KING(21)

“A what? What the hell does that mean?”

“King. He wanted to know if you were telling the truth, so he tested you. A junkie would’ve said ‘f*ck the food’ and dove nose-first into the dope.” He extended the bowl out to me. “Here. I’m Preppy, by the way.”

Odd name for an odd guy. He looked like a cross between a thug, a teacher, and a surfer.

I’d seen him briefly the night before, but I didn’t take the time to really look at him. Preppy was close to six feet tall. He wore light jeans and a short sleeved yellow collared shirt with a white bow tie. His sandy blonde hair was tied back into a wild ponytail on the top of his head, but beneath it his head was shaved clean on both sides above his ears, revealing intricate vine tattoos that started at his temples and circled around his head. His arms, hands, and knuckles were also covered with ink. He had a dark beard that didn’t match his hair color. At first glance, you’d think he was much older than he was, but it was his eyes that gave away his youth.

“What is it?” I asked, staring into the steaming bowl.

“Chicken broth. Drink it slowly so you can keep it down. How long has it been since you ate?” He crossed his legs at the ankles and rested his hands behind his head.

“Not sure.” I don’t know why but saying the words out loud made me feel ashamed in a way I hadn’t thought about before. “Days, I think.”

Hesitantly, I took the bowl from his hands. It was warm on my palms and instantly made the ache in my weak hands subside. I lifted it to my mouth slowly, relishing the feeling of the steam against my cheeks and the warmth of the liquid as it spread down my throat.

“Why are you even bothering with feeding me?”

“You say you’re not a junkie, but your f*cking ribs are practically poking through your skin, and I could sharpen my knife on that collar bone of yours. King’s not the kind of guy who starves someone to death.”

“So, he’s not going to kill me?” I asked, hopefully.

“Didn’t say that. Just said he wouldn’t starve you to death. Bears crew has a lead on the redhead. If we catch up to her and we find out you weren’t in on it, he might let you go.”

“Might?”

“He’s not the most predictable guy, and he’s been away for a few years. Hasn’t been acting like himself, so there’s no telling what’s running through his head right now.”

“Years?” That’s when I remembered that the party last night was supposed to be a coming home party. “Where was he?”

“State.”

“College?”

“Prison.”

Prison made much more sense than college.

“What did he do?” I was pushing my luck by even asking. But I thought that maybe, if I knew more about King—knew what made him tick—I would have more of a chance of convincing him to let me go.

“You sure ask a lot of questions, little girl. Why do you want to know?”

I shrugged and sipped more of my broth. “Just curious, I guess.”

“He killed someone, got caught,” he said casually. I swallowed a huge mouthful of broth in one tight gulp.

“Who?” My curiosity made my mouth run faster than the speed of my usual word vomit.

Preppy smiled. His dark brown eyes glistened with excitement. I knew then that there was a lot more to him than what I saw on the surface. Something sinister was lying just beneath the tattoos and bow tie.

Something that made the hair on my arms stand on end.

Preppy leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his folded hands.

“His mom.”





Chapter Eight




Doe


There was no doubt in my mind that King was capable of the kind of things most normal people couldn’t fathom, but what kind of person kills their own mother?

Preppy asked me the same questions King had about who I was, and I told him my story. The difference between Preppy and King is that Preppy actually listened to me.

I gave him the short version.

No memory.

Group home.

Living on the streets.

Nikki.

Attempting to sell myself for protection and shelter.

Also unlike King, Preppy seemed to actually believe me.

I drank every last bit of broth, and Preppy changed the bandage on my ear. It was already starting to itch as it scabbed over.