The Lure Page 12

  19

  The windshield wipers screeched back and forth, but we could still hear the wail of sirens coming at us from every direction. I fought back tears and watched Trek’s reflection in the rearview mirror, the thrill in his eyes, his creepy grin. He was enjoying this.

  “When I stop, we dump the car and run in different directions,” Trek said, his breath coming hard and fast.

  “We know the drill.” Rico sounded totally sober at this point.

  I inhaled too deeply. The air caught in my throat and came out, a thin sigh. Rico squeezed my elbow and, from the front seat, Satch shot me a warning glance. Trek would see any show of sadness as criticism for what he had done, and he was still the only one with a gun.

  In the distance, police lights pulsed, growing brighter. The siren shrilled, rising and falling, then rising again.

  I stared at the sky. My grandmother would never recover once she found out that I had been involved in a double murder. The killing of a child. I imagined her devastation as Trek took a hard right, pushing the speed limit.

  The car swerved around the corner, my insides sliding with it. Tires shrieked into a skid and the nauseating smell of burnt rubber seeped into the car. My stomach rippled, creeping up, the nausea too strong to quell. Saliva flooded my mouth. I leaned over and vomited behind Trek’s seat.

  Coughing and spitting, I remained with my head between my knees until Rico pulled me up, unbuttoned his shirt and used his wet shirttail to wipe my face. I leaned against him and gazed out the window, my mind blank, color fading from my vision.

  Trek caught my stare in the rearview mirror. “Blaise is going into shock.”

  Satch looked back at me. “She’ll never be able to run when we ditch the car.”

  “One of you take her home and get her warm.” Trek slammed on the brakes, a panic stop. Uncontrolled, the car spun out and continued to slide into the curb. Hubcaps scraped against the concrete, bluish-white sparks spraying as high as the window.

  The moment the car came to rest under the low-hanging branches of a tree, Satch leaped out and wrenched open the back door. Together, he and Rico pulled me into the blustering wind.

  The rain had stopped. Moon-silvered clouds swept across the sky, trailing the storm, and from all around us came the sound of dripping water.

  Satch felt my forehead, his hand sliding down to my cheek. “She’s stone cold and not even shivering.”

  “Stop talking,” Trek yelled, the engine revving.

  “I’ll stay with Trek,” Satch said.

  “Decide!” Trek shouted, the car nosing forward.

  Abruptly, Rico jumped into the front seat, the decision made. The car rocketed down the street, Satch staring after it as if he couldn’t believe he had been left to take care of me.

  In the opposite direction three blocks away, a squad car shot around the corner, bar lights flashing. I stood unmoving beneath the trees, aware of the headlights reflecting in white smears on the wet pavement.

  Before the police were close enough to see me, Satch scooped me into his arms and carried me to a cardboard shelter that a homeless person had abandoned. He nudged a rusted shopping cart away from the entrance and hid me inside under a yellow plastic tarp, the waterlogged cardboard floor squishing beneath me.

  He didn’t have time to hide himself. The lights from the police car were already flickering over his face. Grabbing the shopping cart like a homeless resident of the Borderlands, he hunched over the handlebar and rolled the cart down the sidewalk in clear view.

  The squad car blew straight past him.

  When the street became empty again, Satch ran back to me, heaved me into his arms, and jogged away. I glanced up as the night tilted, spinning the stars. And with a sigh, I let go.

  Fingers tapped my cheek. I opened my eyes, the air warm and smelling of soap. Satch looked down at me, worry in his frown, his arms holding me upright. “Blaise?”

  My toes curled into the fluffy fibers of a bath mat. He had taken off my muddy shoes and carried me inside his house and up the stairs to his bathroom.

  “Can you get yourself undressed and into the shower?” He turned me toward the mirror so I could see my bloodstained clothes. “You need to get cleaned up and warm.”

  But I had traveled too deep inside myself, and the thought of Satch seeing me naked wasn’t enough to make me rise up again.

