Page 107 of Bad Intentions

“Take what you need,” I say. “And you’ll need this.”

There’s loud banging on the door outside. “Donna! Karen?”

The chief storms into the bedroom, but there’s no need to hide my stash—he knows all about it. Wardrobes like this are more common than anyone thinks in these parts. Donna has one, but there’s no time for her to get to it.

“Pass me the small black box,” I say, pointing at the one that holds my thirty-eight.

Suddenly, the room spins around me, and I fall, only for several pairs of hands to catch me midway through the air and land me softly on my bed.

“You are not going anywhere, old bird,” the chief says. “Rika, you stay here,” he orders. “Wait for the ambulance. Donna, you’re coming with me.”

The police radio beep cuts through the air. “Chief, we are ready,” the voice says on the radio.

“Coming,” the chief answers.

Everything floats in and out of focus as I try to get up, but Rika’s hands gently hold me down.

“You’ll need backup.” I force the words out, which is an effort.

“I know, K. I know,” the chief says. “We’re going to Mallory Blain’s grandparents’ farm. We already tapped that location. That’s our best bet. No more self-served justice, K. This time, we’re on this. Whatever happens, she’ll pay.”

They storm out, and I meet Rika’s eyes, which are full of worry and pity. God, do I hate pity. But I like this girl.

“Mrs. Boots, you’ll be fine. Josie will be fine. It’s going to be all right.”

She takes a seat on the edge of my bed and takes my hand in hers.

Most younglings are full of optimism, not knowing how brutal and unfair life can be. But I don’t tell her that.

“You…” I fight a bout of dizziness. “If anything happens to me,” I whisper, “you stick with Josie.”

“I know, Mrs. Boots. I will.”

“She is a good girl. So are you. You two, you stick together.”

She nods. “Sure will.”

“You look like your mom,” I say with a smile.

Josie looks like Alysha. But these two are nothing like their mamas.

They are nothing like their father either.

60

JOSIE

What Mallory Blain tells me is insane. She is insane. Her account of the events makes my skin crawl. She’s either delusional or dangerous. Maybe both.

But now, everything clicks together, the events unfolding in my mind so crazy that Rika and Trevor would’ve choked from shock.

Some things don’t make sense, though.

“How… Who kidnapped you?” She still hasn’t told me, and I don’t get it.

She laughs, her cackle eerie in the dimness of the barn. “No one,” she replies. “Brilliant, innit?”

She gets up and walks off into the darkness, then comes back with an open can and a fork sticking out of it. “Starving,” she growls, setting the gun on her lap, and starts eating right out of the can.