23. Artemis
23 ARTEMIS
Everything hurts.
There’s a glow of warm light coming from over my head, and it takes several long minutes to work up the courage to open both eyes at once.
And longer still to piece together what happened right before I lost consciousness.
The bike… riding through West Falls…
the wire across the road.
Apollo’s motorcycle was caught up easily in the trap, and I flew over the handlebars.
My head—thankfully in a helmet—slammed into the asphalt, and I slid on the road.
Everything hurt, and I cursed myself for not wearing my leather gear.
An outfit I always wore when I was riding on my bike—but taking Apollo’s was a spur-of-the-moment thing.
It felt like fate that my helmet was in the backseat of my car.
Those guys grabbed me.
Yanked my cracked helmet off, pulled at my hair and my clothes.
I tried to fight, and someone swung something at my head.
I touch my forehead gingerly, wincing at the resulting pain.
But my fingertips brush a bandage instead of blood.
Also, I’m inside, not left forgotten and bleeding on the side of the road.
I shift, and something warm lands on my shin.
I freeze and slowly lift my head.
My legs are on Saint’s lap.
His hand is on my leg.
I glance around, unfortunately immediately recognizing where we are.
Nyx’s old place. She grew up here until she moved in with Saint, and her parents moved out of Sterling Falls…
She let the guys use this house.
I must’ve driven through the neighborhood, although I don’t think I was on this road.
So how did I end up here?
His head is tipped back against the couch, his mouth open as he breathes deeply.
Carefully, I lift my legs and put my feet on the floor.
He didn’t take my shoes off, which is good of him.
I sit up and immediately have a wave of vertigo.
I squeeze my eyes shut and count to five.
Doesn’t help.
Instead of standing, I slide off the couch and sit on the floor.
Breathing doesn’t help either.
I mean, breathing keeps me alive, but it still feels a bit like I’m standing on the bow of a ship at sea.
In a storm.
Stop the ride, I want to get off .
My stomach turns, and I force my eyes open.
I’m going to puke in approximately thirty seconds.
Without thinking, I scramble for the bathroom and throw my body in.
I don’t even get a chance to flip the light switch.
Vomit is probably my least favorite thing on the planet.
The way my whole body tenses up, the headache immediately worsens.
I clutch at the edges of the toilet.
The door opens behind me.
Saint, obviously.
I brace myself for another wave, my stomach cramping hard, but also brace for his snide comment.
Something about how I ended up in whatever position he found me.
Instead, he silently gathers my hair back.
He holds it with one hand and rummages in the drawer of the sink vanity with the other.
I close my eyes and throw up again.
Could this get any worse?
Today has sucked .
Something lightly scrapes at my scalp, and then Saint is sighing and moving away.
My hair stays in place.
I touch the plastic clip.
He flushes the toilet and holds out his hand.
I carefully take it, letting him pull me to my feet.
We eye each other for a minute.
His eyes are bloodshot, and there are dark circles under them.
He probably doesn’t get much sleep nowadays either.
“I don’t remember?—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupts.
“You don’t want to know.”
My attention drops to his hand, which keeps flexing into a fist and releasing.
His knuckles are busted, the cuts not yet scabbed over.
It seems like they’ve barely stopped bleeding.
“What did you do?”
He stares at me.
“I think you should sit back down.”
I roll my eyes.
Bad idea . My body immediately flushes hot, and my knees buckle.
Saint grabs me.
Saint stops me from hitting the floor.
Saint practically carries me back to the couch .
I think I’m in The Twilight Zone .
Because what the fuck is happening here?
When I’m seated, I finally appraise myself.
The hoodie is gone—and good riddance—but my shirt is ripped and bloody, my sweatpants have massive tears in the thighs, all the way down to my knees.
Like the soft fabric was flayed open.
Plus the head wound, and my arms…
“I look worse than I feel,” I lie.
But honestly? How I look is a great indication of how I feel, which is to say, thoroughly chewed up and regurgitated.
The fear of that trap comes back to me, and I hold my breath.
Like taking a dive, I use it to cut my panic short.
I’ve spent too fucking long panicking this week.
This month.
“Just stay there.” He points at me, then disappears around the corner into the kitchen.
From behind the wall separating the two rooms comes the sound of drawers opening and closing, and then running water.
Shortly after, he comes back with two glasses of water and a bottle of pills.
“Take these.”
I shake out some of the painkillers and pop them in my mouth, accepting the water next.
He does the same, and I eye him.
“What’s up with you?”
He stiffens.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Asshole.
“It means you don’t normally…” I gesture.
“Something is wrong, isn’t it?”
He’s here .
In Nyx’s old family home.
Of course something is wrong.
He grunts and sits back down.
There’s no television, no entertainment of any kind.
Just us facing a picture window with the blinds and curtains drawn.
It’s fully dark outside, and the lamp on the side table is the only light source.
“Did you find my phone?”
He shakes his head.
I sigh, imagining it flew loose in the crash.
Can I call it a crash?
What else would I call it?
Stop it .
He pulls his from his pocket and hands it to me.
“You should call your brother. We’re going to need…” He makes a face.
“Some sort of extraction.”
I shiver.
“Because of…?”
“Some lady warned me that you had a target on your back.”
“And what makes you think my brother would be any different?”
He frowns.
Considers. Then drops his phone to his thigh.
He runs his hand down his face, exhaling noisily.
“Well, I don’t know what the fuck to do. We can’t leave.”
“How did you get here?”
He blinks at me.
“I walked.”
“You walked.” I twist to face him, ignoring the twinges of pain.
“You walked from my condo?”
“No, from Mars.” He glowers at me.
“Where else would I come from?”
If I didn’t know how much it hurts to roll my eyes, I’d do it at him.
Walking is the worst. Running at least serves a purpose…
kind of. If you tell me to run around the block, I’d just scoff.
But if you tell me to run for my life, sure.
I’m on board with that.
But walking is akin to trudging , and I do not trudge.
I like fast.
“I don’t have anyone to call,” Saint says, crossing his arms. “I’m not calling Jace.”
It clicks, and I smirk.
“You don’t want the almighty Jace King to know you were hanging out at your…” I don’t know what to call Nyx to him, so I skip over it.
I skip over calling her dead , too, which is how I do often describe her.
Because she is, even if he acts like she’s still alive.
So I end, rather lamely, with, “Nyx’s house.”
His brow lowers.
“It’s fine.” I snatch his phone.
“I’ll call Malik.”
He grabs the phone right back.
“Are you fucking crazy? He wouldn’t come into West Falls unless he wants to start a war.”
“With…?”
“The Cyclopes,” he says under his breath.
“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”
Oh, I hate him.
“Where did you hear that name?” I demand.
“The woman who came to warn me that you were marked .” He rolls his eyes perfectly fine.
“She seemed convinced, and come on. What else inspires fear quite like a new gang in Sterling Falls? After what this town just went through, it’s probably the only thing that can scare them.”
I hate him .
And the woman. She’s probably the one who slammed the door in my face last time.
Then, though, was a warning.
This was… more. Although I don’t know what they did after they tried to grab me.
I open my mouth to ask, then think better of it.
Some things are better left unknown.
“Okay, so not a Hell Hound, not my brother or Jace or Wolfe…” I pause.
“I only know one other person.”
Two, really.
But one, I’m not fucking calling.
He eyes me.
“You’re not going to like this,” I warn.
And then I dial a number that I seem to have accidentally memorized.