Slowly turning, I come face-to-face with two sandy-haired boys crouched right in front of me. Those boys, I realize, are Camo Man Numbers 2 and 3.

Shit.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" Camo Man Number 2 wonders with a tilt of his thick chin, his voice melodic as though he's speaking to a small child.

Taking a step back, I don't say a word, and opt to scoot closer to the nearest point of escape. That point of escape, however, turns out to be a gap in the railings wrapped around the decaying porch and, on the other side of that railing, is a fifty-foot drop into a roaring body of moving water.

The young men exchange disgusting smirks, and move towards me, backing me into the creaky wall of the old abandoned cabin. They've got me cornered.

"You're pretty," Camo Man 2 hums with a lopsided smile, leaning closer so that I can see my own fearful reflection in his dark blue eyes. "I'm Keith and this," he nods in the direction of his look-alike, "is Andy."

I feel the sharp pain of splintered wood pressed firmly into my back and gasp, causing Andy to laugh a wily laugh that would have a hyena cringing.

I need to get out of here now.

Either I take a dive off of the side of the house and hope I don't die from falling into the water, or I die by the hands of these meatheads.

"You don't have anywhere to go." Andy chuckles and looks over at Keith. "Looks like you're coming with us."

Before I can think of a way to get away from them, Keith grabs my shoulders and yanks me into his chest. He brings his face close enough to mine to where I can smell the tobacco he's chewing.

"Get away from me!" I growl, struggling against his hold, trying my hardest to hurt him in any way I can.

"So she can talk!" Keith barks another laugh. "I suggest you listen and don't try to wriggle your way out."

Or what? I want to ask. But I don't—I have no desire to learn the answer to that question even if the little voice in the back of my head wants to sass them into the next life. So instead, I yank off his hold again and land a kick against his shin. "Let go of me!"

Spitting a curse, Camo boy whirls me around and pushes me through the open doorway, and my resistance causes me to stumble and almost fall on my face. Loud chatter from inside the rotten cabin shoots acid into the top of my throat. I count five distinct voices. All of them deep and gravelly and distinctly male. Each one is more terrifying than the previous. "We've got ourselves a secret agent spy, Derek!" Keith announces.

Derek.

I know for a fact that I'm going to be sick.

When Derek's obsidian eyes meet mine, I feel like I might die, and it takes my stubborn will to keep my legs from going out. It's hard, though. The glare he gives me is a physical blow to my chest, causing me to take a step back, and the instinct of flight takes over, worsening the panicked tremble that wracks my body.

But I'm a caged bird.

There's nowhere to go.

"I'm not surprised to see you here," Derek starts in a deadly calm voice. I've watched too many action movies to know that either he's going to 1) kill me or 2) kill me. "You just don't know when to stop, do you?"

I'm just about to protest that it's not like I went out of my way to get into this much trouble, but the voice in my head argues, yes you did, you idiot. You didn't have to follow Cross here, and I clamp my mouth shut.

The Universe doesn't believe in giving me a break and I'm not exactly helping the cause either.

If I could do it all over again, I would have left that damn flash drive on the floor of Del-Mart . I would have listened to my gut and got McDonald's from my mom and went to Gabby's house for dinner. I wouldn't have followed Hayden into the woods.

I don't say anything to Derek—I don't think I can with how tight fear holds my throat—and instead, my eyes find Hayden. He looks like he might get up and murder me if Derek doesn't do it first. The dreadful thought leads to another dreadful thought and then another. What if Derek does murder me? What if he commands Hayden to do it for him? What if I'm stuck as a ghost in this cabin for the rest of eternity?

I lick my lips and push my gaze to a piece of wood on the floor, unable to look at him or Derek.

Maybe he'll have mercy on me and let me go free.

It's a stretch, but I've survived this long from every speck of hope I can catch.

Rough hands grab my shoulders and I yelp when Derek whirls me around and grabs my face. "Who are you?" he screams. "How did you get here? Where's your wire?"

Wire?

Who is this kid?

"I don't have one!" I reason. I'm shocked that my voice is so steady when my insides are on fire. "I'm not spying on you! I got lost—!"

Derek practically throws me into the arms of Camo Man 1—whose name is Rick, according to the name tag stitched on his hat—like I weigh no more than two pounds. He stomps across the room to where Hayden is now tied to a creaky wooden chair and snorts a maniacal laugh, shoving Hayden so that he's a centimeters away from tipping over.

"Ember, huh?" Derek chuckles, bringing his knife up to Hayden's throat. "Wow. So this is the girl who got you thrown into Westwood?" He turns to look at me, eyes lazily strolling up and down my body. "Interesting."

