Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(7)

“What’s the rush, pretty girl? You just got here.”

I recognize one of them from school. He was in the grade above me, I think. At least, he was until he stopped going.

“Well, goddamn.” His pale face splits into a grin, revealing a set of blackened teeth. “If it isn’t little Rainbow Williams.” He clicks his tongue and violates me with his cloudy eyes. “Look at you … all grown up.”

I want to act cool and pal around with him like we’re old friends, but I can’t even remember his damn name.

I can’t remember anything anymore.

I start to panic, flying through every possible name I can think of in my mind, but all I can get out is, “Hey … man.”

“Looks like you and your boyfriend here”—all three guys lift their eyes to a spot over my shoulder—“were trying to leave without paying your taxes.”

Taxes.

My stomach drops.

I manage to twist my face into a fake smile. “Oh! No … see, we worked it out with …” I gesture toward the doorman on the other side of the glass behind them, hoping he’ll verify our payment situation, but when I glance over at him, he’s not in his chair at all.

He’s lying facedown on the sidewalk, being sniffed and nibbled on by a pack of wild dogs.

My guts churn as the reality of our situation comes crashing down around me. We are unarmed and outnumbered, and the only person who might have been able to help us just freaking overdosed.

I glance over my shoulder at Wes. His jaw flexes as he chews on the inside of his bottom lip. He’s staring straight ahead, refusing to look at me, and I know why.

Because the lifer has something to live for.

“Can I go?” he asks in a bored voice, meeting the stares of all three gangsters as if they were obnoxious children making him late for work.

I almost want to laugh. A complete stranger took me at gunpoint and delivered me to my worst nightmare, and I let him do it because I liked the way he looked at me.

The nightmare! That’s it! Any minute now, the four horsemen are going to burst through that door and kill us all! It’s just the nightmare! It has to be! Wake up, Rain! Wake up!

I swing my head left and right, desperately searching for a telltale black-and-red banner, a stitch of April 23 propaganda, some flames, smoke, something, but the only things hanging on the walls are TV monitors showing videos of happy white people eating three-dollar bags of Doritos.

It’s not a dream. It’s just me, three rapists, and the guy trying to sell me to them.

Gulp.

The thugs glance at each other and then back at the man behind me.

The one on the left glares at him and spits on the ground. “Yo pussy-ass ain’t even worth the bullet.”

“Go on, pretty boy,” the one on the right says through his gold grill, flicking his head toward the door. “Get the fuck out.”

The one I recognize stares right at me, licking his thin, chapped lips. “You never said shit to me when we was in school, but now, I’m gon’ have you screamin’ my name.”

Dread slithers through my veins as all three rotten grins close in on me, and tears sting my eyes as I watch the lifer walk right on past, leaving me to pay for his precious groceries. The sliding glass doors behind the hillbilly mafia open as my only hope strolls toward them. He stops in the doorway and gives me one last look over his shoulder. But his face isn’t cold and callous, like I expected. It’s not even remorseful. What I find there is sharp and direct. Wes’s pupils narrow and cut to the display shelf beside him and back. Like a command.

Or a warning.

I don’t have time to figure out what it means before Wes brings two fingers to his mouth and lets out the loudest whistle I’ve ever heard.

The dogs outside lift their heads, and before the rednecks in red even have a chance to turn all the way around, Wes grabs a bag of chips off the shelf next to him and rips the damn thing wide open. Salty orange triangles rain down on the threesome as a pack of starving dogs rushes through the open sliding doors. My brain screams at me to run, but all I can do is stand there with my mouth hanging open as the dogs overtake my attackers, snarling and yelping and gnashing and clawing at anything and everything between them and the promise of food.

As I stare at the scene before me, a hand clamps down around my wrist and drags me out the door. I don’t look at the ogre on the sidewalk as we pass. I don’t stop to take his machine gun or hunt for my pill bottle—two things I know I’ll kick myself for later. I don’t even limp. All I can think about as Wes and I run across the parking lot is getting away from that hellhole as quickly as possible.

Once we’re behind the bread truck, Wes shoves the grocery bags into my arms and grabs his gun holster from the wheel well. “You okay?” he asks, shrugging the brown leather harness on over his shirt.

“Yeah,” I huff, shoving my arms elbow deep into the straps of the plastic bags so that they won’t fall off during the ride.

“Good.” He pulls his black helmet down over his face.

Good.

My cheeks tingle as I climb onto the bike behind him. The second my ass hits the seat, I plaster myself to Wes’s back, and we peel out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Shots ring out from somewhere behind us, but I don’t look back.

Of course, I don’t look forward either.