“That’s my girl,” Michael said.
My arm around her, we wove through tables and the swinging kitchen door into the grease-splattered kitchen. Kicked open the back door and helped her into Michael’s car.
In the distance, sirens howled.
T-Man and LaShonda watched me from the van. Their eyes were saucers.
“Have to get the keys,” I told her. “Be right back.”
I shivered and glanced at the gray-lit sky. Dawn was coming.
I shut the car door and ran back to the kitchen. As I opened the entrance, Dwight stumbled out. Michael pushed him forcefully toward the van. Dwight moved like a panicked sleepwalker—disoriented and unsure what was real.
Michael tucked the gun into his back waistband with one hand. The other held the backpack loosely.
Instinct made me grab the backpack. I hoisted it on my bare shoulder.
Michael’s lips twitched like he knew what I was doing and was trying not to smile about it.
“We got to GO!” T-Man yelled from the van. He grabbed Dwight’s arm and hauled him inside.
“Where’s Beast?” I asked Michael.
“Not coming.” He ran to his car.
“What?” Cyndra called from the passenger’s seat. “We can’t leave him!”
“Wait—just wait,” I told Michael. “I’ll get him. And if you leave without me, you’ll lose this.” I settled the backpack on both shoulders. Backed up, pivoting on my heel.
Inside, the building was silent. I ran through the kitchen.
Beast lay against the front door. His massive arms clutched over his wide stomach, a bloodstain widening beneath.
“Beast, come on.” I helped him sit up. Dragged his arm over my shoulder and pulled him to his feet.
“Michael shot me,” Beast panted as we staggered into the kitchen. “He said our guns weren’t even loaded. Blanks.”
“Shut up. Help me, will you?”
“Why’d he shoot me?” Beast sounded more mystified than hurt. As if he couldn’t process it—couldn’t believe that Michael had done it.
Needles prickled along my skin. The user and the used.
Beast fell suddenly, swerving onto me so hard that he knocked me to the ground. The air rushed out of my lungs. Beast propped himself up against the stove, groaning.
My ears rang from when my head hit the floor. I rose on my hands and knees. “Come on. Get up.” We struggled to our feet and staggered to the door. Beast wheezed.
I kicked the door open and hauled Beast out beside the Dumpster.
The van was gone.
So was the Mustang.
CHAPTER THIRTY
For some reason, part of me was surprised. I stood there, swiveling my head around like a lost kid at a carnival, certain that Mom was just ahead, right there where I left her, and that she’d be right back for me.
I let Beast down, easing him against the wall until he was lying on the ramp.
I resettled the backpack against my bare skin.
“Knew it,” Beast said. “You should’ve left me, too.”
“Shut up.”
I scanned the parking lot, empty except for a few cars, knowing she wasn’t going to circle back.
“Seriously.” He kept talking even though you could tell it hurt. “Leave. I’m dead meat anyway.” He stopped, took a few deep breaths.
A siren screamed closer.
Getting caught wouldn’t be that bad. I wouldn’t have to worry about my father. I could just go to a juvie detention center—and that would be a piece of cake. But I couldn’t do that to Janie.
“Sorry, Beast,” I said, easing toward the scrubland behind the club.
He started coughing, slid backward until he lay flat. Then didn’t move.
My foot was already on the curb. I stopped, watching him.
“Beast?”
He didn’t answer. I stepped back from the curb, huddling close to the Dumpster.
“Beast!”
I took a step closer.
A cop car screamed into view, its siren echoing off the building. In just a minute, they’d find Beast. He’d get help soon.
Predawn light seeped slowly into the sky.
Janie.
I took off into the woods.
Knee-high grass whipped my legs. The crackle of dead leaves and the stomping of my feet felt like percussion blasts announcing where I was.
I waited for a shout behind me, for a warning shot. I waited for a bullet to catch me between the shoulders, knocking me to the ground and stopping my heart.
Nothing happened, except more sirens gathered in the stillness of the morning.
I came to a large creek. Splashed through the water, slipping on algae and cruddy sediment. The backpack grew heavier, pulling me off balance as I stumbled up the bank.
The sky grew lighter.
I ran more, fast as I could, an all-out sprint—against pursuers and more, against the sun.
I doubled back to the road, heading in a giant arc toward the stop-signed intersection and the gas stations there.
They weren’t open. I circled around back. I didn’t know what I was looking for. A car. A bicycle. A motorcycle. Something.
Behind the row of gas stations was a clear-cut hill, dotted with rectangles.
A trailer park.
My legs trembled, but I forced them to sprint again, dashing for the trailers. The backpack full of money bounced against my back. The straps chafed my bare shoulders.
My lungs burned, gasping in the chill air. I took deep breaths and slowed to a walk. Making my way up the row of angle-parked metal houses, looking for the most likely one. The last thing I needed was to set off a car alarm or invite more gunshots.
Found one. The one. The only one worth trying.