Needy Little Things(80)

I hold out my wrists, unbothered. I’ve never been called clumsy. He can bet his ass I’ll run with my busted ankle and restricted arms if it means saving my life, Deja’s, and my dad’s.

He scoots by me and closes the crawl space door, locking Deja in once again, then motions to Santa Bag like a showgirl. I limp over to it. “Go on,” he encourages as I sift through. It’s difficult with my hands bound, with him watching me.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

I know there’s one in here. Josiah found it at the park before we went to the zoo. I feel around until my fingers graze a cold metal loop. Fitz rubs his dry hands together, grossly eager to accept his prize. I keep my back to him as I sneak something else out of the bag along with the ring. The steel hair comb Philly gave me. I hide it in my left hand, slip the ring onto the tip of my right index finger, and cup my hands together. He’ll only have eyes for the ring.

“What is it?”

I turn around, cradling it against my chest. The gold glints in the light of the portable lamp by the door.

He looks hungry. Feral.

“I knew it!” He sticks a finger in my face. “I knew it. You’re something else. This makes everything make sense, don’t you see? A second ago, I wouldn’t have admitted to the doubts I let creep in. But that right there. That coming from you—it’s all the confirmation I need. Crystelle and I are supposed to be together. That ring is going to link us forever.”

I purposely do not extend my arms. If I wait long enough. He’ll come to me. And he’ll have to get close.

“Let me have it, then.” He opens his palm, but I stand firm. He scoffs and takes two long strides to close the gap between us.

I straighten my index finger so he can take it. While he’s distracted, I lunge forward with the comb. I catch the shock in his eyes for half a second and wonder if Ms. Jess saw the same look in Danny’s. The pointy, rusty teeth gash the side of his neck and we both topple over. The ring goes rolling across the floor. We viciously fight to reach it first, kicking, scratching, wrestling. But I have the advantage. My hands may be tied, but he’s losing blood. I squeeze my fingers closed around the ring and push myself back onto my feet. Fitz’s hand is pressed against his neck. Blood trickles between his fingers, and his eyes are filled with rage. “Give. Me. That. Ring!” he roars.

I run. It hurts more than I expect, even with the help of adrenaline. Sparks of pain radiate up my leg and I’m not moving as fast as I need to, but I’ve got a head start. I tear out the back door, but I forgot about the mud. My feet stick in it and I can’t use my arms properly for leverage. Fitz catches up to me in an instant and jumps on my back, knocking us both to the ground. He presses my face into the soft earth and I cannot breathe. I open my mouth to scream, but it’s impossible. All I can do is flail around beneath him as he pins me down with all his weight. Sludge cakes its way into my mouth. Up my nostrils. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die. But he suddenly yanks my head up, ripping some of my hair out.

“Where’s that fucking ring?”

I can’t answer him. I’m choking.

He shoves his fingers into my mouth, clearing away the mud. Finally. Air.

“The ring!” he demands.

“In the mud,” I gasp. “I dropped it.”

He slams my face back down, then rolls me over before frantically flinging muck everywhere in search of it. He’s so consumed by that thing. He trusted me blindly—but it’s still in my hand.

I inch away, eyes on him the whole time. When I find purchase on a little patch of grass, I stand and run. This time toward the steep embankment by the creek. Daddy’s neighbor has his chicken coop just across it. If I can make enough noise, it might get them going, draw some attention.

“Help!” I scream once I’m a few yards away. “Help me!”

The mud stops slinging and Fitz barrels toward me like the linebacker he once was. I continue to scream for help at the top of my lungs until he’s on me again. His eyes are fiery. Greedy. Every trace of the friend I thought I knew, gone. The rope around my wrists makes it easier for me to keep my hands clasped shut. To keep the ring from him. He rips the rope away once he realizes this, taking a layer of skin with it. I cry out and hold the ring behind my back.

“Give it to me,” he says through gritted teeth. “Give it to me or I’ll kill you right here.”

“You’re going to do that either way.”

His eyes go ablaze again and he wraps his hands around my neck. Instinctively, my grip relaxes and I drop the ring. He catches it and caresses it like fucking Gollum from The Lord of the Rings while I put distance between us and struggle to catch my breath.

“Thanks,” he says, walking toward me without an ounce of appreciation or mercy in his expression. But then he trips on a root. He stumbles and the ring is flung into the air. We both look up at it. In slow motion, he grapples for it, but it bounces from his grip three separate times. Finally, he grasps it, but the embankment is slick. It breaks away beneath his feet like overly moist cake and he vanishes from my sight with a shout.

I stand there in shock. Barely believing what I just witnessed. The sound of a distant police siren reaches my ears and gives me the courage to crawl to the edge and look down. Part of me is afraid to find him clinging to a branch or stone, ready to attack me again, but he’s not. He’s down at the bank of the creek. Face up. Neck twisted at an ungodly angle. Golden ring glinting in the center of his palm.