Page 89 of Kings of Sherwood

The grease-stained girl in the shitty garage.

The frightened, fierce one sleeping in her car.

The woman in ballgowns and cutoffs and a scowl and a smile, in my arms, in my bed, in my life.

The healer. Of everything.

I bank hard to the left, rocketing low, burning from the inside with heat and rage.

I can’t bear it, I fucking can’t bear that that would be all I’d get—of Maren, of all of us.

I can’t bear thinking that we failed her.

That we might be too late.

Rob

THE TRUCK SHUDDERS, struggles on forest road, tires spitting and debris flying everywhere. Fuck the suspension—I slam the gas anyway, take a sinkhole so hard the crossbow nearly falls from the seat to the floor.

But I steady it, and the wheel. And myself.

I could’ve shifted. Could’ve run on paws, silent and fast. But not this time.

This time, I’m going in as a man.

Face them down like a man.

Die like a man. If I have to.

Something threatens at the corner of my eye, but I swipe it away. I ain’t gonna let that win. Not today.

I grip the wheel harder and floor it.

C’mon, pretty lady,I think.Just hang in there.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maren

“But I don’thaveanything!”

As soon as I say it, I feel stupid. Like it matters. John just smirks, flicks the folder open with a fat finger.

“You alreadyhaveall my money,” I remind him. “All the...accounts. Whatever there was. You got that. There’s nothing more to get from—from killing me.”

I hate that I’m begging him for my life. Hate it.

But I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to die in this sad, cramped, mildew-stink room.

I don’t want to die young.

And I don’t want to die without the four of them.

I’m afraid, and I have no reason to deny it.

I know these two would see it through, too. Maybe not them specifically dirtying their hands, I’m sure, but I know the sheriff and my piece of shit fraudulent lying motherfucker of a guardian and I know they are not going to lose sleep over my body in a ditch.

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