“What the fuck?” I cough, sending more torture spreading over my abused body. Groaning, I shift to my side. The shadow above me shakes its head. I can’t make out if it’s a man or a woman. It’s too dark. No streetlamps on this side of town. Then a thought hits me. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”
The shadow snorts and walks away.
Before I can make sense of why I’m being left alive… again… a screech of tires hurts my ears. I hug myself into a small ball. I really miss my Kevlar-lined leather jacket. I cough just to breathe, rolling to my hands and knees. I have to get out of here. I have to get back to the garage. Unfortunately, my intention doesn’t match my condition. My stomach twists violently, spilling its contents into the gutter. Acid, sour and rank, coats the inside of my mouth. What a way to end my day.
Wiping the back of my hand across my lips, I brave standing up. For my effort, I crash onto my ass. A new wave of nausea is killing my balance. I lean on my hands behind me, panting and sweating profusely. Someone just ran me off the road. Who, I have no clue. Maybe the killer. Maybe not. Tears flow—the result of all the shit I’ve gone through in this week alone. A rending inside spills everything of me onto the outside. My fingers close on the patch of earth they’re resting on. I scream despite the soreness inside. One long exhale of anguish.
All the pain. All the confusion. All the frustration ripples out of me with every sob. For a moment I wish the shadow didn’t leave me alive. If it’s really the killer, what is the point of leaving me here? I don’t get anything anymore. End the misery. I want out.
Hugging myself, I fall into a pathetic heap on my side and continue sobbing. The insanity of it all hits me harder than anything I could have imagined. Bedlam’s words echo in the places the massive headache hasn’t touched in my head. Am I really safer in the prison he so lovingly put together for me? But… who is really safe? Certainly no one in the top ten.
When exhaustion takes over the pain, I welcome it. Then I catch myself thinking maybe, just maybe, Bedlam might have been right. Maybe if I stayed with him, then I wouldn’t be in a ditch, probably dying from internal injuries.
Chapter Fifteen
ON WHAT seems like my hundredth attempt at standing, my decision is made. I’m done with the pity party for one. I’m done being victimized. All I want is to race, dammit! With determination and an inner strength I didn’t know I had until this moment, I lock my wobbly knees and wipe away all signs of my emotional breakdown from my face. I don’t care if my hands are dirty. I slant a glance at the bike. Bedlam’s bike. The front wheel is crushed into its body. So much for a ride home.
Taking a second, I scan the area and get my bearings. A nasty curse leaves my mouth at my reality. In my panic to get away from the monster GT-R, I took a wrong turn and ended up at the city limits. I stumble forward, then turn in a tight circle. Even if I wanted to call Mac for a ride, my phone is probably where I left it. My dresser. I really need to give whoever dressed me yesterday a piece of my mind. Not that I could have anticipated all this, but still! Would it have hurt to slip my phone into my back pocket?
I throw my head back and howl.
The sky shifts from dark purple to light pink by the time I start hoofing it. I must have walked forever before the first vehicle passed me. I stick my thumb out, but the uncharitable bastard keeps driving. Cursing with every step, I continue. I’m breathing heavily and clutching at my side by the time a delivery truck takes pity on me. I ease into the seat gingerly, not once letting go of my side. If I did, I may pass out.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“You look a mess.” The driver—gruff and slightly cleaner than me—shifts into gear, and the truck lurches forward. I don’t berate him for stating the obvious. I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t ask any questions connected to my sorry current state. People in Terra One have learned never to be curious. For all he knows, I just came from a sound beating from the Mob. Since he doesn’t place my face—a small miracle—I’m probably bruised beyond recognition.
“Where in the city are you headed?” I lean heavily into the seat and shut my eyes. The ghosts of queasiness continue to haunt me. I have nothing left to throw up. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop feeling like I’m about to lose my lunch.
“I can drop you off at the hospital if you want.”
“Will you be stopping anywhere near Shanty Town?”
The driver harrumphs. “At the bakery on Twenty-Second Street.”
“I live a couple of blocks away from there.” I wince. Actually, more like ten blocks away, but nearer than expected, considering my location. I’d have to walk the rest of the way. Whoopee. Totally not looking forward to it. “Wake me when we’re there, will you?”
“I don’t think you should be sleeping in your condition.”
I hear what he’s saying, but I don’t gratify it with a response. I figure since I woke up from passing out the first time, I’ll probably wake up the next time too. All
