Dying for Rain (The Rain Trilog - BB Easton Page 0,32
forehead. The top half of the Bony’s mask is shaded by the brim of an old velvet top hat, and his neon-orange bones have been spray-painted directly onto a fur coat that looks like it was made from the hides of a thousand calico cats. I can’t really see his eyes, but I can feel them looking us over.
“Um …” I swallow. “We represent Pritchard Park?”
“Oh, do you now?”
The Bony’s pack begins to surround the truck. I wince as the one on the dirt bike drives right over the woman on the sidewalk to position himself next to Quint’s door.
“Mmhmm.” My voice trembles as I force myself to stare into the black voids where his eyes should be.
“A’ight.” He nods. His voice is calm—loud due to the engine noise but calm. Then, just as I begin to relax, he throws me a curveball.
“You say you a Bony bitch? Then, tell me … who’s ya prez?”
My prez? Like, my president?
I assume he doesn’t mean the president of the United States. It must be a biker-gang thing. Like who’s my leader.
Crap.
My mind hurtles back in time to our run-in with the Pritchard Park Bonys. None of them mentioned any names, let alone the name of their leader. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any Bonys anywhere who seemed like leadership material.
Except for this guy.
“You?” I say, going out on a limb.
“You damn right!”
The masked man tips his head back and laughs. The sound allows me to breathe again. And sounds strangely familiar.
“What brings y’all to A-town?”
“I … uh …”
I glance at Quint, who looks like he’s about to piss himself, but thankfully, Lamar pipes up from the backseat, trying to sound more hood than country, “Her baby daddy caught a case, yo. So, we goin’ to the capitol to bust his ass out!”
“Ohhhh shiiiiiit!” The leader of the Bonys covers his toothy rubber mouth with a fist. Then, he offers it to Lamar for a bump. “Yo, Fat Sacks!” he yells to the Bony in front of the truck, wearing a black ski mask and a neck full of heavy gold chains. “These muhfuckas is gonna storm tha castle!”
The other Bony says something, but evidently, I’m not the only one who can’t hear it because the prez shouts at him to repeat it. The gold-chain guy pulls up his ski mask and shouts louder, and everyone in the car gasps audibly.
“Holy shit!” Quint whisper-shouts.
“Is that Big Boi?” Lamar asks.
“From OutKast?” I squint, trying to get a better look at him before he pulls his ski mask back down. “No way.”
Lamar, Quint, and I all turn to stare at The Prez in unison. I want to ask him if he’s André 3000 so bad, but I also want to live, so I keep my mouth shut and pray that Lamar does the same for once in his life.
“It’s y’alls’ lucky day,” The Prez announces, slapping the roof of the truck and making us jump. “My VP and his boys here are gonna give you cats a lift. It’d take y’all ten hours to get through this shit in that redneck mobile.”
“Oh my God! That’s what the GPS lady said!” Lamar whispers as Quint and I open our doors.
May 7
Wes
Three hundred fifty-four cinder blocks, and not a damn one of them is even a little bit fucking loose.
I know because I stayed up all goddamn night, checking every single one.
The air vent is too small for a toddler to crawl through.
The floor is solid cement.
There are no fucking windows.
No fucking outlets.
And because the lock is unpickable without a bent nail, they put everything in here together with screws.
Out of options and ideas, I’ve been lying on my cot for the last few hours with my hands under my pillow, whittling the end of my bonus toothbrush into a spike, using the side of a screw. I don’t want to have to hurt these guys. I actually kind of like them—well, except for Mac. But if it comes down to them or me …
“Mornin’, sunshine. How you doin’?” Elliott calls from the hallway before appearing with a plastic tray. His smile fades as soon as he sees me. “Sorry. I guess that’s a silly question, ain’t it?”
I sit up, leaving the evidence of my shiv-making operation under my pillow, and scrub a hand down my face. “I was hoping I’d get some sleep with Doug bein’ gone, but”—I shrug—“not so much.”
Elliott shakes his head. “That was the cryin’-est damn man we eva had