I stop and stare at him, this freak with the
nasty curls who has the audacity to judge me. Suddenly his touch
burns my skin. Where did they learn this language of hate? “You
didn’t just—”
“Shut up, Tobin.” Henry tugs me
forward roughly and I almost fall to my knees.
I try again. “Where’s Dylan?”
Henry closes his hands around my arm,
tightens them, until I can feel each pulse that carries blood from
my shoulder to my wrist, each beat of my heart caught in his
viselike grip, and my fingers tingle, he’s cutting off my
circulation, he’s holding on so damn tight. “Please,” I sob, and am
I crying? I don’t know. I don’t care. My eyes sting and my hands
are going numb and how can I fight back if I can’t even clench them
into fists? I’m cold, too cold, and my legs stumble out from
beneath me, tears burn my face. I barely see the opened door they
pull me through, I hardly notice the cells that line this new
corridor, each one empty. “Dylan,” and the name is a bitter shout,