Page 30 of Blood Queen
I exhale hard, forcing my battered body forward. My reflection in the mirror stops me cold.
Two black eyes. A split lip. A nose that’s broken.
I look like hell.
For the first time in my life, I pick up my real phone and dial without thinking.
It rings twice.
Then his voice, groggy and edged with concern. “Kid?”
I close my eyes, exhaling raggedly.
“I need you,” I whisper.
A beat of silence.
Then—“Where?”
18
Past
“Hey…” Something pokes my arm. “Kid, wake up.”
My eyes snap open. Truman hovering near my face startles me and I squeak.
“Shh, you’ll wake up my mom,” he whispers with a serious expression.
I suck in a deep breath. “What time is it?” I ask.
I haven’t slept much. I read the note over at least five, six times. None of it makes any sense. I don’t understand. Did Papa kidnap me? Raise me as his own? What job was he hired to do? The questions spiraled like a tornado, keeping me up until I finally drifted off a couple hours ago.
“Early,” Truman muses with a grin. The windows at his back and the weak light coming in make him golden and soft. I have a weird urge to reach out and touch his face.
I squint at him. “Is something wrong?” Panic roots low in my belly. Do I need to leave?
Truman shakes his head. “No, but I think we should go up to your place before my mom gets up and wants to call your dad.”
Panic settles in my gut. “Oh, yeah,” I say. I sit up and rake my fingers through my long dark hair. “Um, I need the bathroom.”
“Yeah, use the one down here. I brought you a toothbrush.” He hands me a new toothbrush, and I tiptoe to the half bath to relieve myself and clean up a little.
When I come out, Truman is waiting for me in the kitchen with my backpack. A jolt of panic sweeps through me, seeing him holding it. Did he go through it? Did he read the letter? See the money?
“Come on, let’s go,” he says quietly. I eye him wearily. “You can’t go up there alone, Kid. I’m going with you.”
I take my bag from him. I weigh my options quickly.
“Fine.”
The sun’s heat is already starting to scorch the Earth as we walk through town. The only things moving, and alert are the birds in the trees. It’s quiet enough that I can hear the gravel crunch under our shoes with every step.
Just two tire tracks with grass trying to grow in between. I’m a jumble of emotions as we approach the clearing that leads up to home.
“What if they’re still there?” I ask panicking.
“Then we leave,” Truman says.