  “Please help me, Blaise. I really don’t want to do this.” The distress in his voice pulled me to the threshold. I wanted to comfort him, but a stronger force took control and sucked me back into nothingness.

  “Okay,” he whispered. “I hope you remember this wasn’t my choice.”

  He peeled off my sweater and the sodden dress, after which he unhooked my bra. Looking everywhere but at me, he pulled off my leggings and panties.

  When my clothes lay in a heap on the floor, Satch yanked back the plastic shower curtain, the hooks jittering down the rod. Gently, he lifted me and set me standing in the tub. I stared at the showerhead, scaled with mineral deposits, and watched the water sprinkle out.

  After testing the temperature, Satch eased me forward and pressed my head under the warm spray. He massaged his aunt’s lilac-scented shampoo into my tangled hair. Pink suds slid off my body and foamed around the drain.

  When the water became clear, Satch shut off the shower and wrapped a towel around my head. From the hook on the back of the door, he grabbed his aunt’s robe and slipped my arms into the sleeves. The thin material adhered to my skin, soaking up the water that Satch had been too timid to pat dry with a towel.

  He carried me to his room, set me on his bed, and tucked the covers around me, his scent laced in their warmth. I felt his lips against my forehead, probably to gauge my temperature, as my grandmother used to do when I was a child.

  “Oh, Blaise,” he murmured.

  From the agony in his voice, I assumed my fever was high.

  When he finally pulled away, he patted my shoulder. “Try to sleep.”

  The moment I dozed off, the nightmare came, vivid and immediate. The boy was stealing candy, unmindful of the danger. Within the eerie logic of the dream, I believed that if I could reach him before Trek shot him, then I could pull him back into life with me. I raced to the boy as bullets shredded his heart, his blood splattering over me.

  I startled awake, fighting the hands that held me, until I realized Satch was lifting me against the pillows.

  He had changed into dry clothes, his hair wet and combed as if he had taken a shower. “You need something in your stomach.” He held the warm rim of a cup against my lips. “Sip this. You’ll feel better with something inside you.”

  Creamy hot cocoa melted over my tongue, the scent of chocolate steaming across my face. My stomach contracted and I burst from my daze. “He was just a kid stealing candy. He shouldn’t be dead.”

  “He was eleven.” Rico’s sudden appearance in the doorway silenced me. His face relaxed when he saw that I seemed responsive. “Blaise,” he began gently. “Nando wasn’t just a Lobo in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trek was killing him for you.”

  I winced as a cold shudder raced through my body.

  “Tell us what happened,” Satch said softly.

  My tears began to fall as I described luring Nando, leaving out the parts that I thought might anger Rico.

  He and Satch listened sympathetically, seeming to understand too well that sometimes the wrong choice felt like the right one.

  When I finished, Rico said, “Trek was so eager to impress you that he got careless.”

  “He left a witness,” Satch said. “The cashier. I never saw anyone, but I knew someone had to be watching the store.”

  “I didn’t see anyone, either.” Rico nodded. “After Trek and I ditched the car, I went back and stood with the gawkers behind the crime scene tape. I heard someone say that the cashier never got a look at the killer’s face.”

  “That won’t matter to Trek,” Satch said bitterly. “He’s like my
dad. He always kills the witnesses. That’s why he took out the boy.”

  “What about us?” I asked. “We’re witnesses.”

  Rico turned my hand to show me the raw blisters where I’d grabbed the gun. “You’re safe. You swore your loyalty when you put your fingerprints on the weapon.”

  I nodded, but the sinking feeling inside me didn’t go away.

  Still holding my hand, Rico said, “You haven’t told us everything, Blaise. Trek said that he had promised to kill Nando if he touched you. And Nando touched you, but you didn’t tell us about that.”

  “She told us enough,” Satch said quickly. “We don’t need to hear her describe that.”

  Rico ignored Satch, anger firing his eyes, and I knew this was personal, between him and me. Moving closer, his teeth gritted, Rico said, “I want to hear how you pushed Nando away. Did you tell him you weren’t ready?”

