Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 69
His laugh echoes in my ear as he carries me over the dirt and leaves, holding my back tight against his chest. As quick as he snatched me, he reels back and tosses me onto the ground in front of him. I land on my shoulder with a thud, gasping as I roll over the forest floor.
“What’d I tell you, E?” Bo’s deep voice reverberates against the hillside, “You’re not going anywhere. I’m nowhere near done with you tonight.”
When I roll onto my side, I spy something bright sticking out of his side pocket. The fluorescent yellow nylon is unmistakable. He found my shorts I ditched back at the tree and tracked me like it was nothing. Because he knows these woods inside and out, and he’s used to tracking animals that do know how to hide.
Bo’s fast, but I can’t stop now. I’ll keep running even if he’s two steps behind me the entire way back to Canaan. Ignoring him, the toe of my sneaker catches a root in the dirt and I’m able to propel myself up and scramble into a run once more. But as soon as I hit my first stride, a pop echoes in my ears and I feel a shooting pain as my left knee explodes.
The impact throws me forward and I land face down in the leaves with a thud. Adrenaline pumping, I roll over and try to sit up, but the damage is too great and I let out a long, ear-splitting howl as soon as I try to bend my knee. Gasping for breath, I wail up to the treetops, my back arching at an unnatural angle before collapsing back to the earth.
After I’m finally able to suck in a breath, I push myself up to a sitting position. My face is frozen in agony and my chest heaves as I stare down at my leg. While blood pours from the gaping hole where my kneecap used to be, I can only think of one thing, above all else.
How am I going to play ball?
So naïve…
Surgery, rehab…I’ll be out for at least a year, maybe they’ll understand…I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head furiously, shut up!
Through my deep, rattling breaths, I barely hear Bo approach until his legs appear in front of me. He plants his grey and red sneakers on either side of my knees and crouches down, “First rule of stalking your prey,” he glances down, studying my mangled knee, "only move when they move.”
When I blink, everything in my field of vision drifts to the right and I’m not sure whether it’s blood loss or the overload of adrenaline. Either way, it doesn’t matter, because my arms and my right knee still work. But as soon as I draw my good leg up to push away, Bo grabs my left knee and squeezes. My muscles seize as the white-hot pain shoots through my leg and I fall back onto the ground with a shriek that descends into sobs.
Rolling my head back and forth across the dead leaves and twigs, I finally open my eyes to see the stars peeking out from behind the canopy. My lungs burn from running and then gasping for breath through the jarring pain, but I manage to scream one loud, long word through my jumble of despair.
“COLSON!”
I don’t yell for my mom, or my dad, or for God. I yell for Colson.
I know he won’t come. But maybe, by some cosmic telepathy, he’ll hear me. Maybe he knows something is wrong. He did know something was wrong, but I didn’t listen to him when he hinted at it because he would never straight up forbid me to do anything. He’s not like that. Maybe he still knows something is wrong. Maybe he’ll have a feeling and come find me.
But of all the things I could’ve said, this is the one that incenses Bo the most.
“Why the fuck are you crying for Colson?” He swings his arm out and smacks me across the cheek, throwing my head to the side, “Don’t you know who owns your ass?” He grabs my jaw and jerks my face back to him, “You know who decides if you live or die?” he snarls through clenched teeth. “Me!”
When he tosses my face away, I feel the cool, wet sensation of my own blood he leaves on my skin. Even with the torrents of pain and any hope of escape dwindling by the second, the defiance is still strong. My resentment and bitterness overflows and all the hate comes rushing out.
“Because he’s my brother,” I rasp through the agony, baring my teeth at him in a hateful grimace, “and you’ll never be as good as him!”
As intensely as my anger pours forth, Bo’s is like a dam break. I don’t feel anything after the third blow to my temple. It’s the only mercy Bo allows me—the inability to control his rage enough to make sure I remain conscious.
I drift in and out every few seconds, tasting the blood on my tongue, my shoulders scraping up and down against the dirt, like someone’s shaking me. Why is my knee all the way up at my arm? I can barely breathe. My eyes fly open with a sharp pain slamming over and over somewhere deep in my belly, but flutter closed again seconds later.
