Poison Promise

22

For a moment, the sensation was the same as the Burn drug—that airy feeling of flying, flying high. I laughed at how good it felt to just be . . . free. My head snapped back, and all I could see was the blue, blue sky, dotted here and there with marshmallow clouds, just like in my hallucinations.

But then gravity took over, the way it always did, sucking me back down to earth and reality. My head dropped, along with my body, and the rush of air tore away the rest of my crazy, cackling laughter. Instead of a pit of imaginary fire, the dark and very real surface of the Aneirin River thirty feet below zoomed up to meet me, the water ready to close over me in its cold, deadly embrace.

And then the boat popped into view.

It was the same speedboat I’d seen before, and it slowed so that it was in sync with Bria and me and our downward plummet. This time, I didn’t have to worry about falling, because someone was there to catch me—Owen.

He was standing at the back of the boat, along with Xavier. Bria’s feet hit the ledge at the very rear of the vessel, her arms windmilling as she tried to find her balance, but Xavier reached out and grabbed her before she tumbled backward into the water. I actually landed square in the center of the boat, almost right on top of Owen, who reached out and took hold of me, keeping me from slamming face-first into one of the leather seats. The impact jarred me from my bare feet all the way up to my knees, before shooting up my legs and through my hips and back. Bones crunched together in my right ankle, making me yelp, and the bag of knives hanging off my wrist slammed into my side hard enough to bruise my ribs.

“We’ve got them!” Xavier yelled. “Go! Go! Go! Go!”

The engine roared, and the boat started picking up speed again, racing away from the bridge. But the vamps who’d been chasing Bria and me weren’t ready to give up. They skidded to a stop on the span, took aim with their weapons, and started firing at us. The bullets plop-plop-plopped into the water all around us. Xavier pulled the gun from the holster on his belt and returned their fire. So did Bria.

But one vamp was a little quicker and braver than all the others. He hopped up onto the bridge railing, then leaped off, trying to launch himself far enough out to land in the boat with the rest of us. His legs pumped, like he was riding a bicycle in midair, and he reached out with one hand . . .

And landed in the river three feet behind us.

The resulting splash sprayed us all with water. I laughed again as the cool, wet drops trickled down my face.

“Get us out of here!” Owen yelled. “Now!”

The engine whined, louder and harder this time, and the boat picked up more and more speed as it zoomed away from the bridge.

The sounds of gunfire faded away, drowned out by the powerful motor, and I knew that we were finally safe. I laughed at that too.

Owen helped me sit up against the side of the boat, his hands stroking my sweaty, tangled mess of hair back away from my face. Worry darkened his violet gaze. “Gin! Are you okay?”

I finally managed to get my crazy chuckles under control enough to smile at him, although the expression was more of a grimace, given the shooting pains in my ankle. “Never better.”

Owen smiled back at me, but the relieved expression quickly melted into a concerned frown. “What happened? What did Benson do to you?”

And just like that, the rest of my laughter dried up, and tears pricked my eyes instead. I told myself it was because of my broken ankle. Nothing else.

“Gin?” he asked again.

I shook my head. I couldn’t talk about it. Not now, not yet. Maybe not ever. Because I could still remember all too clearly the horrible, horrible thoughts I’d had about Owen, Finn, and especially Bria while I was riding high on Burn. How I’d thought that I was better than them. How I didn’t need them. How they were weak. How Bria was a burden.

Guilt and shame surged through me, burning even worse than the drug.

Owen opened his mouth to ask me another question, but I leaned to one side, looking past him at the person driving the speedboat—a tall, muscular man with blue eyes and golden hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“And here I thought that you only had the one really big boat,” I said, trying to make my voice light and teasing, despite the pain that rasped through my words.

Phillip Kincaid looked over his shoulder and grinned at me, a few strands of hair flying around his face. “What can I say? I like to diversify.”

I laughed again, even as the rest of my strength evaporated and my body slumped against the side of the boat. My arms and legs felt cold, numb, and nerveless, except for the throbbing pain in my ankle.

