Page 135 of Kings Fear No One
Ozzie and Hope are standing beside a Toyota Camry, sharing in a goodbye kiss. I blink through tears as he promises he’ll return soon, then hops on his bike to ride off after the others.
The desperation rising up inside me reaches its fill. Then it bursts free in a flurry of quick steps. I dash over to Hope like a mad woman, vaguely aware of how I must look.
“Teysha?” She frowns, noticing me last second. “What are you?—”
“I need your car,” I interrupt sharply. “I need to drive somewhere.”
“But what are you?—”
“Please!” I beg, my voice cracking. “It’s life or death, Hope!”
Her frown deepens. “This isn’t my car. It’s my pa’s. He made me promise not to let anybody else drive it.”
“I need to get somewhere immediately. He’ll never know!”
“The best I can offer is driving you there. Wherever there is…”
My face clenches as if I’m in deep pain—and in a way, I am. I’m tormented by the possibility that Logan could be lying broken and bleeding in Abraham’s custody. He could be making him pay right now. I could be the only one who could give him what he wants.
I can make him stop.
“Fine!” I shriek. “Drive me then! Let’s go!”
“Hang on, where would we be going?”
“Get in the car.” I run over to the passenger side and yank on the door handle. “If we leave now, we’ll get there in no time. I know all the shortcuts. We need to make it to Boulder before it’s too late.”
33
LOGAN
I’m fucked up good.
I’m aware of it before even opening my eyes and fully regaining consciousness. My body’s a single burning, throbbing pulse of pain. Up and down my sides. Burrowed deep from the inside of my chest. Even my skull.
My brain’s definitely been knocked around. Rattled like a fucking saltshaker.
Probably a concussion.
It’s a hard-earned victory just to open my eyes. If possible, my eye sockets hurt too. They ache and pulsate like they’re being stretched past their limits.
It’s no wonder—everything surrounding me is a blur of indistinguishable shapes and colors. I shift my body from its twisted position only for a fresh jolt of pain to shoot through me. A hoarse groan creaks from my throat as I let the pain do what it’s supposed to do.
Fuck me up. Torture me. Make life hell.
The pain percolates through me like a stream down a river. It ebbs and flows at different strengths and speeds. I’m along for the ride.
What else is there to do but welcome it?
I focus on other things. Details about my surroundings like the weak floorboard beneath me and the smell of dust in the air. Light bleeds in through stained glass windows, tints of sapphire blue, golden orange, and emerald green.
Where the fuck would I be with stained glass?
The last thing I remember is being thrown from my Super Glide, colliding with the gravel on the open road.
Silence meets any question turning over inside my head. An eerie silence that feels foreboding and grim. I might as well be in a fucking graveyard.
…I’m in a church… or chapel of some kind…
