“But I did! It’s not my fault she bolted.”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s gone.” Reggie paused. “But you’re still here, and I’m tired of your excuses.”
“Reggie, wait. Please, man! I’m good for the money! I just need a few more days—”
Coral sucked in a breath, as if she were going to scream. A loud smack sounded. Coral let out a low moan of pain, then a strangled yelp, before I heard another sound.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Reggie was hitting her—over and over again—and I knew that he wouldn’t stop until he beat her to death. I stood in the dark closet, frozen with fear, wondering what to do. Should I try to help Coral and risk Reggie turning his anger on me? Should I run out of the apartment while he was beating her? Or should I just stay quiet and hidden and wait until it was over?
No, I thought. That would make me no better than Coral. I had to try to help her, despite what she’d wanted to do to me. If nothing else, maybe Reggie would leave her alone long enough to chase me when I ran out of the apartment. So I squared my shoulders and sucked in a breath, hoping that I could take the pimp by surprise and then outrun him—
But it was too late.
Something slammed up against the closet door, then dropped down to the ground in front of it. Through the crack, I could see Coral’s face, her hazel eyes frozen open wide in pain, terror, and fear. Blood pooled on the floor underneath her head and started oozing into the closet, further staining my ratty stolen shoes. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
Dead—she was dead.
And I would be too if I didn’t stay quiet.
So I swallowed down my screams, making myself stand absolutely still inside the closet, despite the skimpy satin clothes pushing at my back, wanting to shove me forward.
For a moment, the only sound was raspy breathing, although I couldn’t tell if it was mine or Reggie’s.
Then a floorboard creaked.
“Stupid bitch,” Reggie rumbled. “You should have just paid me when you had the chance.”
Coral’s eyes stared straight ahead, even as more and more of her blood seeped into the closet.
Silence. Then footsteps moving away. A few seconds later, the front door opened, then slammed shut again.
I stood in the closet, staring at the growing blood on the floor, and counted off the seconds in my head. Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . . forty-five . . . sixty . . .
When three minutes had passed, I felt safe enough to slip out of the closet. The first thing I did was rush out to the main room and throw the locks on the door. Then I went back into the bedroom.
Coral lay sprawled on the floor, her head facing the closet, while the rest of her was twisted the other way. Bruises blackened her face, while her blood had already soaked into her hair, turning the bright crimson strands a dull rusty color.
I crouched down and stared at Coral’s lifeless body. She’d tried to turn me into her, tried to sell me to her pimp, tried to use me the way so many other people had used her. But that’s the way things were on the streets, especially in Southtown, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her all the same—and guilty that I hadn’t done something to try to save her.
Then my stomach rumbled again, and I thought about that other sandwich Coral had said was in the fridge. I closed my eyes, hating myself for what I was about to do, but I was still so hungry. So I stepped over Coral’s body and went into the kitchen, trying to come up with some sort of plan about what to do next. When I was done eating, I would take whatever food was left, then go through her clothes to see if there was a warm coat I could swipe to stave off the chill of the nights, if not the growing coldness in my own heart . . .
The rocking woke me.
It was a gentle, steady, soothing motion, almost like I was in a swing someone was pushing, even though I was lying in a bed. A loud splash sounded, before giving way to a regular, rhythmic slosh-slosh-slosh of water, and I felt myself slipping back down into the darkness . . .
Wait a second. Why was there a splash? Why was there water here? Wasn’t I at Jo-Jo’s house? And if not . . . where was I?
I cracked my eyes open, but instead of an airy fresco of a cloud-covered sky like I would have seen at Jo-Jo’s, the ceiling was low and made out of golden wood. Worry curled in my stomach, and I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around.
I was in some sort of guest bedroom. Well, really, it was more like a spacious stateroom. The four-poster bed I was lying on took up one corner of the area, the pale blue silk sheets that covered my body providing a nice contrast with the glossy, golden wood of the frame. The other furniture was made of the same wood, all of it trimmed with polished brass accents. A living-room suite took up the front half of the stateroom, complete with two pale blue couches that faced each other and a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall between them. A door off to my left led into a large bathroom decked out in blue tile.
It was definitely a room I’d never been in before, and my head snapped over to the windows, wondering what I might see through them. But the glass panes were round instead of square, and the white lace curtains had been drawn back, revealing an unexpected sight: the sun setting over the river.
Understanding flashed through me. I wasn’t in any sort of house. Oh, no.
I was on a boat.
23
Instead of bolting out of bed, I wedged a couple of pillows between my back and the frame and propped myself up against the soft cushions. The sight of the strange room didn’t bother me any more, because I had a sneaking suspicion of exactly where I was.
On board the Delta Queen, Phillip Kincaid’s riverboat casino.
I wondered why Owen and the others would bring me here, though, instead of taking me to Jo-Jo’s salon. Maybe they figured that this would be safer, since Jo-Jo’s would be one place Benson and his men would be sure to look for me.
I sat up a little higher on the bed. The motion made a dull ache roar to life in the back of my skull, one that quickly intensified and spread through the rest of my body. I was still wearing the white hospital gown Benson’s men had put on me. Cuts and scrapes dotted my hands and arms, and the side of my face throbbed from where I’d fallen onto the stone balcony. But worst of all was my busted ankle, which sent out shooting stabs of pain with every beat of my heart.
Jo-Jo must have been waiting for the final dregs of the Burn pill to leave my system so she could heal me. No doubt, Owen had told her about the elemental magic in the drug, and Jo-Jo wouldn’t have wanted to risk using her Air power on me and making things worse. But the aches and pains that flooded my body were a small price to pay for escaping from Benson. So I would be patient and endure the discomfort while I waited for Jo-Jo to come finish the job.