Page 28 of Petal

“God, I missed your lips,” I murmur into her mouth.

“I missed all of you,” she murmurs back, her hands stroking my body like she is trying to rub holes in my shirt.

One day and we are doing 180 degree turn in our relationship. There is something about her and me that this universe likes to shake up every now and then for whatever fucked up reason.

“What’s the plan?” she asks, stroking my face.

“Town. We’ll try to get to town.” I kiss her temple. “We can lie low for a moment. Then try to sneak into a boat that goes to the mainland.”

“Will that work? Can we?”

She asks something else, but I suddenly hear the rumbling of motors in the distance.

I freeze.

“Callie, hold on.”

I try to gauge how close the sound is—somewhere by the parking lot.

Shit.

“We have to go.”

But a bright light comes on like in a Guantanamo Bay interrogation chamber—the blinding strobe lights turn up along the perimeter of the quarters, shining onto the spot we stand like deer in the headlights.

Callie jerks in my arms, shielding her eyes and frantically looking around.

My heart drops down to my feet.

And the voice that I heard in my nightmares too many times comes from a distance.

“Aaaaaaaand here we are again.”

Crone, the sneaky fuck who always comes out of nowhere, is walking slowly from behind one of the construction piles. Hands in his pockets. That arrogant smirk on his face. His loyal dogs with guns escorting him.

I wish I never had to see his smug expression ever again.

“Welcome back, Droga.”

14

CALLIE

My heart racesbut for a different reason now.

Seeing Archer works like Pavlov’s effect—I want to pounce on him.

The sound of the motors gets louder, closer, and a convoy of ATVs arrives. Like we are the world’s most wanted. Like we have lethal weapons.

Archer smiles—I want to rip his face off his head.

“I’ll rewatch this little reunion on the cameras,” he says as he lazily strolls toward us. “Very sweet. We might even pass the recording around. We don’t have the Lifetime Channel here on Zion.”

Archer kicks a stone, sending it flying.

He is calm. It’s the calmness of a snake. He is a bully—how did I not see it four years ago? The worst kind, too. He doesn’t intimidate with actions or physical abuse, but terrorizes mentally like a cat that traps a mouse and plays with it, delivering little sharp pounces before killing it.

“Droga, when are you gonna learn that you can’t outsmart me?”

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