“Why the heckle-schmeckle did I think this was a good plan?”
“Heckle…schmeckle.” I repeat.
“Shut up.”
I laugh. “You’re a funny one, girl.”
She slumps to her knees, then presses her forehead to the floor. “Cool down here.”
I lift her up to her feet. “Can’t sleep there, princess.”
“Sleep.” She goes limp.
I cradle her in my arms—she’s out, gone.
Fuck.
Now what?
3An Empty Room
Myka
Awhite-hot spike is being hammered into my skull through my temple. I’ve got sand in my mouth. My eyes won’t open.
Ohhh gosh. Who am I?
What happened to me?
I wiggle my big toe—which, thankfully, obeys my mental command, which means I exist, and my toe exists. But even moving that toe hurts.
A ragged groan emerges from what I assume is my throat, but it sounds like a goat bleating with a mouthful of hay.
I wiggle my other toe. All my toes. Fingers, then.
Okay, let’s try opening the eyes.
I manage one eye open to a half-slit. Through my eyelashes, I see a wall painted a muted, soothing gray-blue. A faded, battered camouflage bucket hat hangs on a hook on the wall opposite me. It looks like it’s been dragged through the mud, stomped on, left to dry in the sun, and maybe shot out of a cannon. Or shotwitha cannon. Pretty sure that’s a bullet hole through the brim.
Suffice to say, this is not my room at the motel.
I close my eye and try to remember…anything.
The bar with Miguel. Angel leaping into his arms, kissing him passionately. Being jealous of that.
Being sick on the bus.
A giant nightclub called Sin, a long line we didn’t have to wait in. Two huge blond brothers at the door.
Music. Too many drinks. Way, way,waytoo many drinks.
Dancing. This was the best part.
The big beautiful Black man I danced with, who thought I wasfineand wanted to go somewhere with me—for sex, obviously.
This is where it gets blurry.
I remember…trying to find the bathroom with Angel. Getting separated.
