Page 7 of Awry
“But …” She chews her bottom lip.“You don’t know.”
She hits the wordknowhard, so she has some inkling of what my violet eyes mean.I am awry, like she is awry, but our power levels aren’t remotely the same.She could eventually be the most powerful seer or telepath or curse weaver in the world, and she still couldn’t harness the essence that I wield just by breathing, just by existing.
Without me, there is no existence, no future or fate, for anyone else.
Or so I’ve been told.
It’s possible my ancestors were just seriously full of shit.
“Zaya?”Presh prompts quietly.
“We’re too valuable to kill,” I say, steady and sure.I don’t mention all the things worse than death.I have no doubt the bikers have a club-approved list of personally bent atrocities ready to unleash, tailored to the moment.
Presh nods shallowly, reaching around my seat to unzip and dig into my bag.She pulls out my phone, and the wad of twenties falls all over the place between our seats.She sets the phone on my thigh, scrambling to gather the money.Her shoulders are slumped like she’s anticipating a beating.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, keeping my focus riveted to the road and waiting for the next section of theknowingto reveal itself.Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t prompt it along as planned.
“Put the money in your pocket,” I say, my tone harder than I want it to be.
“I … I …” She inhales shakily, navigating a spike of anxiety that I can practically feel.“I don’t have any pockets.”
Yeah, that doesn’t help with my anger situation.“Your bra?”
I catch the shake of her head from the corner of my eye.Her head is still bowed over the money she’s clutching.“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.
“I know.”
“I’m going to get you where you need to go.”
She blinks at me for a moment, once again weighing my sincerity— and maybe my ability to follow through.“You just walked us out of the cafe,” she says, seemingly changing the subject, except it’s all the same conversation.
“I did.”
“How …”
“Because I knew I could.”
She nods, chewing on her lower lip again.“I can’t take all your money.”
“I don’t need it.I never really do.”
She mulls that over for a bit.Then she scoots her pelvis forward, yanks up her oversized hole-ridden sweater, and tucks the wad of twenties into her white cotton panties.
For one of the very first times in my life, I think about pulling the car over, getting out, and simply killing the bikers.Except I suspect they’re simply one thread of a greater issue.Also, my so-called offensive capabilities are somewhat … unconventional.And unpredictable.
I am clever, though.I can come up with things in the moment.If the universe is willing.
A large green road sign appears up ahead, announcing the upcoming exit onto the highway.
“I need a direction,” I say.“Are we going north or south?”
“Um … which way are you heading?”
“I’m taking you where you need to go.Your accent says you aren’t from around here.Not originally.”
“No.I’m not.I ran away.”
I don’t push her because that’s not the info I need in theNow.I don’t want to slow down, because the transition onto the highway will give the bikers slowly and casually closing the distance behind us a great opportunity to run us off the road.“North or south?”
