Backs Against the Wall (Survival Series) Page 8

  He breathes warm across my mouth, making me shiver and smile. When he pulls away, he puts two steps between us.

  “Now I know I should go home,” he says, his voice deep.

  I lift a skeptical eyebrow. “But are you going to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come watch a movie with me,” I blurt out. “We can watch Pretty in Pink.”

  “Why that one?” he asks, already closing the space between us again.

  He’s so easy.

  “Because I don’t like it.”

  “Then why would we watch it?” he laughs.

  The sound of his voice echoing up and down the deserted street makes me smile. I should be cringing. I should be telling him to shush it or he’ll get us killed. But I like the sound of his laughter all around me, the way it is in the loft when I feel the space shrink around him, becoming warmer. Brighter. Somehow more mine by his being there.

  “You’ve seen what I like. Why wouldn’t I show you what I don’t like?”

  He grins down at me, his eyes happy and full. “That’s a really good point.”

  “Is that what people do?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s what we do. When do I get to show you what I don’t like?”

  I roll my eyes, turning my back on him to head toward the building. “I already know what you don’t like.”

  “Really? Hit me with it.”

  “You don’t like when I’m mean. When I’m too harsh.”

  “True, but I just told you that.”

  “You don’t like it when I pull away from you.”

  He’s silent behind me, no sound other than his footfalls in time with mine.

  “You don’t like it when you think I don’t trust you,” I continue.

  “No, I don’t like it when you absolutely, positively do not trust me.”

  I stop two steps up from him on the stairs, turning to look down at him.

  “I do trust you. Probably more than I trust myself sometimes and that’s scary. I don’t like it, but I’m working on it. You’ve gotta give me time. It took me six years to be this way, it will take more than six weeks to change me.”

  “I don’t want to change you, Joss.”

  I grin at his lie. “Yes, you do. At least a little.” I shrug, continuing up the stairs. “And maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. Maybe it will do me good to let my guard down a little.”

  Famous last friggin’ words.

  When we open the door to my loft, I nearly scream. That’s where I’m at on the threat level. Screaming. Let me make something crystal clear here; I. Do. Not. Scream. Ever. Not when they ate my parents, not when I ran into the street to find a world gone crazy, not even when they pounded on the outside of the car all day and all night as I lay shivering on the floorboards soaked in urine, sweat and fear. I never made a sound.

  But now, finding Trent parked in the darkness in the middle of my loft, his eerie eyes fixed on my face like a hungry lion, I choke on a shriek.

  “I will freakin’ kill you,” I breathe, begging my heart to stop pounding in my chest. It aches from the pressure.

  “Good to see you too,” he drones.

  “Come on, Trent, a little warning. We could have killed you, man,” Ryan complains behind me.

  Trent smirks. “Not on your best day.”

  “What do you want, psycho?” I demand.

  “It’s not what I want. It’s what The Hive wants.”

  Ryan curses behind me. I second that. Trent just nods.

  “They want to see me,” Ryan eventually mumbles.

  “They want to know why you’re fighting again. And who it is you’re fighting for.”

  “When?”

  “Hours ago would have been best.”

  I glare at him. “You obviously knew we were downstairs. Why didn’t you come tell us this? It’s kind of important.”

  “And interrupt your magic moment? There are so few joys in this world anymore, why would I steal that from you two?”

  I look at Ryan. “Is he messing with me or is he being serious? I can’t read him.”

  “No one can,” Ryan says. “He’s written in backwards brail.”

  I glare at Trent again. “It’d be easier just to kill him.”

  “You’re welcome to try.”

  Trent smiles.

  “Alright, let’s not waste time.” I turn to Ryan, holding up my arm. “Take the splint off. Let’s go.”

  He stares down at me for a long time, just looking. I wait patiently, my arm still held out to him.

  “Would it to any good at all,” he asks quietly, his eyes imploring, “to ask you to stay here. Not tell you, but ask you nicely to stay here and wait for me?”

  I take a deep breath, reminding myself I’m mending fences here. “I appreciate that you’re not trying to tell me what to do. Consider your effort acknowledged.”

  “I’m marking it in the minutes of this conversation,” Trent tells us.

  “Not helping,” Ryan mutters, glaring at him over my shoulder.

  “But,” I say firmly, shaking my arm to get Ryan’s attention, “it doesn’t change the fact that I’m coming with you. I’m the one with Vin’s ring—“

  “You could give it to me.”

  “And I’m the one who was sent in his place.”

  “They don’t know that.”

  “I’m the one who knows about the Colony.”

  “You’ve told me what you know.”

  “I’m the one who was kidnapped, held prisoner, watched her friend nearly killed and murdered a woman in cold blood to get out!” I shout, deciding fences are overrated anyway. “I’m going!”

  “Alright,” Ryan says softly. Too softly. He steps closer, pushing my arm down out of the way. “Then what about this? They didn’t ask to see you. They want to see me about the Underground. It has nothing to do with you and I can tell them that at the door if you try to go with me. You’ll be locked out, treated like a girl from the stables.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I growl, fully believing the look in his eyes that says yes, he would.

