Rage of Vendetta (The Vendetta Series #2)

Chapter 20

Author's Note: I've been inactive for so long and I'm so sorry, but updates will probably be erratic for a while. Exams are going on here, and I'll try my best to get updates out ASAP. Enjoy, and don't forget to vote or comment! :D 

Chapter 20

The bus stops on a quiet street in Brooklyn. Despite the ease other passengers get off with, I have to peer left and right before I step onto the sidewalk. I can't help it. Dodgy is an understated word for how this place looks.

"You alright?" Jesse asks. 

"Fine," I answer. "Beginning to regret taking the bus."

Jesse smooths down his sleeves. "I'm not even going to say I told you so because that's overrated," he decides. "Instead, I'm going to passive-aggressively complain about how I bet you Vee tracked down the train station by now and took that one-stop ride."

"Jokes on you," I mutter. "They probably had to wait until morning for a one-stop ride."

"Yeah?" he says, sniffing the air. There is a rather smoky smell drifting about, twined with the scent of molten rubbish. It reminds me of that time I made pasta. No one wanted to eat it so it was left to rot for two weeks; when Mom used the oven again, she turned it on without checking the racks. My moldy pasta caught on fire and blackened the kitchen slightly.

Good times.

"Maybe then we wouldn't be on the dodgiest street in New York," Jesse mutters, bringing me out of my memory.

"It's not the dodgiest," I say skeptically. "There's probably a dodgier one in the city."

"I do doubt it," Jesse sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Which way do we go?"

It's just us on the street now, if you exclude the meowing stray cats trying to run away from the first hues of sunlight. The sky is still a pale purple, and I'll give it about a half hour before the sun has actually risen over the horizon.

I wince. "Maybe we should have asked some of the other passengers which way to go."

"Too late now," Jesse says. With a grunt, he adds, "New Yorkers and their stupid need to walk fast."

Going left seems slightly less dangerous, but going right seems to lessen the smell of rubbish. "If it makes you feel any better,” I say, “just imagine that Sasha and Eric can't be faring too well either. They probably got stopped by a worried mother."

Jesse snorts at this. “In some angles, they do look sort of twelve. Don't ever repeat what I just said in front of Sasha though."

"Scout's honor."

"You're not a scout.”

“Exactly." I pause, examining our paths. 

It’s so quiet with just Jesse and I. It’s not a particularly bad thing, just strange.

“Was splitting up really the best idea?” I muse.

“There’s no such thing as the best idea,” Jesse answers, cricking the knots out his neck. “There’s only the ideas that work.”

I make a noise of slight agreement. The only problem is that we don’t know if this really will work yet.

Have I learned nothing from horror movies? We split, we get killed. Better yet, since we don't have any of the long-haired blondes (unless you count Eric) that usually get killed off in a shower of brains and guts first, then the mixed-raced Asian girl usually goes next.