“Call Jo-Jo,” Bria said, somewhere far over my head. “Benson really did a number on her.”

Fear and panic pulsed through my body, sharper and more painful than all my injuries. Jo-Jo couldn’t heal me. I was hanging on to my sanity by a thread. The feel of any more magic right now would snap that slender strand.

I clutched at Owen, panting for breath. “No healing. No magic. Too much . . . of it . . . in Burn.”

He frowned. “Burn has magic in it?”

I nodded, trying not to hyperventilate.

“It’s okay, Gin,” Owen said, gently cradling me in his arms. “Calm down. Just breathe. You’re safe now.”

I turned my head so that my face was buried in his neck and did as he said, drawing his rich, metallic scent deep down into my lungs, trying to clear the lemony stench of the lab from my mouth and throat, if not my mind and heart.

“Safe,” I replied, although my voice was so soft I doubted he heard me.

Then my eyes closed, and I let the blackness take me.

Coral’s laughter echoed in my ears as I followed her into the Southtown apartment building. The door banged shut behind me, making me jump and yelp.

Coral laughed again, her voice sly with amusement. “Relax. It’s just a door. It won’t bite you. This way, kid.”

Her heels clattered on the floor ahead of me, and I hurried to follow the noise. The inside of the building was almost pitch black, and I ran my hand along the wall so I wouldn’t bump into anything. The smell of burnt popcorn, scorched coffee, and Chinese food filled my nose, while my shoes scuffed through old newspapers, empty cans, and wet, squishy blobs on the floor—some of which squeaked and skittered away at my touch. Most likely trash, vomit, and rats, all of which I was better off not seeing. I shuddered and walked on.

Coral pushed through a door at the end of the hallway, and we stepped outside into a large square courtyard surrounded by buildings on all sides. I blinked against the bright, sudden glare. The buildings were all four stories tall, each with a set of stairs climbing from one level to the next. Doors lined all of the levels, from the ground floor to the top story. No one stood on the balconies or perched on the stairs, but music drifted out from behind some of the doors, along with the blare of TVs.

“This courtyard connects all of these buildings,” Coral said. “Here, I’ll show you.”

My stomach grumbled again, and I wondered when we were going to get to the food she’d promised me, but I kept quiet as she strolled around the square, opening some of the doors on the other buildings, leading me down hallways and back out again.

Several minutes later, we ended up back where we’d started in the center of the courtyard.

“Um, why are you showing me all of this?”

“Because it’s always good to have an escape route,” Coral said in a wise, knowing voice. “Trust me on that.”

I sighed, and my stomach gurgled, the grinding noise rising to a plaintive wail.

She laughed again, then gave me a dazzling smile. “But enough with the grand tour. C’mon. Let’s go to my place.”

She looped her arm through mine and led me over to a set of stairs in the first building we’d walked through. We climbed all the way up to the fourth floor and went over to a door in the corner.

“Home, sweet home,” Coral said, opening the door and stepping inside.

I followed her, and she closed the door behind us, throwing a series of locks.

Click. Click. Click.

The sounds seemed even louder than the banging door downstairs earlier, and I had to curl my hands into fists to keep from jumping in surprise again. To take my mind off the fact that I was locked in an apartment with a complete stranger, I focused on the scene before me.

The apartment was tiny, with the main area only about twenty-five feet square. A door to the right led to a small bedroom, with an even smaller bathroom attached to it. A stove splattered with grease stains stood along one wall, next to an old pea-green refrigerator with rusty dents in the sides. An orange plastic table with two mismatched lawn chairs was squeezed in between the fridge and a blue plaid couch covered with threadbare blankets and flat pancake pillows.

“So what do you think?” Coral asked.

“It’s nice.”

She snorted. “It’s a dump is what it is. But it’s mostly mine, and that’s all that matters, right?”

“Why just mostly?”

