Silver Bastard
Page 102

My stomach growled and I bit back a smile. So what if my world had crashed down around my ears—apparently I still had to eat. I walked over to the window and looked out to see a Denny’s on the far side of the parking lost. Maybe I’d treat myself, see how much fourteen bucks could buy at a place like that. Grabbing my burner, I dialed Puck’s number.
“Hey,” he said, answering on the first ring.
“Hey,” I said back, feeling awkward. “Um, I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m kind of hungry. You mind if I walk over to Denny’s? It’s just across the way.”
“Yeah, I can see it,” he answered. “Okay. Go grab something and then head right back. Call and let me know when you’re back in the room. I might be a while.”
“Sure.”
I grabbed my purse, checking to make sure the little gun Earl had given me was still inside. Not that I expected to need it, but after all that’d happened anything seemed possible.
As it turned out, fourteen dollars was enough to buy quite a bit at Denny’s.
The food improved my mood. Enough that I was starting to feel some serious guilt about the way I’d taken my anger out on Puck. Not that I agreed with him on everything. I didn’t. But it was time to face reality—I had an anger management problem and if I didn’t figure out a better way to communicate with him, sooner or later it would drive us apart.
The waitress brought my bill and I counted out what I owed plus a thirty percent tip. That left me with exactly one dollar. I shook my head and dropped it on the table, because why the hell not? Then I hit the bathroom. Another woman walked in and took the stall next to me. I finished my business and set my purse on the counter to wash my hands. I’d just reached for a paper towel when I caught a glimpse of her stepping out of the stall.
It was my mother.
At the gas station I hadn’t really looked at her. I’d been too startled. Now I took in every wrinkle around her eyes, the gray at her temples, the tremor in her hand . . . Mom still dressed like a biker babe, but she’d taken on that tough, dried-jerky look that comes from too much hard living.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, holding my gaze. The agony in her voice sounded so real I almost bought it. Then I remembered—Mom wasn’t human. She didn’t have real emotions, not like the rest of us. Nobody who felt real emotions would do what she’d done.
“I want to apologize,” she said. “Please, baby. I fucked up. I see that now.”
“Fuck off.”
“I realized at the gas station—I haven’t seen you in five years. You’re different, baby. All grown up. I can’t quite believe it, can’t believe I almost threw you away again. Please let me talk to you.”
“There’s nothing you can say that I want to hear.”
She frowned, reaching into her pocket. In that instant I knew something was terribly wrong and I reached for my purse right as she pulled out a gun.
“Drop it and step away from the counter,” she said, her voice cold. I dropped it, staring her down.
“I wish he’d killed you,” I whispered. She flinched, but her hand didn’t falter.
“You’re going to walk though the restaurant in front of me like everything is fine,” she told me. “We’re going to leave through the door on the far side, away from the hotel. Once we’re outside you’ll get into the car and we’ll leave.”
I shook my head.
“Go ahead and shoot me. I’d rather die than get into a into a car with you.”
“You’re not the one who’ll be dying. Teeny is outside, and he’s got your boyfriend in his sights. If you don’t do what I tell you, I’ll call him and he’ll take the shot. Start walking.”
—
The backseat of the car was full of garbage and old fast food wrappers. I sat across from my mom, glaring at her as she held the gun on me with one hand. She held her phone against her ear with the other. She’d thrown my purse into the front seat.
“I’ve got her,” she said.
Seconds later Teeny opened the driver’s-side door and sat down. I screamed and lunged for my door, because I hadn’t been joking when I said I’d rather die than go with them. Teeny slammed the car into gear, tearing out of the parking lot as Mom threw herself at me, smashing my head against the window. Someone had seen us. They had to have seen us. If I could just get out, they’d have to leave me behind.
“Calm the fuck down!” Teeny shouted over his shoulder. I took that as a sign that I should fight harder. Then he stomped on the brakes, sending me and Mom shooting forward into the front seats with a thud.
Teeny turned on me, raising his gun and pointing it at my head.
“I never liked you,” he whispered. “Believe me—I want to pull this trigger.”
“Don’t be crazy,” my mom begged. Was that a hint of real feeling in her eyes? “Becca, we don’t want to hurt you. This will all work out just fine—you just need to do exactly what I tell you. First up, I’m going to tie your hands and feet with this duct tape. You gotta settle down, sweetie. Otherwise you’ll hurt yourself.”
I stared at the gun, mesmerized. This was really it—I had to make a choice because Teeny would do it. I saw it on his face.
Suddenly I wasn’t so ready to die.
My stepfather glared at me, holding the gun as Mom fumbled with a roll of duct tape. I flexed my muscles, trying to buy a little extra wiggle room as she tied me up. Less than a minute later, she’d secured my hands, feet, and even put a strip of tape over my mouth.