City of Saints & Thieves(85)

Ketchup fumbles but finally gets me loose from the tree. My hands are still tightly bound behind me. Boyboy’s wide eyes dart back and forth between the two of us.

Ketchup turns his attention to him. “You want to watch?”

Boyboy sucks in a horrified breath.

I don’t look at Ketchup’s face, afraid that what I’ll see there will leave me weak-kneed. I know what he’s considering doing to me. And he wants me to know. He jerks his chin toward a gap leading into the forest.

Swallowing the fear that is threatening to turn to bile in my throat, I step into the dense foliage. I still haven’t got any shoes on, but I’m starting to get used to it. The ground is soft and wet underfoot. Ketchup stays on my heels, his panga in his fist.

“Your little boyfriend doesn’t look so cute anymore after what I did to his face,” he says.

I shoulder through the undergrowth, limbs catching at my face and arms.

“Maybe if you’re nice I’ll let you kiss his ugly face good-bye.” Ketchup makes a gross sucking sound. It turns into drunk laughter. “That’s far enough,” he says.

“I’m going just there, behind that tree. I can still see the camp.”

“You think you got something they haven’t seen before?” Ketchup asks. “Okay, there. That’s far enough.”

I turn around to face him, and make a production of trying to get my arms around to undo my trousers. “You’re going to have to untie my hands,” I say, in exasperation.

He regards me.

“You want me to pee my pants?” I demand, feeling sweat running down the sides of my face.

Finally, Ketchup comes toward me, and I think he’s going to reach around to undo my ties, but instead he grabs the waist of my jeans, undoes the fly, and yanks them down.

For a moment I am frozen, totally naked in front of him from the waist down. I pulse with hot and cold embarrassment. I feel a trembling mix of fury and terror churning in me.

Ketchup stares at the place between my legs. “Well?”

My cheeks burning, I back up to a tree and squat behind it. I’m trying desperately to figure out what to do next, but the look on Ketchup’s face has me so shaken that I have to scream at myself to think. For an awful second I’m back in the forest as a five-year-old, squatting when the men came and I had to hide myself. I think of my mother. This is what it was like for her when she was captured.

What made me think this was going to work? It seemed reasonable back in the clearing that Ketchup would undo my wrists to let me pee. And once he did, I’d thrash him, like I had all those times sparring in the Goonda gym. I would tie him up and take his gun and phone. But it suddenly occurs to me that maybe he remembers our fights too. Shonde. Can I just try to wriggle out of the wires now, or is that too obvious? I make an effort to pee, just for the sake of authenticity.

I’m almost finished when he jumps me.

He’s come around the tree while I’m off balance, and then he’s pushing my chest, flattening me on the ground, surprising me with his strength and how much he weighs. Everything goes white-hot and time slows down into slashes, and then I can feel his hand wrestling at his pants, hear him growling at me to hold still. His wet, sour breath is all over my face.

“Don’t!” I gasp. “Omoko will kill you!”

“Screw Omoko!”

He’s too drunk and wound up to listen. I writhe, trying to break free, but Ketchup has all the leverage, his arm across my windpipe. He’s going to do this, a disembodied voice in my head says. I’m not going to be able to get away. Choking, I tilt my head back, looking for any sort of help at all.

And it’s then that I see her.

Everything but her goes completely still.

She walks toward me, upside down in my vision, and crouches next to me.

I can see the sweat beading on Ketchup’s neck. I can see the tomato tattoo on his hand. I can see dust motes rising in the air on a ray of light. I can’t see her face, but in that moment, I feel her hand brush my forehead, and my mother whispers in my ear:

Break the breaking wheel.

And I blink, and time speeds up, and there’s no time to think—I do just what she says.

I rear my head back and slam it straight into Ketchup’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch, followed by Ketchup howling. He pulls back, hand to his nose, and I scream at myself to keep moving, and roll to the side. Then I’m hauling my legs through the loop of my arms, kicking out at him, gasping for breath, while Ketchup is getting his bearings. He’s drunk and hurt, but he’s still fast, and it’s not long before his hands have somehow found my throat; they’re squeezing little stars into my vision.

“I’m going to kill you!” he says, spittle and blood running down his chin. “And then I’m going to find your sister—”

I haul my knee up and make contact with his groin, and as he grunts and clutches in pain, I shove him to the side.

I roll onto my knees and scramble to my feet, yanking my pants back up so I can run for the sharpened panga he’s dropped. As I’m lunging for it, I feel his arms at my calves, and I go down hard, a shock shuddering through my leg as my knee cracks on a loose rock. I grab the fist-sized stone, twist around, and bring it hard against his temple while he’s rearing up over me with the panga.

The rock cracks against his face.