Page 3 of Bad Blood
“Thirteen last month, actually.”
“Quiet,” Edier hisses. “I’m the oldest here, I’m driving, so it’s my rules.”
I watch the boy in the snow jerk his head left and right again. It’s almost like he’s waiting for something.
Well, he can’t wait out there. It’s freezing.
Before Edier can stop me, I’m opening the passenger door. The bad weather muffles the sound, but the movement catches the boy’s attention.
“Bug, come back,” Edier hisses again, swiping for the back of my jacket, but all I give him is sliding fingertips.
I kick my boots through the fallen snow. It’s nearly up to my knees.
“Are you waiting for someone?” I call out. “Do you want to come sit with us?”
The boy doesn’t move. He’s watching me with deep, dark eyes like distant planets.
“Did you hear what I—?”
“Go,” he snarls, leaping toward me suddenly. “Get out of here. It’s not safe!”
His English is hesitant, his accent oozy like soup.
“Go!” he says again, pushing me backward.
The force makes me stumble. His words are confusing me.
“Leave her alone!” I hear Edier shout as the squealing of tires cuts through the storm. Seconds later, the sound of gunfire inside the church explodes into the night like the flames from a bonfire.
The next few minutes happen loud and fast.
I see Sam yanking Edier back into the driver seat as another two black cars scream past us out of nowhere.
I feel something vicious whiz past my woolly red toboggan.
I taste ice in my mouth as the boy grabs me by the waist and drives me down into the ground—the heat of his body pushing me deeper into the snow as he curls around me, protecting me like a brave knight would.
More gunfire from the church.
More shouts.
Edier’s yelling out my nickname again. He’s spun the stolen car away from the curb, swung it around, and skidded to a stop by the sidewalk I’m now sprawled across.
“Bug—”
His next words are cut short as a bullet hits the trunk.
“Shit!”
Sam kicks open the back door. I feel his hand dragging me toward the car, with the boy still attached to me, but he rolls away at the last second, leaving me free to be yanked to warmth and safety.
“Go,” I hear him croak in his strange accent from the white ground. “You don’t belong here,muñequita… Go!”
“Shut the door! We need to get out of here!” Sam sounds scared as he reaches around me for the handle.
“We can’t leave him!”
“He’s a Carrera.” He spits out the word as if it were poison. “He’s their look-out. He gave the signal. Don’t you see? This whole meeting was a trap. He deserves to die like a dog for that.”
