37
Reed had the gun pointed at Jem.
Jem was backed into a corner. He might be able to get Zeb’s knife. But could he get it before Reed shot him? Even if he got the knife, could he get to Reed before Reed put a bullet in him?
The flames were growing, spreading out where the paint thinner had puddled near the two jerry cans, licking their way across the floorboards and up the walls. The room was uncomfortably hot already, and in a few minutes, it would be unbearable.
Tean. Where was Tean?
And Reed was still standing there. The gun wavered. His hand drifted. The wolf mask wasn’t sitting straight anymore, and only one of the man’s eyes was visible. A concussion, at the very least, on top of the injuries Jem had given him out at Direwolf Ranch.
The decision wasn’t even conscious. Part of Jem just knew he needed to move, so he moved. He threw himself down, grabbed the knife, and rolled.
A gunshot rang out.
Pain turned Jem’s vision white. It took him a moment of ragged breathing before he could see again, before he could figure out where he was. Curled up under one of the dinner tables. He couldn’t see Reed anymore. The crackle of the flames made it impossible to hear the other man’s breathing.
“You’re making a big mistake,” Jem said, pitching his voice to carry. “You should be running. The police are going to be here any minute.”
Nothing.
And then Reed let out a weird laugh. It sounded thick, like his mouth was full of cotton. And then Jem realized, with a flash of satisfaction, that he had probably broken the man’s jaw.
“They’re going to fuck you up.” Jem eyed the distance to the back door.
Then he eyed the distance to the next table.
“You’re out of luck, dumbass. You guys have gotten away with this shit way longer than it should have been possible, but it’s over tonight.
Get out of here now, and maybe you’ve got a shot at running. ”
“I’m going to kill you.” The words had the tight, not-quite-distinct sound of someone speaking through a closed mouth. A little high pitched. A little manic. “I told him we should use guns!”
“Well, you were right,” Jem said. “Guns would have been smarter. Knives are close-up work. Knives are nasty. That’s your problem, buddy. You’ve been working with a bunch of psychos, in case you hadn’t figured it out yet.”
A floorboard creaked.
To Jem’s left? To his right? How far away?
“Did Kai like pressing your little bitch button too?” Jem asked.
But it felt tired now. The lines used up, and he got no response.
He didn’t have anything else, though. “What did he tell you? It was your initiation? This is how you join our special club?” Nothing.
“Did he at least buy you dinner first?” The roar of the flames drowned out everything else.
It was strange how the room could be so hot and how Jem could be so hot at the same time, but in a different way—just one part of him, his side, like he’d rolled in some of the fire.
He was sweating, and the sweat rolled into his eyes, and he blinked to clear them.
“I bet the first time brought back flashes of high school. Everybody does it. If you don’t want to, I’ll find somebody who will.
Just put your hand on it, babe; you make me feel so good. ”
Only the eddying smoke, rancid, scratching the back of Jem’s throat.
Jem opened his mouth for another try. And then the gas tank was empty. Whatever reserve of energy he’d had was gone, and exhaustion dragged on him. He took a deep breath. He gave himself a mental shake. You don’t give up. You don’t quit. You’ve got to get the fuck out of here and find Tean.
But he was so tired.
“Get out here,” Reed said. When Jem didn’t move, Reed said, “I know where you’re hiding.
Get out here!” Jem held himself still. Another gunshot cracked the air, and the floor trembled.
A foot away from where Jem crouched, a splintered bullet hole puckered one of the floorboards.
“Get out here, or I’ll shoot you in the back of the head! ”
Maybe if the concussion made him miss. Maybe if he was distracted and Jem could run. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Like a lot of decisions, it wasn’t really a decision at all.
He eased himself out from behind the table and stood.
He kept the knife pressed to his thigh. It was hard to tell if Reed noticed; that one eye peering out from the twisted mask didn’t seem to register anything.
The wolfman slumped like he was having a hard time keeping himself upright, but the gun followed Jem’s movements.
“Now,” Reed said, his voice stuffy from the broken nose, “you’re going to take it back. All of it. Right now. And then you’re going to beg me to let you go.”
Well, you could say one thing for them, Jem decided. They’d certainly found their people. He opened his mouth. And then he let shock run into his face, and he shouted, “Look out!”
Reed’s head flopped to the other side, the one eye considering Jem as though he were some kind of idiot. “Did you really think that was going to work—”
And then Reed stumbled a step and screamed.
Jem launched himself forward. The wolfman was turning, Jem forgotten. It was easy to see why—the tines of a fork were buried in his calf, and blood soaked the wolfman’s jeans.
Jem grabbed the mask and yanked. Pain popped in his side, and the whole world got brighter until Jem couldn’t really see. But he didn’t need to. Reed fell backward and hit the floor, and Jem kicked him in the head until he had to stop because he couldn’t catch his breath.
Then he slumped against the table, gasping for air, maybe crying a little.
Ammon, face white, lay on his side where he had dragged himself. A trail of gore marked the floor behind him. Blue eyes fixed on Jem, but it was hard to tell if he was seeing anything.
“Fuck me,” Jem finally managed. “I thought you were dead.”