She waved her hand. “I have a . . . landlord who drops by sometimes. But I can handle him.”

I knew that she really meant her pimp, but I didn’t say anything.

Coral bumped her skinny leg into the rickety coffee table, rattling several open, empty pill bottles sitting there and causing a bit of white powder to puff up from the wooden surface. She saw me staring at the bottles, and she stepped toward me, her eyes narrowing, her lips twisting into an angry snarl, her hands clenching into fists. It almost seemed like she thought I was going to try to steal something off the table, even though it was just junk.

“What’s with all the bottles?” I asked, trying not to shrink away in fear. “Have you been sick?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” She stepped back, her face smoothed out, and her fists loosened. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Coral circled around me. I tried not to fidget as her hazel eyes swept over my body from head to toe.

“You’re in pretty good shape, all things considered.” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, except for how you smell. So what do you want first, kid? Food or a hot shower?”

The choice was easy. “Food.”

“Smart girl.”

She went over to the fridge, pulled open the door, and drew out a white paper bag. The top of the bag had been rolled down, but a pink figure was printed on the side. I squinted. Was that a . . . pig?

“You like barbecue?” Coral asked. “It’s day-old leftovers, but they warm up good.”

My stomach rumbled again, answering her.

Coral unwrapped half of a barbecued beef sandwich, slapped it on a paper plate, and shoved the whole thing into a microwave that perched precariously on top of the fridge. A minute later, she set the sandwich in front of me at the table.

“Enjoy.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. I picked up the sandwich and started taking big bites out of it, chewing and swallowing as fast as I could, just in case she changed her mind and tried to take it away from me. The sandwich was hot, too hot to eat, really, but the sweet-and-spicy sauce and the smoky flavor of the meat were so good that I didn’t care that it burned my tongue. I ate that sandwich, then used my fingers to scoop up the stray bits of meat and sauce that had fallen onto the paper plate and sucked them up too.

When I was done, I looked at Coral, a silent question in my eyes.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve got another sandwich you can eat—later. First, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I made a noise of protest, wanting the food right now, since I was still so hungry, but Coral grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. She opened the closet and started rifling through the clothes inside.

“Here,” she said. “You can put these on when you get done.”

She held up a tank top and a pair of short-shorts, both in black satin. I didn’t want to wear the clothes, since I would freeze in them, but they were clean, and she’d been so nice to me so far, so I just nodded and took them from her.

Coral jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “The bathroom’s right there. Try not to use up all the hot water, okay?”

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching the skimpy clothes to my chest. “For everything.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. Coral frowned, and a shadow passed over her face, but the dark expression quickly melted into her usual sunny smile.

“No problem, kid.”

She winked at me again, then stepped back out into the main room, pulling the door to the bedroom closed behind her.

I went into the bathroom, stripped off my filthy clothes, and got into the shower. I moaned at how good the hot water felt cascading over my skin, and I used up the better part of a bar of soap scrubbing myself from head to toe, along with half a bottle of shampoo washing my nasty rat’s nest of hair.

By the time I finished, I felt more like myself than I had in, well, since the night my family was murdered. Sure, this apartment wasn’t much, not nearly as fancy as my bedroom had been, but the thought of leaving it behind and going back out onto the streets filled me with dread. Maybe Coral would be nice enough to let me stay with her for a few days. I could help her. Cook and clean and do whatever she wanted me to.

I’d do just about anything to keep from being cold and hungry and tired and scared again.

I wrapped a towel around my body and grabbed the black satin tank top and short-shorts from where I’d put them on the closed toilet lid. But instead of pulling them on, I hesitated. Maybe Coral would let me stay if I didn’t use so many of her things, including her clothes. It couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

So I turned the water in the shower back on, then stopped up the tub so I could wash my clothes in it, before leaving the bathroom and going back into the bedroom. The door had swung open a crack, letting me see out into the main part of the apartment. Coral was pacing back and forth in front of the couch, holding a phone up to her ear. I stayed in the bedroom, not wanting to disturb her.

