Stolen Read Free

thought.
    Horrible, but true. The spear could have impaled his stomach, vital organs. But it only got his leg.
    “We have to pull it out,” Sparrow said.
    “But the bleeding,” Chelsea argued.
    “You think I don’t know that?”
    “Lock,” Bree muttered. Her voice was so soft, so uncertain, it came out a whisper. “Lock, I am so sorry.”
    He kept his eyes on Heath, one hand clutched around his brother’s small fingers, the other brushing sweaty hair from his eyes. They looked so alike despite the difference in years, difference in fathers, even. They’d inherited everything from Chelsea. The same green eyes, as brilliant as seaweed. Same dark, shaggy hair.
    “Lock,” Bree said again, more firmly this time.
    Ness wheeled on her. “This island’s got fish. And plenty of birds and rodents and even a few rabbits. Nothing needs a trap that size.”
    So Lock had already spoken of the trap in Bree’s absence, explained the origin of the spike. There was no other explanation for why Ness would know of it.
    “It was an accident,” Bree insisted.
    “All you’ve managed to do is hunt our own people!”
    “Ness, quit it,” Lock said.
    “Heath’s speared straight through the leg on account of—”
    “It’s not her fault!” he snapped.
    Chelsea and Sparrow hovered around Heath, muttering over how they should remove the spike, control the bleeding. Sparrow’s eldest son, Cricket, appeared with bandages in hand. He was barely Heath’s age, and yet he could patch up wounds nearly as well as Sparrow.
    Ness kept a hand on Lock’s shoulder. Heath continued gasping for air.
    “What can I do?” Bree asked, feeling completely useless. Feeling horrible.
    No one answered.
    Sparrow took the spike in her grasp. Cricket stood ready with clean rags.
    “I’ll do anything,” Bree said. “Just tell me what—”
    “You can leave,” Lock said. “And you, Ness.” The pain poured off him like a tangible thing, flooding the hut. The skin around his eyes crinkled. The corners of his lips turned down.
    “But I should be here,” Bree insisted. “Heath’s like a brother to me, and—”
    Lock jumped to his feet. “Are you trying to make me furious?”
    She took a step away.
    “Don’t act like he’s your brother, Bree. Don’t for a second act like you know how I feel.”
    Retorts raged in her head. If it were any other situation she’d tell him to pull his head out of his ass, to apologize to her right that instant. That’s how they were, Lock and Bree, always honest, always keeping the other in line.
    But he didn’t mean it, those words. Bree knew he didn’t. He was distraught. And Heath . . . If Heath . . .
    “Lock . . .”
    “Go,” he snarled. “Go destroy that trap before someone else gets hurt from our stupid games.”
    Bree turned and fled. The crowd had overheard everything and they were a flurry around her. Her trap , they whispered. She’s responsible . As if Lock had never helped Bree construct it. As if she had pushed Heath into the pit with her own two hands.
    A scream ripped the afternoon. The spike had been pulled.
    “Will he make it?” Maggie asked, grabbing Bree’s wrist. “How bad is it?”
    “If you have a decent bone in your body, you’ll clear out and go home.” She shook her arm free, then turned on the rest of the villagers. “That goes for all of you! Give them space.”
    As Bree broke into a run, tearing for the thick trees, the crowd’s murmurs tailed her.
    She’s one to talk . . . her fault . . . mad as Mia.

THREE
    BREE RAN UNTIL SHE REACHED the trap, then dropped to her knees beside the snapped boughs. Heath had been barely two steps onto the covering. The rest of the trap looked untouched; grass and leaves unruffled, a good portion of the spiked belly still hidden from view.
    What had he been doing out this far, halfway to Crest? He’d made this trip only once before, at least that Bree knew of. A few months back, Lock hit a lucky break fishing and was