Page 73

Gingerly, I walk to the vanity. Lifting my arm stretches my skin. I muffle my cry and draw my shirt up. The new marks are perfectly circular and red. They’ve blistered and popped.

I’m going to need some things from First Aid or they’ll get infected. Walking is hard. Every step is excruciating. The next time I pull my pants down, I just know I’m going to be bruised. I won’t be able to sit for a week. Even using the toilet is going to hurt.

I make it across the room. It’s not a big area, but it is when every step tries to send me to my knees. Digging out the First Aid kit, I open it. There are a lot of the usual things in there, but nothing for burns. No instant cooling packs.

Did I not restock after the last time? I’m sure I did.

I chew on the inside of my cheek.

Or Sonatina took everything that would help me. She wants me to suffer, and she wants me to remember my place, so I don’t blab about what I overheard.

She’s planning something tomorrow night.

How the hell do I stop her?

22

Riot

Jacket over my head, I walk around the buses in the pouring rain with Rook and Coffey. Huge drops splat on the leather and soak into my T-shirt while we inspect the multiple slashed tires we seem to have acquired when we stopped to grab a bite on our way to Houston.

Thunder rolls over our heads. Kelsey is probably freaking out. I need to get back on the bus.

Rivulets of icy water run down my back. There’s a cadence to the rain as it smashes against the metal roof of the bus. I turn to Rook. “Do you think it’s my stalker?”

There’s been no movement from them since we found the last letter on the side of the truck in Kelsey’s lipstick. The last time I was getting regular letters they were a few weeks apart, but that was over two years ago. I can’t make any assumptions.

“Can’t rule it out entirely of course, but I don’t think so,” Rook says.

There’s always a note. How thoroughly have we checked for one?

“There’s no note.” He confirms my unvoiced question.

My throat tightens, like someone has their hand wrapped around my neck and is squeezing and squeezing. “Marco?”

He’s been quiet since his attempt to take her failed. That doesn’t mean he isn’t looking for an opening. But is slashing a couple of tires on every bus and forcing us all to stay put for the night really the way he would go about creating that opening?

“Could just be a couple of kids. Or someone who doesn’t like your music,” Coffey says. His T-shirt is tight around his biceps when he crosses his arms. He doesn’t seem to give a fuck about the rain.

“Seriously?”

I must gape at him because he grins. “Shocker, isn’t it?”

Goosebumps have taken over my skin. It’s freezing out here, and I am soaked to the bone, my jacket doing nothing to keep the water off. I drop my arms to my sides. Fuck it.

“It is possible,” Rook says. “It could just be vandalism.”

A zigzag of electrical energy turns dark to light for a split second. The sky rumbles.

Kelsey. I start walking toward the bus. “Call someone to fix it.”

“Will do.” Coffey pulls out his phone.

“There’s something else.” Rook follows me.

Another clap of thunder. It’s practically on top of us. “It’ll have to wait.”

Bronx is waiting with towels when we get back on the bus. He hands them out. “It’s really coming down.”