“It was a test,” he said, rounding the bed. He propped himself up next to me, his back against the headboard, a steaming ceramic bowl in his hands. “You passed.”

“A what? What the hell does that mean?”

“King. He wanted to know if you were telling the truth, so he tested you. A junkie would’ve said ‘fuck the food’ and dove nose-first into the dope.” He extended the bowl out to me. “Here. I’m Preppy, by the way.”

Odd name for an odd guy. He looked like a cross between a thug, a teacher, and a surfer.

I’d seen him briefly the night before, but I didn’t take the time to really look at him. Preppy was close to six feet tall. He wore light jeans and a short sleeved yellow collared shirt with a white bow tie. His sandy blonde hair was tied back into a wild ponytail on the top of his head, but beneath it his head was shaved clean on both sides above his ears, revealing intricate vine tattoos that started at his temples and circled around his head. His arms, hands, and knuckles were also covered with ink. He had a dark beard that didn’t match his hair color. At first glance, you’d think he was much older than he was, but it was his eyes that gave away his youth.

“What is it?” I asked, staring into the steaming bowl.

“Chicken broth. Drink it slowly so you can keep it down. How long has it been since you ate?” He crossed his legs at the ankles and rested his hands behind his head.

“Not sure.” I don’t know why but saying the words out loud made me feel ashamed in a way I hadn’t thought about before. “Days, I think.”

Hesitantly, I took the bowl from his hands. It was warm on my palms and instantly made the ache in my weak hands subside. I lifted it to my mouth slowly, relishing the feeling of the steam against my cheeks and the warmth of the liquid as it spread down my throat.

“Why are you even bothering with feeding me?”

“You say you’re not a junkie, but your fucking ribs are practically poking through your skin, and I could sharpen my knife on that collar bone of yours. King’s not the kind of guy who starves someone to death.”

“So, he’s not going to kill me?” I asked, hopefully.

“Didn’t say that. Just said he wouldn’t starve you to death. Bears crew has a lead on the redhead. If we catch up to her and we find out you weren’t in on it, he might let you go.”

“Might?”

“He’s not the most predictable guy, and he’s been away for a few years. Hasn’t been acting like himself, so there’s no telling what’s running through his head right now.”

“Years?” That’s when I remembered that the party last night was supposed to be a coming home party. “Where was he?”

“State.”

“College?”

“Prison.”

Prison made much more sense than college.

“What did he do?” I was pushing my luck by even asking. But I thought that maybe, if I knew more about King—knew what made him tick—I would have more of a chance of convincing him to let me go.

“You sure ask a lot of questions, little girl. Why do you want to know?”

I shrugged and sipped more of my broth. “Just curious, I guess.”

“He killed someone, got caught,” he said casually. I swallowed a huge mouthful of broth in one tight gulp.

“Who?” My curiosity made my mouth run faster than the speed of my usual word vomit.

Preppy smiled. His dark brown eyes glistened with excitement. I knew then that there was a lot more to him than what I saw on the surface. Something sinister was lying just beneath the tattoos and bow tie.

Something that made the hair on my arms stand on end.

Preppy leaned forward, resting his chin on the back of his folded hands.

“His mom.”

Chapter Eight

Doe

There was no doubt in my mind that King was capable of the kind of things most normal people couldn’t fathom, but what kind of person kills their own mother?

Preppy asked me the same questions King had about who I was, and I told him my story. The difference between Preppy and King is that Preppy actually listened to me.

I gave him the short version.

No memory.

Group home.

Living on the streets.

Nikki.

Attempting to sell myself for protection and shelter.

Also unlike King, Preppy seemed to actually believe me.

I drank every last bit of broth, and Preppy changed the bandage on my ear. It was already starting to itch as it scabbed over.

“Why don’t you let me go?” I asked, bunching the waistband of the sweatpants he’d given me to wear in my hand so they wouldn’t fall down. “You can just tell King that I escaped.”

Preppy shook his head from side to side. “That’s not going to happen,” he scoffed, like there was something wrong with my question, not the fact that his friend had a girl handcuffed to his bed against her will.

Preppy uncuffed me. Temporarily, he made sure to tell me, and led me to one of the doors in the room I’d assumed was a closet but turned out to be a small but clean bathroom.

I hadn’t realized how bad I had to pee before then. I let the sweatpants fall to the floor and was about to push down my underwear when I noticed the door still stood open and Preppy watched my every move.

“Can you please close the door?”

“Sure.” Preppy took a step inside and shut the door behind him.

“Not exactly what I meant.”

“Sorry, kid. Boss-man told me not to let you out of my sight.”

“Do you always do what he tells you to?” I asked, bitterly.

“For the most part.” Unable to wait a second longer, I pushed down my underwear and sat on the toilet.

Nothing came out.

“Don’t have to go anymore?” He asked.

“I do, but I can’t pee with you staring at me like that. Just turn around. It’s not like I’m going anywhere. This room doesn’t even have a window.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that your highness had stage fright,” Preppy said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

He opened the bathroom door again and this time he turned his back to me. The second I knew he wasn’t looking, my body was able to relax and let go. The relief felt so amazing I moaned out loud.

“I may appear nice, kid, but don’t get it twisted. King and I are cut from the same cloth.”

“If he asked you to kill me, would you do it?” I asked, needing to know if he would be the one to possibly end my life.

“Yes,” he answered. No hesitation.

When I was done, Preppy led me back to the bed and secured my cuff around my wrist. This time, he connected it to a lower rung on the headboard so I wouldn’t have to sit with my arm raised above my head.

“Prep,” King’s deep voice boomed from the doorway, startling me. He motioned to Preppy with a lift of his chin. Preppy tightened the cuff around my wrist and left the room. King glanced at me for a brief second, then followed Preppy out, closing the door behind them.

Did they find Nikki? Did she tell them I didn’t have anything to do with stealing from him? Or maybe, she turned on me and told them it was all my idea. Nikki was oddly overprotective of me when she was sober, but when she was high she was unpredictable, and if her life or her drugs were on the line, there was no doubt in my mind that she would throw me to the wolves.

I heard a door slam, and then their muffled voices rose up to the window from outside. I strained my neck and peered out. King and Preppy were on the lawn, just beyond the deck. The sun was just setting; the sky glowed orange.

I stretched out my leg and slid the window open a crack with my bare foot.

“Found the redhead,” King said. He lit a cigarette.

“Where?” Preppy asked.

“Andrews’ place up the highway. That old motel with the pool in the parking lot.”

“You get the cash?” Preppy asked. He leaned back against the railing and crossed his arms over his chest.