King

The raggedy piece of shit wheezes to a stop, gravel crunching under the tires like splintering bones under a boot.

I kill the engine.

Silence slams into us—thick, expectant. The kind that settles just before a storm rips through and levels everything in its path.

No one speaks.

Not even her.

Alyssa's in the third row, hair wild from lying on it, one leg bouncing like a loaded gun. She's chewing her lips raw, but her eyes—when they meet mine in the ...