Henry absolutely did not want to stay with them. He disliked Peale even more than he disliked Jax. But I felt somehow drawn in, and as he'd acquiesced to everything I'd asked of him so far, he easily gave in this time. I knew it was risky, hanging with these people, but they were exactly the sort the Circuit would be interested in recruiting; I was certain of that. In fact, maybe they were scabs. Jax had basically recruited me and Henry. Maybe he was then also working for the Circuit, and this was some sort of first test or step to make sure we really were homeless, connection-less. That we really were desperate enough to do anything for ourselves. Yes, Jax seemed like the recruiting type, but Peale, somehow, did not. Of all the people there, he rose far above. He had a definite sort of power over them all. I even felt it myself; he was aggressive, rude even, yelled at people but then turned around and apologized, convinced them that he meant only the best for them. Everything about him radiated abuser, and I was (surprising even to myself) more intrigued by his authority than afraid of or disgusted by it.

I didn't really talk to Peale. I stayed out of his way, and at first, he stayed away from me. I just sort of existed with Henry. We'd leave during the day to do our own thing. We'd go far away and get ourselves decent food, or we'd go to the one trucker gas station we found off the freeway that had full bathrooms in it and take showers. Each day, we checked the car, moved it somewhere else just to keep anyone from thinking it was abandoned. At night, we'd head back. On a few occasions, Jax asked us to pick something up—a blanket, some food or water, a pair of shoes. I figured these were little test runs, probably assigned us from Peale, to see how we'd do, whether we could follow directions. They were easy enough tasks, not least of all because we had money and never actually had to steal anything.

Henry tried once or twice to convince me that we'd be better off on our own, but I didn't listen to him, and he gave up after a few fruitless attempts. As long as we remained on the periphery of the group and never really got involved, we could keep up our charade while also listening, looking for signs of the Circuit.

Paying attention did bring about some interesting tidbits of information, but none of them were relevant to the Circuit or me and Henry, exactly. We'd stand around the fire or huddle in or near a tent, pretend to be asleep or distracted while really listening in on all the conversations. I heard people talking about what they'd stolen, what they'd brought in, so to speak, and I'd heard Peale tell a few people what they needed to do for a day. One person, he told to get lost, though his wording wasn't so gentle. He essentially kicked someone out of the group. Someone else he told to bring in at least one hundred in cash or not come back. But most noticeable, he would often tell a girl to sleep with him in a tent on a given night. No one ever told him no. No one ever refused, and the others pretended not to notice it. Maybe they were all fine with it, but I got the sense that it was about control more than any sort of free love. Peale seemed to get what he wanted when he wanted it, and the longer we hung around them, the more dangerous I realized he actually might be. The Circuit wouldn't have recruited him—he was too happy living the way he was.

For two or three weeks, Henry and I managed to keep to ourselves and stay off of Peale's radar. There were a few occasions when I thought I caught him looking at us, or at me specifically, especially when it was dark and people gathered around the burning barrels, but I never looked back, so I couldn't be sure if I was only seeing things.

When Henry confirmed that Peale had had eyes on me one night about three weeks in, I realized it was only a matter of time until he tried to say something to me. We were playing with fire, but I was sure I wouldn't get burnt. I'd dealt with worse than him, and I had the means to defend myself.

But a night came when Peale did, indeed, approach me, tell me he wanted to talk to me alone. Henry was against letting me go, but with a severe look from me, he relented, and I followed Peale off to a secluded area up under the overpass. It was dark, and warning signals were going off in my brain, but I silenced them.

"He needs to go," Peale said first thing, turning to face me after leading me to this spot.

It wasn't what I'd been expecting him to say. "Henry?"

"I don't like him."

"He doesn't like you, either. But Henry and I are a package deal."

Peale stepped closer to me, and I stepped back from him. Behind me was a concrete wall, and my back would soon be to it. "You two together?"

"Yeah." I lied without hesitation.

"Not here. No one's together, here. Everyone belongs to everyone." Another step toward me, another step back.

"Seems more like you think everyone belongs to you."

