Page 67 of Blood We Steal

“Where did you get these?” I asked.

“Mind your business, girl,” he said.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. He pushed his glasses up on top of his head and arched a brow. He was leaning forward and Nana’s ring swung back and forth with accusation. “You got a problem, Simone?”

“You’ve been gambling, even in all this?”

I hadn’t wanted to say it, but the words couldn’t be swallowed.

It didn’t matter, not when the courtyard was filled with more zombies by the minute. To say nothing of a sociopathic corrections officer who’d decided to torture us for amusement.

But that was exactly why I had to say something. He was gambling now, almost proving what I had never allowed myself to believe was true.

He swiped his hand over his head and knocked his glasses off. Chuckled humorlessly. “That’s why these things stay broken.” He met my eyes. “I just wanted to do something for you, Moni, like I always have.” He grabbed the crackers. “But if you don’t want them⁠—”

“Thanks, Aaron,” I whispered. I opened the pack, flaky peanut butter falling off the crinkled cellophane.

I put a cracker in my mouth and chewed it robotically, the salty-sweet peanut butter poison on my tongue.

But Aaron smiled at me, patted my hand again, and like always, I swallowed the cracker down like I hadn’t been able to do my words.

“I love you, Moni,” he said, squeezing my hand.

He was the first person, only person, to ever say those words to me. Nana showed her love but never said the words. Every time I’d heard them from Aaron was a little piece of proof that I was worth something.

My gaze found Rubin, who wasn’t looking at me, but who was fully aware of me.

Went back to Aaron and shaped my mouth to say words that were second nature.

But I didn’t get a chance to say them.

Rubin

One second, I was forcing myself not to look at Simone. The next, there was a low hiss and a pop, and the cafeteria started to fill with thick white smoke.

“Tear gas!” Damian yelled.

I was moving before thought and pulled my shirt off as I ran toward Simone and pushed the material against her nose.

Eyes burning, I guided her out of the common area and then to the kitchen and over to the sink. I doused the shirt with water and pressed it to her face, then did the same to mine with a rag that was under the sink.

“Aaron—” she said, her weak voice breaking off into a cough.

“Can take care of himself,” I grunted.

“Krye, this way!” It was Besnik and I followed the sound of his voice, my hand tight on Simone’s arm as I moved. The smoke seemed to be getting thicker and every breath was labored. I could barely see, but forced my eyes open and pushed through the smoke and into a dark hallway.

“They’re funneling down this hall,” Arben said.

“Yes, to get to the kitchen, but we’ll pass out if we stay. Get whatever weapon you can.”

I had my knife in my hands and Arben grabbed the one hanging from Simone’s side. As one, we moved down the corridor, the emergency light dim and casting the hall in macabre shadows. I often hated the harsh overhead lighting, one of the many petty tortures that the institution inflicted. It would have been useful now, but I didn’t have them, so I’d have to rely on my ears.

I tuned out the screams, the shots, tried to find what was underneath.

“There’s something up ahead,” Arben said.

I’d heard it too, a soft scrape that was wrong in all this chaos. I let go of Simone’s hand and put my face against her ear. “Keep the shirt against your nose, take shallow breaths. Stay close.”