(eng) P. W. Catanese - Inferno 02 by Down in Flames

Author:Down in Flames [Flames, Down in]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

They buzzed and weaved down the road like a drunken hornet. Wet pavement flashed under the wheels. The drops of rain felt like needles on Donny’s skin. He was behind Angela on the scooter, his arms wrapped around her slender waist. Holding her that close, his chest against her back, might have been a thrill on some other night, but something had snapped inside his heart. A plug had been pulled, a connection broken. He only worried that he might not survive this wild ride, and he shouted at her with real anger. “Turn on the headlight! Red means stop! Watch the curb! That’s the wrong side of the road again! Don’t let go of the handles!”

Every shout was met with fizzy laughter. They didn’t pass many cars, but most of them blew their horns as they went by.

Donny’s legs were wobbly tubes of yogurt by the time they arrived at the hotel.

“What shall we do now?” Angela asked, still straddling the scooter as Donny hopped off and staggered toward the lobby door.

“I just want to find out if Carlos is okay,” Donny said.

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“I don’t know. Call hospitals, starting with the one closest to that town.”

“Oh, you speak Spanish now? You’d better let Howard’s people handle that,” Angela said. “I’ll text him.”

“Howard will be asleep.”

“So? This is why he makes the big bucks.”

Donny watched her take her phone from a pocket and tap a message with her thumbs, humming all the while. “Good night,” he muttered without turning to be heard better. He pushed the door open and went into the lobby. He looked back once before he got onto the elevator. Through the glass in the door he saw her watching him, a mild look of shock on her pretty face.

Once in his room, Donny pushed the door shut, bolted it, swung the second lock into place, and latched the chain. He yanked the bedcover down and flopped onto the sheets. Physically, he was wiped, but his nerves were an electrical storm that wouldn’t let him sleep. He sat up and put his head in his hands. There was a picture of a flamenco dancer on the wall, and he stared at it without really seeing it.

Now how many times had this relationship almost killed him? He could add the rogue ferryman to the count. Since he’d met Angela, he’d been terrorized, clawed, beaten and tortured, and nearly shot, crushed, stabbed, and devoured.

But somehow none of that was the worst of it. The worst was when he’d overheard that conversation. Angela’s words came back to him again, like a song he hated but couldn’t get out of his mind.

I need to learn what I can from the boy while he still lives. It’s very likely that one of our adventures will get him killed. Then . . . I’ll find another.

It’s easy enough to replace him. Just set a fire or something, put them in danger of their lives, and they’ll beg to come with me.

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