Page 110 of Cruel Cravings

I interject before the situation can escalate into a male pissing contest.

“All I wanted was my sister,” I mumble.

A slow frown comes to Imani’s face as if she’s finally sensing a solidarity between us. One we’ve both refused to acknowledge until now.

“Everybody has a reason why they do what they do. We should probably accept so did Lyra. I’m leaving with Archer and Ryu to the Isle of Hurst—we’re going to claim the estate and make it our own. You know, after everything that went down. You and your, um, minotaur should probably figure out your own way forward.”

“Immediately before those pesky police track you down and throw the cuffs on you. Then you really won’t be seeing your sister,” adds Archer. “I’ll tell you what—my family’s private jet. It’s yours to use. Consider it evening the score after, well…”

He gestures to his face as if he were wearing the mask Brontë is.

I glance over my shoulder at him for his input. He’s remained stoic and silent as always, though he looks down and meets my gaze. His dark forest green eyes tell me all I need to know.

Brontë’s not going anywhere. He’ll follow me into the dark, my shadow to the end.

I sigh as my mind suddenly feels heavy and sirens wail miles away. I’m at a crossroads and it seems my next choice will decide the rest of our lives…

35.Brontë

Anyone Who Knows What Love Is (Will Understand) - Irma Thomas

“We are confident that we will have the suspect in custody within the next twenty-four hours,” says Detective Sloan Laurent to the Channel Nine News reporter. Her expression is stoic but sharp as she speaks with confidence, peering into the camera.

“And you believe that the suspect is still within the city limits?” asks the reporter.

“That’s correct. We have no reason to believe that Jael Hendrix has managed to leave Easton. We will work diligently to locate her and any accomplices.”

“Can you confirm she does have someone working with her? An anonymous source submitted footage of her with a large man at the subway?—”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that piece of information at this time,” interrupts Detective Laurent. “It is an ongoing, active police investigation, and at the moment, we are doing everything within our power to locate the suspect and anyone assisting her. Wewillfind her.”

I tap the ‘x’ on the video to close it out. The screen darkens to black again, though Laurent’s words echo around the room.

We’ve taken refuge in an abandoned warehouse only a few blocks down from Imani’s townhouse. The old building creaks around us, shrouded in dark shadows and cobwebs. The space reeks of dust and mold after what’s probably years of neglect.

From the distance somewhere, helicopter blades whir, their searchlights sweeping over every crevice the city has to offer. The beam flashes against the broken window of the room we’re in and I shrink further into the darkness, avoiding its spotlight.

Jael’s perched on a stack of dusty boxes in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest. The blank look on her face would seem detached to most, but I know better—she’s experiencing one of her freeze ups, where she’s so overwhelmed, she can’t function.

Her dark eyes are wide and unfocused, staring off into the shadows. She gives no reaction as I walk her phone over and hand it back to her—or try to, she doesn’t reach out to take it. She’s gone completely still, too numbed to move.

There’s a lot that could be said in a moment like this. Many things we need to iron out in order to move forward.

Archer Hurst might be an insufferable, smug prick, but he was right about one thing—we need to be smart and proactive about what’s happening.

The longer we drag our feet, the closer Detective Laurent and the rest of the Easton PD get to tracking us down. He, Ryu and Imani are already gone and they’re not even the subject of a city-wide police manhunt.

We are.

Jael is.

The words get stuck in my throat. I breathe through the frustration tightening in my chest and crouch in front of her.

My gaze roams over her, taking in every broken piece. Her torn and dirtied clothes. The dried blood that clings to her chin and cheek and anywhere else where it splattered. Her full lips are downturned slightly, her afro curls cloudy and dense as they frame her face.

The spark that had once radiated from her has been extinguished. It’s been snuffed out, leaving a shell of herself in front of me.

I pull her toward me, my arms slipping around her waist so I can hold her close. I bury my face in her hair and inhale the scent of smoke from the fire. It’s what we both smell like, but on her the scent becomes addictive.

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