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For the first time in years, I pray.
Not nice. Not clean. Not to any God Scarecrow would recognize.
I pray like an outlaw with blood on his hands and a woman hanging over a hole after I spent two days helping convince her there was nowhere safe to land.
Do not take her.
Not her.
Not because of him.
Not because of me.
“Pull!” Nevermore roars.
I tighten both hands around Sweet.
Her mother's picture frame is crushed against her chest.
Her eyes never leave mine.
And the night holds its breath.
Chapter Thirteen
Sweet
For one terrible second, there is nothing under my feet but air.
The murder hole opens beneath me, black and cold and hungry, swallowing every sound except my own breath tearing out of my chest. Gravel slides past my shoes and disappears into the dark. Somewhere far below, stones hit concrete one after another, too late and too distant, every click telling me exactly how far I have to fall.
Bitter has my wrist.
That is the only thing I know.
His hand is locked around me so hard it hurts, and I am grateful for the pain because pain means I am still attached to the world. Pain means I have not dropped. Pain means Razor has not won yet.
Mama’s picture frame is crushed against my chest with my other arm. I do not remember grabbing it tighter. I do not remember anything after throwing myself sideways except Razor screaming, Bitter lunging, the scrape of concrete, and then nothing beneath me.
“Bitter,” I gasp.
“I got you.”
His voice sounds rough enough to tear.
Above me, his face is pale beneath blood and dirt. Half his body hangs over the edge, one shoulder twisted badly, his jaw locked tight enough to crack bone. Blood runs down his forearm, slicking the hand wrapped around my wrist.
His eyes never leave mine.
“I got you,” he says again.
But his body is sliding.
I feel it.
He feels it too.
Behind him, men shout and boots hammer concrete. Razor curses somewhere close, wild and broken. Motorcycle headlights slash through the trees, turning the old cement plant into a nightmare stage of rusted beams, broken walls, and men in Grave Prowlers cuts moving through the dark.
