Mind Games (Mind Games 1)

Arms circle me from behind, around my waist pinning my arms, and my knife is useless (bad bad bad—I am not big enough for this, I knew Stubble would be a problem). Slam my head back into his? No, he’ll expect it. I go limp and slip down a few inches, freeing my elbow, no leverage but it’s something. I jam my knife into his thigh but, curse him, he doesn’t drop me, just tightens his arm and I lose the knife.

Someone yells—Adam, Adam is still here, I’d forgotten about him—and I turn my head to see him grab the gun from the ground. Sandy blond was reaching for it, but now Adam has it and I don’t know if this is good or bad because his hand is shaking so much he could kill any of us and I lied, I don’t want to die, I really don’t. I’m not ready for it.

Sandy blond tries to stand, pushing himself up against the wall, but Adam screams, “Stay down! And you!” He points the gun at us and he is trembling—oh please, soft gray eyes don’t shoot me. “Drop her! Now!”

Stubble backs up a step but doesn’t let me go—he is squeezing so tight can’t breathe—spots in front of my eyes. Please don’t shoot me, Adam. I want to get to know you, figure out why you are in this mess, get you out of it. I want to see Annie again. James will be so pissed if I die. I’ll never get to dance with James.

“Calm down,” Stubble says. “My name is Cole. We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Put her down!”

“Adam, lower the gun. She’s the only one here who will hurt you.”

“Then why did you attack her?” Adam’s voice is shrill, tight with panic. My ribs, oh my ribs, they hurt.

“You’re not thinking straight,” Stubble—Cole—says. “She attacked us. We came in the alley to help you and she attacked us.”

“But you had a gun!” He waves it wildly.

“And she had a knife. She probably has more weapons in her purse. I need you to help me. Put the gun down carefully, and then reach into my jacket pocket. There’s a stun gun in there. It’s nonlethal, and I’ll use it only once to make sure this girl can’t hurt any of us, and then we’ll talk and no one else will get hurt. You have my word.”

I hate stun guns, I hate them so much. LET GO OF MY RIBS. I push my feet against the ground and slam my head up into his chin because he isn’t focused on me anymore. His arms loosen and it’s all I need. I throw myself back and twist and I’m free, my hand slipping into his pocket as I stumble away from him (oh my ribs, my ribs hurt).

But Cole doesn’t come for me; he rushes Adam and the gun. Cole has the gun now. I drop to the ground as the crack echoes through the alley and I roll toward him, stun gun out into his leg with a sound as bright as the charge, and then he is down but he won’t be for long, so I stand and jam the stun gun into his chest and he convulses and I don’t stop until his eyes roll back.

Adam—where is Adam—the gun went off! Where is Adam? He has to be okay. I look and he’s there, leaning against the wall, face white with horror. My eyes sweep his body. There is no blood, no blood anywhere, oh thank heavens he didn’t get shot.

“You’re okay,” I say, my shoulders slumping with relief. No, not relief yet, I turn and Sandy blond has a phone out, so I use the stun gun on him, too. He goes down faster than Cole. Dark hair is pale and vacant with shock, holding his leg, totally unaware of anything around him. He needs better training.

I pick my purse off the ground and drop the stun gun inside, then turn back to Adam. He’s staring at me funny. Well, why wouldn’t he be? I’ve shown him what my hands can do, and a small, worn-down part of me mourns that he won’t think he wants to hold them anymore. I feel like I’ve lost something, but that’s stupid. I lost it all a long time ago.

“I thought he shot you,” I say.

“Fia,” he says, his voice strangled. He’s not meeting my eyes, looking down instead. “He shot you.”

I look down, too, and he’s wrong, there are no holes in my body, but then I look to the left and my blue sleeve is soaked dark with blood and then burning (horrible ripping tearing burning) comes, focused where the bullet went through my upper arm but radiating out through my whole left side.

Well, crap.

ANNIE

Monday Morning

EDEN PUTS HER HAND ON MY BACK TO LET ME KNOW where she is as she moves around me in the tiny kitchen. “Thanks for letting me crash last night. The paint smell should be better by now. Speaking of, we should do your place next. The walls are a shade I like to call blindingly depressing white.”

“Pick something pretty for me.”

“Of course. Also, how long are you going to stand there, smelling tea packets?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Oh!” She snaps her fingers. “We need to go to the Art Institute. Fia’s out of town, right? That means we can go today!”

I force a smile. I’d rather know where Fia is than be free to go on outings with Eden. But if it means getting out of this place… “I’ve been studying up on modernism. I think I have a lot to say.”

“I just wish you could see people’s faces when you finish waxing eloquent about the force of anger evident in the brushstrokes and then use your cane to walk away.”

“Ah, but if I could see their faces, it wouldn’t be funny. Stay for tea?”