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e three of them and I’m still numb with shock and pain.
Dad is dead.
Fuck.
I block the next blow and I manage to kick at the man nearest to me, so I can rise to my feet. I shove one of them away, and turn to face the others.
Then I see the glint of a blade, and I know this is it: run or die. I punch one of them in the face and turn to deal with the fucker holding the knife. I knock it out of his hand, twisting, and pain lances across my lower back to my left hip—the burning kiss of metal. Another knife. Bastard sliced me from behind.
Can’t be too bad. I’m still standing. Though that doesn’t mean much.
Broken thoughts. Nothing makes sense.
I twist and bring my fist down on the man’s arm, shake off a hand that grabs my shoulder, and run.
Adrenaline gives me speed and blots out the pain. I race down the alley, turn onto a broad street and bolt down another. I can hear footsteps pounding behind me, and I force my legs to move faster. I sprint down another street, my heart booming. A dull roar fills my ears.
Have to hide. Find a dark hole to sink into and lick my wounds.
I duck into alleys, desperately looking for a suitable place, feeling the goons closing in, breathing down my neck.
Pain starts to pierce my adrenaline haze and blood courses down my lower back and leg in a hot trail. As much as I fight it, I’m slowing down. I have to hide until they pass me by.
Stumbling into yet another alley, I notice an open door. The kitchen of a restaurant, judging from the smell of fried fish. I duck inside, slipping between metal counters heaped with bowls and chopped vegetables. An Asian woman with a cook’s white hat and apron turns around and opens her mouth to speak or yell, but I lift my hands, trying to look harmless.
“Just passing through,” I whisper. “I mean no trouble.”
She doesn’t scream, so I take that as permission and slink to the back of the kitchen and into the restaurant. A few tables are occupied, so I do my best to slip by unnoticed.
A shout lets me know I’ve failed. Not hard when I’m leaving a bloody trail behind. I make for the door and stagger outside.
Where can I go?
The street swims in my eyes. I’m lightheaded from blood loss and I can’t think. So I let my feet take me wherever they want, letting my mind go empty as I set off running once more.
Chapter Nineteen
Audrey
Evening is falling. I pace the length of Zane’s living room. Tessa and Zane are sitting on the sofa where I lay down with Ash just yesterday.
No word from the police since midday. No word from Ash. Zane called the homeless shelters, and when that brought no results, he went out to look for him on the streets. He came back empty-handed, and we’ve been sitting here, drinking coffee and going over what we know again and again.
“I couldn’t find him,” Zane says for the millionth time. He’s pale and he’s chewed on his lip so much he broke the skin. “Checked every place he’s frequented before, on State Street and the back alleys. Nobody has seen him.”
Tessa reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “You did all you could.”
“It’s cold out there. If he’s on the street, he’ll die.”
My chest aches. I rub my breastbone, stopping to catch my breath. I’m so damn scared for Ash.
I pace back to the window, looking out into the gray afternoon. Dylan dropped by earlier, asking how he could help, but he looked horrible, pale as if sick, and we sent him away. Tessa won’t tell me what’s going on with him, but from the few things he said, it has to do with his little brother.
I can’t summon enough concern, not when I’m so worried about Ash.
“Ash wouldn’t kill his old man,” Zane is saying. “This is bullshit.”
“He didn’t do it,” Tessa says. “I know he didn’t.”
