Page 55 of Feral

I nod, pushing the thoughts away for now. We have a mission to focus on, but he better be ready for the pile of questions later.

Thorn exits the freeway, taking the street corners so fast that the tires screech, and at one point, we’re driving on one side as the car rises and tilts.

“There is a mortal here,” Syn says. “Be careful.”

“Have I ever crashed?” Thorn asks.

“Many, many times.” Syn rolls his eyes.

“Not for, like, fifty years or something. Today’s vehicles can handle me.”

Fifty years. The guy looks like he’s barely thirty.

“Turn right on Batton Avenue,” Hale says.

“Ooh shit, we’re going there?”

“Yep.”

“You live on Batton?” Bowie asks.

“No. Graylock and Seventh.”

Bowie makes a ‘yikes’ face. “I know the area. I grew up a few blocks south of there. Glad Hale found you when he did.”

“His street isn’t bad,” Hale says, sounding defensive.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Bowie says. “I was homeless when Syn found me. It’s an expensive city. I get it.”

Nodding, I lean into Hale without saying anything else. With each passing minute, I can feel my strength returning and the bruises fading. I’m still sore as fuck, but it’s almost bearable.

“Where are the other guys?” I ask.

“Following,” Kyson answers. “But they drive normally.”

“Here,” Hale says, pointing to the right as Thorn comes to an abrupt stop. “I found him here.”

“Where should we start?” Kyson asks.

“The corner store,” I say. “A bunch of dudes hang out there. They’ll know where they are. If they’ll tell us.”

“Oh, they’ll tell us,” Syn says.

Thorn pulls up to the curb, shutting the engine off. “Let’s go Mafia hunting, boys.”

We pile out of the car onto the cracked sidewalk, the smell of weed and stale beer hanging in the air. A wave of nausea hits me and I grab Hale’s arm for stability.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding, I clear my throat. “Flashback.”

He frowns. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“They shouldn’t have done what they did. I can handle this.”

He cups my chin. “You’re very strong.”

“Thanks.”