Unstitched

     In the shade of the peculiar rock formation, Arin pulled the tarp off the car; a rust red crossover SUV that had seen better days. After discarding the tarp and tucking it under a rock so it wouldn’t by chance blow away, he unlocked the vehicle, thinking with annoyance of the black off-road SUV that he’d lost because of Queenie’s brother, and of how much trouble he’d have to go through to acquire another.

     Chiefly thanks to the tarp, the air inside the car was cool, and quickly grew cooler still when he started the engine and got the air condition running. Twisting a knob on the console between them, he turned it up, letting the whirring of the air sifting through the vents mixed with the rumble of the engine be the only noise in the car.

     Had there been a straight road – or any road at all – leading to the Rag Dolls’ church, it wouldn’t have been a long drive. Twenty minutes, maybe. It was the one that was closest to the Lost Boys’ own hideout. But there was no road, there were woods in the way, and the terrain was uneven, so on occasion the drive could last upwards of forty minutes, barely faster than a shortcut through the woods on foot.

     Arin drove in silence with his eyes fixed forward, watching his passenger in his peripheral vision.

Forest propped her feet up on the dash, not bothering with her seat belt as they drove in the general direction of the Church. If it were someone else, they might be worried about Keagan, but this was Forest and she couldn’t be bothered. She rolled the window down to flick the cigarette butt out, careful not to let too much cool air escape. “Hm?” 

She rolled up the window and rested her head back against the headrest. She knew how to make herself perfectly comfortable under most conditions and being driven home by the leader of the Lost Boys after finding out about their secret little hide out wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever been through. 

   “I ain’t calling you shit.” Arin really ought not to be surprised about the fact that Queenie had told some of the Rag Dolls about their… relations, but he was, a little. He hid it completely behind his practiced uncaring mask, realizing that the girl was only trying to get a rise out of him.

     Because of his habit, the Lost Boy leader couldn’t see anyone smoking without craving one himself, and when the scent of cigarette smoke reached his nostrils, he had to pull out his own pack and light up, stopping to shield the flame on his lighter from the wind.

   “You want me to stick my nose in your fucking business?” He asked the Rag Doll, after he had pocketed his lighter and taken a drag from his cigarette. “Because I fucking can. Queenie’s never been to the bunker.” He resumed walking, focusing his gaze ahead.

“You can try.”

Forest quieted with a shrug, smoking her cigarette as they walked. If he wasn’t going to talk any further about him and Queenie, she wasn’t going to pry...at least until they made it to a vehicle. It was hot out to say the least, it was dry and unrelenting and overall preferred to the muggy heat she’d felt closer to the coast. She tilted her face up, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Forest had told everyone who had asked that she had missed the church and the city, but it had been a lie. She’d missed the girls, the ones she felt were more family than gangmates, but the life-- aside from the constant parties and carefree side of it-- was not something she delighted in. Being a rebel was the last thing she signed up for when she bailed from her Government-loving path. 

   “Has anyone ever told you to shut the fuck up?” He countered, watching her. Arin felt calmed by the hostile tone she was taking, more comfortable than he would have been had she responded in any other way. “Face like that you gotta be everybody’s fucking princess, huh? Little Jenny always-fucking-gets-what-she-wants?”

   “People believe me when I tell them shit because I fucking follow through. It’s as simple as that.”

     The way she emphasized the word you had him wondering immediately about some kind of underlying meaning. Something unsaid. Like she was really implying that she wasn’t a danger to him personally, but that others in his gang might want to watch out.

   “So who the fuck do you think you’re a pissing danger to?”

“If you want to call me princess that’s your choice, I won’t stop you.”

Forest fished a cigarette from her pocket followed by a lighter, she pocketed the lighter shortly after, tip of her cigarette burning cherry red as she inhaled. She took another drag, exhaled and carried on in silence, giving a show of thinking about the answer to his question. “No one. I came out here for a fuck not an interrogation.” She wasn’t angry, or riled up, she didn’t care about him or his threats, or his gang or whatever stick he had shoved up his ass, but she did want him off her back. There were few things she would normally do in a situation where a man was in her vicinity, none of which she could do because of this man’s relationship with...

ah.

     The Rag Doll seemed to be going nowhere in a hurry, and Arin quickly realized that even if he increased his pace, she had no intention of doing the same. Thus, he was forced to match her leisurely one, keeping by her side if for no other reason than that the sun was on her side, and her shadow gave a slight reprieve that kept him from boiling up in his black clothes. Additionally, and rather more importantly, he wanted to keep an eye on her.

     For a long while they walked in silence, the off-rhythm beat of their steps the only sound accompanying Arin’s thoughts. His jaw clenched, the muscles there working underneath his stubble as he thought about the stupid mistake that Dean had made, and the fact that a gang member Arin didn’t personally trust now knew the location of their hideout. I’m gonna fucking strangle him.

   “If you tell anyone…” he began suddenly, speaking through his teeth for a second before he drew a breath, calming himself down, “– even the rest of the fucking cheer squad – about where we are, we’re gonna have a fucking problem. So if you ever feel the fucking urge; remember I know where the fuck your hideout is, too.”

