Out of Aces (15 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

M
y cheek pressed into the upholstery, and I stared at the papers tucked in the magazine net. The air was thick with cigarette smoke. I was twisted at an awkward angle, knees shoved in to fit in the car, wrists burning under the
tape.

“Slow down, we don’t want to get pulled over,” said
Troy.

AB glanced back at me. Every time I saw his eyes, I felt like throwing up. I was tied too well to move. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. Lights flashed on and off, and I couldn’t tell if they were coming from outside, or if they were in my head. Pain roared steadily through my eye, piercing my cheek and
neck.

Suddenly, the road smoothed out, and the Altima picked up speed. Trucks clanked and rattled. Tires sliced by.
The freeway.
Then it really hit me: they were going to kill me and dump my body somew
here.

I squeezed my good eye shut. I saw Irina, Mom, Missy, Kyle, Forrest
.
And other girls, the ones before Irina. Irina was the only one I had been good to. The only one I’d been loyal
to.

And then I messed it
up.

If I could change one thing, that would be it. Sticky tears oozed from my eyes, and my face stung and throbbed with the
salt.

What did I do with my
life?

Not
hing.

God, if you’re real, give me another ch
ance.

We made a hard turn, and the Altima lurched into a pothole and thumped over rocks. But we didn’t slow down. There were really no lights now, not even headlights. Just pure dark. We were driving into the de
sert.

“This is far enough. I have to get home sometime tonight,” said
Troy.

AB hit the brakes and the car bumped to a stop. The engine shuddered off and something clicked. Fresh smoke filled the car. There was no sound but AB’s slow inhale. No hum of traffic and electricity, sounds you don’t notice until they’re mis
sing.

In the silence, my pain slipped away. I could see better, almost as if I had night vision. My heart thudded like a powerful drum. I knew I could run miles in an instant if I could just get free. I was ready. I’d go down fighting. Give them something to remember me
by.

Troy sighed. “You can smoke later. Let’s do t
his.”

The front doors opened and cold air gusted in. Footsteps crunched outside. I pulled my knees to my chest, muscles ready to exp
lode.

AB opened the door and leaned in, reaching for my ankles. I kicked hard, putting all my force into his gut. He flew back, and I pulled in my legs like a switchblade, ready to snap out a
gain.

There was cursing and fast footsteps. The other door, by my head, ripped open like it was being torn off. “You bastard,” spit AB, as he yanked me out by the armpits. I fell on the ground, twisted, and tried to kick him again, but he’d stepped aside and my legs swung usele
ssly.

He pulled back his boot—and a bomb crashed into my ribs. My breath whistled and squeaked. He kicked again, and my left side exploded. I sucked for air. The next time his boot came, I flipped over, and he missed, tripping for
ward.

Troy laughed. “You need some h
elp?”

“No.” There was a c
lick.

“Put that away.” The laughter was gone from Troy’s voice. “We’re not supposed to clip him. Cool down.” He crouched by me, keeping away from my feet. “You an idiot or what?” he said in a low voice. “If you keep doing this shit, he’ll kill you, and I won’t be able to stop him. Underst
and?”

I spit out some blood and tried to
nod.

Troy stood up. “Now take your beating like a man and don’t fuck with Nick ag
ain.”

I took one quick breath before the next kick came.
I’m not going to die.
A foot stamped my shoulder.
I’m not going to die.
Blows like a battering ram, AB getting his revenge. The last thing I saw was his boot pulling back like a trigger a few inches from my
eyes.

I woke up tasting grit and blood. Shapes blurred in and out, pointy and strange. Metal? Plants? I was cold. The wind raked over me like flowing ice. I tried to roll over and my ribs screamed. I touched my chest—then lifted my hands to my face. The tape was still on my wrists, but it had been sliced neatly down the middle.
Troy.

The cold was breaking into my bones, and if I didn’t move, I was afraid of what might happen. Groaning, I pulled myself up and looked ar
ound.

They were gone. And so was my car. The desert spread out in every direction, spiny trees making strange black shapes against the sky. Weeds and grass ruffled with the wind, and little bursts of sand stung my raw
skin.

I was hurt bad; I knew that. Mostly in my ribs and right shoulder. I lifted my arm, and it felt like I was tearing myself open. Okay. I would call 9-1-1. Somebody would come find me. They had ways of tracking pe
ople.

