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“Your kn-knee?” I stuttered, tongue thick.
He smiled.
Dr. Brewn forced me deeper and deeper into the woods.
But I knew, if I didn’t put up some kind of a fight, he’d get me too far away to be found.
And I would be found.
Quaid wouldn’t give up.
The thorn in my left Croc pushed deeper, and I groaned. “I have to stop. There’s a thorn in my shoe.”
He looked at my shoes, lip curled. “Those aren’t great hiking shoes.”
They weren’t.
Because I hadn’t planned on fucking hiking, dammit!
“Let me see,” he said.
I reluctantly picked my foot up for him to see, and he caught my leg, jerking it toward him so hard that I soon found myself flat on my back.
His eyes gleamed as he took the shoe from me and tossed it into the woods. “Here’s good enough, I guess.”
The next moments of my life were the longest, and most painful, I’d ever experienced.
I’d never, not in a million years, be able to say what, exactly, had happened.
Hits. Punches. Kicks. Slices.
Over and over, it continued until I was so far gone I couldn’t think about anything but the pain.
“Brewn,” I heard called out. “I know you’re having fun, but it’s my turn.”
Two.
There were two of them.
“Fuck off, Darron.”
Darron.
Dr. Darron Simpson? The one I’d just gone on a date with and couldn’t change a tire, Darron?
What the absolute hell was going on?
A kick to my head had me seeing stars, and that thought was the last thing I remembered.
I mainly eat whole foods. Whole blocks of cheese. Whole pizzas. Whole cakes. Whole tubs of ice cream.
—Text from Ellodie to Quaid
QUAID
“He’s okay,” I said to my dad. “Got pinned down under gang-on-gang fire. He took a bullet to the hip. One to the chest. Refused to ride in the ambulance and drove himself to the hospital. The ambulance took three more gang members from the Breakers Gang.”
“Good.” Dad sounded relieved. “Where are you going now?”