Forest watched him from the corner of her eye. He made for an interesting specimen, but the younger Rag Doll still failed to see what intrigued some of her fellow gals to go after such a brute. His threats fell between them, writhing wishing for her attention and she sighed at them as if they tired her.

“Arin, has anyone ever told you to shut the fuck up?”

     Arin’s gaze was as relentless as hers as she got up and walked towards him, coming close enough that he noticed she was almost as tall as him. He wanted to step back, but her behavior felt like the kind of dominance thing that he was all too familiar with, and it prevented him from backing down.

     Just as he was about to reach a hand up and push her back from him, he heard the creak of the hatch down the hall, breaking eye contact with the Rag Doll to look towards it.

   “Fine,” he conceded after a second, clenching his jaw as he led the way out into the hallway, passing… fucking Dean. The look Arin gave him as he walked by could wither a plant, but he kept his mouth shut, and the other Lost Boy took his lead, heading meekly back towards his room. Arin swallowed his rage for the time being, opening the hatch and climbing out first, then holding it open for the girl.

   “Ass in gear, Jenny – we got a bit of a hike to the fucking car.” He’d parked it nearer than he usually did, on account of his injuries, but it was still well-hidden, underneath a sand-colored tarp in the shade of a small rock formation. After closing the hatch and concealing it, Arin started south, expecting the girl to follow.

Forest followed after at a relaxed pace, expression turning to amusement as they passed her disposable way in. She blew a little kiss to him, not even bothering to hide that this was grade-a entertainment for her. She did contain herself when the leader turned his attention back on her, surprised he held the hatch open for her to get through. She pulled her sunglasses from where they were hooked on her shirt, placing them on her face while she waited for him to hide the entrance. 

   “What,” Arin replied, cocking an eyebrow, his tone tensing with derision, “pretty girl like you can’t get a ride from anyone else?” If she was anyone else, he might have shot her. If she was any other gang member, he might have threatened her into silence – but she was too confident for something like that to work on her. Too… cocky. He could sense that there was more to her than met the eye, and it made him uneasy. The way she carried herself: like she was fucking invincible.

     As far as the location of their hideout went, the damage was already done, and if she could keep the secret of the church, he had no choice but to trust that she would keep her mouth shut about the bunker as well. Had no choice but to ignore the fact that the Lost Boys weren’t anywhere near as important to her as the Rag Dolls would be, and that blabbing their location to everyone and their fucking mother probably wouldn’t cause her any harm. Maybe he’d have to resort to a little light threatening after all. At the very least he’d need to talk to Keagan, and so had no choice but to give her a ride.

     First, though, he’d try to get a name out of her. He had no doubt that he could get the guilty Lost Boy to fess up later, but getting the answer out of her would save him the trouble of gathering them all.

   “Tellin’ me whatever sucker you fucking batted your fuckin’ eyelashes at to get in here ain’t on their way back with a car right now?”

“I can.” Her voice was smooth, temperate, gaze unwavering. He knew as well as she did that she could find anyone else, but she’d given him the offer. She wasn’t going to say anything else about, she was content to sit comfortably in the Lost Boy’s bunker until he made up his mind.

     Arin had slept badly ever since he’d broken his ribs. He couldn’t lie on his right side because of it, and he couldn’t lie on his left side because of his broken arm – so he had to lie on his back, and feel the sting in his side every time he drew breath. It had been worse the first few weeks; he was almost all healed up now, but still the light sleeping habit lingered. Somehow, his body had grown accustomed to a few hours of sleep per night. No doubt he’d crash eventually, but so long as his eyes flew open without a hint of sleep left in them at dawn each morning, he figured he might as well get up.

     Usually, he had the bunker to himself for a few hours before the rest of the Lost Boys stirred from their sleep, but that morning, he heard someone in the main room. Chaol, he thought first, maybe coming back from having stayed overnight at the hospital with Bambi. Maybe he had brought her back. Arin made his way towards the soft sounds – oddly quiet for two people. Maybe he came alone. Maybe it’s someone else, coming back from a bender.      But when he entered the doorway, he saw just how wrong he had been – though to his credit, the girl that was sitting on the Lost Boys’ worn couch was someone who absolutely was not supposed to be there.

     She was a Rag Doll, he realized, recognizing her. Normally, Arin would push irrelevant shit like the faces of random Dolls from his mind, but hers was not one he would easily forget. She was the one who had told him, all those months ago. She was the one who had shattered his world. Other than that fact – and more banally, perhaps – she was so ridiculously beautiful that it was hard to let her slip from memory. Though, as was par for him, he was completely blanking on her name, if he had ever learned it at all.

   “You’re not fucking supposed to be here,” he said, following up her… charming comment. “Who brought you?”

Forest looked the Lost Boy’s leader over, keen eye-- courtesy of her Government trained parents-- picking up all his weak points. Whatever bar fight this man had been in, she wondered what the other party looked like. She recognized him, of course she did, she’d done her research, always kept a name to a face even if she pretended otherwise. She turned back to her shoes, tying them up in a slow but precise manner. When she finished, she leaned back into the couch, crossing one leg over the other, elbow resting on the armrest. “I’ll tell you on the ride back to my place. I’m sure you remember the way...”