Page 20 of Hidden But Not Safe

On his way out, Julio called after him. “Oh, and Naz. No, Ignacio.” His voice held a singsong tone as he said the name. At least it was different from the sneer Naz hated. “Bring the pill into the trailer once you get back,” Julio ordered.

Another dick move, but Naz didn’t let himself react to it. He was ready to walk off his urge to smear the cartel brat into the concrete.

He took his motorcycle to the store, wanting the noise of its engine rumbling in his ears. It didn’t sound right. He told himself that was all in his head, but he sent off a text to Ramiro anyway. It made him see the last text he’d sent him, his ‘not yet’ response. He wondered if he wanted Julio to kill him. To try, at least.

Maybe if Rocks pitched in, it’d work. His stomach still felt sore from that one punch.

The same pharmacist was working as before. From the disgust on his face, he seemed to recognize Naz, but it saved him from asking for what he needed, even if the pharmacist slammed the package down a little hard on the counter.

On his way back out, one of the rickety quarter machines drew his attention. It contained those little plastic capsules, and according to the picture, rubber animals were inside of them.

One of the animals was a giraffe.

Naz told himself he was being ridiculous. He felt like the idiot everyone thought he was when he walked over to the bored cashier and slapped a dollar down. He conveyed his need for quarters by making a circle with his fingers and gesturing at the machine.

It took him three trips to the cashier for quarters before he got the damn giraffe.

He dumped all the other animals he’d gotten in the trash, along with the opaque capsule the giraffe had come in. It wasn’t cute, kind of ugly actually, but it was small, and he shoved it in his pocket, making Meg’s Post-its crinkle.

The ride back to the old recycling factory felt both too fast and too slow.

Julio was probably still fucking her. He wanted to be fucking her when Naz returned. He wanted Naz to hear it.

And, what, be jealous? Naz wasn’t jealous. Julio must have realized his discomfort around sex was the best form of punishment. Even without hearing or seeing it, Naz had broken out in a cold sweat.

He should ask Ramiro to pull him. Not asking was the worst kind of self-sabotage.

When he finally made it to the field where the trailers sat, vague noises came from the right one, the one where he had sat inside with Meg and let her think they were friends.

His feet grew roots deep into the ground. There was no way Naz was going inside. Julio was going to be pissed.

The longer he stood there, the louder the buzzing built in his ears, sounding a lot like the cicadas already making a racket now that dusk had fallen.

A hand jutted into his tunneled vision, making him blink.

“Give it here,” Seb said.

It felt like a million years before Naz could lift his neck to stare at him.

Seb sighed, snagging the pharmacy bag from his grip. “Just get out of here,” he said, moving toward the trailer.

Naz left before Seb had even opened the door.

Naz wasn’t asleep when Meg settled beside him in the middle of the night, and he didn’t bother pretending to be.

She wore his shirt again. The sight of it on her somehow made everything else clamoring inside him go still.

The plastic bag of gummies she’d brought with her crinkled when she took one out. He watched her bring the worm to her mouth and bite off a chunk.

The bag was almost empty. He should have bought her more of that instead of the damn giraffe that was burning a hole in his pocket.

She ate the final three gummy worms slowly as she stared out at nothing, her amber eyes bright in the flickering fluorescent lights of the warehouse.

When she was done, she let the bag fall to the ground and wiped her hands on his shirt, pulled tight over her curled-up knees.

“What is this place?” she asked. Her finger pointed up at the dangling chains.

Naz had always hated those chains. When he’d first started working there, he’d seen dealing with them as a way to grow, to force himself to face the reminder of his past.

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