  I stiffened.

  “Come off it, Rico,” Satch burst in. “She couldn’t. She was setting him up.”

  Rico glared at me. “You let him touch you, didn’t you?”

  When I didn’t answer, Rico dodged into Satch’s closet and came back out, snapping a clip into a gun.

  “Man,” Satch groaned. “Haven’t we had enough for one night?”

  “I owe the Lobos a payback,” Rico said with an edge to his voice. “Tonight’s perfect. All their homeboys will be here and in Mass 5, trying to track down Nando’s killer.” He dodged into the hallway. “And when they get home, they’ll find any cars they left behind riddled with bullets.”

  I fell back on my pillow, imagining children awakening and diving under their beds.

  “This is my fault,” I said.

  “No,” Satch whispered. “Rico knows it’s his fault. That’s why he’s so damn angry. If he’d stood up to Trek and stopped him, this whole thing with Nando would never have happened.” Satch pulled the covers over me. “Try to get some sleep, now.”

  But I couldn’t. All I could think about was how Trek always killed his witnesses.

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  HarperCollins Publishers

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  20

  I filled the teakettle with water, set it on the stove, and stared at the flame, trying to plan the next week. For eight days, I had evaded Trek. I intended to never lure for him again and had returned to dressing tough and tomboy. But with that decision, I had lost my source of income; my only way to help my grandmother. This morning, she had come home from work half-dead, and hadn’t even changed out of her work clothes before collapsing across her bed. I had taken off her shoes and rubbed her back while she drifted into sleep. The deepness of her slumber had frightened me.

  Overhead the drone of her fan buzzed through the ceiling and into the kitchen, vibrating the walls, a relentless reminder that I had to find a way to make money. I considered shoplifting, becoming what people in the neighborhood called “a person who can get things.” I thought about selling drugs, but I’d seen their effects on my mother and on too many kids at my school, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that.

  The teakettle shrilled, jarring me from my thoughts. I poured water over the tea bag, steam rising warm against my face. Then, suddenly, a prickling of gooseflesh raced up my arms. I saw the boy at the kitchen table, his gaze solemn, filling me with guilt. I ran my fingers over my neck, trying to calm the blood racing to my head before he disappeared with a whiff of cool air that drifted over me.

  I set the cup down, swung my purse strap over my shoulder, and left for school. I didn’t need the district’s grief counselor to explain to me that because I couldn’t allow my grief full expression, it had festered in the unconscious layers of my mind and was making me see things that weren’t there.

  Near school, I paused, surprised to see Kaylee and Melissa standing together. Kaylee looked as if she hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before, dark slashes under her eyes, her hair uncombed and knotted in a spiky mess on top of her head, while Melissa appeared to have spent an hour in front of a mirror perfecting her makeup and curling her glossy hair.

  They were frowning at each other, arguing about something. I strolled closer, hoping to pick up a few words.

  “You’re such a liar,” Melissa said, her scowl deepening as she bit at the side of her fingernail. “Why do you keep telling me such horrible things about Trek?”

  “Why would I make up something like that?” Kaylee shot back.

  “Because you’re jealous and want to ruin it for me.” Melissa shoved Kaylee against a car and stomped away.

  “You’re going to wish you had listened to me,” Kaylee shouted.

  “Just leave me alone,” Melisa said pleadingly.

  When I realized she was crying, I started after her, but Rico and Satch cut me off, their grim expressions stopping me.

  “What’s up?” I asked, a feeling of dread rising inside me.

  “A reward’s been offered to anyone who can provide information about the killing of the boy.” Satch handed me a flyer.

  My chest ached when I looked down at the picture of the boy’s smiling face. “Fifty thousand dollars,” I whispered. “Does Trek know?”

  “We haven’t been hanging out at his house,” Rico said. “But when he sees this, he’s going to go ballistic.”

  As they left me, I wondered how high the reward had to go before Trek worried that we might snitch. Fifty grand was a temptation. I thought about the difference that much money could make in my life and, without warning, an image of Gabriella burst into my mind. What would my life today be like if she had lived?

