Page 72 of Lucky 14

Fuck. I have to break this fever. But there’s no way I’m taking Oakley’s mystery pills.

When I look up, Oakley is watching me. His gaze darts away like he wasn’t. “I’ll uh, you can have the bed.”

Have the bed? Does he plan on going to sleep?

Panic grips me with vicious claws. I can’t go to sleep. Not with him.

Oakley is moving to the door, and I shift to keep him in my line of sight. He grabs an ironing board out of the closet and braces it against the door, then grabs a blanket out of the closet and lays it on the ground by the bathroom.

Between me and the door. Is he trying to prevent me from leaving, or others from coming in?

There’s another loud laugh in the hallway, and Oakley jumps, facing the door, fists clenched. When the voices fade, he turns back to me.

“I’ll find Kyan tomorrow when everyone else has left. He’ll help.” He trails off on the last part, an odd look crossing over his face. Then he blinks. “You should eat.”

Immediately, I frown.

“You have to eat to get better.” He moves toward the food, and I curl my legs up. He just pops the lid open, and I see dark meat on a bed of rice. Immediately, I wonder what kind of meat it is. He talked about killing bunnies. Is this rabbit?

Or worse… Is it human?

My stomach turns, and I gag.

Oakley’s gaze locks sharply on me.

I wave him off, feeling my skin crawl with the assessing way he’s looking at me. “Not hungry.”

There’s a moment of silence where I stare at the blankets. Slowly, he pulls the food over to himself. There’s the rip of plastic, then shuffling. I glance up to see him taking a bite of rice and meat. His gaze flicks to me, he chews, then swallows. Then, he grabs one of the pills on the bed, pops it in his mouth, glances at the extra water bottle, and then dry swallows it.

I watch with rapt attention. He’s trying to prove to me he didn’t poison the food.

Oakley shrugs. “It’s cold, but it’s pretty good.” He looks at me a little too long. “Let me take that out.”

I stare at him.

He motions at his ear.

Oh my god. The tag. The idea of it being gone fills me with relief, but then Oakley is going for the knife at his belt.

“No.” I scramble back.

Oakley looks startled. “I have to cut it.”

I glare. “Let me do it.”

Consideration then fear flashes across his face. The face with the bruise from my rock just under his hairline. “Uh…it’ll be quick, just let me.”

I honestly didn’t even think about knifing him, and that makes me afraid. I need to think about these things; this is survival.

Oakley approaches like I’m a wild animal, eyes averted. I don’t like it. The closer he gets, the more my skin crawls, but also the more my freedom calls to me. When Oakley reaches to pull my hair back, his fingers brush the tip of my ear. It’s a gentle touch. The first I’ve had in…I don’t remember. A shiver races down my back and arms.

“I’m just going to cut the back.” Oakley leans over me, smelling of sweat and also something like leather.

He’s gentle and quick, and then with a pinch of pain, the tag is gone. Relief immediately washes over me like a cold shower, and suddenly my chest feels lighter. Freer.

Oakley backs away, and I get the horrifying impulse to cry.

I shove it back down. Oakley stands there, looking lost. Shoulders deflating a bit, he goes to his blanket on the ground.