Chapter Twenty-Five #2
The desperation on Chandler’s face tugs at my stomach. If I tell her I remember, maybe I’ll go home. But what will happen to those two men? To Eagan and Garrett? Why is my life more valuable than theirs? Are Bunny’s and Grandma’s lives more valuable than theirs?
And Milo. Including my dead friend in a lie would dishonor him.
No. I won’t lie for her.
I square my shoulders. “You’ve never gone with us on a supply run, Chandler. Ever.”
Ignoring me, Chandler spins around to face Chief. “You planted this device.” She grabs the recorder and slams it on the table. “How? Why?”
“You were following Eagan and Garrett for weeks. Weren’t you? We had to protect ourselves somehow, Chandler.” He picks up the device. “Jasper here found this in Garrett’s deserted Sedan on SC-11. A bright red Camry—quite easy to spot.”
Jasper speaks up. “A Camry that Garrett loves dearly. One he would never abandon. Full tank of gas, too.” He looks Chandler square in the eyes. “You have our men. Return them to us.”
Chandler turns to Chief and pushes herself up from the table. “Fine. You want to play this game? Let’s play. I’d never trade two men for one woman—especially one so dispensable. Bring me something I want, and we can talk about a trade. In the meantime . . . keep her. She’s yours to babysit.”
Jasper springs from the table. “So you admit it. You broke the treaty.”
“Sit down, Jasper,” Chief says, motioning with his hand.
Jasper pauses, but eventually concedes.
“I admit nothing,” Chandler answers.
Aaand Jasper’s back up again. He jabs a finger at her. “You’re a liar, you’re a thief, and you’re a—”
Chief balls his hands into fists. “Jasper.”
The door bangs open, and Peter storms through, hunched to keep his disheveled head from brushing the ceiling.
His biceps bulge beneath a torn, bleach-stained T-shirt, his snake tattoo peeking out.
He’s a cross between the Hunchback of Notre Dame and the lead singer of an emo boy band, and I want to punch him in his fucking throat. What’s he doing here?
Before I get the chance to throat-jab him, Greeley bursts into the room. Her chest heaves as she slams her hands into Peter’s back, knocking him a foot forward. “He was hiding in the truck—behind a pyramid of fucking Wheaties.”
Ah, so it’s not dried spittle gracing the corners of his mouth. It’s crumbs.
All he ever gave me was crumbs, and now he’s keeping even those for himself.
Greeley comes to stand behind Chief, gluing her hands to the back of his chair. Her knuckles whiten as he whispers something to her. I imagine it’s something like He’s a major douchecanoe, but you can’t kill him, because Greeley swears under her breath.
Chief directs his next words to Chandler, who sits opposite him with a blank face. So we’re playing poker now, are we? He says, “You’re better than this, Chandler.”
“You don’t know me.”
“No,” Chief says, finding her eyes. “But I used to.”
Chandler’s eyebrow twitches just before her entire mask slips. She bears her teeth, bucking toward Chief and slamming her hands on the table. Bang.
“Enough,” she spits. “You’re on thin ice.
” Chandler’s presence fills the room like a crimson storm cloud.
“I know you found our supply routes—and you know our schedule. But my people need supplies to live. They need order and routine to function in our society. You understand that, don’t you?
You call yourself the leader, the chief, of this place,” she scoffs.
“But why should that come at the expense of my people? Why can’t you control your goddamn thieves?
You’re taking everything that’s left.” She fixes her eyes on me. “Even things you don’t need.”
“Cool it,” Jasper says.
Chandler spits at his feet. “What good is a treaty if you can’t respect our side of the Split?”
“Bold of you to talk about respect,” Chief says.
Every muscle in Chandler’s body tenses. Her fists tighten. Her jaw clenches. The whispering strands of her red hair grow still. Chandler’s going to wring Chief’s neck. I’m sure of it. I reach for her wrist to calm her before she inevitably detonates when—
Boom.
The ground vibrates. Dust falls from the ceiling. The lantern flickers.
The room falls silent. We share a dazed moment, all of us.
What just happened?
Jasper is the first to sprint out of the room.
Greeley is on his tail, shoving past Peter.
Chief and Chandler push up at the same time, narrow their eyes at one another, and run.
I’m trapped; Peter guards the door. His entire hand wraps around my bicep.
Squeezes. He smells like whiskey and burnt rubber.
“Let me go.” I pull against him, but his grip tightens. I turn my chin up to face him. He’s an ugly person with a pretty face. A small man in a big man’s body. A narcissist disguised as a leader.
He says, “I did it for Milo.”
I’m not sure what it is, but it doesn’t matter. He’s wrong.
“No, Peter.” This time, he lets me go. There will be a bruise on my arm tomorrow. “You’ve only ever done anything for yourself.”