Ricochet (5 page)

“No.” He grabs my hand, forcing my nails from my mouth. His
eyes land on a group of guys snorting lines of coke, passing a glass dish
between them by the window. “Should a fifteen-year-old be at this kind of
party?”

Probably not.
“They’re models.”

His brows furrow like
do
I fucking care?
“So?”

I guess that’s not an excuse, but it’s so hard to talk to
him. I feel like I’m constantly fighting with a Rock ‘em Sock ‘em robot. And I
suck at board games.

I walk towards the punch bowl where I last saw Daisy and
feel him trailing me again. He slips into the paths that I weave.

Six people surround a bong and pass it to one another, smoke
pluming around their glazed eyes. Daisy’s thankfully not in the circle, and I
peek around a few arms before seeing someone hugging an armrest to a couch.
Next to her sits Jack, the black-haired “talker” who edges closer while she
sips her drink and flashes a weak smile. I must have missed her with all the
people dancing in the center.

When she sees me, she says something to him and stands
quickly. She wobbles a little and then sets a hand on my wrist.
“Oh good.
I thought I was going to have to talk to him all
night.”

Ryke inspects her with his usual fierce look, eyes flitting
from her face to her Solo cup. “Aren’t you underage?” Technically, I am too,
but I don’t mention that, especially since I haven’t been drinking, so the
point is mute.

Daisy’s eyes narrow at him. “Are you my father?” she asks with
the quirk of her head, her casual tone subtly biting. “I don’t think you are.”

“Why ask me a question that you’re going to fucking answer?”
he snaps at her, not backing down even though she’s my sister and a teenager.
Why does he have to be so confrontational? Lo would have ignored her. I think.

“It was rhetorical. Do you know what that means?” she asks.
“It’s a question that’s said in order to make a point.
A
figure of speech.”

My eyes bug. Wow, she’s hostile. Must have something to do
with our conversation about being treated older and then younger. Why else
would she go off on him?

“I didn’t know,” he says with the tilt of
his
head. “Do you know what that is?
Sarcasm.”
He edges in her face a little.
Taller
than her by about four or five inches.

She raises her chin, holding her own. “You’re hilarious,”
she deadpans.

His eyebrow arches. “I guess you do know what sarcasm is
then.” He pries the cup out of her hand, his muscles relaxing in his broad
shoulders. “What is this shit anyway?” He sniffs it and cringes. “That’s
fucking foul.”

“Hunch punch,” she tells him. “It’s kind of strong. I’ve
only had a glass and a half.” Her eyes droop a little though, but she seems
coherent. Not yet drunk.
Maybe buzzed.
I decided not
to drink because alcohol loosens inhibitions, and mine need to be padlocked.

Suddenly, two guys start yelling in the middle of the dance
floor. Their girlfriends try to pull them back, grabbing onto their thick
muscles, but they can’t restrain them as they begin to barrel forward.

“Really?”
Daisy shakes her head at
the scene. And before I digest the abrupt fight, her boots clap against the
hardwood and she slides between bodies to reach the two furious guys.

She’s crazy. My sister is flat-out nuts. Dear God.

Tattooed Guy pushes Tan Guy.

“What the fuck is your sister doing?” Ryke asks, and when we
see Daisy physically inject herself between the two guys, Ryke curses under his
breath and dashes in her path between the bodies. I follow close behind,
grabbing onto his shirt so I don’t lose him.

Daisy throws her hands out between both guys.

“Get out of my fucking way!” Tattooed Guy shouts at her.

“Bryan. Come on, what are you going to do? Punch him?” She’s
not even a little scared of being hit in the crossfire. And then I wonder:
what if she wants to be?
This is so
messed up.

“Stay out of it, Daisy!” he shouts. “That fucker, he slept
with Heidi.” A redhead tries to touch his shoulder, but he swats her away. A
circle opens around them while people on the outskirts stare—like the two guys
are Danny Zuko and Sandy Olsen, about to perform an epic dance.

Only this one will include fists and kicks and probably
blood.

“She’s a fucking liar!” Tan Guy yells, veins pulsing in his
large neck.

I stay a safe distance away, too afraid of Tan Guy who looks
ready to beat the living shit out of Bryan for even suggesting he fucked some
other girl.

