Dying for Rain (The Rain Trilog - BB Easton Page 0,65

on the hood, the trunk, and the roof.

The fuck?

One by one, cops fill in from the sides of the park until all four vehicles have at least three riot cops standing on top of each.

Governor Fuckface is now standing between the tank and the gaping hole in the ground as Flip lifts a TV camera onto his shoulder and points at him.

As his pasty, bloated face opens and closes, my hands begin to shake.

No! I yell at myself, balling them into fists. Stop it! You don’t fucking end here. You survive, and so does Rain. That’s what you do. That’s how this shit works.

But as the crowd surrounds the vehicles and begins rocking them back and forth, including the one I’m presently freaking out in, I realize that I’m not so fucking sure anymore.

Yeah, I have a plan. But I didn’t exactly factor in an angry mob or tanks or riot cops or my girl getting trampled to death while I sit here and do nothing either.

I swallow back a surge of bile as Elliott marches over to my door and yanks it open.

Here we go. God, you better fucking have my back.

I step out into a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree assault on my senses. The crowd noise is deafening, the air is thick and humid and tainted with tear gas, and the mid-morning sun is blinding as it bounces off the cruisers and shines directly into my face.

But even through all of the sensations I’m being blasted with, one ear-splitting scream rises over the rest.

She’s out there.

She’s fucking out there.

Goddamn it.

I don’t need this. I need to focus, but now, all I can think about is kicking Elliott right in the fucking face and diving into that crowd, so I can find my girl and drag her ass to safety.

Elliott steers me by the elbow to stand in front of a five-foot-by-five-foot hole in the ground—oh, look at that; they widened it just for me—and gives me a little pat on the shoulder before letting me go.

I have to physically shake my head to clear my thoughts of Rain.

Focus, fucker!

I blink and stare straight ahead, finding the cameraman and the devil himself standing across from me with their backs to the SUV.

Governor Fuckface sneers, and I spit at his feet.

“Mistuh Parkuh,” he begins, condescension oozing through every missing consonant, “you were arrested on May 5 for allegedly procuring and administering life-saving drugs to a young man with a fatally infected wound. On May 6, you were found guilty of this crime, and as such, you have been sentenced to death.”

Someone gets out of the tank behind me. A cop wearing a black executioner’s mask trudges past, coming to stand directly across from me. Fuckface is still talking, but I’m searching the man in black for some assurance that this is gonna go down the way I planned.

“I would offuh you a few last words, but as you can see, the little interview you gave yesterday has the constituency all riled up. So, I’m afraid those are gonna be the last words you eva get to speak in my state, boy. Executionuh”—he steps aside and gestures toward the man in black—“fire at will.”

Come on. Come on …

My entire body sways with every forceful pump of blood through my veins as the cop unsnaps his holster and draws his weapon. It’s a small handgun, probably a .22—something large enough to kill me without blowing the back of my head off in the process.

How considerate.

I swallow and hold my breath as the executioner lifts the gun and steadies it with the palm of his left hand under the clip. And that’s when I notice that every knuckle on both of his hands are as scabbed and mangled as mine.

Mac.

I exhale and close my eyes.

And for a fraction of a second, I’m at peace.

With the blinding sun and flashing blue lights and screaming mob and sinister scowl of pure fucking evil finally blocked out, it’s just me and the life I’ve placed in the bloody hands of a complete stranger.

Until I hear her.

Over the roar of the crowd, over the cruisers being rocked back and forth, over the shouted warnings from the riot cops, I hear her.

“Somebody, do something!”

She’s close. Too fucking close.

My eyelids slam open, and my head swivels automatically in the direction of her voice. Rain is the first thing I see, tangled in the branches of a baby oak tree, just like the dream I had last night. Only she’s not being devoured.