“Yeah, tell Reggie that I’ve got a live one for him,” she said. “A new girl. I haven’t seen her around before, but she can’t be more than thirteen, fourteen tops. She doesn’t seem like she’s been working, so we are talking fresh, new territory here. Know what I mean?”

She laughed, but her cheerful chuckle froze me to the bone. My breath stuck in my throat in surprise, and my damp fingers dug into the slick fabric in my hands.

“So how much will he give me for her?” Coral said, her voice as hard and brittle as her face. “I want some pills too. Double what he gave me for the last girl. Enough to last me at least a month this time.”

Fear spiked through me, sweeping away the lingering warmth of the shower. She was . . . she wanted to . . . she was going to sell me to her pimp.

The person on the other end said something, and Coral smiled.

“Good. She’s taking a shower right now, so tell him to come get her while she’s clean.” She paused, listening to the other person again. “He can be here in five minutes? Perfect. I’ll be waiting.”

I gasped. Her pimp was already on his way, and if he found me here, he’d beat me and rape me and then drug me up and make me work for him.

I had to get out of here—now.

I rushed back into the bathroom and started pulling on my clothes as fast as I could with my trembling hands. It was hard shoving the dirty layers of cloth on over my damp skin, but I managed it.

I didn’t want to think about what would happen if I didn’t.

I left the water in the bathroom running so Coral would think that I was still in the shower. I couldn’t go out through the front of the apartment, not with her waiting for me out there, so I stepped around the bed and hurried over to the window.

Cardboard held up with duct tape covered the space, but I tore at the tape with my fingernails, ripping it and the heavy sheet of paper away from the frame and throwing them down. I stuck my head out through the open space, my heart lifting at the sight of the rusty fire escape clinging to the side of the building.

The door at the front of the apartment screeched open, and the murmur of voices sounded—Coral’s, along with a much lower, deeper tone. Her pimp was already here.

More panic rippled through me, and I hoisted my leg out the window, ready to step out onto the fire escape. I glanced down and saw a man strolling around the side of the building, smoking a cigarette. I froze, half in and half out the window. I didn’t know if the guy worked for Coral’s pimp, but I couldn’t risk him seeing me.

I was out of time and other options, so I ducked back into the apartment, hurried over to the closet in the corner, threw open the door, and crammed myself inside. The door wouldn’t shut all the way, not with me and all the clothes and shoes stuffed inside, so I held on to the knob, peered out the crack, and concentrated on being as quiet as possible.

“Hey, kid,” Coral called out, stepping into the bedroom. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet—”

Silence.

“Dammit!” she snarled.

Footsteps snapped against the floor, and I got a flash of her running across the tiny room before she was out of my line of sight.

“Dammit!” Coral snarled again. “She must have gone out through the window. That sly little bitch. Eating my food without paying for it.”

Silence. Then another voice spoke, that same low, deep murmur I’d heard earlier.

“So what you’re saying is that you called me over here for nothing?”

I assumed the voice belonged to Reggie, her pimp. His tone was stone-cold. He wasn’t happy with Coral—not at all.

“I’m sure I can find her again,” Coral said. “A girl like that? She’ll never make it on the streets. She’ll probably come back here in a few days, begging me to take her in.”

She laughed again, but the sound was tinged with desperation.

“I told you before that this was your last chance, Coral,” Reggie rumbled. “You promised to find me a new girl to cover your debts for all those pills I gave you.”

“But I did! It’s not my fault she bolted.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s gone.” Reggie paused. “But you’re still here, and I’m tired of your excuses.”

“Reggie, wait. Please, man! I’m good for the money! I just need a few more days—”

Coral sucked in a breath, as if she were going to scream. A loud smack sounded. Coral let out a low moan of pain, then a strangled yelp, before I heard another sound.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Reggie was hitting her—over and over again—and I knew that he wouldn’t stop until he beat her to death. I stood in the dark closet, frozen with fear, wondering what to do. Should I try to help Coral and risk Reggie turning his anger on me? Should I run out of the apartment while he was beating her? Or should I just stay quiet and hidden and wait until it was over?