I finally come to, my head whipping from side to side as Bo smacks me across the face to revive me. And he seems kind of irritated about it. When I finally open my eyes, his face slowly comes into focus.
Where am I?
I can’t move my face. It feels like I’ve been stung by a swarm of bees. Bo is on top of me, gripping my face with one hand. I feel cold from the waist down, but he’s warm. It feels like rocks and sticks are embedded in my back and my ass. Where’s my underwear? Then I realize I’m out in the woods.
Am I lost? Was I in an accident?
I reach up with a trembling hand and touch Bo’s face, moving my hand over his cheek and the curve of his ear, feeling his buzzed scalp under my fingers.
How did I get out here? Did he find me?
“Bo…” I breathe, my voice hoarse and raspy.
I’m able to throw my other arm up and hook it around his neck, clinging to him. He’ll get me out of here. He won’t leave me. Bo runs his hand over my neck and up the side of my face, making me wince as he brushes over my jaw. The moonlight slices across his face as he gazes down at me with concern. Maybe it’s bright enough that we can find our way out of here.
I’m so glad Bo’s here. My eyes well up and hot tears stream down my temples to my ears. He leans down and gently kisses my lips. I don’t want him to leave. I want him to get me out of here.
Why aren’t we getting up? Maybe I’m too injured…did he call for help?
Then I hear Bo’s voice. But instead of the voice I recognize, it’s a low growl full of contempt, “See if you can run now, bitch.” Why is he talking like that? “I want my name to be the last thing that comes out of your mouth,” he growls, clenching my broken jaw in the crook of his thumb, “and I get what I fucking want.”
Oh, God...
I remember how I got here. My heart seizes and I jerk my arms away from him, slamming them against the ground. I try to scramble out from under him with my good leg, but my legs are spread too far apart on either side of his hips and I can’t gain purchase. I’m clawing at the loose brush with my arms, trying to shimmy myself across the dirt.
Have I been unconscious? For how long? It’s just as well. I didn’t feel Bo dislocate my jaw. I didn’t feel him break my ribs. I didn’t feel him grab the front of my shirt and slam me into the ground over and over, so hard that he ripped it halfway down my chest. I didn’t feel him tear my underwear off. I didn’t feel him...
Oh…
I have to get out of here. I have to get away from him.
Even broken and half-conscious, I’m still strong. But so is Bo, and he’s still bigger than me. I can’t get out from underneath him. He grabs my throat. I claw at his arm and try to pry his fingers loose from my neck, but he throws my arms aside with his other hand and slaps that one over my throat, too. He’s squeezing…
I lash out with choked screams, clawing at his face with my pink and black acrylic nails. I can’t get a good shot. His arms are set too wide for me to reach his face with my closed fist. He’s squeezing harder...
I’m getting tired. It feels like time has stopped. His hands are like a vice. My chest convulses with each breath while I try in vain to gasp for air. My vision gets fuzzier and it’s getting darker…
And then there’s a pop that ricochets through my head, followed by a loud ringing before I’m plunged into darkness.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Evie
High School
I wake up…I think.
I’m standing up now and my eyes are open, gazing around at the black wall of trees while the night sounds sing electric. With a deep breath, I fill my lungs with the songs of the crickets and tree frogs and look down at my hands. When I raise them to my cheeks, they feel warm and soft again, devoid of dirt streaks and clay packed beneath my nails.
Hearing a rustle nearby, I turn and see Bo. He’s about 10 feet away, slowly rising from the ground. He stills, leering over a dark pile in the leaves.
“I’ll never cry for you again,” he mutters bitterly.
Again? Bo doesn’t cry for anyone…
“You’re so fucking selfish!” he screams at the body laying at his feet.
My dead body.
Jerking his leg back, he winds up and delivers a swift kick to my side, “You stupid, selfish fucking bitch!” My limp body lurches and merely scuffs across the earth.
