Frankie scoots his chair back and slaps his thighs. “I know this is probably the last thing youwanted.”
A slow smile lifts one corner of my mouth as years of planning finally come to fruition. “On the contrary, Frankie, I can’t fuckingwait.”
Three
Shiloh
The minuteI step off the plane, I know I’mscrewed.
I’ve endured months without a relapse, but the churning in my stomach makes me ache for the relief one line would give me. I crave the numbness and perpetual motion—a habit born and cultivated by the very people who damned me forit.
Instead, I’m stone-cold sober as the welcome wagon arrives at the Myrtle Beach International Airport. They’re at the terminal in full force, jumping into action as if they’ve been awaiting my arrival. Cameras and flashes buzz around me like a swarm of killer bees. Only these bees aren’t interested in stinging me—they’re out for myblood.
Instinct has me covering my face with the inside of my elbow as the guard’s firm grip on my other arm maneuvers me through the crowd. “How did they get into theterminal?”
“They probably bought a ticket. One shot of you would more than pay for their out of pocket expenses,” she says in a clippedtone.
I keep my head down and stumble behind her. I don’t know why I thought slipping into town would be easy. I’m a radioactive train wreck barreling through a sleepy Southern town that swallows gossip like starving animals in thewild.
“Everyone move,” she yells, waving her arm. “No cameras, no comment.” Regardless of her authoritative warning, the shouts keepcoming.
“Shiloh, is it true the Maynards are suing you in a civilcase?”
“Shiloh, what do you have to say about the protestors lined upoutside?”
“Shiloh, let us see yourface.”
The last one makes mewince.
“There are protestors?” I whisper to the large female directing me through theairport.
“What did you expect?” she mumbles while guiding me around a second wave of paparazzi. “You’re a criminal, not MissAmerica.”
“That’s harsh.” I groan as her thumb digs into my skin while she steers me into a tinyelevator.
“I call ’em like I see ’em.” The pressure on my arm releases, and I hear her muscular body thump against the far wall of the elevator. “You can look now, princess. Cameras aregone.”
I blink, the tight, metal enclosure coming into focus as it descends to baggage claim. My heart thumps a wild rhythm in my chest, and sweat beads along my brow. While I didn’t expect the cross-country trip to be a vacation, becoming a walking beacon definitely wasn’t on myagenda.
People mostly kept to themselves on the six-hour flight, with only the occasional whisper or flash of a pathetically hidden camera phone alerting me to the fact anyone even cared I was there. The female officer contracted to ensure I didn’t ditch the plane and fly to Mexico glared at me the whole time and shook herhead.
Kind of like she’s doingnow.
Only then I was stuck in a tiny flying deathtrap, and now I’m stuck in a tiny box held up by cables and fishing wire. Both make me want to crawl out of myskin.
Crawl out of myskin.
If only that were possible. I can’t help but chuckle to myself as I tug on the neck of my t-shirt, my throat expanding withpanic.
“Something funny,princess?”
I glance at the officer’s shoes. They’re a sensible black, with double-knotted laces and thick soles. I assume they’re designed to chase down prisoners who make a break for it. However, their purpose is really inconsequential with the concealed gun tucked into the back of herwaistband.
“No,” I answer as a sudden jolt lets me know the elevator has reached its destination. “I just can’t breathe in enclosedspaces.”
Sensible Shoes moves in front of me, but I’m not sure if it’s to ward off any more paparazzi or to block my exit. Her short brown hair is tucked neatly behind each ear, and I can’t find a trace of makeup on her face. The concept fascinates me. Before the accident, I couldn’t imagine going outside without myarmor.
“Well, then you should thank that rich daddy of yours that you aren’t suffocating behindbars.”