He placed a hand against the wall, above my head, boxing me in. I instinctively put my own hand in my pocket, where my gun was.

"And what if they do?"

"I don't."

He seemed much taller with his arm over me, much more intimidating, but I wasn't afraid of him. If he wanted me to get food or clothes or toothpaste or other random things, I would. But I wasn't going to let him use me the way I'd seen him do to the others.

"What if I make you?"

"I'd like to see you try."

Peale didn't say anything immediately. He looked me up and down; it made me uncomfortable, the way he did it, chewing over my challenge, wondering what to make of me, I guessed. "Punky's got walls," he muttered at length, almost admiringly, and I flushed with warmth. "But I'm going to break them. Cause this is my tribe, and you want to stay, you have to play. That's how it is."

I wondered if he'd never met resistance. That was hard to believe, but in the time I'd been there, I'd never seen someone resist him, so I didn't know what he'd do to them if they did. He was peering keenly into my eyes, and I made sure not to blink. I said nothing at first, not knowing what exactly to do, but then it occurred to me that he was flirting--that was the play he was talking about. And I had a better chance of sticking around if I at least pretended to play the game. I wasn't cut out for flirting--but I doubted that would matter to him.

"Not sure I want to stay, yet. Guess I need a reason."

Peale leaned in; my instinct was to get away, but I couldn't with the wall behind me. "You don't know what's good for you," he said, but he said it with that miscreant grin. "I might like that." The last thing I wanted was for him to get any closer, but I was at a loss, and I was too trapped to move my arm enough to get out my gun.

But then, all of a sudden, he pulled away and headed back toward the others. I stood there, angry at myself. If he'd wanted to do something in that moment, he would've had the upper hand. I'd been literally up against a wall. I knew better. My conflicting images of myself fought for precedence in my mind. That helpless person who'd awakened at Oliphant--I didn't want to be her, ever again. Letting people walk all over her, unable to stand up for herself. I could do things, now. I'd killed a man; I'd burnt things to the ground; I'd done what I needed to do, and I intended to keep doing it. Yes, she was who I was, who I needed to be. I wasn't going to let that piece of trash near me again, not without being prepared. And that was the worst of it--I'd thought I'd been prepared, but when actually face-to-face with him, I'd faltered. It was his affect; there was something about him. I wasn't attracted to him, per se . . . he was creepy. It was his confidence, or maybe his control--that was alluring.

Ugh. I didn't want to think about the position I'd just put myself in. I was weaker than I thought. At least I knew what I needed to work on. I steeled myself, stepped out from around the concrete wall . . . and ran right into Henry.

"Nadia!" He was as startled as I was.

"Henry, you scared me to death!" I smoothed my hair as if it'd stood on end. We'd been practically in each others' arms. "What are you doing?"

"I saw him come back. I . . . was worried."

I was breathing a little louder than perhaps was necessary. Calming myself, I replied, "I'm fine. He's the worst, though."

"Did he want . . .?"

"What he's wanted from every girl? Probably. But he backed off, for now."

Henry looked inquisitive. "How'd you do that?"

I felt embarrassed. I wasn't going to tell him how I'd been talking to Peale. "I . . . told him we were together."

"And . . . that worked?"

If it had been daylight, I'm sure he would've made out my discomfort as I shoved past. "Like I said--for now." I started walking back toward the people and the tents and the conversations. "Listen, Henry . . ." I stopped and faced him. Moonlight and firelight played equally across his face, his aquiline nose, his serious mouth, his translucent eyes. Something--the same thing that came every time I really looked at him--bloomed like a silent white rose inside me, only the darkness to watch it. But the vacancy was still there, that expression of disconnect. "Don't let me be alone with him again, ok?"

He watched me, but his countenance didn't change. What was he thinking, if anything? At last, he said as monotonous as could be, "If you say so. I did warn you."

"Yes," I agreed, disappointed. "You did."

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, and we meandered back toward the others. I tried to converse a little, tried to ignore the presence of Peale, who at least kept a respectable distance from me and didn't stare or anything. No one said anything about where we'd been or what we'd discussed, but I thought I felt eyes on me.

