CHAPTER 11
TINK
“Whoa.”Wendy’s eyes go wide as we reach the landing of the loft. “You guyslivehere?”
I look around. The TV that covers almost the whole wall and the giant black leather couch. The army of game consoles all plugged in and the surround-sound speakers as tall as she is. The gamer lights, the foosball table, the dart board, the freaking punching bag that Blue put up and never uses, the wet bar with its glass-door minifridge and green-lit shelves of bottles…
I guess it’s a lot.
“Yeah. Happily.” Pan flops onto the couch, hands behind his head. “Why?”
Wendy looks around some more, at the crumpled bags of various snacks, a T-shirt someone left on the couch, avape pensomeone left on the couch—fucking Blue—and the crusty stain on a cushion that’s probably also ketchup.
“How long did Mike and JD say I had to stay here?”
She looks at Pan. Pan looks at me.
“I…don’t know.” It’s not exactly a lie. “Not that long, I don’t think.” My mind is spinning a hundred miles an hour, my temples pounding as I try to think fast. “Do you…want something to drink, Wendy?”
“Um, sure.” Wendy nods. Her hair’s really a mess, especially after a bike ride under a helmet. I briefly wonder if there’s anyone who can do her hair, besides herself. Besides her brothers.
Their taped-up, lifeless, mutilated bodies flash in my mind’s eye.
Wasthere anyone, I mean.
Nope. No. Can’t go there, can’t think about it.
“Here.” My voice comes out half an octave lower than usual as I grab for the TV remote. “There’s, like, everything on there that you want to watch.” I hold it out to Wendy. The slightest flicker of interest crosses her face.
“YouTube?”
“Yeah, probably.” I’ve never pulled that up, but I assume Fox or Kit has it installed.
Wordlessly, she reaches for the remote. Stares at the buttons. Then stares at me. “Thanks, Tink.”
By the time I manage to say “you’re welcome,” she’s already on the couch, sunken into the cushions and scrolling through a brightly colored wall of what looks like makeup and skincare tutorials on YouTube, which Pan isalsostaring at.
“Dude,” I hiss at him. Jerk my head toward the hall.
He gives me that quizzical look. Eyebrow raised. Feather earring dangling. Lips just curved in a smile.
I blink. Twice.
“Kitchen?” I say, leaning hard on the word. “Help me find her something?”
Pan lifts both eyebrows—got the message, thank God—and heaves to his feet while Wendy stays glued to her screen. Fine. Good. She’ll zone out like an iPad kid, and we can just?—
I don’t know what.
Okay. Think,I tell myself as we shuffle into the kitchen.How long do we think we have to wait this out? Two hours, maybe three?
I glare across the room at Pan. Of course he didn’t have a plan. I can’t even be mad, because…well, you just can’t get mad at him, not really. And it’s not likeIhad any better ideas in the moment, really.
But now that we’re here…
Well, we can’t keep this kid here.
“Kit’s sure in a pissy mood, huh?” Pan saunters to the fridge, casual as all get-out. I roll my eyes.