It’s me, but I can’t feel anything he does. I’m just standing here, behind him, watching.
“You goddamn cunt whore!” He doesn’t stop, he keeps kicking my body, teeth clenched and grunting furiously, “You’re nothing!” My head rolls back and forth and my limbs flop over the leaves and twigs. “I fucking hate you!” his voice cracks and he finally stills again, his chest heaving.
Oh, Bo…what have you done?
I feel like I should cry. I feel like I should cry for my mom, my dad, Dallas, Colson, and all my friends. I should cry because I won’t see them again. God, they’ll be so upset…what will Hildy and Hannah do?
No, fuck Hannah. But what will Hildy do when she finds out Bo did this?
But I can’t cry. I should, but I can’t.
Instead, I’m filled with overwhelming tranquility. I can see clearer than I ever have and I can breathe better than I ever have. I feel alert and calm at the same time. I feel strong and I feel happy, like my heart is filled and overflowing. How can I feel this way after something so horrific?
I take a few steps toward Bo and peer around his shoulder. I’m lying face up, my body cocked at an odd angle, my arms and legs splayed out. My eyes are open and I’m staring up at the treetops. But the lights are out and there’s no life left behind my eyes.
I’m gone.
There’s dirt and blood smeared across my face, out of my nose, over my gums, and across my teeth. My left eye is swollen from him hitting me with his right fist. My hair frames my face in a frizzy, red halo and there’s still sweat beaded on my forehead. My tears have washed tracks through the blood on my cheeks and under my eyes.
Damn, I look like hell.
I almost laugh. I’m horrified, but I almost laugh. Even in death, I can’t help but crack a joke.
When I look up at Bo, he’s silent, his chest heaving and his face glistening with sweat. His fists are still clenched and he’s still glaring down at me. I glance down at the bulge at the back of his hip. He had a gun. He could’ve shot me and ended it in a split second.
But he didn’t.
He stands over me for what seems like an hour. What’s he thinking while he’s just staring at me, motionless, in the middle of the woods?
Fucking weirdo.
Finally, Bo rolls his head back and flexes his shoulders, shaking the tension out of his arms. He crouches down and slips his hands under my arms, lifting my shoulders off the ground. When I’m in a sitting position, he takes me by the wrist and lifts my arm over his head, ducking under it so he can lay my body over his shoulder. Then he straightens up and starts walking.
I follow Bo close at his side, like I always do when we come out to the woods. As we walk, I glance up at him periodically. He’s calm and indifferent, like he’s carrying a coiled-up garden hose through the woods instead of a dead body. We walk for a long time until the trees open up and give way to a dip in the landscape. Bo stops here and looks around, then leans forward and bucks his shoulder, dumping me off onto the ground with a thump.
He crouches down to examine my busted knee, then pushes his hands under my back and rolls me onto my stomach. He grasps the back of my calf and turns it toward him, examining the back of my knee. The bullet didn’t go clean through. It hit the bone and shattered everything inside before lodging in my kneecap somewhere. He steps over my legs and straddles me. After a few moments, he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his Buck knife. Holding my knee steady with one hand, he starts digging the bullet out of my flesh.
It takes him a while to find it in the dark, even with moonlight flooding through the break in the canopy. But Bo’s good. He finds it. His fingers slick with my blood, thickening by the second, he drops the bullet into his palm and examines it in the dim light. He doesn’t care about the shell lost somewhere out in the woods behind us. Or maybe he’s already found that, too.
Bo stands up and drops the bullet in the side pocket of his joggers. Then, with his knife still open, he circles my body, like he’s deciding what he wants to do. He stops behind my head, then cocks his head from side to side before kneeling down.
Bo squeezes my braid in his fist and pulls it taught until my face is hovering just above the dirt. He flattens the blade between my scalp and my hair band and starts slicing back and forth, letting locks of bright red hair flow free with each pass.
I cringe, then scowl at him for ruining my hair.
By the end, longer, jagged pieces fall over my cheeks and forehead while the back is as short as a pixie cut. He stands back up, holding my bright red braid in his fist—the final thing he can take from me. But instead of being done with it, Bo decides to leave me something to remember him by.
