52-Kit
The bus’s shower is a narrow plastic cubicle.
It’s barely large enough for me to turn around in, with a temperamental sprayer and a door that rattles every time the bus transfers weight. I brace one hand against the wall and use the netted sponge to scrub the last of the red paint from my skin.
No matter how thorough I am, flecks of it cling stubbornly, staining the water a faint pink as it spirals down the drain. I close my lids, letting the water run over my face. As I wash, I think about Zachary's mouth on me.
Without warning, it distorts to Endymion, his hands and lips roaming her body as he pleasures her to climax. It’s a sour weight in my gut that leaves me confused and unsettled, unsure where my own desires end and the god’s influence begins.
Shutting off the water, I step out, grabbing a towel. Wrapping it around my waist, I slide the bathroom door open and nearly jump out of my skin. Seth is sprawled across my bunk, hands behind his head, a smug grin spread across his paint-streaked face.
“Ran into Zach,” he says, stretching his long limbs like a cat. “Lookin’ mighty fit she was, if I do say so myself.”
“Oh, shut it,” I mutter, reaching over him for my clothes. “Where is she?”
Seth tosses his legs over the edge, swinging his feet like a proper idiot. “Why, ya plannin’ on goin’ another round?”
I kick his shin.
“Oi!” he yelps, rubbing his leg. “No need for violence. Anyway, doesn’t matter. She went out.”
“With the girls?” I ask, putting on my shirt.
“Nope. They’re on their bus.”
“Well then, who did she go out wit—”
“Calm down there, detective,” he says, holding up a dirty hand. “She was meetin’ a mate from uni.”
Right. She went to university here. In this city. With Carter.
“Go to her!” Endymion states out of nowhere, his warbled tone clipped and urgent.
It hits like a bump on a table’s corner, sharp and instinctive. A cold, unwelcome dread whorls in my stomach. I grab my phone, only to realise that despite all the times she’s asked, and bloody shagging her, we never exchanged numbers. Absolutely brilliant. Some gentleman I am.
For fuck’s sake.
I text Pamrata, telling her it’s urgent. Two seconds later, my phone lights up with a California area code. Stumbling into my trousers, I send a quick message to Zach’s number.
“What are ya doin’?” Seth asks, crawling out of the bunk.
“I’m going to find her.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Mate, yer down bad. Protective much?”
“Yes,” I say, tugging a hoodie over my head. “I’m serious. I’ve got a bad feeling.”
It coils low and cold, the way it did the night of her accident, right after Officer Reyes sped out of that soundcheck. Zach is in danger; the truth settles into my frame like a deep freeze.
“Well then,” Seth says, standing. He tosses my coat to me and grabs his own, clapping me on the shoulder. “Let’s find Cooper. He’ll give us a lift.”
I’m already running.