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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Birds of Prey
WARNING: This chapter contains child abuse. Please read with caution.
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AS THE CAR DREW nearer to the warehouse, Cecelia's heart lodged in her throat. The building sat there, where it always had, just on the outskirts of town. It had purposefully been placed in an area that wasn't too secluded—and indeed, the graffiti scrawled onto the nearby bridge, littered cans of Coca-Cola, and the pair of shoes hanging from a tree were certainly signs of other presences—but not too crowded, either. The roads were always fairly empty—only a lone car drove ahead of Cecelia and Peter now—and what little greenery that surrounded the warehouse was too overgrown to make a prime teenager smoking spot. When Cecelia took breaks from her work for a little breath of fresh air, the grass always crunched under her feet. The activity inside the warehouse always made the air smell a little like gasoline.
The sight of it, so familiar despite everything that had transpired, was almost unbearable. So many memories of the last five years had been spent within its walls, with the people she had now inadvertently lost. Schultz. Brice. Perhaps even Mason and Vale. All of them men who had never treated her like a child. Had never babied her. Had involved her in as much of the business as they could, offered her cigarettes on breaks (she never took them), and spoke openly and freely about politics.
Now, she'd betrayed them. And she hadn't... she hadn't even meant to. But the deed had been done, and maybe word had gotten back already.
Cecelia was in such a stupor, thinking about her old life—grease-stained fingers, working until her eyes were watery, sharing pizza and chicken wings on long nights—that she momentarily forgot that Peter had never traversed these roads. She knew them like the back of her hand, had worn them down deep. Shouldn't everyone see them just as she did—achingly familiar?
It was only when Peter started to drive past the correct road that Cecelia snapped out of her reverie. Snapping her head over to Peter, she yelped, "Right!"
"What?" Peter asked.
"Turn right! Turn right!"
Peter, caught off guard, twisted the wheel. As the car skidded across the road in a squeal of tires, he threw out his wrist. A web broke free from his shooter and locked onto the fence. This had the advantage of steering them back on track, but the detriment was a really rocky ride. Both Cecelia and Peter yelled out as the car slid sideways, then slammed over a curb with enough pressure to launch them into the air.
It flipped onto its side, gliding in a haze of sparks, and Cecelia screamed, her seatbelt constricting her chest. Normally, she'd just phase right through it, but that wasn't such a good idea when she was in a moving vehicle that was definitely not right-side up.
