it’s a mix of a Southern drawl and a slur.
“Hey, Gunner,” says the third drifter with us.
Gunner flips his long blond bangs out of his eyes and nods slowly. “How’s it goin’, Mouse?”
“Better now that we finally found this son of a bitch.” He jerks his head toward Eli in a way that’s meant to be lighthearted, but I can tell he genuinely resents Eli/Owen.
Eli shifts angrily, which puts me directly in Gunner’s line of sight. As soon as he sees me, his pale green eyes light up in interest.
“Ooh, who is this pretty lady?”
“Parker’s girl from Salt Lake City,” says Jay.
“Mmm,” says Gunner, drawing his lip ring into his mouth and nodding appreciatively. “How you doin’, Mama?”
I raise an eyebrow and scowl, but my heart’s not really in it. I’m too nervous about meeting Malcolm to care about the come-on, and Gunner’s flirting seems pretty harmless — almost as if that’s his way of relating to people.
“How can you even tell she’s hot?” Jay mutters, his gaze bouncing between my fading black eye and my mask.
“I can tell,” says Gunner, drinking me in appreciatively. “Mmm-hmm. Eyes are the windows to the soul.”
Big Tony snorts. “You can cut the crap, man. That shit’s not gonna get you laid out here.”
“I don’ know, Tones. I don’ know. There’s lots of pretty mamas from out of town. They might need a little somethin’-somethin’ to keep them cozy.”
Eli glowers at him and follows the others inside, looking at me in a way I know means to stay close — as if I’d go anywhere.
It’s a little bit dark inside, but as my eyes adjust to the light of a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, I can tell we’ve stepped behind the counter in the front room of the shop.
I was right in thinking this place had been badly looted in the aftermath of Death Storm. All the electronics and weapons are gone, leaving the far wall nearly bare. All that’s left is a hodgepodge of used movies, a busted guitar, some tarnished jewelry in a glass case, and a few other odds and ends.
Jay, Tony, and Gunner lead the way through a beaded curtain to the back room, which is much more spacious. I take off my mask, but it does little to cool me down. It’s dark and sweltering hot behind the curtain, and as soon as I look around, I see why.
All the computers and equipment that went missing from the restaurant basement are arranged in the back room. A handful of drifters are plugged in to whatever they’re watching on the monitors, headphones in place and completely oblivious to their surroundings.
The sight reminds me so vividly of Celdon that I get a pang of homesickness. I have an urge to step around the mound of cords to see what they’re working on, but I force myself to stay right at Eli’s side.
“Holy shit!” calls a voice from the shadows.
The drifters’ body language changes instantly, and I know the voice must belong to Malcolm.
“The prodigal son returns!”
Eli’s fists clench and unclench nervously at his sides. Every muscle in his forearm is tightly flexed. I place a covert hand on the small of his back to calm him down, but when the man emerges from the shadows, Eli stiffens as though he plans to launch himself straight at Malcolm.
The man standing in front of us is definitely the guy from the surveillance photos. The Desperados’ leader is tall and wiry — about Eli’s height but much scrawnier. His face is pointed like a rat’s, and he’s got heavy black eyebrows that are furrowed in constant suspicion.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asks.
“Well, hello to you, too,” says Eli, feigning offense.
“Hello?” Malcolm’s face falls. “ Hello ? Don’t fuckin’ ‘hello’ me. I’ve had search parties out hunting you for days, Parker. You strut in here after god knows how long, looking like you fucking own the place, and all you have to say to me is ‘ hello ’?”
I can’t breathe.
For a moment, Eli and Malcolm just stare at
“Hey, Gunner,” says the third drifter with us.
Gunner flips his long blond bangs out of his eyes and nods slowly. “How’s it goin’, Mouse?”
“Better now that we finally found this son of a bitch.” He jerks his head toward Eli in a way that’s meant to be lighthearted, but I can tell he genuinely resents Eli/Owen.
Eli shifts angrily, which puts me directly in Gunner’s line of sight. As soon as he sees me, his pale green eyes light up in interest.
“Ooh, who is this pretty lady?”
“Parker’s girl from Salt Lake City,” says Jay.
“Mmm,” says Gunner, drawing his lip ring into his mouth and nodding appreciatively. “How you doin’, Mama?”
I raise an eyebrow and scowl, but my heart’s not really in it. I’m too nervous about meeting Malcolm to care about the come-on, and Gunner’s flirting seems pretty harmless — almost as if that’s his way of relating to people.
“How can you even tell she’s hot?” Jay mutters, his gaze bouncing between my fading black eye and my mask.
“I can tell,” says Gunner, drinking me in appreciatively. “Mmm-hmm. Eyes are the windows to the soul.”
Big Tony snorts. “You can cut the crap, man. That shit’s not gonna get you laid out here.”
“I don’ know, Tones. I don’ know. There’s lots of pretty mamas from out of town. They might need a little somethin’-somethin’ to keep them cozy.”
Eli glowers at him and follows the others inside, looking at me in a way I know means to stay close — as if I’d go anywhere.
It’s a little bit dark inside, but as my eyes adjust to the light of a single bulb hanging from the ceiling, I can tell we’ve stepped behind the counter in the front room of the shop.
I was right in thinking this place had been badly looted in the aftermath of Death Storm. All the electronics and weapons are gone, leaving the far wall nearly bare. All that’s left is a hodgepodge of used movies, a busted guitar, some tarnished jewelry in a glass case, and a few other odds and ends.
Jay, Tony, and Gunner lead the way through a beaded curtain to the back room, which is much more spacious. I take off my mask, but it does little to cool me down. It’s dark and sweltering hot behind the curtain, and as soon as I look around, I see why.
All the computers and equipment that went missing from the restaurant basement are arranged in the back room. A handful of drifters are plugged in to whatever they’re watching on the monitors, headphones in place and completely oblivious to their surroundings.
The sight reminds me so vividly of Celdon that I get a pang of homesickness. I have an urge to step around the mound of cords to see what they’re working on, but I force myself to stay right at Eli’s side.
“Holy shit!” calls a voice from the shadows.
The drifters’ body language changes instantly, and I know the voice must belong to Malcolm.
“The prodigal son returns!”
Eli’s fists clench and unclench nervously at his sides. Every muscle in his forearm is tightly flexed. I place a covert hand on the small of his back to calm him down, but when the man emerges from the shadows, Eli stiffens as though he plans to launch himself straight at Malcolm.
The man standing in front of us is definitely the guy from the surveillance photos. The Desperados’ leader is tall and wiry — about Eli’s height but much scrawnier. His face is pointed like a rat’s, and he’s got heavy black eyebrows that are furrowed in constant suspicion.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asks.
“Well, hello to you, too,” says Eli, feigning offense.
“Hello?” Malcolm’s face falls. “ Hello ? Don’t fuckin’ ‘hello’ me. I’ve had search parties out hunting you for days, Parker. You strut in here after god knows how long, looking like you fucking own the place, and all you have to say to me is ‘ hello ’?”
I can’t breathe.
For a moment, Eli and Malcolm just stare at
Similar Books
