Chapter 4: The Curb

Out on the curb, three cars waited with their engines running.

Christian's black sedan, Dorian's white SUV, and Maddox's dark car with the driver already holding the rear door.

I stood under the club awning with ash drying in my hair and a steel key in my fist.

"I'll take her," Christian said.

"She's coming with me," said Dorian.

"My doctor is waiting at my place," said Maddox. "She needs a doctor."

"She needs a bath, and I have the biggest tub," Dorian said.

"She needs to sit down in a warm car," Christian said, "and I have the only one with a heater that works."

They said all of it in the same low, even voices, and none of them raised a hand.

I waited for the explosion.

It never came.

"I have a bike," I said.

"You are not riding a bike," said all three.

"Then I'm walking."

I walked.

It was a long walk to the West Village, and a black sedan, a white SUV and a dark car followed me at a crawl the whole way.

A man smoking outside a bar took out his phone to film it.

Nobody asked me anything.

By the third block I was angry at how calm they were.

"Aren't you going to ask?" I said, without turning around.

The sedan window slid down.

"Ask what?" Christian said.

"Who the other two are."

"Not on a street," said Dorian, from the SUV.

"Not tonight," said Maddox.

I stopped walking, and all three cars stopped behind me.

"I didn't take your gifts because I wanted them," I said.

It came out louder than I meant.

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