Rules of Survival(47)

Up. Down. Up. Down. They went back and forth, taking turns knocking each other to the ground as I got tossed around like a rag doll.

“You think you can actually take me?” Deeds growled as he landed a blow that sent Shaun sprawling sideways. He fell back against the pole that held the far side of the scaffolding up. The whole thing shimmied and shook, a can above our heads tipping over and dumping red paint down. It hit the pavement and sloshed everywhere, making the scene look like a bloodbath.

I struggled to my feet, dragging Shaun along with me. He wiped a trail of blood from his lip, breath coming in shallow rasps. Like Deeds, he was a man possessed. Focused on nothing other than his opponent. What I’d witnessed in the junkyard paled compared to this. It was a whole new side to him. One that, while scary, sent prickles of excitement up and down my spine.

“I told you to walk away,” Shaun growled.

“I will. Just hand the little bitch over and consider things done. I won’t even beat your ass raw for the disrespect you’ve shown me.”

The muscles in Shaun’s jaw twitched. His eyes flickered from Deeds to the scaffolding overhead as he wiped his mouth again and took a step back. “I dare you to f*cking try.”

Deeds laughed. He was standing directly under the middle of the scaffolding now. The can of red paint still dripped, the droplets hitting the ground right next to him and dotting his pants leg with what looked like specks of gore. He glanced down and frowned. “And on top of it all, you owe me a new pair of pants.”

Shaun didn’t respond. He pushed me back and took another step, until we were out from under the scaffolding.

“What? Got nothing to say, boy?” Deeds grinned. It was the kind of smirk you just want to wipe from someone’s face using Brillo. Or possibly high-grade sandpaper. It was conceited and, more than that, cruel. “Not that I expected anything else. Most beaten animals put up a small fight, but in the end, they know who the master is.”

Shaun stiffened. For a second I was sure he’d charge Deeds again, but instead, he gently pushed me behind him. “Master? That’d be me.”

Without warning, Shaun brought his leg up and kicked out at the scaffolding support with impressive force. It caved, wobbling for a moment before crashing down on Deeds.

“Let’s go.” He took my hand and led me away as a crowd started to gather on the corner.





Chapter Sixteen


I stuffed my free hand under my leg to keep warm. We’d settled on the edge of an abandoned lot, against the wall of an old box factory, a few feet away from one of the many trash-can fires. It was late and the sun was going down. We’d spent the rest of the day trying to avoid not only Jaffe’s men, but now Deeds as well. “Can I ask you a question?”

Beside me Shaun smiled. He was trying not to shiver. I’d attempted to give his jacket back, but he kept insisting he wasn’t cold. “The answer is yes. I do work out.”

I smiled but shook my head.

There were tents strewn all around—some real and others homemade—as well as sleeping bags and crudely made shelters. The locals called it Purgatory. Mom and I had crashed here for a couple days a few years ago. The cops mostly ignored it, and the local shelter came through once a day with food. It was mostly down-on-their-luck people—entire families who’d lost their homes, runaways, the poor and jobless, people who wanted to disappear. It was a broken community where everyone was welcome and no one had a name.

“I was wondering about what Deeds said…”

“Ahh.” He knew exactly what I meant. “I told you, hunters talk. They knew Pat took me in. He disappeared from the game for a while after that.”

“Why did he disappear?”

Shaun adjusted the cuff on his hand, then turned to look me in the eye. “’Cause I was a terror. Seriously damaged and impossible to handle.”

Something Deeds said—something about a beaten dog and taking a hit—made the acid bubble in my belly. I swallowed hard. Suddenly it wasn’t so cold. “Damaged?”

“My dad—my real dad—was a bastard. He was a drunk and knocked me around pretty badly.” He shifted the collar of his shirt aside to reveal the angry bunch of scars I’d seen the other night on his left shoulder. “Used to use me as an ashtray.”

“Jesus.” I gasped, remembering Shaun’s reaction, first to Patrick smoking back at the cabin, and then to Josh in the junkyard. Now it made sense—and looking at the cluster of scars, I couldn’t blame him.

He shrugged it off. “One night, right after I turned thirteen, I’d had enough. I got angry and I fought back.”

“What happened?”

Shaun’s expression went dark. “He didn’t like it.” He pulled up his shirt, revealing the tattoo above his navel. Running his thumb across the top, where the ink was slightly warped, he said, “Stabbed me. That’s why it’s all f*cked up. I had them put the ink over the scar. I survived, ya know? He also gave me three broken fingers, two busted ribs, and knocked out four teeth that night. Told the people at the ER I fell.” He shook his head. “After hearing that over and over again, they didn’t even bat an eye.”

All my life it had always been just Mom and me. We looked out for each other and no one else. So when I found myself furious that someone had done that to him—had hurt him while he was so helpless—it was a bit overwhelming. I took a deep breath. “Where was your mom?”