks out to keep them from advancing. But I’ve accepted the facts.
This needs to be done. I’m sick of standing around waiting for more grenades to blow up more dudes, or for The Ivory’s men to inevitably shoot us with an RPG that we know they have.
I’m going to help. Because I have to.
Fuck sitting back, right?
I give Trevel one last kiss. Felix gives one to Lem—who’s doing mad work right now, saving lives and shit.
I might not have enough medical knowledge to do anything like that—though if they make it out alive, I could potentially help them with P.T.
But what Idohave, in spades, is a high as fuck pain tolerance and a hardcore addiction to adrenaline.Oh, and the honed desire to kick the shit out of people for sport.
Hopping onto the bike, I smirk at Felix and pat the seat behind me. “Get in loser. We’re going to fuck shit up.”
Still with the Mean Girls references. I can’t help it.
Felix looks excited, and it has me chuckling. As weird as it sounds, he kinda feels like the younger brother I never had but always kind of wanted.
He’s about to climb on when a yelp from across the room draws our attention.
Dash is visibly worked up, and Kemper is trying to calm him down. But it doesn’t seem to be working very well.
“Uh oh…” I mumble, standing up fast.
“Shit.” Luthor rushes to our friend, the rest of us not far behind.
“What’s going on?” Trevel asks me in a whisper.
“Dash has… schizophrenia,” I tell him, recognizing this all too well.
And just like that, I’m right back in the caf. Watching Dash freak the hell out, the day before he escaped.
I can practically smell the mushy pasta and cheap, overcooked jar sauce.
“Dash, bud…” Ren murmurs calmly. “You doing alright, pal?”
Kemper looks purely miserable, rubbing his eyes. “He hasn’t taken his meds…”
“Well, stuff ‘em in his mouth!” Brenner grunts.
“Why aren’t you outside taking bullets?” Luthor hisses at him.
“I’m on break, smart guy,” the dumb oaf replies, and we all shake our heads.
“He lost the bottle,” Kemper sighs, as if he’s too exhausted to even argue.
