Page 32 of Crimson Tears

“Hey,” she says quietly.

I watch her for a minute before slowly releasing the bar as she presses herself to my side.

“Hey.”

A shy smile touches her lips. “You’re Cillian, right?”

“How do you know me?”

She shrugs. “I know most of the people in our town. My father wants me to be a scout, and that means I have to know the names of everyone around me.”

She has so much confidence for such a young girl, and it somehow calms some of my nerves.

“So, you know everyone here?”

She nods. “Yeah, no one will talk to me though. They think this is all my fault.”

I balk at her. “How could this be your fault?”

Her little nose wrinkles. “I don’t know. But most people like to blame things on my father, and when he isn’t in the room, then they blame me.”

“O’Neil?” I ask, putting two and two together. It’s only now that I notice the resemblance to the mafia leader.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Bet you want me to leave you alone now too, huh?”

I shake my head, grinning at her. If there is one thing I have learned in this world, it’s that those who hold power also create targets for those around them.

I don’t know how, but I can tell that this girl deserves someone to see her for her.

“You know my name is Cillian, but what’s yours?”

“Enya.” She smiles at me as the freckles on her face become noticeable.

“Well, Enya, let’s stick together. What do you say?”

Tiny arms wrap around my neck. I would return the gesture, but my hands are bound.

“I have a feeling someone will be here to save us soon. Don’t worry Cil.” She sits back, bracing herself on the side of the truck as we hit bump after bump.

I usually hate when my name is shortened, but her sweet little voice makes me not hate it as much.

“Oh, let me help you with that.” She points to the tape around my wrists. I hold them up for her as her small fingers pry away the tape bit by bit.

I am just about to thank her as I rub my wrists together when, out of nowhere, our bodies are lifted into the air.

My shoulders smack into the metal over and over and I reach for Enya, trying to shield her from being rolled around in this metal death trap as best I can. Screaming ensues all around us, and the back doors open abruptly and aggressively.

The other kids take off, holding their arms and crying. A pair of hands grab me, but I fight, jumping from their hold as I search for Enya.

Then I see her hair. Her small body is trapped under one of the crates that was stacked at the front of the truck bed.

“Enya,” I call for her.

Smoke swirls around us, thickening the air as the smell of gasoline strengthens the closer I get to her, but I push through. I have to be fast.

Heaving the crate from her body, she blinks up at me. Her body is scraped up, but no limbs look out of place. Fire licks the walls around us, threatening to consume everything in its wake.

The shadow of a body appears behind me, and I lunge through the flames at the man. “Enya, run!”

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