Outcasts (Badlands 3)

A bug zapper was lit up and illuminated what they was doing. They stopped mid-dig of whomever the person was they were burying to watch us pass. A tiny wooden cross stuck lop-sided out of the ground w

ith the word MOM written on it in tiny red letters.

As Grimm sharply turned the corner, the older child lifted her chubby hand and waved at me, smiling in spite of death being right in front of her.

At her age, seeing something like that in my neighborhood would have been hard for me to wrap my head around. It would have never happened in Centriole in the first place.

For this young girl, it was just another day in the Badlands. A child understood reality much better than I’d ever had the chance to at such a young age.

Like many of the other folk out here she had a family and she was educated. She had to wake up every day and go to sleep like everybody else did. Only, unlike the people livin nice and comfortably in The Kingdom, she wasn’t guaranteed to survive and see another day.

She understood what this world was really like, and still found it in her heart to smile. In my mind, she was already stronger than I ever was. And as I was taken away from that old neighborhood, I came to realize somethin.

That wall didn’t protect a damn thing. It just crippled everyone behind it.

Chapter Seven

When we hit the open road, he gunned us forward, roaring full speed ahead.

I waited for Noah to come crashing into my whimsical bubble and drag me back to the real world where my wrists were bound and I was alone on that bed, waitin for him to have his way with me again, but he never came.

It was just me and Grimm. Of all the people I thought would come and get me, I always knew it’d be him. He had always been my shadow.

Just when I was ready to give it all up, he came kickin doors in and remindin me he’d never let that happen. I held onto his waist a little tighter, but felt no fear in this moment.

The starless sky was like a black swirling sea overhead. It was the first beautiful thing I’d seen in months. The vast wasteland looked picturesque like this. Wind whipped at my face and made my eyes burn, but I didn’t care. It was fresh and clean, filtering in and out of my corrupted lungs—another sign that I’d really been freed from my four-walled prison.

The faster Grimm went, the more I felt the little tick in my chest that had been long gone trying to sputter again.

There was a chill in the air, but his hoodie gave me comfort, and his solid body was like a mini heater. He was the realest thing of all, the final bit of proof that this was reality. I could feel his firm abdominal muscles beneath my palms and smell him with every breath I took.

I’m not sure how long we rode, but when he finally began to slow, my arms ached and my thighs burned. There were structures rising up in the near distance and I belatedly realized I was looking at a city.

He pulled off to the side of the road and cut the engine. “You need to piss?” he asked, easily swinging off the bike and turning to face me.

For real? His face was so serious I had the absurd urge to laugh—and that was really somethin I was certain I’d forgotten how to do. How long had I been with him? An hour? Three? I could almost imagine that awful shithole of a house was months behind me already.

But my barren feet had felt the wind just as clearly as my cheeks. The slip I had on was still covered by nothing other than his hoodie, and I still felt filthy. It was impossible to look at him for longer than a few seconds, and I’d never had that problem before.

His gaze was penetratin. I forgot how easily he could see right through me.

Then there was the whole other issue that I couldn’t even believe was happening at a time such as this. The way this man pulled me in over and over again, like gravity I couldn’t overcome. I tried damn hard, too. I had been since the day we met. He would be a bad habit I’d never break free of.

I was in no kind of state to indulge in him. My mind was too unstable, brimming with an ugly cyclone of hatred, pain, and rage.

My soul had divided in two, and somethin wicked had taken residence in the middle. I didn’t want him looking at this version of Arlen Prosner, but I wasn’t much of a fan of the old one, either.

All of that sobered me right up and killed my momentary joy. I was like a mockingbird that could no longer carry a tune. And what was a mockingbird without its song, now that its whole purpose was gone?

The strange part of me I wasn’t real acquainted with yet had an answer, but she still withheld it. Grimm stood before me, strong as ever, like he was the one who would explain everything, as if it was his responsibility to shoulder my burdens and make it better.

And wasn’t that bullshit? Hadn’t I handled everything up until this point? A harsh resounding no swiftly echoed inside my head. I didn’t understand that either, so I wasn’t goin to bother trying.

Clearing my throat, I shook my head, putting on the best poker face I could. Not a second later, his hand was cuppin my chin and reorienting my face with his line of vision.

“When I speak to you with words, you give me your eyes and speak back. That’s how a conversation works.”

“Plenty a people talk without payin attention to what the other’s doin, Grimm.”