Ruthless Read Online Free PDF Page A

inside of my head, until I can’t stop the words from spilling out of me.
    â€œWhy me?” I ask. “Why’d you start following me?”
    â€œWhenever I spot a redhead, I take a good, long look.”
    It’s so ridiculous, I find myself saying, “Are you kidding me?”
    For several seconds I do nothing but blink. That I have redhair, of all things, would be what led me to this place feels so outrageously unfair, my sense of injustice momentarily outweighs the shock and horror of my situation.
    â€œYou were on thirty-two.”
    I return to counting cards. When I finish, there are fifty-two cards stacked in front of me. “Fifty-two,” I say.
    â€œI knew there were fifty-two. This was an exercise in obedience. I’m glad to see you’re learning to comply.”
    I can’t stop myself from pointing out the obvious. “You’re pointing a gun at me.”
    He smiles again. “This is the sort of redheaded feistiness I expected.”
    â€œMaybe I’m feisty, but not all redheads are feisty.”
    â€œSo far, all of you have been feisty.”
    How many have there been?
    My breathing quickens. I fight to control it. No good showing weakness. Have to be strong, but these references to other victims are unnerving. I look around the cabin, searching for evidence of the other girls brought here before me.
    â€œKeep your eyes on the cards.”
    I do as I’m told.
    â€œNow deal ’em out.”
    â€œHow many?”
    â€œSeven for each of us.”
    As I deal out cards, he picks up my phone.
    â€œLet’s see if you have any new text messages,” Wolfman says. “Here’s one from Mom: ‘Glad to hear you got to Becca’s okay.Drive carefully, and tell her dad we said hello.’” He navigates to the next text. “This one is from Becca: ‘So sorry you’re sick. It’ll be hard to have fun without you, but we’ll try!’”
    I sit at the table, frozen. No one knows I’m gone. No one is searching for me. No one has any idea I’m missing. I’m alone. I’m all alone in this.

Forty-Three Years Ago
    IT ’ S MAY IN THE DEEP south, and the air inside the sixth - grade classroom is stifling. The girls wear thin cotton dresses; the boys are in short sleeves. In the very back a tall, husky, black-haired boy wears an old green jacket that doesn’t fit right. The jacket looks a bit like Little Joe Cartwright’s, but nobody watches Bonanza anymore. Except the boy. He watches Bonanza.
    The jacket is zipped up tight, compressing his belly into a too-small space. Heat radiates from his cheeks; he can feel them throb in time with his pulse. Dark green mushroom clouds of sweat have formed under his armpits and on his back. The stains are worrisome. They might call attention to him, and the boy’s singular goal is to get through this day unnoticed.
    With every sense on high alert for predators, he has nothing to spare for such trivialities as the math lesson going on at the front of the classroom.
    â€œJerry?”
    A handful of students pivot to hear his response, but to him it feels like the entire world has turned.
    â€œMa’am, I didn’t have my hand up.”
    â€œI realize that. Please order these fractions from least to greatest.”
    â€œMa’am, I really didn’t have my hand up.”
    The teacher walks toward him. More heads turn. Perversely, she wears a long tweed skirt, but not a bead of sweat. Her pale hair, the same color as her face, is perfectly teased into a hair-sprayed helmet. Now five feet from the boy, she scrunches her drawn-on eyebrows in concern.
    â€œJerry, what on earth is going on? You look sick.”
    â€œYes, ma’am, I think I am. Can I go to the restroom?”
    â€œYou may.”
    Jerry jumps up. Growth spurts have hit him hard, and he stumbles over the legs of his desk. Some of the jackals titter. It’s a headlong tumble