Page 82 of Lost Boy
I did say that, so I continue with the chords I was strumming earlier.
Ryder sits next to me and closes his eyes, bobbing his head to the melody. “What song is this?”
“It’s nothing,” I mumble.
“It’s something. I mean, I’m hearing it with my own ears right now at this very moment.”
Funny.
“Just some chords I’ve been working on.”
“Music you composed?”
I lift a shoulder. It’s not that fancy.
“Did you write lyrics?”
My eyes automatically dart to the notebook beside me and his follow. Ialwayshave words.
“Right. Of course you do. Well, if you ever need a listening ear, I’m your guy.”
I set the guitar back down next to me and sink into Ryder’s arms, letting him wrap the blanket around us, further cocooning me in his warm embrace.
With the numbness in full effect and Ryder surrounding me, this is turning into a peaceful and, dare I say, relaxing night.
I’m not sure how much time has passed, but my eyelids start to droop.
“Fal,” Ryder whispers. “Let’s head back before we’re too tired to walk. It’s almost one.”
I force my lethargic body to move, and Ry laces our fingers together, tugging me along with him.
“Come on, sleepy face.”
I give him a dopey half-smile. The weed, lack of sleep, and massive adrenaline crash from this afternoon are finally catching up to me, making me feel drunk.
I stumble on a rock.
“Whoa. I got you,” Ryder says, pulling me into his side and wrapping us in the blanket again. He practically takes my weight, steering us back to our tent.
I’m moments away from passing out, so I sigh with relief when I see the glowing embers of the leftover fire.
“Bed,” I grumble, and Ryder scoops me up, bridal style. I rest my head against his hard pec and let the darkness call me home.
* * *
I’m yanked from sleep, a harsh flashlight shining in my face as rough hands grasp my biceps. I’m disoriented, sluggish, and confused.
“Ry?” I don’t know why I say it. He would never grab me like this.
“Nope. Not the big, gay giant.” The voice is cruel and the tone grating. He’s right in my face, but it’s too dark to see. It sounds like Seth, though. The ring leader. His bruising grip travels down my arms, giant hands encircling my wrists and wrenching them behind my back without mercy.
I can’t help but cry out at the abrupt and unexpected pain, making a chorus of ruthless laughs ring out around me.
“Let’s put a bag over his stupid face,” another voice sneers behind me. It’s early morning, not even light out, and Ryder left for his run an hour ago. He has the big ‘trust’ test this morning, and we’ll hit the road before ten.
I must have drifted back to sleep. And now, here I am, alone and vulnerable and half-naked.
The next words spoken freeze me to my core.
