Page 118 of Born for Lace

Then we stop.

Which is worse…

I pant. “What is going on?”

A glint of last-light reflects off something in the distance, red dots like eyes in the Redwind.

“It’s too late,” Lagos growls.

“What is too late?”

The sound that follows is a subtle bell, but it quickly builds into a sharp, piercing ringing, slicing through the air like an unwelcome presence.

I cup my ear with one hand while the other tries to shield Spero from the riotous noise, but I watch on in horror as Lagos and Tomar argue in the front seat, their mouths moving fast, eyes fierce.

Palpable energy seems to pound and bleed around Lagos until?—

Time stretches, making each moment feel like hours.

Lagos twists to step from the car, but Tomar lunges for him, taking a fist full of his shirt, desperation and sorrow crumble through his expression.

Lagos turns back, his eyes narrowing on something in Tomar’s hand. Tomar is holding my knickers in his fist. Lagos snatches them and, with the same fist, strikes Tomar right in the nose.

I clutch my heart as thick blood sprays the truck, painting the windscreen and seats. Tomar grips the bridge of his spitting nose as he slides into the driver’s position.

“No. No! Fuck!” I think Tomar chants, but I can’t hear the words, drowned in the screams of metal on metal like a force surrounds us, bellowing.

Scanning outside, my frantic gaze searches through the dense red vortex, despairing, struggling to find an anchor.

Then I find one.

Then he is here.

My car door suddenly opens, and Lagos leans in, his hot lips touching my ear as he says, “You were my great experience, little flower.”

He closes the door.

My insides wilt as I watch him walk down the centre of the road into the Redwind, parting it with his huge body until he is swallowed entirely by the crimson fortress.

No.

I grab the door handle.

No, no, no.

And for a moment, I almost throw myself after him so we can kiss goodbye, so I can tell him I won’t remember it, won’t remember what he did before me, only all the wonderful things he didforme?—

Time snaps back.

Tomar turns the car around to face north again, beating the steering wheel with his fist and sobbing outwardly.

My face has a veil of tears, but I have no memory of when I started to cry.

As I press my palm to the glass, gasping for air, the ringing is suddenly sucked into the direction Lagos left.

Spero’s cries are painful to hear now, so I scoop him up and hold him close to my breasts, feeling the cool kiss of milk seeping into my shirt-dress. “What… What just happened?”

“Trade found us,” Tomar says.

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