Page 13 of Along for the Ride

I place her into the back seat, and she raises her arm over her eyes to shield her pinpoint pupils from the dome light. Her tongue moves over her lips to wet them, and my body tenses, immediately regretting the decision to keep her around. She’s a danger to me in more ways than one.

I return to the driver’s seat before I do something stupid. Pushing away visions of what I could do to a girl like her, I turn the ignition and pull onto the road again.

“We should kill her, you know,” Karson says, making no attempt to lower his voice. “At this point, it might be merciful.”

The girl turns her head, her eyes firmly closed. “Fuck you,” she whispers.

It almost makes me smile, but it enrages Karson. He whips his knife from his belt and turns in his seat, but I take a hand off the wheel and grab his wrist to block his motion toward her.

“Don’t,” I say.

“Fucking why not?” he snaps.

“Because I’m the boss and you listen to what I say. Don’t forget that I’m saving your ass.” It’s a better answer than the truth. I have no clue why I can’t let him carve her like a Christmas ham. Maybe I pity her because I found our father dead after a particularly gnarly bout of withdrawal. Maybe saving her means I’ve made up for not saving him. Either way, he can’t finish her off...yet.

This isn’t the smartest thing we’ve done, I know—generally speaking, taking anyone outside of our pairing is fucking dumb—but I’m intrigued by this stray we’ve picked up.

Karson scoffs. “She’s fucked up on drugs, isn’t she?”

I shake my head. “Fucked up because she’soffdrugs.”

Karson’s back thumps against his seat and his head drops to his balled fist. “I didn’t sign up for a babysitting gig.”

“I said the same thing.”

He can’t argue with that, so we continue into the night in blessed silence.

* * *

Leana

When the passengersaid they should kill me, I had no strength to argue beyond the two words I said. I don’t want to die, but I’m too sick to stop them if that’s what they plan to do, and it seems likely at this point. The muscles beneath my skin hurt. The twist of my intestines chokes me. My neck is a tight bundle of pain, and I consider pulling my eyes from their sockets to end the painful throb behind them. Every bump and jostle in the road sends my stomach into my mouth.

Someone lights a cigarette, and the heady aroma is both tempting and nauseating. The thick smoke wraps around me, comforting the tremble of my body in a familiar blanket. Maybe a little nicotine would take the edge off, but it might send me to the side of the road again, puking the emptiness from my stomach. I’m also reminded of Mickey’s common reaction when I would ask for a cigarette, and asking for one might only get me killed quicker. I shouldn’t press my luck.

Then again, I’ve never considered myself lucky.

Life has dealt me multiple shitty hands, but I’m forced to sit at the table and keep betting. A happy childhood ruined by my father’s death. My mother’s marriage to a predatory animal. An escape to a hell that was just as horrific. And now I’m stuck as a hostage, too sick to make a run for it.

I groan and sit up to look out the window. We’ve left the highway again, and dark trees tower against a star-filled sky. I don’t know where we are or how far we’ve traveled, but at least we’re moving away from Mickey and toward some unknown destination. Asking where we’re headed would be pointless. They haven’t offered their names, so I doubt they’ll disclose anything else.

I lean against the window’s cool glass and stare at the back of the passenger’s head. I’ve come to see him as the dangerous one. His short temper and complete disregard for my life have been put on display more than once, and I need to be careful around him. My eyes shift to the driver. He’s shown me an iota of sympathy, which is nice, but I still can’t trust him. I’m about ninety percent sure the massive hands clutching the steering wheel will end up wrapped around my throat at some point, and not in a good way.

I laugh at the thought.

“What’s funny back there?” the passenger asks.

“Just this situation,” I say. “Two weirdos and a dope-sick girl on a road trip.”

The passenger whips his head around, glaring at me with pitch-black eyes. “You’re the fucking weird one, girl.”

“Because you two are the crème de la crème of normalcy, right? Two big dudes playing around in the woods together in the middle of the night.” My caution regarding the wild one goes right out the window because my head hurts and it’s making me bitchy. I’ve held my tongue for most of my life, and now that my days are numbered, I can finally say whatever I want. It feels amazing.

“Just one little slice and I could end you, thief,” he says. He raises his knife again, and the dash lights reflect off the blade with an eerie green glow.

“Do it then,” I snarl, a strange laugh lifting the end of my demand. “Fucki—”

“Enough!” the driver shouts, silencing me mid curse. It’s just one word, but it projects and runs along every nerve in my body. It lingers. This man sure can make someone listen up. Even his friend has gone silent, though I can tell what a struggle that is because the muscles ripple in his arms with the effort. It looks like it’s taking everything in him not to beat my ass.

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