Torn Read Online Free PDF Page B

pummeling him, hitting him again and again in the face and the chest, really wailing on him.
    The twitchy Slit was stunned by the sudden attack, but recovering. Any second, he’d jump Cody and it’d be two-on-one.
    Whatever happened next was up to Devin. But why? How far was friendship supposed to go? If crazy Cody was stupid enough to borrow money from thugs, why should Devin risk his neck?
    â€œDevin! Do something !” Cody shouted between blows. The Slit below him tried to block the manic flurry of punches, but Cody was too fast.
    The other Slit shifted.
    The car door was less than a foot away. Devin could get in quickly, then wait and watch. Like he always did.
    â€œDevin!” Cody bellowed. He turned his head. When he did, the Slit landed a blow to the side of his face. Cody was mean and fast, but no streetfighter and not very heavy. He went sideways. In seconds, the two reversed positions, the Slit on top, ready to get medieval.
    Shaking, frightened, Devin tightened his grip and held the crowbar up, hoping he could have it both ways and scare them off without actually doing anything. He took a step, but his foot found something slick on the rain-wet road. His foot flew back and he flew forward.
    The shorter Slit raised his arm as the crowbar came down. It hit him in the center of his forearm, with all Devin’s falling weight behind it. There was a loud sound, a crack like a thick branch splitting. Devin hit the ground and ate some street. Badly scraped, he managed to stumble back to standing in time to still see the look of surprise on the Slit’s face.
    A voice in the back of Devin’s brain said, Did I hurt him?
    Numbly, he raised the crowbar again. The Slit, arm folded in a funny way, moved back. Devin turned toward the one atop Cody. The cracking sound had turned him around, too, long enough for Cody to pull back and slam him full on in the crotch.
    In pain, the Slit moved sideways a bit and snarled. The mask of calm he’d worn previouslyvanished, revealing something savage and animal.
    Moving like a caffeinated maniac, Cody rolled out and up onto the balls of his feet. The Slit, grabbing his crotch, looked around and saw his partner cradling his arm and moaning. He stumbled back to their car, pulling his friend along. Just before he vanished into the driver’s side, he said, “This isn’t over.”
    With a squeal of tires on the wet asphalt, the small car spun and zoomed off into the darkness.
    Devin watched it go, catching his breath a moment. He turned back to Cody, who was laughing, harder and harder, and saying, “That was great! That was amazing! We are Torn!”
    Devin looked at him, shocked. How could he be laughing? What could be more stupid?
    Then he started laughing himself. He was relieved. Happy, like he’d won something, like maybe, even though it was an accident, even though he hadn’t really decided anything, he was now bad enough to be in a rock and roll band.

3
    Hours later, Devin McCloud lay in his comfortable bedroom, waiting for sunrise. The house was quiet, his parents fast asleep. He was exhausted. By rights he should have been unconscious, but his brain was locked—and not on Cody and the Slits. Though the nervous energy that propelled his thoughts was probably a leftover from that encounter, his focus was on the fact that Torn was getting together in less than twelve hours to record “Face” in Devin’s garage, and sometime before then, he would have to fire Karston.
    Grateful though Cody had seemed because Devin had fought by his side, he had not given up on that point. Karston’s bass was supposed to be there; Karston was not.
    When the Slits had fled, Devin had felt exhilarated. Now he just felt tired and kind of sick. Shifting up onto his elbow on the soft mattress, he stared out his large round window at the manicured lawns and squared hedges of the gated Meadowcrest Farms housing development. As far as he