At some point, someone got out a bottle of something, and people began to drink. I was adamantly against any sort of alcohol, because I was terrified at the thought of losing control of myself. And Henry didn't drink, either, probably for the same reason. So the two of us kind of wandered off toward the concrete slope beneath the overpass and sat next to one another. We'd been sleeping outside, lately. As the weather was warming, and as it became apparent after the first night that multiple people crowded the tents and sometimes got a little too personal with one another, we'd been more comfortable outside than in. After my interaction with Peale, I figured it was better to be able to run if necessary, as well. In any case, the two of us sat side by side, close but not touching. We never touched.

I was watching everyone, half dozing, when July approached us. She stumbled a little on the way, then came right up and sat beside me. I could tell she was getting drunk, but she was grinning ear to ear, looking for all the world like the month she was nicknamed for.

"Why aren't you with us, Punky?" she mock-pouted.

"My name is Nadia. You can call me Nadia."

"Oh no!" she lifted out her cup, and it sloshed a little. "I can't break the rules! Peale named you that. You have to be Punksy."

"Punky."

"Yeah. Punky. He's always right."

Henry bunched up his coat and placed it behind him, then lay down on it. I was irritated. Why was he leaving me to talk to her?

"Listen. Nothing personal," I began, "but why do you all listen to him?"

"Nadia . . . Punky!" She grinned, then became serious, as much as her intoxication would allow her to be. "Peale is . . . amazing. The most wonderful and delicious person you ever met." She swung her head back and forth as if imagining her words alive.

"I find that difficult to believe."

"No, it's true! He saved me. He saved us all. Do you know what it's like out there? The shelters don't care. The streets are so lonely, so sad, and dangerous."

Yes, I wanted to tell her. I did know. "He seems pretty dangerous." When I said it, she laughed in a stupid way. I frowned. "July, does he take advantage of you? Does he force you?"

"Ooooohhhh, noooo. He loves me. He loves me soooo much."

I glanced at Henry--was he hearing this?--but he appeared to be sleeping. "Does he say that to everyone?"

"Yes obviously! He loves us all!"

This was pointless. I wasn't going to get anything out of her. Between her delusion and her drunkenness, she seemed perfectly happy. Who was I to say she was wrong about him?

But then she caught herself, grew sad and distant. "Except Landry. Except . . . noooo. We don't talk about her."

I'd caught it. "Landry? Who is she? What about her."

"No. We don't talk about her. No, no, no. That's naughty, Punky."

I grabbed her shoulders. "July, tell me about Landry."

"Nope. No."

"Adrianne."

She looked at me, seeming to sober a little at the sound of her real name. "She got . . . he said it wasn't his . . ."

I knew what she meant. She didn't have to say it. "What happened?"

"He told her to leave." That distant look came over her again. "But she didn't want to. They . . . had a fight." She said the word fight so quietly that I almost didn't hear it. Looking about to cry, she added in a tiny voice, "I saw her in the river . . ." She shook her head. "But no. Jax said it wasn't. He wants us to go with Halo--she has another place for us." July laughed weirdly, then put a finger to her lips. "Shhh! I'm not supposed to say. Jax said not to. Don't tell him, Punky, ok? Don't tell him. Don't tell Peale. He might put me in the river, too. Floating in the river! Would I float?" She broke down into some mix of mumbling and giggling. I really didn't know what to say to her, but whatever I might've said, I doubted she'd remember it anyway.

"Henry!"

He opened his eyes.

"Did you hear her? Someone has another place for them. Did you hear it? Do you think she could be a scab?"

July plopped backward, and when I looked over at her, she appeared to be passed out. I let her be. She was so pathetic. I actually felt kind of disgusted by her. How could she--how could any of them--let that piece of trash abuse them? They were weak, all of them. I would kill him if he tried anything with me. Even if I didn't have a weapon, I'd tear his face off. The mental image, the surety of my hypothetical actions, satisfied me in that moment, even when Henry didn't respond to my wonderings about whether we'd found a scab.