Daisy keeps her hands up between them, separating their
bodies, but her eyelids continue to sag. She wobbles a little, but she stands
upright. Is she drunk? But she barely drank anything, and this seems to be
hitting her really hard all of a sudden.
 

Ryke edges forward into the “fighting area” and places a
hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “Go.”

“They’re not punching each other here,” she tells him. “This
is stupid.”

His lips find her ear, and I hear him say, “This isn’t your
fucking fight, Daisy. Let it go.”

She weakly pushes him off, swaying too much, and then points
at Bryan. “You think you’re a man?” she snorts. “You hit him and then what? The
other guy hits you back and you’ll feel better?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bryan tells her.

Ryke shoots him the worst possible glare, one that could
seriously shift mountains. Then his eyes drop back to Daisy.
“Move.”

She stares at Bryan in challenge. “You want to hit him? Get
through me.”

“Daisy!”
I shout. Yep, she wants to
be hit.
To feel something, maybe.
I don’t know, but
she’s scaring me.

And that’s when Tan Guy charges from behind. Ryke shoves her
out of the way, and she falls on her knees while he takes a punch to the jaw. I
shimmy around the crowd, people cheering and grimacing as Bryan knees Tan Guy
and Ryke tries to fight his way out of their feud.

Daisy has already picked herself up off the floor, wiping
her hands on her green army jacket. “Lily?” she stumbles into my chest. We push
our way out towards the kitchen area, able to breathe in the open air.

“Are you crazy?” I yell at her. “You don’t provoke guys to
hit you.”

She loops a weak arm around my shoulder. “You think Mom
would have been mad if I ruined my pretty face?” She laughs lightly and it
quickly dies off. She blinks repeatedly, as though she sees stars or black
spots. “Lily?”

“What’s wrong?” I ask her in a high-pitched voice. I shake
her shoulder.

“I don’t know…something’s…not right…”

“Are you drunk?” What a stupid question to ask.

Ryke breaks through the crowd, a red welt blooming on his
cheekbone. “That was the dumbest fucking thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

She turns around very, very slowly. “Who’s stupid?
Them or me?”
She keeps blinking, and he stares at her for a
long moment, seeing the oddness in her movements.

“You okay?”

“Perfect,” she says. “Are you okay?” Her eyes slowly move to
his welt.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, still inspecting her state. “You
know, you have pretty huge balls.”

“The biggest.”
Her lips pull into a
dry smile, but it falls with her eyelids.

“Daisy?”
His worried voice drives
knives into my stomach.

Her knees give out. And he grabs underneath her arms before
she hits the floor.

“What the fuck?” I say, my heart hammering.

He lifts her up, and her head lolls back, her arms hanging
lifelessly by her side.
 

“Daisy.”
Ryke’s hard eyes
narrow,
and he taps her face lightly. “Daisy, look at me.”
Nothing.
He pinches her cheeks together and shakes her head
a little. She’s out of it.

I put two fingers to her neck and feel a weak pulse. “I
don’t understand. She had a beer and one glass of punch.” Well, one and
a half
but I doubt that half mattered in
the grand scheme of things.
Right?

Ryke rests his ear to her chest, feeling for the rise and
fall of her ribs. “She’s breathing, but it’s slow.”

Okay. I bite my nails, trying to figure what could have
happened. This isn’t drunk. I know what
drunk
looks like, and this…this is not it.

Ryke adjusts Daisy in his arms so he has a better hold on
her, and then he pulls one of her eyelids up. “Her pupils are dilated.” His jaw
hardens to stone. “Who poured her punch?”

My mouth slowly falls. “You think someone drugged her?”

“I
know
someone
fucking drugged her.”

Jack. I scan the room and land on the black-haired guy in
the kitchen. He leans against the refrigerator, pushing the magnets around with
his buddy to spell
lick my prick.

Ryke follows my gaze, clenching his teeth.
“That him?”

“Yeah.”

“Support her for me,” Ryke says, setting my sister’s limp
feet on the ground. He rests her chest against my body, and I wrap my arms
around her waist, keeping her somewhat upright so she won’t thud to the floor.

