Protecting Truth by Michelle Warren Read Free Book Online Page B

it’s time to go.” I laugh and stumble, steadying myself on Bishop’s arm.
    “No, not yet. Come home with me, sleep a few hours, then you can leave.”
    A storm cloud opens and a flash of lightning cracks across the sky. Seconds later, we stand in a deluge of freezing rain. “I think I better go now.”
    We duck into a covered doorway.
    “No way! You’re staying. Besides, there’s something I really need to talk to you about.” Before I can respond, he tosses my arm over his shoulder and grabs my waist, propping me up.
    “What?” I ask. A knot forms in my throat. A boy telling a girl that they “need to talk” is never, ever a good thing. My mind races; self-doubt edges in.
    “Later, Sera. Just try to keep up.”
    Bishop and I step out into the open air, under the sweeping rain, and we run. With schlag taking over, I struggle to keep Bishop’s pace. But what’s worse is my mental hysteria over our relationship status. My internal hyper-anxiety battles with my need for sleep. One wins over and my eyelids droop closed.
    Then, for no reason, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Something feels off. I lift my eyelids just enough to glance through the sheets of rain. Bishop’s body tightens, rigid. We run to a nearby stone wall. He lays me down. Exhausted, I collapse on the pavement. He turns and crouches in a defense move we learned from class. Something is wrong.
    •
    Bishop’s head twitches back and forth, peering out into the darkness. I attempt to stand, but the drops of rain transition into noisy sleet. Each pellet feels like a boulder, so very heavy, pushing me back to the ground. Stupid schlag!
    “What’s going on?” I holler.
    “Quiet!” he hisses, holding up his palm.
    Can he hear something I don’t? I concentrate on the sounds: the pounding rain, beating like a drum over the pavement, cars hydroplaning on flooded streets, and the crackling lightning strikes. I advance beyond those noises, letting them float far away, and when I do, I actually hear a mass pushing through the rain.
    By the time I look up it’s too late. From behind the wall, a dark figure flies through the air above us. The person lands, crushing Bishop to the ground. Bishop flips the attacker off his body and the two launch into a full-force fight. They’re equally matched, going back and forth between kicking at each other’s heads and punching in dizzying repetition.
    I’ve been practicing for months for this very moment, and now I’m utterly helpless because of the schlag. Hot fury rises through my bones. I attempt to stand again. Using all my strength, I inch my way up the wall.
    I force my limbs to move and stumble forward, slamming into the attacker, hoping it will give Bishop the advantage. I must pass out momentarily because the next thing I register is my body being held by my feet as I’m dragged on my back across the sidewalk, arms flailing. My shirt and jacket lift, exposing my bare back. Rocks, dirt, and debris dig and slice into my flesh in the worst case of road rash I could ever imagine.
    “Stop!” I scream over and over to my attacker.
    My jacket slides over my face, blocking my sight and muffling my screams. I choke on the wet fabric. Now, no one can hear me cry. Finally, the jacket and shirt rip off, sliding over my arms, releasing me. My body halts.
    Topless and in pain, I curl into a ball and cry as I’m pelted by the icy sleet.
    “Sera!” Bishop rushes to my side. His fingers tremble over my bare skin. He tears off his jacket and gently rolls me into the fabric. He lifts my mangled body from the ground, and I float away, allowing the darkness to consume me.

::8::
Schlag
     
    Muffled shouts interrupt my sleep. When I concentrate on the words, the person shouting says, “Bishop, breakfast!”
    My eyes pop open even though I’m overwhelmed with exhaustion and pain. My gaze roams the unfamiliar room and then lands on an arm wrapped tightly around my stomach from behind. Bishop snuggles