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Back to Lynx again. I know Ziggy is the quiet man who lives in the mine shaft I took refuge in when I first crashed here, but I had no idea they were close. The thought of Lynx feeding me has me ninety percent sure that I’ll end up poisoned—there’s no way in hell that I’m going to him for help.
Queenie tells me about her adventures around California while we polish off the food and tea, and by the time I leave—with a bone-crushing hug from her—I’m pleasantly full and warm and ready for sleep. It’s been a long day, so long that even my bones are tired, and when I fall face-first onto the bed in my cabin, I forget about the thin mattress, about being in the middle of nowhere, about running from Wayward, and how long it will take to get my car fixed.
I just bask in the sugar coma and let sleep take me.
I don’t stir once, and when a banging jolts me awake the next morning, I’m tempted to roll back over and fall back asleep. At least while I’m asleep, I can ignore the gnawing ache in the pit of my gut.
“I know you’re in there, Sasha.” Wilde’s deep voice makes me groan.
There’s no way it’s time again for that. The banging continues though, so I roll myself out of bed, find a clean pair of shorts and a cute shirt, and make my way to the door.
I’m glaring when I open it. “I’m too tired for this.”
“Hmm. Get in the truck.”
“But I haven’t had breakfast.”
“I’m sure Lynx can find you something to eat.”
There people go, pushing me toward Lynx for help again. I’d sooner eat my left arm. “Has anyone ever told you how unfriendly you are?”
“Hudson has. Constantly.”
I tilt my head as I pull the door closed behind me. “Who’s Hudson?”
“My boyfriend.”
“Sounds like he has good judgment.”
Wilde grunts—his preferred language—and I debate whether to ask if Hudson actually thinks Wilde has any good qualities. He’d have to, right? To be dating him? Or maybe Hudson is messed up like me and is attracted to all the wrong people.
The only thing that stops me from questioning him is the fact that I don’t actually want to get to know any of these people.
We drive in silence to Lynx’s place. Daybreak is starting, and the trees around us still look dark and damp, fog clinging to the trunks, birds hidden from sight rustling branches overhead.
“Wilde’s End is creepy,” I tell Wilde.
“Wilde’s End is home.”
I don’t know what to say to his reply, and it doesn’t matter anyway because at that moment, we reach Lynx’s house.
He’s waiting outside, hoodie pulled up over his head, gaunt cheeks carved hollow with shadows, and piercing eyes pinprick bright under Wilde’s headlights. Bob’s sitting next to him, fog obscuring his form, and the two of them look straight out of a horror film.
An unpleasant shiver slips down my spine, even as my pulse kicks up a notch.
Not good. The sooner I can get out of this town, the better.
CHAPTER
FIVE
LYNX
It’s less of a drop-off and more Wilde’s truck spitting Sasha out onto the gravel, where he stumbles over his own feet. I don’t get so much as a good morning before Wilde puts his truck into gear and leaves again.
Pity. Wilde’s always been known for his friendly hospitality.
In the dust cloud he leaves behind, I take Sasha in, no happier with him today than I have been any other day. His hands are tucked in the pockets of his too-short shorts, pointy elbows jutting out the sides. Sasha’s chin is raised defiantly, but because I know it’s an act, it only pisses me off more.
