Page 27 of Reclaiming Adelaide

“Tell me where she went.”

“Who?” He crossed his arms across his face as I raised my fist.

“The girl who was just here.”

He shook his head. I pulled back and railed my fist into his nose. Blood burst to the sides in fragmented droplets until it ran a steady stream down his cheeks.

“Try again.”

“I-I don’t know. I was inside until I saw you run by.”

I raised my bloodied fist again.

“I’m telling the truth,” he said, his voice rising like a prepubescent boy. His fingers shook in front of his face, vibrating with fear and adrenaline.

“Where does this alley lead?”

He shook his head, and I rattled him back and forth until he spoke.

“Jesus, okay. Boston St. It leads to Boston St.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I said, lightly slapping his bloody cheek, then dropping him onto the ground. “Next time, keep your pants around your waist. You’ll have better luck.”

I rushed down the hall, past the woman, and back out to where I’d come. The dealer lay on the ground, his eyes closed, his breathing steady.

Boston St. was two blocks over and not too far from the bus station. If she wanted to leave, I bet that’s where she was heading. I jogged across the street and slid into my car—the light illuminating the blood creeping down my jaw.

Grabbing a napkin, I dabbed at the wound as I pulled out with squealing tires. A car behind me blared their horn as I winced, my fingers pressing into the cut on my brow.

Don’t even think about it, Adelaide. I warned you.

I fucking warned you.

Two blocks and three pissed-off cars later, I parked along the curb and ran inside the station, searching for her.

Where the hell did you go?

A woman with blonde hair in a halter-top, a man with a beard, and a family of three. None of who fit her description or the clothes she’d worn today.

“Last call for Montreal.”

If she got on one of these buses, I’d hunt each one of them down until I found her. I didn’t care if she went kicking and screaming. I’d pull her by her hair if I had to.

A line of people shuffled onto a bus, the lights inside illuminating most of the people already seated or walking down the aisle.

My spine tingled as I searched each seat as I walked toward it. The last man stepping aboard and the doors closing.

Blonde.

Blonde.

Black.

Brown.

Blonde.

I worked my way back through the passengers until I’d exhausted my options.

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