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“You just got your ass handed to you by Queen Cuntface,” Lamar finishes for him. “And you wanna know if he ate?”
I slam my hands over Lamar’s mouth and shush him with wide, warning eyes.
Quint looks from him to the far corners of the room, as if he’s searching for surveillance equipment.
“Are y’all for real?” Lamar mumbles before shoving my hands away. “I can’t even call her a—”
“Shh!” Quint and I hiss in unison, waving our hands in his face.
But it’s too late. Lamar’s insult must have had the power to conjure Satan herself because Q waltzes in not one second later.
I slide off the counter, and Quint and I stand on either side of Lamar, as if we could actually protect him.
Her serpentine eyes slide across the three of us before settling on the boy in the middle. “Saw you and your bro here helpin’ yaselves to a little breakfast this mornin’. Now, I been reeeeal patient wit’ y’all, but now that I know ya girl here’s been holdin’ out on me, well …” She spreads her arms wide and then slams her hands together with a loud clap. “Look at dat. My patience done run the fuck out.”
“No!” I blurt out, bile and panic beginning to rise in my throat. “Please don’t kick us out. Please. I … I can’t go back there. I … we …” My eyes swing from Quint’s to Lamar’s. “We don’t have anywhere else to go!”
“Aww … ain’t that about a bitch? Maybe y’all shoulda thought about that before you fucked wit’ ya landlord.” Q’s expression goes from sarcastic to murderous. “Get the fuck out.”
“Please!” I cry, taking a step forward to reach for her arm.
Q yanks her arm out of my grasp before grabbing my shocked face with splayed fingers. Her thumbnail jams into my jawbone as the talons of her first two fingers stab into the swollen bags beneath my eyes, pulling my bottom lids down. She assesses me like a cat, trying to figure out if she wants to eat me now or play with me first.
“Touch me again, and I’ma take ya eyeballs and wear ’em as earrings, bitch.”
I try to squeeze my eyelids shut and whisper, “I’m sorry,” against her palm.
Q groans and releases my face with a shove. “I’ll let y’all stay—on one condition.” She turns her attention on the boys to my right and sneers, “These two lazy-ass muhfuckas start scoutin’ … now.”
“No,” I blurt and shake my head. “Please. They can’t go out there. Quint still has an open wound, and Lamar …” I turn and look at the smart-ass standing next to me. “He’s just a kid.”
“Boo-fuckin’-hoo, bitch.” Q pretends to wipe a tear from her eye and flick it at me. “Scout or get the fuck out.”
My frantic mind races through every possible choice. Even though the very thought of going outside makes me feel like the room is spinning and the walls are closing in, I can’t risk getting kicked out or losing the only friends I have left.
With a heaving chest and sweating palms, I open my mouth to volunteer, but the voice that I hear isn’t my own. It’s deep and cool but with an edge that electrifies every cell in my body.
“I’ll do it.”
All four of our heads swivel toward the door, which is now filled with a presence I never thought I’d see again. His chestnut-brown hair is dark and wet. His pale green eyes are sad. Severe. His clothes are clean, his boots are muddy, and even from ten feet away, I can feel him. Hollow yet overflowing. Calm yet pulsing. Strong-willed and stubborn, yet … he’s here.
He came back.
Wes’s green gaze swallows me whole before he speaks again, “You still want to stay here?” His words are quiet, meant only for me.
I nod. It’s a lie though. I don’t want to stay here another second, but nodding is easier than admitting that something is so wrong with me that I can’t even look outside without having a panic attack.
His soft gaze hardens as it settles on Q. “Then, I’ll do it.”
She claps her ring-adorned hands together and sashays toward Wes. Her full hips sway as if she were swinging an invisible tail. “I knew you’d be back, Surfer Boy,” she coos, reaching up to pat him on the cheek.
Wes jerks his chiseled chin out of her reach, and she bursts out laughing.
“Oh, I forgot. You wanna keep us on the down-low.” She casts an evil smirk at me over her shoulder before walking out the door.
Just before she disappears, Q turns to face Wes again. “You got until tomorrow to bring me some dish soap, lighter fluid, toothbrushes, deodorant, D batteries, and some gotdamn chocolate chip cookies, Surfer Boy. I ain’t playin’.”
Wes lifts an eyebrow at her but says nothing as she spins back around and prances away. When his gaze falls back on me, as cold and guarded as the day we met, I hold my breath.
