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Authors: Suzanne Young
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has been dyed. His irises are slightly larger than normal, his brown eyes the exact color of Deacon’s—contacts, I realize. Even August’s phrasing is similar to Deacon’s.
I swallow hard. My father was right.
“I was worried,” August says, taking another step toward me. “You’d been drinking, and then you were off in town alone. I’m glad I found you. You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want, Brooke. It’s a safe place.”
“Is it, now?” I murmur. I glance behind him to where bus eighty-four has pulled to the front of the line.
August furrows his brow as if he thinks I’m acting weird, but I’m sure he understands what’s really happening. He takes another step toward me, hands still in his pockets, feigning relaxation. “At least let me give you a ride home,” he offers. “I’m sure your father’s worried about you.”
I still. I never told him about my father. In fact, I told Eva that I was a ward of the state. That I had no family. And yet here stands this closer , thinking I won’t recognize him. How he’s tried to subtly mimic my boyfriend to provide false comfort and unearned trust. Well . . . he’s underestimated me.
“That’s super nice of you,” I tell him, folding back my hood and smiling. “But I’ve already imposed so much.”
“You kidding?” he says. “Our stray dogs are more trouble than you.”
I force a laugh. Yeah, I didn’t see any dogs, either. I wonder how real Eva was. If she was a friend or a closer as well. I don’t have time to think about it now. I motion toward his car.
“A ride would be awesome, August,” I say. “Thank you. Would you mind if we hit up the gas station and grab snacks? My treat . . . for the trip.” I start in the direction of his car, noticing the way his hand shifts in his pocket. I can’t tell, but I’m afraid he might have a knife.
I quickly tick through my options. I could run, right now, screaming for help. Perhaps I’d find it before he could hurt me. But even so, I would be questioned. Underage, I’d be sent home. Calling attention to myself will have to be my last resort.
August falls into step beside me, chattering away as if he has no idea that I’m onto his ruse. I glance at him and smile, keeping up the façade, all the while watching number eighty-four, waiting until the moment when boarding will be complete and the bus is about to pull away.
I just need another three or four minutes, and then I’ll bolt through the crowd, weave in and out, and hop on the bus. Hopefully before August can catch up with me.
When I get to the passenger side of the car, planning to stall, I feel August behind me. I spin, having expected him to be at the driver’s side, and find him entirely too close. My plan disintegrates, and my façade falls away.
“What are you doing?” I demand, nearly tripping over my shoes as I back up a step.
August smiles, but it’s not the inviting smile he used earlier.It’s lopsided, and I see a flash of his real personality. “Opening the door for you,” he says easily, reaching around me to grab the door handle.
My breath is caught in my throat, and I decide that it’s time to run after all. I push his shoulder, trying to move past him, but August is fast. He grabs me by my backpack and yanks me backward. He wraps one arm around my waist and lifts me off my feet; his other hand clamps under my jaw, forcing my mouth shut so I can’t scream. My eyes are frantic as I struggle to get free.
August spins me around and pins me to the car like we’re in an embrace out in front of the bus station. The pressure of his weight is enough to keep me too short of breath to yell for help.
“Just relax,” he soothes. “No one’s going to hurt you.” He reaches into the pocket of his corduroys, and to my horror he pulls out a syringe. I attack with renewed ferocity, shifting from side to side and trying to knee any part of him I can get to. He casts a glance around the street to
I swallow hard. My father was right.
“I was worried,” August says, taking another step toward me. “You’d been drinking, and then you were off in town alone. I’m glad I found you. You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you want, Brooke. It’s a safe place.”
“Is it, now?” I murmur. I glance behind him to where bus eighty-four has pulled to the front of the line.
August furrows his brow as if he thinks I’m acting weird, but I’m sure he understands what’s really happening. He takes another step toward me, hands still in his pockets, feigning relaxation. “At least let me give you a ride home,” he offers. “I’m sure your father’s worried about you.”
I still. I never told him about my father. In fact, I told Eva that I was a ward of the state. That I had no family. And yet here stands this closer , thinking I won’t recognize him. How he’s tried to subtly mimic my boyfriend to provide false comfort and unearned trust. Well . . . he’s underestimated me.
“That’s super nice of you,” I tell him, folding back my hood and smiling. “But I’ve already imposed so much.”
“You kidding?” he says. “Our stray dogs are more trouble than you.”
I force a laugh. Yeah, I didn’t see any dogs, either. I wonder how real Eva was. If she was a friend or a closer as well. I don’t have time to think about it now. I motion toward his car.
“A ride would be awesome, August,” I say. “Thank you. Would you mind if we hit up the gas station and grab snacks? My treat . . . for the trip.” I start in the direction of his car, noticing the way his hand shifts in his pocket. I can’t tell, but I’m afraid he might have a knife.
I quickly tick through my options. I could run, right now, screaming for help. Perhaps I’d find it before he could hurt me. But even so, I would be questioned. Underage, I’d be sent home. Calling attention to myself will have to be my last resort.
August falls into step beside me, chattering away as if he has no idea that I’m onto his ruse. I glance at him and smile, keeping up the façade, all the while watching number eighty-four, waiting until the moment when boarding will be complete and the bus is about to pull away.
I just need another three or four minutes, and then I’ll bolt through the crowd, weave in and out, and hop on the bus. Hopefully before August can catch up with me.
When I get to the passenger side of the car, planning to stall, I feel August behind me. I spin, having expected him to be at the driver’s side, and find him entirely too close. My plan disintegrates, and my façade falls away.
“What are you doing?” I demand, nearly tripping over my shoes as I back up a step.
August smiles, but it’s not the inviting smile he used earlier.It’s lopsided, and I see a flash of his real personality. “Opening the door for you,” he says easily, reaching around me to grab the door handle.
My breath is caught in my throat, and I decide that it’s time to run after all. I push his shoulder, trying to move past him, but August is fast. He grabs me by my backpack and yanks me backward. He wraps one arm around my waist and lifts me off my feet; his other hand clamps under my jaw, forcing my mouth shut so I can’t scream. My eyes are frantic as I struggle to get free.
August spins me around and pins me to the car like we’re in an embrace out in front of the bus station. The pressure of his weight is enough to keep me too short of breath to yell for help.
“Just relax,” he soothes. “No one’s going to hurt you.” He reaches into the pocket of his corduroys, and to my horror he pulls out a syringe. I attack with renewed ferocity, shifting from side to side and trying to knee any part of him I can get to. He casts a glance around the street to
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