Page 103 of Wings of Ebony
My blood stills.I’m being set up.
“Get dressed and lock yourself in this bathroom. Lock it. I mean it!”
She hesitates a second, then stumbles up. I dash out the bathroom, across the dimly lit bedroom, and press an ear to the closed bedroom door.
Nothing.
I slip into the hall. Luke set me up? That bastard set me up! Trying to draw me out. The General’s dawgs or the General himself are here somewhere, bet. My legs tremble, but I force them still. I check the room with Moms’s old stuff. No broken windows, nothing missing. No one’s there. I whip open a side closet, hanger clutched in my hand. Still nothing. The kitchen is smoky but otherwise undisturbed. With quiet steps I head to Ms. Leola’s back door, peeking through her windows. No one’s there.
Weird…I exhale.
“T, I’ma check out front. But stay—”
A warm hand smothers me.
I can’t breathe.
I claw at his grip, but it tightens. My breath comes out in stutters and I ram an elbow backward at his ribs, but miss.I-I need air.I try slamming a heel on his toe. He sidesteps. I pull, yank, writhe every which way, but his arms are like a straitjacket. My scream comes out muffled.He’s too strong.
“Where’s the cuffs?” His voice is low, sharp.
Th-the cuffs?
They know about the cuffs?
But how did they…?Luke.
I’m dragged down the hallway toward the room with Moms’s stuff. I kick and fight, the wall coarse against my fingers. I claw, scratching, reaching for anything, something. Wood from a picture frame grazes my fingertips, but slips from my clammy grasp.
I strain, fighting him with every bit of strength I have, my lungs screaming for a breath. He doesn’t budge and holds my face tighter.
Air, I need air!
“The cuffs! Find them.” He shoves us through the doorway and piles of Moms’s things lie in boxes. My head feels like a balloon and spots dent the corners of my vision. I reach, grasping for anything, something. Dust coats my fingers as I grab at one of Moms’s old bookshelves.
“Hold still, you little—” He hits me in the back and I claw for the spine of a book. It slips, thudding to the ground.
“Which of these boxes has the bracelets?” he says, his grip suffocating me.
Everything’s blurry. I reach harder for something on the shelf and my fingers close around cold brass. It’s as heavy as lead. I slam it backward toward his head.
Smack.
He grunts, his hand slackening a second. I bite into the fingers clamped to my mouth and taste copper. He howls and I’m able to break free from him. I gulp down air, my lungs parched and jump on him, punching, kicking, screaming.
“Get! Off! Me!” My arms ache and I can hardly see, but I fling blows harder and faster. My fist connects with bone and suddenly my hands are sticky, red.
He reaches for me, one eye open, and I run. If I can get him outside, he’s that much farther away from Tasha. He’s behind me, so close I can smell him. I whip the front door open.
“Get back here,” he yells as he snatches my hoodie, pulling it taut around my neck.
“Ahhh!”I strain, forcing myself forward, the threads of my hoodie threatening to rip. I shove my way outside and he spills out Ms. Leola’s, losing his grip on my clothes.
Humming streetlights paint the sidewalk orange in the dusky evening light. My body aches and my hand stings, but I keep my eyes on him, fists raised. This ain’t over.
He’s panting, face bloody, seething mad. A few people rush past, hurrying inside. He swings a jab, but I duck and shimmy sideways—away from Ms. Leola’s door. As far away from her door as possible.
A guy with a bat dents my peripheral.
