Page 12 of Taken By Raider Kings
The side door opened; the van cleared out.It was amazing how people could fit in such a relatively small space.Clothes tangled across the floor, plastic containers were strapped behind the passenger seat, and the back was stuffed with plastic bags.
It didn’t smell bad, just musky and close.A small mercy, probably the only kind she was going to get.Sophie clutched the coat to her chest.
The girl, disdain written on her flawless, pretty face, made a spitting sound of annoyance.“Come on, will you?I’ve got to pee before my kidneys float away.”
You’re not the only one.Mechanically, she pulled the skirt down, tried to straighten the tank top.Lucy’s black heels were on the floor, and the way her back ached she didn’t think she could stand to put them back on.
But she did, because cold fresh air poured in through the open side door.Frost rimed a slice of parking lot outside, and as soon as she hopped awkwardly from the van’s side, pulling her skirt down and shivering, she found they were at a rest stop off the freeway.A brick building housed restrooms, a creek wandering down a short hill behind, and another building had vending machines trapped in iron grating, a wall full of maps in plastic cases, and—oh, my God—a Kiwanis booth selling coffee.
An old man sat in the booth, reading a newspaper, occasionally glancing over the empty parking lot.The van, she now saw, was an older, primer-spotted blue Chevy, and her gaze returned to the man in the coffee booth.
Maybe.Oh, Sophie, be smart.
The girl—Julia, that was the name—jostled her almost roughly.She had velvety dark eyes, long straight chestnut hair starred with that single streak that turned out to be white, and clear pale skin only found on the very young.Pretty, yes, but there was an unfinished look around her mouth, like she was trying to be hard and not quite succeeding.
And she looked, for some reason, spoiled.Sophie couldn’t put her finger on quitehow,but this Julia possessed the same overprivileged look as the mean-girl cheerleaders from Sophie’s high school years.
“Come on.”The girl slung her arm over Sophie’s shoulders, hurrying her for the bathrooms.She was a good head taller, and very slender, but amazingly strong.Sophie struggled to keep up, stumbled, almost turned her ankle.Then the girl began to whisper, very fast and low, as if she’d been bursting to talk.“Jeez.Youareuseless.Don’t worry, I’ve got some stuff that might fit you.Zach’ll take care of anything else later today, probably.We had a good haul last night.”She squeezed Sophie’s shoulders, roughly.“He was my brother.Kyle.”
What?Last night was distant and dreamlike, receding like the van.Lucy’s heels clicked with each step and Sophie’s stomach cramped afresh, her back turned into stiff, aching concrete.
There seemed nothing to say.
“The one who got killed last night.”Julia cast a glance over her shoulder, her voice dropping even further.
“Oh.”Sophie couldn’t think of anything else to say.My best friend got killed, too, I guess we’re evendidn’t sound, well, very useful.
It was what Lucy would call Not Helpful, with a wry twist of her lips.
“It’s not your fault,” Julia continued softly, managing to sound magnanimous, condescending, and outright miserable all at once.“I’m stupid.I’ve always been stupid, I just don’tthink.Not like Zach.And our alpha’s dead and all we’ve got is a stupid bleeder to show for it.”She paused, and cast another quick little glance over her shoulder.“Even if you do smell like Mom.I never… I was just… I thought I could kill it.Theupir.I’m good at that.”
What, you mean you’re good at killing?God, what a thing to say to someone you’ve kidnapped.Sophie shivered.
The thing in the white shirt had done something to Lucy.Something awful, something so unreal, Sophie’s mind even now shivered away from it.She flinched all over, flesh crawling both inside and out, stumbled again.
It was dark and I was just confused.That’s all.
A bad time to start lying to herself, really.She needed to think clearly if she was going to get out of this mess, and part of that was figuring out last night.
Whathadactually happened?The only thing she was sure of was that Lucy was dead, and that she had started running, screaming, a confusion of roaring panic.Lucy’s face, the terrible gaping hole where her throat should be, the thing in the ruffled, blood-splashed shirt snarling as its face twisted up, white teeth too big for its livid-lipped mouth?—
“Watch where you’re going,” the girl said as Sophie tripped, and hauled her bodily up over the curb.“Jeez.Heels.Why didn’t you wear something practical?”
You little… Sophie found her voice.“I didn’t know I was going to be kidnapped.”The sarcasm surprised her.“Or watch my best friend get murdered.I kind of forgot to put it in my day planner.”
“Huh.”Julia let go, stepping away a pace.She studied Sophie intently for a long moment.“I guess.”Her free hand was full of cloth; she lifted the bundle, almost tentatively.“I’ve got something you can change into.If you want.”
For Chrissake.I’ve been kidnapped and she wants me to dress appropriately.“Fine.”The side of her face hurt; the feeling of puffy bruising was another terrible familiarity.She didn’t dare glance at the old man in the Kiwanis booth.If I can get over there—he’s got to have a phone, right?Or something.
The ladies’ room was cold and industrial, but well-lit and surprisingly clean.The clothes turned out to be a pair of jeans that fit if Sophie rolled up the legs like a little kid, a long-sleeved thermal shirt that clung embarrassingly, plus a flannel button-down, all smelling of laundry detergent and the same musky almost-cologne.No socks, and absolutely no undergarments.
Julia steered her toward the handicapped stall; Sophie shivered through changing and spent a blissful few minutes getting rid of the pressure on her bladder.When she emerged, clutching Lucy’s clothes to her chest, she stared somewhat longingly at the sink.It would feel so nice to wash her face, even if the water was freezing.
But Julia was still in a stall, humming something off-key.Sophie hugged the sad, small scraps of cloth to her chest with the scuffed heels, ignoring the freezing rasp of industrial tile against bare soles, and caught a glimpse of herself in a scratched piece of metal passing for a mirror.Bloodshot eyes, smudged glasses, wild mop of hair—she looked like a bag lady, though the side of her face wasn’t badly discolored.A tender spot under her hair and puffy redness down her cheek; she’d had worse.
Muchworse.And Marc had rarely been one for face-stuff.Too overt.
She stared at the mirror for a few seconds, attempting to clear her head.A rattling sound echoed in the depths of her memory, and she shivered.But the slight motion forced her to start moving, impelled by the sure intuition accompanied by pinprickles.
