The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play #2) - B.B. Reid Page 0,78
been visiting like clockwork every Sunday. However, the address in Connecticut was new. Every day for the last week, he’d gone to some town called Blackwood Keep, and my gut told me these visits were what kept him away.
I studied the other three locations he frequented the most. The barbershop where we’d met was the only one I recognized. The second address was on Long Island while the last one was a mere blip in the mountains that drew my brows together.
Figuring the barbershop was a long shot and the mountains too far to travel this time of night, I settled on Long Island.
“It’s too dangerous, Lou. All it would take is you being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Shrugging off Wren’s warnings, I set off. Maybe I’d find trouble, or perhaps I’d finally find answers to the burning questions I had about Wren.
I LOOKED OVER THE GROUP of fresh recruits who were hanging onto my every word with a mixture of fear and awe. Their ages ranged wide with the youngest being no more than ten or eleven. I barely held in my curse when he was brought in to be branded. They were getting younger every fucking year and rarely lasted a month before they were picked off by Thirteen or one of us when they outlived their usefulness or did something stupid. It wasn’t often that they were lucky enough to be arrested and either returned home or thrown into juvie. I, myself, had only been fifteen when initiated, but I wasn’t new to the way of life. My father had unwittingly shown me the way after my mother died and he mercilessly plucked me from my bed and the only home I ever knew in the middle of the night.
When the kid was called to get his brand, I watched as he slowly stood and trudged toward the chair. It was the same one I sat in to be marked, and unlike this kid, I never once questioned if I belonged.
The moment the kid settled, Larry readied the needle, and the kid immediately began welling up, earning a few sneers for his tears. Seeing my opening, I rushed over and snatched the kid up by his collar before shaking him hard enough to turn his brain into a ping-pong ball.
“What the fuck are you crying for?” I didn’t wait for an answer before I started dragging his ass. The sound of the other recruits snickering echoed around the shop as I made my way to the door with the kid in tow.
“No one moves,” I said warning the recruits. I knew they’d all rush out to see me beat this kid senseless. When they all nodded, I resumed my quick strides. The kid could barely stay on his feet, but I showed no mercy as I forced him into the unforgiving cold.
The moment we were out of sight, I stood him up straight and let my real anger take over. “What the hell are you doing here, kid?”
“I-I-I-I don’t know,” he cried, pissing me off even more. There was nothing bad or broken about this kid. How had he ended up here?
“Where are your parents?”
“Don’t got none.” He sniffed and looked toward the shop. “Is it going to hurt?”
“Yes,” I said, refusing to bullshit him. “But you know what hurts worse?” He shook his head no. “Bullets. And it doesn’t sting a little like that needle in there. It pierces, and it burns. And if you’re really unlucky, it kills you. You want that?”
He shook his head even harder this time.
I quickly pulled my gun and held it at my side. It was abundantly cruel, but I knew it would get the job done. His eyes were impossibly wide with horror as he trembled. “Then get the fuck out of here. If I see you again, I’ll save my enemies the trouble and blow your brains out myself.”
I watched him run away as fast as he could, but I didn’t allow myself to feel relief. He wouldn’t be the last, and I knew there was no way I could save them all. Exiled grew its numbers by targeting troubled youth at their most vulnerable with the promise of rebellion and freedom from leadership. These lost souls accepted our brand and wore it like a badge of honor, completely unaware that they were signing their own death certificate. To leave Exiled was to welcome death—the only way out.