  Angrily, I pushed the thought aside and entered the school. I didn’t have time to think about something that could never be.

  In the hallway, Ariel joined me, smiling. “Guess what?” she said excitedly.

  I loved the happiness I saw in her eyes. “Tell me.”

  “I’m going to California!” She pulled a printout map of Venice Beach from her canvas tote. “Can you believe it?”

  “When?” I asked, a mix of emotions rushing through me.

  “This summer. I can’t wait.”

  “Are you moving?” I said, feeling suddenly left behind.

  “Danny and I are going.”

  I sucked in air and looked around to make sure no one had heard her. I couldn’t hide my distress. I couldn’t even force a smile.

  Her head dropped, and when she lifted it again, her smile was gone. “Can’t you be happy for me, Blaise?”

  “Ariel, how are you going to do this? You don’t have the money.”

  “A bus ticket doesn’t cost that much, and we’re saving money from his sales.” She shrugged, smiling dreamily. “It’s not like we don’t know how to get by on nothing. We’ll manage. We’re going to finish school there, together.”

  “I’m scared for you, Ariel. You got to . . .” My voice broke and I realized I was crying.

  Easing closer, she stroked my hair. “He’s not like those thugs that I’ve been with before,” she said in a hushed voice. “I can have a future with him. He’s decent.”

  “A drug dealer?”

  “That’s the reason he wants to move,” Ariel said sincerely. “He hates what he does.”

  I wiped at my tears. “Please check it out more before you go.”

  “That’s all I’ve been doing.”

  I nodded but still wasn’t convinced.

  “Don’t be so sad,” she said. “You’ll come visit us. I’ve planned that, too. Start saving for a bathing suit.” She gave me a quick hug before she dashed into her classroom.

  For a second, I stood in the empty hallway, taken in by what she’d said. I imagined myself walking on a long stretch of beach, breathing the ocean air. No fear, no worries, only the crash of waves and seagulls swooping around me—but then I remembered where we lived, and a desperate cry escaped me.

  At the end of the school day, I was still worrying about Ariel, afraid th
at her excitement was making her careless. I crossed the teachers’ parking lot, not watching where I was going, and a history textbook flew past me, inches from hitting my shoulder. I spun around as the edge of the spine slammed into Dante, who stood less than three feet behind me. The binding snapped and pages tumbled across the pavement, catching on the legs of students who were talking in small groups.

  I turned back to see who had thrown the book and gaped at Kaylee, who looked close to tears.

  “Don’t you ever touch me again!” she screamed at Dante.

  “Or what?” He snickered. A long scratch bled down his neck. “You took the back stairwell. I figured you were looking for me.”

  In response, Kaylee threw her geometry book at him. The text thumped against his chest and fell on top of the history book with a loud thwack.

  Smirking, Dante lit a cigarette as I eased closer. He tossed the match, and blew the smoke out at Kaylee. His excitement sickened me. I dropped my purse, snatched the cigarette from him, and ground it out on the back of his hand. He screamed and jerked back, the air filling with the stench of scorched skin. Cursing me, he flicked his fingers to get rid of the ember, then examined the burn before he looked at me and drew his hand back in a fist, expecting me to flinch.

  “Come on.” I stared defiantly at him, waiting for his punch. I wanted to fight. Pain. Bruises. Blood. That kind of hurt was easy compared to what I was holding inside me.

  “I’ve had a bad week,” I said, stretching my arms out to my sides. “And I’d like nothing more than to bloody your face and beat you into the ground. I’ll give you the first shot, but I’ll win anyway.”

  “Like hell,” he shouted for the few students who had gathered to watch, but the fear that I might humiliate him again in front of our classmates had weakened his resolve. He’d already lost too much respect because of me, and I could feel him backing away from a confrontation.

  “You’re not worth my time.” He veered off, lighting another cigarette, and ambled across the parking lot to join his wannabe friends, who were pretending they hadn’t seen our face-off.