Yoon Bumi likes fairytales. Bumi is also crazy, which is why it is very, very important that the book be accounted for at all times. This, like many things, falls to Ghost. He doesn’t mind; fifteen years is long enough for it to be more a habit than conscious effort. He is leader. This is what he does.
He throws the suitcase into the trunk. Climbs into the driver’s seat and checks into the glovebox, second habit. The book is there, all is well.
Bumi is riding with him into the desert today. He crawls into the passenger seat, limbs too long for Ghost’s sleek little beast. He turns the radio on without asking and jangles along in time to the music. Every rap song that comes on, he knows the words to, and no matter how hard the beats run, they can’t outrun him.
Their oldest member is a savant who was considered an idiot at ten, and killed his first at twelve. Even in their world of lions, people are afraid of
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Dark purple bruises lay permanent under his eyes; however, it is of no concern to him, he is leader, and there is no time for sleep in this operation. Next to him Bumi is shifting in his seat already fast asleep, but the book still remains clutched tightly in his hands and held close to his chest. The lack of sleep doesn’t bother him anymore, it’s what he sees in the night that does; especially way out out here in the desert where the winding rocks seem to sway and dance. Ghost clutches the steering wheel to the point where his fists turn white and excellerates on the gas, propelling them further into the night.
Perry Lovell was born with a stolen silver spoon in his mouth. Their crime princeling is not hardscrabble like the rest of them. He likes fast cars because they’re pretty; Ghost likes them because they get him away when he needs to escape. He likes women because they are pretty. Ghost doesn’t like women, just respects the clever