Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Zee
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
A groan leaves me when I open my eyes, the sun pushing through Mo’s cheap, thin curtain.
I wince, beer and vodka staining my cotton mouth as I blink in the day I’m not ready for. My eyes settle on the stain on Mo's ceiling. Then it all comes roaring back.
The pain in my gut.
Drey's boys.
The explosion.
Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!
Despite the terror of last night, despite staying up until four, drowning my worries in cheap liquor and shitty weed, life goes on. At least for Mo.
Hell, I can’t blame her.
After a night like last, I‘d want the tension fucked out of me too. But right now, I'm envious.
Atlas would be the one to make it all melt away. Atlas would be the one to fuck me into oblivion until I forget everything that's ever haunted me.
Dragging my joggers off the living room floor, I lay on my back, pulling them up my legs. The fabric scratches against my scars, another reminder of Drey’s revenge from the grave.
I can’t decide if that fire saved me or only prolonged the inevitable. His boys weren’t in the car when it caught fire. Leaving them alive means I’m still on their radar.
My head stings when I stand, a roll in my stomach.
How can I be so judgmental of Atlas when I wish death on others? When I’ve caused death myself?
Once I pull on my hoodie, I reach for Mo’s knockoff shades, grab her keys and head out the door.
The thing about being back in the rest of the city is that a corner store, or depanneur, is never too far away. One of my favourites sits on Zee's block, and right now, I could really use it. The ache in my head and the hollow churn in my stomach call for a couple of dollar samosas and a cold brew.
My curls poke out of my hood, pulled way over my head as I move down the sidewalk. With every cautious step, I check around me.
Did Atlas cause that fire last night?
Is he still trying to protect me?
Or is this wishful thinking?
“I will eliminate her.”
Squeezing my eyes shut for a second, I pause, trying to shake him out of my head. Those glowing eyes. That perfect body. Those strong, caring hands that make me melt the minute he touches me.
Even in the face of death, my body chose him. But that’s the problem. It always leads to death. Or heartbreak.
The bells on the door chime when I step into the store. The smell of warm, deep-fried pastry takes over my senses, my stomach grumbling in response as I approach the old man behind the counter.
“Are you Zee?” he asks.
I blink.
He’s usually polite, but I’ve never told him my name.
My brows lower, hesitating to respond.
He reaches for an envelope on the table behind him, next to a pile of receipts and empty cans. “Do you know a ... Mister Atlas?”
My body stills, heat searing my chest.
I whip my head around, looking for him.
That shadow.
That figure.
“Is… is he here?” I ask, wondering where he could be hiding. This place is so small, and he’s so large.
The man pushes the envelope forward, but then he pulls it back.
“He paid me a lot of money not to give you this until you tell me where the, uh…” He looks at a paper scribbled with a word next to him. “Rainbow moth is from.”
A smile pulls at my face.
“Madagascar.” It’s the moth we killed when we first met.
He pushes the envelope forward.
“He also says to take whatever you want.” He gestures around the store. “It’s on him.”
My brows furrow as I reach inside the envelope. The man’s attention returns to the hockey replay on the old television to the side.
A yellow note sticks to another piece of paper.
Spread your wings, Angel. - Sir.
Removing the note reveals a plane ticket.
One with my name on it.
My eyes linger on the destination.
S?o Paulo. Brazil.
The sounds in the shop muffle, the ticket heavy in my hand.
Then it hits me.
He doesn't want to kill me.
He wants to free me.
My heart pounds faster, the room tilting.
“Miss?”
I close my eyes, ignoring the man’s perplexed look.
The whirr of the fridges
The clacking of the hockey puck on the television.
I don’t get to the third sound before Atlas’s voice sounds loud in my head.
“I will do whatever the fuck it takes to keep you safe.”
Despite everything. Despite how I left him. Despite it all, Atlas remains committed.
With another deep breath, I open my eyes, the world rushing back to me. The old man behind the counter still looks confused as I turn towards the door.
“Thanks, but I don’t need it.” I exit the shop, leaving the envelope and the ticket on the table.
Atlas doesn’t decide my future.
I do.
Sugar Skull
“Final call for Flight 2345 to San José.”
The chairs in front of the gate remain empty, my grip tightening around my ticket.
Something’s wrong.
My back against the wall, my eyes scan the departure area for any sign of her.
My eyes move between the gate doors and the large hallway filled with travellers wheeling their suitcases behind them.
Zee isn’t one of them.
I’ve been here all night and morning, waiting for this moment. Waiting to see her board that flight without looking back. Waiting to see her fly off to freedom, her new forever.
My gut twists.
What went wrong?
Did she not get the letter? I watched her walk into the shop and speak to the clerk. She went straight back to Mo’s. I expected her to pack. I expected her to be here.
This should fix everything.
I protected her last night, but that only made us bigger targets. We can't keep outrunning our fate. Not here. Zee deserves more than her friend’s shitty couch while she fucks mediocre city boys. Zee deserves safety. Money. Security.
She deserves a life I can’t give her.
My ball cap covers my face when I look down at my ticket.
Montevideo.
I called in a favour from a Brother. My last. New IDs await us. Zee will have money, credentials, and a whole new life.
A fresh start. One without me.
“Gates for Flight 2345 are now closed.”
My head snaps to the gate, expecting to see a frazzled Zee rushing to the doors with a wave of her ticket. Instead, two flight attendants gather their things to board.
She’s not going.
Why wouldn't she?
Every muscle in me tightens, my mind drifting to Eastmount.
To Father.
“Flight 455 to Montevideo is now boarding.”
Slinging my duffel over my shoulder, I move away from the wall. Passing a large garbage bin, I ball up my ticket and toss it in.
There shouldn’t be a smile tugging at my face as my pace quickens. It’s hard to hide it when one thing is clear.
Zee and I aren’t done.