“What are you going to go do?” I ask.
Beat the shit out of him? Have a civil conversation? Throttle him for
answers?
There are so many choices.

“Stay here.”

That wasn’t much of a reply.

Before I can ask again, Ryke enters the kitchen with a dark
scowl. The first thing he does: shove a muscular arm at Jack, pinning him
against the refrigerator with his bicep cutting at his windpipe.
The colorful magnets slide off the fridge and clatter to the floor.

“What the fuck?!”
Jack curses with
an English lilt. He tries to escape Ryke’s strong hold, but Ryke presses his
weight against him, looking about ready to rip out Jack’s throat.

“What’d you put in her drink?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, glancing
at his buddy nearby. The kid tries to cut in and put a hand on Ryke’s shoulder,
but Ryke flashes him a deadly glare.

“You fucking touch me, and I’ll break his neck.”

My eyes widen, partly believing the threat. His friend
throws up his hands, backing away.

Ryke turns on Jack again. “My friend’s sister, Daisy, has
been drugged. You poured her drink. So I want you to tell me what the fuck you
put in it.”

Realization starts to process in his features. “Oh shit,
mate. She’s smashed?” He tries to look over Ryke’s shoulder to see Daisy, but
Ryke smacks the side of his face. “Jesus! Okay, okay, you don’t have to hit me.
I’ll tell you what you want to know.” He grimaces a little, guilty. “We put GHB
in the punch, but it’s only enough to get high…that’s it. I honestly didn’t
think anyone would pass out from it.”

“Yeah?”
Ryke sneers. “Everyone’s
body reacts differently to drugs. She weighs, what, one-twenty? Don’t you think
it would hit her harder than you? Use your fucking brain.”

“Okay,” he swallows. “Okay, you’re right, mate. I will next
time.
Brain power on.”

Ryke eases off him. “And warn the girls at your party what’s
in the punch, especially if you’re going to put a date rape drug in it.”

“Got it.”
He nods stiffly.

Ryke rolls his eyes, still pissed. He walks back to me and
effortlessly lifts Daisy’s limp body in his arms. He gathers her hands and sets
them on her chest so she doesn’t look like a dead person. I’m stuck in a state
of shock. The series of events tonight have electrocuted my mind. I feel dumb.
Just dumb.
Not even silly dumb.

Ryke stops outside the kitchen and yells at the crowd, “For
anyone who doesn’t fucking know, there are drugs in the punch! Have a happy
fucking
New Year!”

I slam the door on our way out, adding to the dramatic exit.
Hopefully Ryke’s statement helped someone tonight. Maybe it won’t, but there’s
not much more we can do without ruining everyone’s time and being complete buzz
kills.

We head down the elevator and out of the apartment complex.
“How far away is your car?” I ask as we walk along the sidewalk. The roads are
crammed with vehicles and cabs. Brave souls dressed in night clothes walk in
between the stopped traffic, going places but never getting there fast enough.

“Not too far. I paid to park in a deck,” he explains,
picking up his brisk stride. I try to keep up.

“How is she?”

His eyes flicker down to her and back up. “Can you do me a
favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Google GHB symptoms for me.”

Fear pricks me, and I scroll on my cell, typing quickly.
“Uhh…unconsciousness.”
Duh.
“…slow
breathing, weak heart rate…” My eyes begin to bug at the series of words:
lowered body temperature, vomiting, nausea,
seizures, coma,
death
.
Death.
“We need to get to a hospital now!” I begin to frantically type in 9-1-1. I end
up dialing 8-2-2. Dammit!

“Hey, slow down for a second. Put the phone away, and tell
me the other symptoms, Lily.”

“Um, seizure, coma, death…” I think I might vomit.
 

“Well, she’s not having a seizure. She’s not in a coma, and
she sure as hell isn’t dead. So stop freaking out.” He adjusts Daisy in his
arms. “She’s really fucking cold.”

I snap my fingers and spring on the balls of my feet. “That
was one. Lowered body temperature is a symptom.”

His eyes darken. “Anything else you’re keeping from me?”

Think.
“Uhh...vomiting and nausea.
That’s it.”

He nods. “I’ll drive her to the hospital. She’ll be fine.
Just, don’t have a panic attack in the street. Think you can do that?”