Sacrifice
Page 93

Kissing her?
Stop it. You’re an idiot.
But the curve of her neck had been right there. She hadn’t flinched from his touch. Really, if you took away the baseball bat, the way he’d been holding her had been pretty damn intimate.
When he inhaled, he could almost still smell her.
Stop it!
He’d already told her too much. How baseball let him clear his mind and focus on something not related to his element. How he worried every day would end with a loss of control—like Friday.
How badly he wanted to leave town.
He could have kicked himself for revealing that one.
But then she’d talked about her parents’ fighting. How sometimes she didn’t care about making it in New York; it was just a new place, a new beginning.
She told him how she was sick of every day being focused on hate.
And for the first time, he let himself start to wonder if this deal could work out.
She’d left ten minutes ago, after he’d told her to go so they wouldn’t be seen walking out together. He’d killed ten minutes burning through his last token, remembering the feel of her body with every swing he took.
Dad’s truck sat alone at the back of the parking lot, dark in the shade of an old elm tree. Michael had the keys in his hand and a bemused smile he couldn’t get off his face.
He didn’t even hear the attackers until his head was slamming into the concrete.
They were all on him at once. He couldn’t even get a handle on how many guys had tackled him. One had come from the bed of the truck. They had the chain Dad kept back there to tie down loose loads, and they had it against his throat, pinning him to the parking lot. Someone else trapped an arm, kneeling on his wrist, grinding his skin into the pavement.
And then, just as he registered the blond hair, someone punched him in the face. A good, solid punch, with power behind it.
He saw stars for a second, long enough for them to pin his other arm. He struggled, but he had no leverage.
“Hey, ass**le.”
Tyler. He’d swung the first punch—and he did it again.
Michael coughed against the chain on his throat. He gritted his teeth. He could pull power from the earth and throw them off, but he doubted they’d give him a free pass like Emily had.
Keep it together.
God, he’d been stupid. Every time he came here, he checked the store, and every time he left, he checked the truck. Every time, ready for an ambush.
Until today.
Tyler hit him again. Michael tasted blood.
Keep. It. Together.
“Do it,” said Tyler. “You know you want to.”
Someone kicked him in the side, and Michael redoubled his struggles. They were too heavy. He couldn’t get loose.
They kicked him again.
Power rushed through the ground, coming to his aid without his asking. He forced it back. He could take a few punches.
Tyler laughed and spit in his face. “Good thing Emily told us where to find you. I didn’t think we’d have this much fun all summer.”
Michael froze. Tonight at the batting cages—had she been stalling him?
You going to show me again or what?
He coughed. “Go to hell, Tyler.”
“Funny you should mention hell.” Tyler held up a butane lighter. “Since I brought the fire.”
Then he clicked the trigger. Flame burst from the end.
Michael tried to recoil. He only succeeded in slamming his head against the concrete again. He was straining against the chain so hard that he almost couldn’t breathe.
Flame lit Tyler’s features. He brought the lighter close to Michael’s face, until the heat was painful.
Michael strained away. He had no idea if Tyler would really burn him, but flame against his skin would definitely push his control past the brink.
“Do it,” said Tyler. He leaned closer, until Michael wanted to clench his eyes shut. “Do it.”
Michael prayed for another customer to arrive. But he knew how dead this place was.
Tyler put the flame against the chain. It seared right through the metal. “First we’re going to burn you, and then we’re going to burn your little brothers.”
The pavement cracked and split. Michael surged against their hands. He slammed someone into the concrete before he could stop himself. The chain went flying.
But then he heard someone yelling. The guys. They were scattering, stumbling away from him, tripping on the loose pavement.
No, not stumbling away from him. Away from the girl with the steel bar in her hands.
Emily, with a putter.
“Dad is going to kill you,” said Tyler. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Michael,” she called. “Can you drive?”
It took Michael a second to get it together, but then he realized his keys were on the pavement, where he’d dropped them by the door. His joints didn’t want to work, but he was able to get the keys into his palm. “Yeah.” Stars still danced in his vision. “I think.”
And then he must have been losing time, because he was starting the ignition of the truck, and Emily was in the passenger seat beside him.
He took a deep breath, and it seemed they were pulling onto Mountain Road, leaving the sports center behind.
He rubbed at his eye, surprised when his hand came away with blood. “I should have said no,” he said.
She gave him a concerned glance. “What?”
He winced, and suddenly there were two roads in front of him. “I shouldn’t be driving.”