Page 12 of Fractured Fates
“Friend?”
He slams down the lid on the box, waving his hand across it so a row of breathing holes appear.
“He’s come to help me transport you back to Los Magicos.”
“Transport me? Jesus Christ! I’m not a crate of apples!”
“No, they would be more cooperative.”
“I didn’t think you were the kind of man who neededhelp,” I snark back.
“Every gang in the underworld is going to be out looking for you. We’re going to take the back roads, and he will help me keep you safe.”
There’s something in his demeanor that tells me he isn’t disclosing the entire story. What is he keeping from me? I think of my aunt’s warning and apprehension shivers across my skin. Am I making a mistake? He never told me there’d be two of them.
The noise of the engine grows louder and then a bike glides through the trees, crossing the clearing and halting in front of us both.
The rider cuts the engine, swings down his leg and pulls off his helmet. He’s another frigging giant and, although I’d guess he’s about an inch shorter than the man in black, he’s just as broad, a black t-shirt straining across his muscular chest and tattoos tracing down his strong arms. His hair is cut above his ears and a thick beard hides his square chin. Both are the color of willow bark, in contrast to his pale blue eyes.
They lock with mine and just like before, I feel the sensation of being hooked through my middle. I frown, confused by this strange magic. He stares right back at me, his brow creasing, and I can feel the man in black’s gaze swinging from his friend to me and back again.
Then the second man blinks, leans away and those pale eyes flick across my face, down my body, then dart up to his friend.
“This is her?”
The man in black nods curtly, before slamming a helmet down onto my head.
“We’re not stopping,” he tells us both, jumping up onto his bike. He pats the seat behind him and the other man watches me with a frown as I hover in indecision.
Am I making a mistake? Am I trusting the wrong people?
I glance back at my home. One of the bedroom windows has been smashed, and the porch is broken where I hit it with my magic yesterday. The warmth that radiated from the place when my aunt was alive has dissipated. Now it’s stony cold.
“One second,” I say.
“We need to go–”
I don’t hear the rest of the man’s words. I race to the backyard and unhook the door of the pen, shooing the chickens out. They’d always wanted to escape, now they’re free.
A lump forms in my throat. Unlike me.
I don’t know what the hell is going to happen, but one thing’s for sure, my fate is no longer in my own hands.
5
Rhi
Swingingmy backpack over my shoulders, I hop up onto the back of the man in black’s bike. I keep a respectable distance between us, gripping the seat in front of me with my hands.
He peers over his shoulder at me with an amused look, then grabs a fistful of my hoodie and drags me forward until my body slots against his.
“You wanna fall off?” he says, shaking his head and placing my hands on his waist. “Hold tight.”
“Aren’t you going to restrain her?” the other man says from his bike.
“Restrain me?” I start but before I can protest, a chain of metal coils around my ankles and locks me to the bike. “Mother fu–”
The man in black revs the engine, cutting off my words of protest, and slams the bike forward. Instinctively I lean into him, not turning around as we leave the clearing.
