Blood to Dust(25)

“Vegetarian chipotle.” The foil-wrapped burrito knocks on her shoulder as I toss it against her body. She’s lying on the floor, her face against the tiles. I should be pissed at her for not talking to me yesterday. Correction: I am pissed at her for not talking to me yesterday.

I’m mad.

At her.

At me.

At everything.

Especially at everything. Yet again, life threw a knockout punch right in my face. Does Godfrey know about the AB seeking me out? And what f*cking good is he to me if he can’t even keep the bad guys at bay?

Pea doesn’t move. Maybe she’s asleep. Doubt it. She’s too smart and alert, and she lives for her fifteen minutes of bathroom and food break. Glancing at the wall, I notice she hasn’t chalked a white stripe today.

Not counting the days anymore? Why?

I take two steps in her direction, my pulse thick and erratic in my throat, and nudge her leg with my leather boot. She doesn’t respond, her face and stomach against her blanket. I use my foot to roll her over on her back, and the stress ball she was holding rolls onto the floor. Her eyes are open, and she’s staring back at my mask.

The emptiness in her expression is more unsettling than watching a man’s last inhale as I snap his spine in two.

“Eat,” I command.

She doesn’t budge, her muscles slack. Squatting down, I drag her up to a sitting position, her back against the wall, trying to swallow my next question. It storms out of my mouth anyway.

“Has Ink f*cked you?”

Irv better not have touched her. Godfrey would kill us both if he has. But that’s not why my chest is burning with uncontained fury.

Something I don’t recognize bubbles up inside me. It’s not hate, not anger, and I hope to God it’s not jealousy.

What the f*ck am I doing? What the hell am I thinking? What’s happening to me?

Pea doesn’t answer.

“Pea!” I slam my fist against the wall behind her, expecting her to jump in fear. The wall shakes, but she just stares at a point behind my head. Apathy leaks from every pore in her face.

Fuck it all to hell.

I thought I had issues with the spunky, blabbering girl I took from Godfrey. I was wrong. That girl was semi-entertaining. This girl? She’s a goddamned graveyard.

“Tell me now, before I start breaking shit. What’s Ink done to you?” I take a sharp gulp of air, my body dangerously close to hers. When her mouth opens slightly, mine follows suit.

“He hasn’t done anything. It’s not about him. I’m not going to eat, because there’s no point in me eating. They’re going to kill me anyway. It’d just be a waste of everything: food, water and both of our time.” She shakes her head. Her voice is so hollow, it almost echoes. “If I’m going to die, I don’t want it to be at their hands.” Her eyes harden. “No. I’ll die here. Alone. Deprive them the opportunity of getting off on seeing me gasping for my last breath.”

The mention of her death mauls at me combined with the crimes I committed a few hours ago. I resist the urge to say something comforting. I ain’t a liar, and Pea’s right. They’ll kill her. Godfrey will make it a gory death, and no matter where the crime scene ends up being, a splash of her blood will forever stain my conscience.

But one of us has to die, and right now, my integrity is paralyzed by my survival instincts.

“Beat,” she croaks. Fuck, her lips. Those pinks I’d like to touch—now more than ever—are trembling with fear. “Please kill me. I know you can’t set me free, I get it. I do. But you can make my death look like an accident. Please, spare me the Archers’ wrath.”

She wants to become my third death for tonight, and my fourth in total. Do I look like the f*cking reaper? I clutch my hair with both fists as I bite into my lip. It’s a sad turn of events when you realize you don’t only want to f*ck the girl you’re supposed to hand over to death row, but you also want to save her.

“Hey,” I drop my hand to the floor to pick up the burrito, placing it in her hand. “Shut your trap about death. I’ll go get my food. We’ll eat together tonight.”

That’s the only thing I can think of that’d cheer her up. I don’t want her suffering. She hasn’t done anything bad to me. My dick, on the other hand, resents her round ass and suckable lips. She’s been taunting it for days. If cock teasing were an art, this girl would be Picasso.

“Beat,” she says weakly when I start ascending the stairs. I stop, my back still to her. “Bring your favorite book along. I’d like to read something good.”

My head falls in a small nod.

She’s aiming straight for my f*cking heart, this chick. Shot after shot in the dark.

And sooner or later, I know, even in the pitch black, she’s going to hit her target.





He took the bait. More like swallowed the whole fishing rod.

I don’t want to hurt Nate, but I need him to set me free. And if that means compromising the truth of my mental state, then so be it.

It’s not that I manipulated him. I am depressed. I am scared. Just not enough to give up on life. I’d never give up on life. That’s the only thing I’ve got left after what they did to me.

And Nate? He gave up on his. I see how he lives. The long hours he works. Bending over backward for Godfrey. Constantly jogging to the door every time the bell rings, worrying it’ll be his parole officer, that I’m going to be found. He is a trapped animal, a caged soul and a terrible liar. I know his kind.