I swallow, struggle to form words, to tell them to stop, I changed my mind.
Good. I’m ready to come back.Great, I say. But it’s not great. Judah going back to the Bone feels like a bad omen. If the Bone can call him back, what can it do to me?
You don’t mean that, he says. You hate that I’m going back.We don’t say much after that, but when we cross the water into Seattle, he asks me something that makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.Did you do something bad? Is that why you don’t want to go back?
Why would you say that? I narrowly miss hitting a car and swerve back into my lane. I press my foot against the accelerator.When I asked you about it in California, you ran. Didn’t even say goodbye.
There’s more than one reason I did that, I say, thinking about Erin/Eryn/Eren.
Margo, tell me what you did … also, you’re going really fast.When he started to lift it from the ground, I swung my boot around to knock him off his feet. By the time he recovered, I was up again and ready to finish this out. No way was someone going to screw me over this late in the game.
Sideburns seemed to relish the thought of a fight, and I caught the glint of a set of brass knuckles. That was good, I thought. He felt he needed an edge, which meant he wasn’t a street fighter.He lunged first, and my fist connected with his jaw in a crunch of bone. I had no time to think about the pain, because he was back, delivering several sharp blows to my ribs.
He could hit me there all day. I whipped around, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him into the street. He stumbled off the curb, shook himself, and charged again.I’d had enough of this bullshit, so I let him get close enough to take a poorly aimed shot at my chest, then I aimed low and hard, a forward punch into his gut followed by two in a row to his face. He blew backward, falling into the wall.