  He nods slowly. “Oh yeah, I would. If it means keeping you from going there, I would.”

  “I promised them, Ryan.”

  “And we’ll keep your promise. I’ll help you. We’ll go to the Vashons. We don’t need The Hive.”

  “What’s a Vashon?” Trent asks.

  I bristle, hating the interruption, but I bite my tongue because I’ve already shouted at one of them in the last few minutes. I’m not looking to lash out at everyone. Not yet.

  “A group Crenshaw mentioned. We were just with him asking his advice,” Ryan tells him, still standing in my space.

  He’s towering over me, probably to intimidate me, but what he doesn’t know (what I’ll never tell him) is that it’s comforting. Eye level with his chest, seeing his shoulders go on for miles, knowing the strength lying in wait inside; it’s comforting. He has my back and he’s strong enough to rely on. I can let a little bit of the weight of the world pass on to him and he can take it. That’s terrifyingly wonderful. It’s why I don’t step away. Not because I don’t want to retreat. Don’t want to show weakness. Okay, that’s part of it, but mostly it’s because I just like it. I like him.

  “They live on an island down south. It’s supposed to be Risen free,” I tell Trent.

  “That’s a sweet fairytale,” Trent chuckles.

  “I don’t think it is. I think it’s for real. At least it was the last he knew of it. Either way, it’s worth a try. It’s a better option than owing anything to The Hive.”

  “But what if it’s not real?” I ask, looking up into his face. “What if we get there and it’s nothing? Then we need The Hive anyway and we lost our shot at talking to them.”

  Ryan shakes his head, his eyes locked on mine. “I’d rather take the risk that they don’t exist than risk taking you—“

  “We’d need a boat.”

  Ryan and I both turn to look at Trent.<
br />
  “Why?”

  “It’s an island, right? We’d need a boat to get to it. Do you have a boat?”

  I shake my head even though I imagine I’m not meant to answer that question.

  “No,” Ryan admits darkly.

  “Well then, problem solved,” Trent says happily, standing. “We need The Hive after all.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ryan, Trent and I walk through the dark streets together, heading for The Hive. This area is relatively cleared of Risen, not much of a surprise. But the empty, silent streets make me more nervous than a horde would. It’s ominous and horrifying. I’m shaking a little, though I’d never let them know it. My arm is aching being out of the splint, the thin material of my worn, black fleece the only protection it has left. It’s not ready. Maybe I’m not ready. But the dull yellow glow of the lights inside the aquarium are burning at the end of the street and it’s too late to turn back now.

  “Crenshaw isn’t going to be happy about this,” Ryan grumbles.

  “Cren ain’t gots to know ‘bout it.”

  He looks over at me, his face worried and confused. “Are you alright?”

  “No,” I mutter, wiping my sweating palms on my pants. “I’m freaking out a little.”

  “It shows. What was that?”

  “I’ve heard the gangs talk like that before,” I say defensively.

  “Well, most don’t so, you know… don’t.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  He glances over at me, the confusion gone but the worry etched deep in his eyes. “I won’t let them keep you here.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  I won’t let them keep me here.

  “Then what are you afraid of?” Trent asks.

  “Did I say I was afraid? No one said afraid. Let’s keep it on the real, boys.”

  “Stop that,” Ryan reminds me.

  “Right, yeah. I’m not afraid. I’m just freaked. It’s different.”

  “What are you freaked about?”

  “There are Risen in there. In a crowded room. That’s a big red flag right there; the mass of people. I’m not a fan.”

  “Joss, you know it takes a long time to turn. Way longer than it used to.”

  “But there are tons of people in there that come in contact with Risen for fun. I’m not done worrying you’ll still turn from being around them with your open cuts. What kind of wounds do all of them have? How old are they?”

  “We cleaned mine early, I’m fine. Calm down. It’s not like it used to be.”

  “If a person is bitten, though—“

  “They’re done for, I know. But we’ll be out of there way before they turn.”

  “It’s stupid.”

  “Keep that to yourself when you get in there.”

  “I’m not great at censoring myself.”

  “Maybe don’t talk at all,” Trent suggests.

  Ryan and I both glare at him. He shrugs, unconcerned.

  “You can talk, just be careful what you say,” Ryan tells me. “Less is more.”

  “I tried to say that about her clothes and you told me to f—“

  “Don’t start that again,” Ryan warns Trent.

  “What about my clothes?” I ask, glancing down at my tattered jeans and too large coat.

  Trent smirks at me. “You look like a tomboy.”

  “Because I am, Trent.”

  “I told him we should bring you in looking like a stable girl. It would make more sense.”

  “And I said drop it,” Ryan warns him, his voice becoming hot.

  “Like a pro?” I ask, shocked.

  But then I wonder why I’m shocked. How else are they meant to explain me? Where have I been hiding if not inside a stable? I’ll cause more of a stir walking in looking like this, like I don’t owe anyone anything, than I would waltzing in naked. I’m definitely not doing that, that’s insane and I’m pretty sure it’s so far outside my comfort zone that I’d vomit from the stress, but it’s something to consider.

