Page 25 of Bones
Madame eyed me with that sharp gaze, and I fought the urge to shrink. “Were you fucking him?”
I tried to keep calm, but my palms were sweaty and my face hot.
“No,” I lied.
She raised an eyebrow, not falling for it. “Were you fucking Juck?”
I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. I tried to answer while at the same time trying to shove down a flood of horrible memories clawing their way up my throat.
“No.” I finally got out, using all my energy to keep my expression blank.
“Is he dead?” Madame asked.
“Yes,” I said, unable to keep a bitter sort of satisfaction out of my voice.
“What about Vulture?”
Vulture stared at me from where he lay sprawled on the floor, bleeding heavily.
“Bones—” he wheezed.
I dropped the bloody knife and it fell into the sand with a soft thud.
“Angel, you did it.” Vulture grinned despite the bullet wound in his shoulder. “You killed the bastard.”
I backed away, gulping in panicked gasps.
“Angel?” Vulture pulled himself up, his face twisted in pain. “It’s ok, baby, you did it. He?—”
I backed farther away toward the tent door and I saw the moment he realized I was leaving him there. I wasn’t expecting the hurt on his face to look so raw and real, but it hardened into hatred.
I turned and ran from the tent into the dim light of evening. His furious yell followed me, but the screams and cries of the injured and dying swallowed the noise.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He was badly injured.”
Madame tilted her head, her eyes sharp, and I dropped my eyes back down to the table.
“You didn’t heal him?”
“No.”
In the silence, they all considered me, the healer who left an injured man to die. I could feel the shame crawling up my neck, my stomach turning at the memory of my hands gripping the bloody handle of the knife in Juck’s chest.
“How long were you in the Reapers?” Zana asked.
I chanced glancing at her. I would guess her age to be somewhere around thirty. Her nose was pierced with a crude silver ring, and her muscled arms were covered in tattoos. The front of her uniform had multiple sheaths of knives, and I didn't doubt she knew how to use them. Something about her reminded me of a few of the female Reapers, hardened and dangerous. I met her gaze to see her raise an eyebrow at me, and I quickly dropped my eyes again.
“My whole life.” This lie fell more easily off my tongue. “I was born there.”
“Parents?” Madame asked.
“Dead.” Another lie.
“Siblings?”
“No.” I didn’t dare look at any of them, willing my lie to be steady and convincing.
“So why did Wrangler have you locked up in his safe?” Madame pressed.