With short puffs of air, because it hurt so much, I felt in my pocket for my p
hone.

But my pocket was e
mpty.

I dug deeper.
Nothing.
I patted my other pocket. No phone. No wallet. They’d taken everything. A strange sound crept out of my lips, and I swiped my pockets again, pulling them inside
out.

Almost everything. They’d missed a business card tucked in deep. A thin white-and-blue rectangle.
Helios. Greek food and dancing.
I had no idea what it was. I turned it over and stared at the little bunch of grapes on the card, totally conf
used.

Then I remembered Kosta. It seemed like I had met him in a different world, or a different century. I’d gone to church for Irina. The thought of her gave me a little
push.

I crawled a few feet and used a tree to drag myself to standing. The pain was so intense that I swayed for a minute, the scrawny tree swaying with me, weeds pricking my ankles. I looked up and couldn’t find the moon. The sky was blackish gray with white threads of cl
ouds.

Then I looked on the ground for tire marks, and the sandy dirt sparkled in the starlight. A few feet from where I’d been lying, two long snakes of crushed weeds wound into the distance. I started to limp after
them.

Pain can be a friend, because it reminds you you’re alive. And even when your mind says you can’t go another step, your body can decide other
wise.

I was pretty sure I had broken ribs, because taking deep breaths hurt. So I took little ones. I hit a pace, steady but very slow, picking my way through the scrub and rocks. Lots of rocks. As I walked, I shook and shivered. I could still feel the gun on my temple. I touched the spot a few times to make sure nothing was there. But all I felt was warm, sticky blood and my pulse thudding
away.

Like I was looking through the wrong end of a telescope, I saw my problems. Or what I’d thought were problems: Irina, the GED, Mom and Phil. The strangest feeling crept over me as I hobbled along. Suddenly these “problems” didn’t matter. Not at all. I was a
live.

I said out loud, experimentally, “O
kay.”

I had never realized how much I
liked
being a
live.

I heard a truck horn blow like a foghorn in the night, and I was surprised at how close it sounded. I limped a little faster. The sky ahead of me began to glow, and then the light gathered into moving streaks.
Cars.
The question was: Would any of them stop and pick up a bloody, beat-up male hitchh
iker?

It was almost funny how terrified people were, even with their vehicles going eighty and the “threat” on two legs on the side of the road. I saw so many scared faces looking at me from behind glass. Some slowed to gawk at the bloody guy holding onto a highway marker. Some went fa
ster.

After a while, I got angry. Then finally scared. The burst of survival energy that had gotten me to the highway was fading. What would it take for somebody to stop? Would I have to be lying on the ground with vultures pecking
me?

After twenty or so cars passed—and they were coming far apart—I gave up and started down the stretch of packed dirt that passed for a shoulder. I had to find a gas station. A house. Something. Dust blew in my face, and even though I kept spitting, I couldn’t get rid of the sand and blood in my m
outh.

As I walked, I talked to Irina. I explained everything to her. Made her understand I wasn’t trying to control her. Was just protecting her. But she was so strong that even in my head, I could hear her arguing
back.

I turned a curve in the highway and saw neon in the distance. At first I thought it was one of those desert hallucinations. Except I’d heard they’re usually lakes, not beat-up Arcos. As I got closer, I saw that there was one sad little pump and a lighted sign missing the
R
. I thought of that station where I’d gotten the root, and my stomach turned. But there were no dream catchers at this one. And it wasn’t like I had a ch
oice.

The lot was empty except for stacks of yellow firewood and broken-down boxes. The desert crept right to the back of the station, and the spicy smell of plants mixed with fumes from the highway. There was just one old sedan in the lot. Through the glass door, I could see a man bent over a magazine, bald with a dark b
eard.

I pushed open the door and limped in. The man reacted so fast, I didn’t even have time to flinch. He jammed a hand under the counter and yelled, “I have my finger on the emergency call but
ton!”

I stared stupidly. “I need help,” I said. I felt like cr
ying.

He scraped me up and down with a suspicious look. “What’s wrong with
you?”

“These guys beat me up and stole my car. I just need to use your phone. Please.” And then I started to sway. For one crazy second, I thought the whole gas station was spinning, and then I realized it was me . . . and I hit the f
loor.