  I quickly strip off my jacket, carefully peeling it over my aching arm.

  “Hold this,” I snap at Trent, throwing the jacket in his face.

  It falls away to reveal his feline smile, his eyes watching me in the dark.

  “Joss, you don’t have to change how you look,” Ryan says, sounding tired.

  “Yes, I do,” I tell him, pulling my t-shirt up over my head.

  I don’t have anything on underneath but a thin tank top and a sports bra, but it’ll have to do. My education on sexy comes from 80’s movies but I somehow doubt fluffing my hair and wearing neon spandex is what I need to blend in these days.

  “You need to eat more,” Trent says, pointing at my side. “I can see your ribs.”

  I snatch my coat back from him, wincing as pain shoots up my arm.

  “If I had more to eat, I’d eat it. Back off me.”

  “You’re not taking good care of your girl, Ry.”

  “I would if she’d let me,” Ryan mutters.

  He’s staring down at me as well. Mostly at my chest.

  “Alright,” I growl at both of them, “eyes forward and hands off. Let’s go get this over with.”

  We move under an overpass, crumbling and decrepit. I hurry as I always do going under them, worried that they’ll choose that moment to dissolve down on top of me. To trap me as easy pickings for… well, just about anyone, living or undead. I shiver at the thought of all the enemies I have out there, a fair portion of which are in this building looming in front of me. It’s stupid to be here.

  The building is two stories of good condition that screams someone lives there. The exterior paint is badly chipped and faded, but broken windows are carefully boarded up and the surrounding areas are barricaded and secured. It’s a long building stretching out onto a pier over the water of the Pudget Sound. I’ve fished there before. Not by this building, obviously, but hidden farther north away from The Hive and the Colonies nearby. I can see them now. The stadiums are just south of us, also glowing faintly in the night sky. All of them so shamelessly broadcasting where they are and what they have. Hardly a care in the world.

  I hate all of them.

  The inside of the building is dark as far as I can see, but Ryan doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to the door and knock sharply. It doesn’t take long for a small square in the door to pop open.

  “What?” a voice asks gruffly.

  Ryan puts his face to the hole. “I’m here to see the Boss. He asked for me.”

  “You’re not here to fight?”

  “No. Just business.”

  “That’s a shame. Slow night.”

  “Not my problem,” Ryan says, his tone dead.

  I hear a muffled chuckle as the square slams shut. Bolts are unlatched and eventually the door swings open. There are lights on inside but not much. The entire entryway is cast in black shadows, including the bouncer at the door, and I hesitate as all of my survival instincts scream at me to run the other way. Nature and numbers. They don’t lie.

  Ryan steps inside, not bothering to look back to see if Trent and I are following him. Trent nudges me subtly with his arm, falling in step behind me as I stumble forward. I keep moving, my muscles jerky with the tremors running through them. I probably look like one of the junkies. Someone itching for a fix. Better to look like an addict than a coward.

  We come into a large open area with high ceilings and exposed beams. The remnants of a huge fish tank sits on the opposite side of the room. It’s emptied of water but looks like it’s filled with something else. Shoes maybe? It’s too dark to tell and I’m too freaked to wander over and look. I hang close to Trent, of all people.

  I am knee deep in Neverland now. There are so, so, so many Lost Boys. They’re milling around the lobby, swarming everywhere. No one close, but they’re on the peripheral. Walking on the catwalks above us, sitting around what was once a reception desk to the left and a lot of them are coming and going behind
the fish tank. Back there must either be where the fights or the girls are.

  The people, they don’t bother me so much. I got pretty used to it at the Colony, though I never learned to like it. What’s bugging me more than anything is the darkness and the lights. It’s too dark to see well, to know who is who and what their life status is. But the light annoys me more. Strung all over the building are strands of LED Christmas lights of every color. I hate Christmas lights. Christmas trees, Christmas music, Christmas presents, but I absolutely cannot stand Christmas lights. These LEDs make the movements of the people around me seem strange, almost like a strobe light. I try my hardest to ignore them but it’s like ignoring the sun. It’s everywhere.

  “Ryan,” a high pitched voice sings out.

  We all turn to see a girl about my age walking down the stairs from the catwalks. She’s wearing next to nothing. Tiny little shorts and a tinier tank top. Her long blond hair looks pretty clean, making me wonder if The Hive has hot showers. I’m pretty sure they don’t get their soap from Crenshaw.

  “Elise,” he says, his voice no warmer than it was for the bouncer.

  “I thought that was you. I missed you the last couple times you were here.”

  “I wasn’t here to socialize.”

  “What about tonight?” she purrs, walking right up to him and pressing her hand against his stomach. “Do you have time to be social tonight?”

  I go to take a step toward them, but Trent stealthily grabs my hand. Thank goodness it’s my good hand, because he crushes it in his. When I glare up at him, trying to pull it out of his grasp, he shakes his head minutely. I freeze, waiting.

  Ryan steps back from the girl. She steps forward, regaining the ground and giggling up at him.