Not one of my greatest moments, I mentally conceded.
“And where were you when this happened?” she asked, her eyes further narrowing at him. “Weren
’t you supposed to be keeping watch?”
Rocco immediately went on the defensive.
“I was there but I didn’t see her! She’s like a mouse. It was so dark in there. She snuck
right by me.”
I was going to interject, defend myself, but thought it might be safer to keep quiet on this
one.
“Anyway,” he sulked, “I’m sick of being the stupid lookout. It’s not even a real ranking
position.”
“It’s a real position when you actually do the looking, like you were supposed to,” she said,
her voice picking up speed again. “You think Cam’s gonna let you move up the ranks if you can
’t concentrate on one simple job for longer than three seconds?”
“Cam wants me to move up!” he said, his voice squeaking. “Spider’s the one who’s keeping me
back and won’t let me do anything important!”
She stood there for a few seconds, shaking her head. “Your brother’s the boss, Rocco. If he
had wanted you to move up, believe me, it would’ve happened.”
And then she glanced at me, and winced.
“Still though, he must be losing his mind …” As swiftly as she had come, Carly turned on her
heels and stomped away, shaking her head and urgently digging something out of the frilly front
pocket of her flannel pajamas.
After she had disappeared through the archway, Rocco fell back into his conclave in the couch,
dejected and sulking.
I plunked back down on the other couch.
In this short encounter, I had gained more information than I had in the last few days, since I
had first met the boy in the gray sweater. For one, Cameron and Rocco were brothers, and the
sourpuss tattooed man was likely called Spider, which would explain the spiderweb tattooed on
his neck. I also understood that Cameron was the boss; of what or of whom, I didn’t know. And
Carly was likely Cameron’s girlfriend—his very angry, very scary girlfriend.
I forced myself to file away the tinge of jealousy that leapt against the wall of my chest when
I considered the latter. Instead I focused on the facts that should terrify me: I had witnessed
a murder; I had been taken against my will; I was being held in this farm with some gunman
walking around; and, until a few minutes ago, I believed that Cameron was sending me to my
death. These were the things that I had to remember to survive.
I heard car doors slamming. I must have fallen asleep, because the darkness outside was replaced
by sunlight that was pouring through the large living room windows. Rocco was still fast asleep
on the couch across from me.
The front door banged open, and the house rapidly became alive with people. Frighteningly large
men were coming in with bags and boxes, laying items on the kitchen counter, and dispersing
everywhere around the house. They were stomping, chortling, and giving each other orders. A few
of them quickly eyed me as they walked by, but no one said anything. Rocco’s sleep wasn’t
bothered at all by the ruckus they were making. He was making his own ruckus through his
nostrils.
When Meatball flew in to find me on the couch, I readied myself for what would surely come next:
Cameron’s entrance.
While I rubbed Meatball’s big head, the tattooed man, Spider, marched in, whispering orders to
an obese man who towered over him. When they glanced in my direction at the exact same time, I
guessed that they weren’t discussing football scores; and the subsequent bitter look on Spider
’s face told me that he still hadn’t warmed up to me.
“Kid!” he yelled with authority. “Get up and put the food away!”
Rocco opened his eyes, momentarily lifted his head, and then rolled over putting a pillow over
his face.
When Cameron finally came strolling in, his eyes found me right away. To my defeat, he was
wearing blue jeans and a red T-shirt that must have only served to accentuate the dark features
of his face. To add insult to injury, he ran his hand through his perfectly untidy hair. He was
unfortunately striking. It took every inch of my being to keep my heart from doing somersaults;
in the end I resigned to—at least—reprimand myself after failing miserably.
I glanced away to calm my breath while he waited until the line of men had passed by before
approaching me. I sat up so that he could sit next to me; but he simply remained standing.
“How are you feeling today?” He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”
We hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms, I remembered. I smiled shamefacedly while I
tried to find the right words to respond, to make things less awkward. He didn’t give me the
chance to collect my thoughts. His eyes darted from me to the couch and back to me; his half-
smile turned to a frown.
“Did you sleep here—on the couch?” he demanded.
I nodded, but he had already turned to Rocco.