Chaos (Kardia Chronicles) (Entangled Teen) by Christine O'Neil

just spit it out without all this song and dance.”
    “That’s the problem with Americans.” He shook his head regretfully. “You’ve got no poetry in your soul.”
    Even then, with him lecturing me and that annoying, all-knowing look on his too-perfect face, I couldn’t budge. I needed to know. Who was this guy?
    The wind howled, and I tucked my coat tighter around me. “Good. Great. But you’re here now, so out with it.”
    “I know you.” He stepped closer, and I scuttled a little farther away, refusing to have to crane my neck at some ridiculous angle that made me feel like a soon-to-be victim in a bad vampire movie. Not because every time he got close, my heart beat triple time. Or because he smelled like sin and summer rain. And definitely not because he made my fingertips itch with the need to touch…
    And take , I reminded myself firmly. No boys for me. Especially not this one, who somehow seemed as dangerous to me as I was to him.
    “Way to go on the whole ‘less cryptic’ front,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as breathless as I felt. All my senses were dialed up to eleven and I knew that, at some point when he finally got around to it, things were going to shift. I didn’t know what that meant for me or even whether it would be good or bad.
    All I could be sure of was that everything would be different.
    Two minutes later, I stared out the fogged window of Mac’s car, watching the ice-crusted trees pass in a blur. Sad that, with only a few words, he’d managed to get me into his car. I was like a pedophile’s wet dream. The whole “I lost my puppy, can you get in my van to help me find it” thing? I’d be all over that like Lady Gaga on a meat dress.
    I sat in the plush long seat, sulking, wondering if I’d managed to get myself into yet another sticky situation—something I’d clearly been on a quest to perfect lately. Mac had said what he wanted to talk about was private and he would tell me if I went with him. I’m not the begging type, so rather than plead for answers, I resigned myself to a silent but warm ride. But we were halfway to my house, he still hadn’t uttered a word, and it was grating on my nerves.
    “So I’m guessing your mom isn’t in the hospital after all, huh?” I asked accusingly.
    He didn’t bother to answer and that was answer enough. He’d gone to the hospital just because I was there. I wondered again if I’d made the wrong move getting in the car. Maybe he really was a psycho-stalker. I mean, I’d called him that a bunch in my head, but I hadn’t actually thought it thought it until that moment. I was toying with the idea that he might be setting me up to make a kayak out of my skin when we pulled into my driveway and he finally spoke.
    “I need to know what happened with Eric that night.” His eyes were focused straight ahead, but I could feel the tension rolling off him.
    My heart stuttered in my chest and I dragged my gaze from the not-so-interesting-anymore window and stared at his tense profile. His lean jaw worked as he waited for me to respond.
    “No.”
    I didn’t bother explaining why and made sure to use my strongest outside voice so he would know it wasn’t up for negotiation.
    “I know what you are, Maggie. And I’m afraid I’ll have to insist you answer my question.”
    His words barely registered because the menacing tone took precedence. I put my hand on the door, pushing through the tendril of fear curling inside me.
    “And I’m afraid this conversation is over.” Had he heard the tremor in my voice? I hoped not. I yanked the handle but before the door swung open, his hand closed over my wrist tightly. Fear evaporated under the heat of fury that came rushing in.
    The tremor was gone. “The last boy who touched me is laying in a hospital bed right now hooked up to a catheter and shitting into a bag. If I were you, I’d let go.”
    I had to get out of there—it was literally life or death—and although the harshness of my