No, I thought. That would make me no better than Coral. I had to try to help her, despite what she’d wanted to do to me. If nothing else, maybe Reggie would leave her alone long enough to chase me when I ran out of the apartment. So I squared my shoulders and sucked in a breath, hoping that I could take the pimp by surprise and then outrun him—

But it was too late.

Something slammed up against the closet door, then dropped down to the ground in front of it. Through the crack, I could see Coral’s face, her hazel eyes frozen open wide in pain, terror, and fear. Blood pooled on the floor underneath her head and started oozing into the closet, further staining my ratty stolen shoes. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.

Dead—she was dead.

And I would be too if I didn’t stay quiet.

So I swallowed down my screams, making myself stand absolutely still inside the closet, despite the skimpy satin clothes pushing at my back, wanting to shove me forward.

For a moment, the only sound was raspy breathing, although I couldn’t tell if it was mine or Reggie’s.

Then a floorboard creaked.

“Stupid bitch,” Reggie rumbled. “You should have just paid me when you had the chance.”

Coral’s eyes stared straight ahead, even as more and more of her blood seeped into the closet.

Silence. Then footsteps moving away. A few seconds later, the front door opened, then slammed shut again.

I stood in the closet, staring at the growing blood on the floor, and counted off the seconds in my head. Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . forty-five . . . sixty . . .

When three minutes had passed, I felt safe enough to slip out of the closet. The first thing I did was rush out to the main room and throw the locks on the door. Then I went back into the bedroom.

Coral lay sprawled on the floor, her head facing the closet, while the rest of her was twisted the other way. Bruises blackened her face, while her blood had already soaked into her hair, turning the bright crimson strands a dull rusty color.

I crouched down and stared at Coral’s lifeless body. She’d tried to turn me into her, tried to sell me to her pimp, tried to use me the way so many other people had used her. But that’s the way things were on the streets, especially in Southtown, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her all the same—and guilty that I hadn’t done something to try to save her.

Then my stomach rumbled again, and I thought about that other sandwich Coral had said was in the fridge. I closed my eyes, hating myself for what I was about to do, but I was still so hungry. So I stepped over Coral’s body and went into the kitchen, trying to come up with some sort of plan about what to do next. When I was done eating, I would take whatever food was left, then go through her clothes to see if there was a warm coat I could swipe to stave off the chill of the nights, if not the growing coldness in my own heart . . .

The rocking woke me.

It was a gentle, steady, soothing motion, almost like I was in a swing someone was pushing, even though I was lying in a bed. A loud splash sounded, before giving way to a regular, rhythmic slosh-slosh-slosh of water, and I felt myself slipping back down into the darkness . . .

Wait a second. Why was there a splash? Why was there water here? Wasn’t I at Jo-Jo’s house? And if not . . . where was I?

I cracked my eyes open, but instead of an airy fresco of a cloud-covered sky like I would have seen at Jo-Jo’s, the ceiling was low and made out of golden wood. Worry curled in my stomach, and I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around.

I was in some sort of guest bedroom. Well, really, it was more like a spacious stateroom. The four-poster bed I was lying on took up one corner of the area, the pale blue silk sheets that covered my body providing a nice contrast with the glossy, golden wood of the frame. The other furniture was made of the same wood, all of it trimmed with polished brass accents. A living-room suite took up the front half of the stateroom, complete with two pale blue couches that faced each other and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall between them. A door off to my left led into a large bathroom decked out in blue tile.

It was definitely a room I’d never been in before, and my head snapped over to the windows, as I wondered what I might see through them. But the glass panes were round instead of square, and the white lace curtains had been drawn back, revealing an unexpected sight: the sun setting over the river.

Understanding flashed through me. I wasn’t in any sort of house. Oh, no.

I was on a boat.