45
Two nights later, we’re working the Strip when Rafe appears, his bulky frame vibrating with anger. I slink back, hiding partially behind Shelly, wondering what we did to make him so furious. Rafe’s eyes bore into mine as he approaches. A few feet away, that murderous gaze swings to Shelly.
“Who?” he asks darkly.
Even brave Shelly blanches, but then she straightens her shoulders. “Who what?” she goads, knowing exactly what he’s referring to.
I brace myself. Shelly’s temper is just as bad as his.
“Who touched you?” He all but roars.
She narrows her eyes at him as she snaps, “If I’d known you’d react this way, I wouldn’t have told you.”
Hoping to head off an argument, I step forward. “It was some guys, three of them. No one we recognized. They didn’t catch us.”
“Describe them,” he growls.
I do my best, limited by how dark it had been in the Starlight. The one person I can recall in frightening detail is Skull Man. His countenance is burned into my memory. The snarling curl of his lips. The sadistic gleam in his eyes. Just thinking about him makes my stomach lurch with fear.
Rafe nods once when I’m done. His voice tight like he’s battling to keep control, he asks, “Are you hurt?”
“No.” My hands involuntarily jump to my shirt, which covers the jagged cut spread over my entire stomach. It burns every time I move too quickly.
He tracks the movement. “Bullshit.” He steps into my space and yanks my shirt up, exposing the wound. When he sees it, his jaw clenches so hard that I think he might crack a tooth.
He lets my shirt fall. With two short steps, he’s in front of Shelly. Rafe takes her jaw in his hand, pinches her chin, and turns it side to side. “What about you? You hurt?”
“No!” Shelly jerks her head out of his reach and angrily shoves his arm away. “Stop grabbing at me.”
He looks between us, pinning each of us with a hard stare, his eyes cold and merciless. “No one threatens you ever again. Neither of you. Do you hear me? Anyone who touches you is a dead man.” His mouth curves into a grim smile, the edges sharp as a knife. “It won’t be a quick death, either.”
Rafe steps back, narrows his eyes, and jabs his finger at us one at a time. “You don’t step a foot off the Strip without me. No more. I’ll walk you to the car each night.”
Shelly opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, but he cuts her off, barking, “Not one word, Shelly. This isn’t up for discussion.” With that, he wheels around and stalks off, his shoulders stiff.
“Well, that was overdramatic, wasn’t it?” Shelly asks, watching him leave. Her voice is steady, but the hand she raises to her forehead trembles.
···
A week later, Shelly passes me a crumpled newspaper article as we take our seats in history class. I smooth it with my palm and read the headline. “Three men arrested for parole violations.”
A picture goes along with it. My heart bottoms out when I see the all-too-familiar faces of Skull Man and his companions. It’s a mug shot, from two days ago. The men look the same with one startling difference. They’ve all been beaten. Skull Man has gotten the worst of it, sporting a split lip and two black eyes. He’s battered, but he’ll live. I can’t decide how to feel about that.
Students shuffle into the room, finding their seats and chatting with each other. Another normal day for them, but not for us. I hold the article up to Shelly and whisper one word, “Rafe?”
She nods, understanding what I’m asking. The nod turns into a shrug. “Who knows for sure, though?” Class starts. I hand the article over, and Shelly buries it deep in her backpack.