He kicks my shoulder, rolling me onto my back. Then he opens his mouth and bites down on the knife handle, holding it between his teeth while he carefully rolls my braid around his fist into a ball. He gently slides it into his back pocket and takes the knife from his mouth.
Bo crouches down again, straddling my legs, and plants his hands on either side of my hips. After gazing down at my bare stomach for a few moments, he places his palm just under my belly button. Slowly, he drags his hand over my skin, brushing his thumb up and down in waves as he goes. With his other hand, he raises his knife and repositions it for precision, with his forefinger at the hilt.
Then he starts cutting.
I tilt my head, peering around his shoulder as he carefully slices the blade through my flesh with all the concentration of a calligrapher. Blood still seeps from the wounds, a single word slowly materializing across my stomach like magic ink.
SLUT
I thought I would’ve puked, seeing something like that, but I don’t. I don’t feel nauseous or queasy. I just watch Bo with disgust, lamenting the utter uselessness of what he’s doing.
Is it not enough that you killed me?
Bo crosses his “T” and straightens up, admiring his work. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t scowl, he just stares at it—at me—emotionless. Finally, he drags the flat edge of his blade across my tank top, wiping the blood from it. And all I feel at that moment is…let down.
I’m not in pain. I’m not afraid. I’m just disappointed, but in the way you’re disappointed when it’s time to leave a party but you’re still having a good time—when something good ends too soon.
I look at my carved-up stomach, then at Bo, and just shake my head.
Bo turns and walks a few feet before suddenly hopping off the edge of a ditch. There’s a splash, and he bends down and starts swishing his hands around in the creek water. After a minute or so, he stands back up and shakes the knife off before flipping it closed and tucking it back into his pocket.
Bo examines something on the side of the drop-off, then looks at my body lying in the dirt. He jumps back out of the ditch and strolls back over to my body. Lifting my foot, he pulls my Adidas sneaker off, and then my white sock. He does the same to my other foot before moving up my body and pulling my torn tank top and bra off of me. Once they’re free, he stands back up and studies my bra, fingering the tiny pink bow where the cups meet.
Bo takes a step back, his feet planted on either side of my calves, and stares down at me. He scans my body for an inordinate amount of time, ogling my dirty, twisted, scratched limbs, my dull, half-closed eyes staring into oblivion, my butchered whisps of hair sticking to my face, and the fresh slashes across my stomach oozing blood that’s quickly coagulating. Then he smirks, letting out a whisper of a laugh on his breath.
My eyes round and I feel my jaw clench, you goddamn son of a bitch.
Bo drops all my clothes in a pile on the ground and bends down, scooping up my limp, naked body. He carries me down the slope of the ditch and steps into the foot of water gently flowing through a pipe.
He was looking at a culvert.
Bo crouches down in front of the 5-foot-wide corrugated steel pipe and tosses me halfway inside with a splash. He drops down into the water on his hands and knees and grabs my partially submerged body, scooting it further into the culvert. The farther he crawls, the more compact I get, until I’m lying in the fetal position, partially submerged in the tunnel of creek water. Bo backs out of the pipe, hops out of the ditch, grabs the pile of my clothes, and continues his walk through the woods, dripping as he goes.
I hesitate. I don’t want to leave…myself? But I need to find out where the hell I am. There’s a culvert here, which means there’s a road nearby.
I start following Bo through the woods. We walk for a while, but not as long as before. If it weren’t for the fact that he just murdered me and stuffed my body into a pipe in the middle of the woods, it would feel like I was spending one of my favorite nights with him—wandering around the woods together.
Then he had to go and ruin everything.
He’s probably thinking the same thing about me.
I stop abruptly, glaring at his back as he continues his march through the trees. In the first extreme emotion I’ve felt since waking up, I grit my teeth and feel the rage—the injustice—spark in my chest. It instantly ignites, engulfing my heart, and threatens to turn me into a fire-breathing dragon and incinerate everything in my path.
