I didn’t feel much better as I watched the lights of Cordelia’s cab fade into the distance. I knew that Yogi would take care of Cordelia whether she wanted to or not, because Yogi had both a maternal nature and the inability to refuse people kindness. Thomas might protest, but he was such a soft-spoken man that Yogi would probably win any argument against him. Blade and Jericho had no idea where she lived. Even if they did, it was a house in a nice neighborhood with security measures and cops around every corner.
However, I still felt disappointed in myself. It seemed everyone I knew was falling into disrepair, and despite all my resources, I couldn’t help anyone. It was so horribly frustrating. Also, Cordelia’s confession of love wasn’t making it any easier. I wasn’t sure how I’d never known. Shouldn’t that sort of thing be obvious? It was surreal, knowing that someone actually loved me. No one had ever felt that way about me. It was hard not to feel at least a bit touched by her affection.
I looked at my bodyguard, who had remained silent since getting into the car. I felt obligated to say something.
“Thank you. For helping me out there.”
“It’s my job,” he said.
“Yeah, but helping Cordelia isn’t.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t help Cordelia. You did.”
“Still.” I bit my lip, staring out the windshield for a moment. “Thank you.”
He nodded.
“What’s your name?” I asked suddenly, surprising myself.
He seemed to think about the question, probably wondering if he should even tell me. I assumed Ezekiel told him to remain as distant from me as possible, considering how Roger became so attached.
“Noah,” he finally said.
“Oh. Well, uh, nice to meet you, Noah.”
He gave me a small smile, the only one I’d ever seen out of him. Not interested in pushing my luck, I simply returned the smile and fell silent.
We drove along the Wendel Tributary, a small trickle of water that wove its way through Metro until it reached the Mohakka River east of Zinya City. Most of the time, the concrete ravine it flowed through was nearly empty, and children would often go down in the summer and cool off in the water, despite how dirty and full of litter it always was. Sometimes, reckless young men would race their cars down there; others rode their bikes and skateboards up and down the cement slopes. Years of such use and no maintenance had caused the concrete to buckle and crumble, allowing a foul-smelling mud to protrude from underneath.
Apparently, it rained while I was off in Jahral, because not only had the water level risen, but chunks of mud squeezed out of the cracks, rolling down into the stream below.
Something exploded through the windshield, striking Noah and spraying blood over the windows and upholstery. I barely had time to register the bullet in Noah’s head before the car careened sideways, leaping off the road and through the rusty chain-link fence separating the road from the tributary. Striking the concrete slope at such an angle caused the car to tip sideways and then roll all the way down. It came to a halt on its back at the very bottom of the ravine. I screamed the whole way and was shocked to find myself alive once the car went still, even as I hung upside down from my seat belt.
I groaned and tried to move, but pain rocketed through my body. Blearily, I found that I could move only one of my arms and part of my right leg. My left leg was numb, smashed between crumpled sheets of metal. My right arm seemed broken—just moving a finger set my hand on fire. I felt blood run up my neck, through my dangling hair.
Noah was dead next to me, but he’d had the luck of dying before the car even crashed. He would never know that he was encased in metal from the waist up, his arm mangled into nothing more than shredded meat. I let out another moan and tried to chase away the fog in my brain.
Someone shot Noah. Maybe an accomplice of Blade’s. Whoever did probably had a grudge, and if so, I needed to get my ass moving. They were probably going to come down here and make sure there weren’t any survivors before the police arrived. If the police came at all.
I decided that extricating my leg was more important than unbuckling myself—if I unbuckled first and fell, I could break my other leg. My mind remained fuzzy, my coordination still off. I looked around for my purse, but I could only see the strap, which was dangling between what used to be the seat and the gearshift. There would be no getting that out, and I highly doubted my phone made it through the ride.
Reaching down, I gripped my knee and attempted to pull my leg out slowly. I refused to think about the bloody body beside me. Desperation gave me tunnel vision. I could spend my time crying hysterically over Noah, or use my sudden burst of adrenaline and get out of here alive. It was an easy choice to make. Even if the assailants weren’t going to come down and make sure I was dead, the last thing I needed was the police. What was I going to tell them? That I was a drug lord’s mistress? They had my name on file since I’d been picked up for prostitution before. I didn’t want to go to jail again.
With a scream, I managed to rip my leg from its confines. The pull left deep red gashes down my calf—gushing freely—but at least I was free. I finally unbuckled my seat belt and fell the very short distance to the roof with a cry of pain. I noticed the ceiling beneath me was wet. We’d stopped rolling halfway through the stream.
The windshield was shattered, which granted me an exit if I didn’t mind crawling through broken glass in the dark. All I could see were the dim lights of closed shops up on the cement bank. Putting weight on my leg was nearly impossible, but I was still running high on adrenaline, so I managed to hobble away from the wreck just as I heard sirens in the distance. Whoever shot at us was gone now, or at least hiding well.
I looked over my shoulder at the car, which was barely visible in the growing distance.
“I’m sorry, Noah,” I whispered, crying more out of pain than out of loss. Just when I learned his name, he died. A name made his death harder to handle.
Limping and cradling my broken arm to my chest, I headed for the opposite bank. The only option was to climb it. Only one shoe was attached to my foot, so I ripped it off and carried it. If someone wanted to fight me, at least the stiletto heel could provide some protection.
Climbing with only one good leg was not easily done. Especially with muddy and crumbling concrete breaking off in my hand as I grabbed it. Several times, I skidded down the bank before I was able to find a tuft of grass to hang onto. I’m sure I was a real beauty at this moment, my skin and dress covered in blood and mud, one stiletto hooked inside my bra so I had a free hand to climb with, my hair smelling like car oil and sewage. But at this point, all I wanted was to make it to the street where I could…where I might be able to…
Who knew? I had no way of calling Ezekiel. I didn’t know his number. I always just used the speed dial on the phone he gave me. I had no money. The credit card was still in the wrecked car. All I had was the dress and the shoe. I wasn’t even wearing any jewelry I could pawn. I didn’t think I needed it when Ezekiel wasn’t around.
The sirens grew closer, and I forced myself up the incline faster. When I reached the top, I faced a six-foot wire fence blocking the street. For a moment, I despaired—I couldn’t climb it with only one good hand. However, just a few strides away a hole was cut away in the fence. It was probably the handiwork of a few punk kids. I headed for it.
A police car peeled down the street just as I slipped through the hole and into a dark alley. I didn’t bother lingering to catch my breath. The police would be looking for me, especially once they found my purse. I had to get somewhere where they wouldn’t find me. If that meant sleeping in the street, so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time.