Page 48 of Runaways

"Mmm," he says as his tongue slips past my lips. "I can taste our cum on your tongue, baby."

"That's how it should be," Tate says. "But you've been a bad girl, Noah. Instead of getting my dick every day, you're going to get my knife." He slips a hand between my thighs, cupping my swollen pussy through my jean shorts. "But that's okay, baby. Because if you're honest with yourself, I think you know you deserve it, don't you?"

Before I can reply, our gondola stops at the bottom. Silas takes my hand, lacing his fingers with mine as we exit the ride. I keep my head down as we step off the platform, feeling about fifty sets of eyes on me.

Tate wraps his arm around my waist, pressing a kiss to my temple.

I'm sure that doesn't help.

"Where are we going?" I ask as they steer me through the nearly empty midway.

"It's a surprise," Tate says. "Don't say I never did anything for you, Noah."

Maybe this is the part where he kills me.

"You'll like this," he adds as we walk through the gates and into the parking lot. "I know Silas is going to like it."

"Silas, where are we going?"

"We're just going for a drive, Noah," he says, keeping his gaze forward, his tone terse. "You need to stop asking so many fucking questions."

"Silas,tell me!"

"You're not playing the game right," he snaps. "And you lost thefucking privilegeof questioning me a long time ago, so shut your fucking mouth."

It stops me in my tracks. Tate is always angry and reactive, but not Silas. It's worse when it's Silas.

My lower lip trembles.

I think I know what he meant now. I remember the time the three of us got into a bar outside of town, and as we were leaving, some guy grabbed my ass in the back alley. Silas beat him so badly thatTate, of all people, intervened and stopped him. When we left, he was on the ground, his face unrecognizable, and Silas's fists were covered in blood. He sat silently in the backseat for most of the drive home, furling and unfurling those bloody fists. Tate warned me not to touch him.

I was terrified I'd find out he was dead when I turned on the news the next morning. But I didn't. They carried on like nothing happened, and so I did, too.

When we were sophomores, Silas was up for a starting position on the football team over one of the seniors, and so he and his friends decided they'd start taking cheap shots at him at practice. It only lasted one practice.

When Silas got sick of it, he pinned the other guy to the ground, grabbed him by the arm, and stomped his humerus in half. Neither of them started that year, as Silas was suspended for the season, but the other guy never played again.

And then there was the time I watched him slit an animal's throat without blinking an eye.

Ididknow Silas was dangerous. I knew he was a killer. I just didn't care, because I knew he wasn't a danger to me.

"Silas, I'm sorry," I tell him. "I missed you every day."

"Don't do that," Tate says. "I already told you that Silas won't save you. You hurt his fucking feelings, Noah."

"It's the truth, though," I say, refusing to look at Tate. "Silas…"

He releases my hand and jerks open the car door, slamming it behind him after climbing inside.

Tate laughs. "Told you. You hurt his feelings; best not to bring it up again, or he might change his mind about being the one to kill you."

My shoulders slump in defeat.

"Get in the back," he says, opening the car door.

I get into the vehicle, sliding all the way over on the bench seat when Tate climbs in behind me.

"How come he gets an apology, and I don't?" Tate asks.

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