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“I’ve got to go.” A narrow path lies ahead, cutting into the bushes next to a trash can. If I pretend I’m disposing of the wrappers, it should buy me a small lead. Pidge and Tony will go straight to my apartment once I don’t return, but if I wait them out a few days, I should eventually be able to slip in, get my things, and run.
“Your mother came by,” my father says through a bite. “She asked about you.”
Hearing mention of her always stings, but I quickly harden my heart. I know she still looks for me occasionally. “She still with them?”
He nods.
My molars gnash against each other. “Stay far away from her.” I no longer fault my father for the illness that stole him from us, but my mother chose to abandon her own daughter for monsters. I’ll never forgive her for that. “Take care of yourself, okay?” I perch the umbrella on the hedge next to him so it will offer some protection. Running will be easier without it, anyway. “Go to St. Vincent’s and ask for Sam.”
“Sam?”
Sometimes my dad listens to me and seeks out shelter. He never stays long, but it’s something. “Yeah. Sam. Tell him you’re Tee’s friend. Okay? Tee. Not Romy. He doesn’t know Romy.” No one knows her. “He’s one of the good guys. He won’t try to poison you, so don’t threaten him, okay? I’ve got to go now—”
My father’s hand shoots out, grasping my calf with surprising strength. “Beware of the demon with the flaming hair. She hunts for you,” he hisses, bits of bun and meat spraying from his mouth.
A shiver of unease skitters down my spine. I’m used to my father’s raving, but they’ve always been anchored by the same figure—a shadowy monster with black, twisty horns. This is new, and it instantly stirs thoughts of a mysterious red-haired woman in a green dress. “What do you mean by flaming—”
“What the hell?” Tony barks, startling me. I didn’t hear him approach. “We’re sitting there waiting for you, and you’re chatting it up with this bum.” He sneers at my father.
But Eddie pays him no attention, his eyes boring into mine as if pleading with me to listen. His grip tightens. “The gilded doe has been here. She knows what you are—”
Tony’s black boot connects with my father’s jaw, sending him tumbling backward with a sickening crack.
“What the hell!” I don’t think twice; I swing wide. My fist lands squarely against Tony’s nose. The feel of bones crunching beneath my knuckles is satisfying.
“You bitch!” He seizes me by my biceps with one hand while cupping his face with the other. Blood trickles down around his mouth.
I kick at his shins, trying to yank myself free so I can check on my father. He’s lying on the cold, wet sidewalk, moaning. His jaw is surely broken. “You’re hurting me!”
“I haven’t begun to hurt you.” Tony squeezes harder as he tugs me toward the curb where Pidge has edged the SUV forward to collect us. “My brother just called. He wants us there now,and he ain’t messin’ around.”
Years on the street have taught me how to defend myself, but none of it will help me break free of Tony’s viselike grip. He has at least two hundred pounds on me, and he’s too strong. I have no choice. I reach into the slit in my dress and slip the small knife I keep strapped to my thigh from its sheath.
“I don’t fucking think so.” Tony moves fast for a large and injured man, roping his brawny arm around my body, pinning my back against his chest. “You think I don’t know about your little butter knife? What are you gonna do with that? Huh?” He squeezes my wrist with his bloodied hand.
I cry out as pain shoots up my arm, and I lose my grip. The blade falls to the sidewalk, out of reach, leaving me defenseless as Tony hauls me toward the passenger door.
Alton rounds the side of his cart, the baseball bat he keeps tucked away for protection hanging from his grip. “Tee? You need some help?”
Tony snickers. “You’ll go back to your hotdogs if you know what’s good for you.”
Alton pauses, looks at me, conflict in his eyes, and I know what he’s thinking: he has a wife and two kids he wants to go home to. But he also can’t stand idly by while I’m dragged into the car, kicking and screaming.
Tony isn’t posturing—he will shoot him with the Glock he has under his jacket.
I go limp and shake my head, warning Alton away. “I’ll be fine.”
“Wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Tony shoves me into the back seat of the SUV, climbing in beside me to keep me in place.
The last thing I hear before he slams the door shut is my father’s garbled cry: “Find the gilded doe!”
