We were caught up in the herd and shoved through the door of the stairwell. I looked over my shoulder for Killian, eyes searching.
I couldn’t see him. All I saw were blue uniforms swarming the place.
We ran up the stairs to escape the building, but suddenly everyone scrambled in the opposite direction. The police were coming through the doors at the top of the stairs, too.
“Shit,” Mars yelled.
Someone pushed me from behind. My knees hit the edge of the stair and I cried out in pain. People hurdled over me, and Mars blocked them from stepping on me as I tried to get up, but I kept being pushed.
A hand grabbed my elbow, and with one jerk, I was hauled to my feet.
Killian.
“I told you to fuckin’ wait,” he growled. His gaze went to my knees and for a moment there was a flicker of something other than anger. “There’s another way out.”
He locked his arm around my waist and I clutched Mars’s hand as we headed back to the basement. It was easier pushing through the herd because Killian was like a bulldozer.
We veered right as soon as we were in the room where we started, and there were people lying on the ground, hands on their heads and cops handcuffing them.
Oh, my God, we were all going to be thrown in jail. I’d never even had detention before.
Panic swarmed.
Killian’s palm slammed into a door that said storage and he dragged me into the darkness.
“There’s a vent,” he said as he led us to the back of a large room with numerous floor-to-ceiling metal shelves.
The vent cover was already on the floor. “The other fighters already went through. We always check escape routes.”
“Sculpt?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” he said. “He was looking for you and Mars.”
God, we should’ve stayed where we were.
Light filtered into the storage room as the door opened. We were out of sight, but footsteps headed our way.
“Go!” Killian hissed.
Mars leaped into the vent, and I went in after her, but Killian didn’t follow.
I peered over my shoulder as he replaced the vent cover. “Killian!”
“Fuckin’ go,” he said.
“Police. Stay where you are!”
I held my breath, watching as Killian put his hands up and moved away from the vent.
No.
“On your knees. Hands behind your head,” the officer said.
Killian.
I hadn’t slept all weekend worrying about Killian. On Monday I didn’t see him and Mars’s brother said he wasn’t in class.
On Tuesday, I finally saw Sculpt after English. I ran down the hallway after him and grabbed his arm, not even thinking that it may not have been smart to “grab” Sculpt.
“Killian? Where is he? Is he okay?” I asked.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and put it in my hand. “Here.”
“I don’t want the money.” I tried to give it back because I didn’t do anything, but he refused.
“Take the money,” he ordered.
“Where is Killian? Is he okay?”
“Don’t know.” Then he walked away.
I stared at him, students veering around me as fear gripped me. He didn’t know? Oh, God, where was he? He was underage so he couldn’t be in jail, right? It wasn’t like he killed anyone.
By Friday, Killian still hadn’t made an appearance at school. I sat on the steps waiting for my mom to pick me up and every time the school doors opened, I swung around hoping that it was him.
It never was.
I waited ten minutes for my mom before making the long trudge home.
I considered taking the route past Killian’s house. But it wasn’t as if I’d go up to the door and ask if he was alright.
But even if I did, we weren’t friends. It was the opposite. He’d been pissed at me for showing up at the fight, and it was my fault he was in trouble. I did exactly what he told me not to do. Took off when the police showed up.
I was the reason he wasn’t at school. I had to stop by his house. I had to know if he was okay.
Turning to take the other route, I heard the tires squeal and saw my mom’s car. She did a U-turn and pulled up on the shoulder behind me at an angle.
She honked as if I hadn’t seen her.
I’d have to go to Killian’s tomorrow.
I walked to the car and opened the rusted door. It squeaked so loud a flock of birds lifted out of the trees nearby.
I climbed in, shut the door and did up my seatbelt. “Thanks for picking me up, Mom.”
She was beautiful with her chic-styled, walnut hair and stark, defined features. But not when she sneered.
Here we go.
“Look at you. What the hell are you wearing? You can’t wear tight stuff like that.”
I gritted my teeth. I wore snug jeans and V-neck white shirt. I was used to her comments, and it didn’t hurt as much as it used to, but I wasn’t fat. I just carried extra pounds. But I guess compared to her, I was fat.