Page 27 of Fire
When I’d asked Cyrus why we needed two bodyguards, he’d told me that Luca had insisted there be extra coverage and that he’d also arranged a third guard in the press section of the backstage VIP lounge hosting the press.
My heart pings at the mention of his name.
“Come on,” Cyrus says, patting me on the back sympathetically as he ushers me into the black sedan. “Let’s get you to the festival before I get another text calling into question how competent I am at my job.”
He takes the front passenger seat and introduces me to Barry, a tall red-haired bear of a man who happens to have a Hello Kitty tattoo on the back of his neck that I can’t help noticing from my vantage point behind him. Barry looks into the rearview mirror and notices where my eyes are focused. “Henna,” he says, laughing. “It made my niece happy.” He shrugs helplessly. “That little girl has me wrapped around her pretty little finger.”
“What’s her name?” I ask as Barry pulls the Sedan onto the road, which is deserted this early in the morning.
“Amili,” he answers, and I’m about to ask him how old she is when, out of the corner of my eye, I see a Hummer heading straight for the driver’s side of the car. There’s the horrendous sound of metal hitting metal as the impact of the Hummer sends us into a dizzying spin, and we careen into a cement half-wall.
A loud bang sounds, and it feels like a kick to the head as my airbag deploys. A smoky haze fills the car, and the smell of burned rubber almost chokes me. My stomach clenches, and I think I’m gonna be sick.
The smoke starts to clear and I realize my air bag is the only one that worked. Barry is leaning against the shattered window,his neck at a weird angle. Cyrus is covered in blood and slumped against the dash.
I call their names, but neither one answers me.
Struggling to get loose, I try to maneuver myself out from under the airbag and undo my seatbelt so I can go for help, but I’m jammed against the driver’s seat and can’t get out. I can’t even reach my phone.
“Help,” I scream again and again.
Both of the front doors of the sedan open, and I sob in relief. Thank God. Maybe a medical professional came across the accident and can help Cyrus and Barry.
“Help them,” I plead. “My airbag is the only one that worked, and I think they’re really hurt.”
I see a man bend over Barry and check his pulse. “This one’s dead,” he says in a cold, emotionless voice. “Check yours.”
Another man leans over Cyrus. “He’s alive, but probably not for long.”
“Good. Saves us time and a bullet.”
My door opens, and a man stands above me. He’s tall, blond, and blandly good-looking. I recognize his look as a stereotypical Patriots Now member. He pulls out a knife, and I try to jerk back, but I can’t move, and I’m left to his mercy. He rolls his eyes at my fright and stabs the airbag, cuts me free from my seatbelt, and drags me out of the car.
It finally hits me. I’m the target here. All of Luca’s warnings about the danger I was in seemed overblown and reactionary, but Barry lost his life trying to protect me. I have to convince them to help save Cyrus.
I struggle against the man holding me, trying to drag me to the van that just pulled up. “Please, I’ll go with you, but you have to call him an ambulance,” I beg.
“We don’t have to do anything. You’re going with us whether you struggle or not.” I bite his arm, and he punches me so hard I throw up on his shoes.
“Little bastard,” he spits out and hits me again. I feel myself falling toward the ground, and then I’m scooped up and thrown into the van, where everything goes dark.
I desperately yank at the handcuff that has me secured to the rail of the empty press box, but only end up scraping my wrists bloody. Even if I could somehow break myself free of the cuffs, I’m surrounded by two of the Patriots Now henchmen as the sniper sets up to shoot Digger as soon as Jonah Reeves finishes his set and Digger begins his speech.
I’d always told myself that if my life were ever threatened again, I’d fight back. I wouldn’t race off into the night and let someone burn my parent’s house down and destroy my life. I’d be strong and brave.
I was lying to myself.
With the exception of the useless struggling against my handcuffs and yelling at my captors that “they wouldn’t get away with this,” I haven’t fought back at all. And even worse, I’m not strong or brave as I face my fate. I’m scared.
I’m gonna die. I’m twenty-four years old, and the only mark I’ll leave on this world are the articles I wrote exposing the wrongdoings of the Reivers. And thanks to Patriots Now, those articles will be used as evidence to paint me as a psychotic malcontent who assassinated Digger Mcree and then ended his own life.
My parents won’t doubt the narrative. My father will probably provide sound bites to the media about how he and my mother did everything they could to help their troubled son.
Jonah ends his set with thunderous applause, and Digger and the Reivers storm the stage as planned. It signals the fact that we both only have minutes left to live.
Thoughts pinball around my head. Is Cyrus okay? Who will take care of Delilah once I’m gone? I wanted to win a Pulitzer one day. Screw the Pulitzer. I wanted someone to love me.
The Pulitzer was probably a more realistic goal.
