Page 61 of My Girl
Rae
An engine gurglesthrough the walls, then shudders to a halt. I groan, rubbing my eyes. A sharp pain throbs in the bridge of my nose. I pinch it, and the pain shifts behind my temples.
A door slams.
Light sears into my eyes.
It’s daytime?
Shit.How late did I sleep?
I fumble around for my phone and try to ignore the red stains on the couch and my skin. Bruises darken patches on my wrists, ankles, and hips, and my body is sore as I move around. I find my phone and hold down the power button; an empty battery shows up on the screen.
A hard piece of fabric slides into my lap.
Black leather weathered around the edges. Sheer screens for the eyes. A zipper across the mouth.
Crave’s mask.
He must have left it here for me on purpose.
I sniff it. Blood. Metals. Sweat. Oil. Musk.Him.
The night before comes flooding back to me. The rifles. All of that blood. The two men.
Crave sent two men to hunt me. To test me. And in the end, he still saved me.
I swing around. The bodies have to be somewhere. Everywhere I turn, the floor is empty and clean. Even the tile and walls are polished as if nothing happened last night. The only evidence is the red-stained couch and me.
I saw Crave kill two men last night. I know I did. Still, something about it doesn’t seem real.
As I stand, the discomfort in my skull moves, my vision sliding across the axis. Each step forward is like I’m spiraling toward the ground.
The doorknob jiggles.
I step back. Who is it now?
The door opens.
Black hair. The widow’s peak hairline. Proud shoulders.
The mall cop.
What was his name?
He closes the door behind himself. His eyes meet mine, then widen. I open my mouth to speak, but I cough uncontrollably. Panic swells in his dark eyes.
“Christ Almighty, what happened?” He reaches forward, offering me a hand. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
I finally catch my breath. “I?—”
I hold on to the mall cop’s hand long enough to steady myself, then I let go. What can I say without dragging Crave into this?
I start again: “These guys were trying to kill me, and I?—”
“What guys?” He broadens his shoulders, taking up space to exert his dominance.
“I-I don’t know,” I stammer.
