Page 130 of Wings of Ebony
“Flick?”
“A show, like a movie. We can watch a movie in a theater.”
“In Ghizon, we have warriors fight wildebeests as part of training. Nowthatis a good show.”
I snort. “It’s a little different there.”
His touch is warm when he takes my hands. “I would like that very much.” He brings my knuckles to his lips and his breath grazes my hand.
Time is fleeting.
No regrets.
Before he can kiss my knuckles, I pull his face to mine.
Everything spins around us and his breath licks my lips. Never have I wanted something so badly. My insides flutter and I grip his arms, pulling him even closer. Our noses touch. Sweat and earth, brawn and strength, dance in my nostrils, curling my toes.
“Are you sure?” he whispers.
I press my lips to his and for a moment there’s no world around us. I’m not in my hood or Ghizon. I’m not a warrior or a Ghizoni queen. I’m a flicker, a feeling, a flame that can’t be quenched.
His arms fold around my neck and he pulls me deeper in to him.
His mouth is fire.
My tongue dances with his flame.
Seconds move like days and my insides scream more alive than they’ve ever been. We pull apart, foreheads pressed together, out of breath.
Whatever this is, I don’t want it to end.
He holds my face in his hands. “I hope we can see this movie together soon.”
I sigh. I want to tell him back at home Edwards Theater off Highway 59 stays open until two a.m. I want to say I’m a normal girl and having a boyfriend is totally something I can do. I want to promise him we can walk away from this place and be regular people.
But it’s not true. Istillhave people to look out for, battles to fight. The Chancellor’s still out there.
“I hope so too.” I tuck a hair behind my ear and tighten the grip on the rope over my shoulder.
The General grunts in pain.
“But first, there’s one more thing I need to do.”
CHAPTER 38
IAM A RACIST.
The letters on the sign at the General’s feet are painted in red, for blood. I’d have used his actual blood, but it was sticky as hell. Marker was easier. But the message is the same. He’s tied to a chair, his mouth bound, cuffs on his hands.
He tried to destroy my home and hide in another world.
Now he’s going to sit on my block and own what he did.
East Row surrounds us. Not just the buildings, the homes, the cars blasting jams, but the people. The grandmas hollering at kids to get out the street, the plates going from one door to the next, the shuffle of shoes on the basketball court.
Kids on bikes roll past with a glance. Some stop and stare, phones out at the busted-up white dude in his crisp collared shirt. Some keep moving.
I clamp a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “You gon’ look at this place, these people, and face what you did.”