My eyes narrow in a glare when Derek smirks at me. He doesn't seem to find it as intimidating as I'd hoped and lifts his knife so that the sparse sunlight can reflect tiny white stars off of its shiny surface. Hayden snorts from across the room and my eyes find him again.

"She was," he begins in an icy hiss. "She is."

Hayden looks away and says more, but I can't make out the words over the sudden anger that surges into my veins. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to guess as to what he had to say about me.

"So, Ember, what are you doing here?" Derek questions. "Spying on us?"

"I told you," I murmur, quietly. "I was lost..."

The humor in Derek's eyes vanishes and he squares his shoulders, towering over me. "I have this little...talent...Ember. I can tell when people are lying, and," he pauses, "my sense is telling me that you're not being truthful with me."

"Then I think your sense needs a tune up," Hayden growls from behind him. All eyes turn to Hayden—including my surprised stare—but his hard eyes remain on Derek. "We were in the woods and I ditched her. She probably saw me and followed me here."

My mouth drops open slightly. Hold on just one second. Hayden Cross, the boy who vowed to make my life a living hell, is vouching for me?

I should be pleasantly surprised, but I'm not. Why? Because if Hayden Cross—if my arch nemesis—is trying to protect me from Derek and his crew, that means we're in an even bigger pile of dog shit that I had originally estimated.

Welcome to real world baddies, ladies and gentlemen. You're fucked.

Just as Derek turns his back to Hayden, my nemesis stares into my eyes with the words 'go along' forming slightly on his lips.

"It's true!" I blurt.

"Why?" Keith interrupts. "I thought you hated her, Hayden. Or is she your girlfriend now that she's all pretty and stuff? Heh, heh, that's pathetic. Can she be my girlfriend too? Just for tonight?"

"No." I snap, trying to put as much hate in my words as possible. It isn't very hard. "Hayden and I have detention together and when we were in the woods, he ditched me. I followed him to give him a piece of my mind. There are coyotes, you know. I can't fend off coyotes!"

"At least you'd fill them up in time for me to run!" Hayden snaps at me.

I glower at him and Derek shakes his head.

"I honestly don't give a fuck about stupid coyotes and getting lost." Stalking over to the kitchen table, Derek leans down until he is at eye level with Hayden. Hayden struggles in his bindings, ready to tear Derek apart. "You're way over your head if you think you can back out now, Cross. We helped you. You owe us. And if I find out that you had something to do with what has been happening, well, I don't want to have to resort to what I have in mind. But I will if you don't prove your worth soon."

Hayden doesn't say a word and Derek's handsome face twists in fury as he stomps toward the door, motioning for his buddies to follow.

"This is a nice cabin you found here, Cross. I just hope it doesn't burn down anytime soon."

The sound of engines roaring to life burst through the cracked windows. Derek's crew chuckle at what their boss has to say and I suddenly become aware of the gaseous smell curling in from every direction of the room. Derek grins a madman's grin and slams the door behind him. Someone outside calls for a lighter and my stomach sinks.

"They're going to burn us alive!" I scream, grabbing the ends of my hair and panicking. "They're going to kill us!"

"They won't if you get over here and untie me, Ember!" Hayden roars.

I dumbly stare at my unbound hands. "Oh! Right!"

"Why did you follow me?" Hayden demands in outrage when I loop around the table and start frantically pulling at the tight knots of his restraints.

"What am I doing here? What are you—ugh! They're too tight!" I shout at him. Thick smoke pours into the kitchen and above us, something snaps. The whole cabin groans in warning. We don't have much time.

"You shouldn't have followed me here! Do you know what could have happened to either of us?"

"Oh, I don't know, Hayden. We could be burned alive?" I wonder, giving the rope another hard tug, causing Hayden to wheeze when the rope around his torso tightens. Every inhale I take becomes harder and more painful as the smoke clouds the room. I shake the dizziness out of my head, cheering when one of the knots comes undone. It's easy from there and in less than thirty seconds, half of the rope is gone. "I'm almost done."

"Hurry," Hayden coughs.

"Done!"

When Hayden stands up, his expression contorts into a grimace of pain, and to my horror, his shirt is slashed from the bottom to expose long red cuts across his abdomen. Blood trickles down from the crimson wounds, soaking into the waistband of his jeans and boxers while some blood is caked on his hip. He stumbles forward and catches himself on the corner of the table.

"Oh my God! He cut you! Oh my God! He cut you!" The smoke and heat rattle my insides and I begin to hyperventilate. "You need to get to a doctor! We need to call the police and report that guy! You need to—"

"Nah, nothing a little Neosporin won't fix," Hayden reassures me through clenched teeth. He shoves me toward the door. "But right now we have other things to worry about."

I gape at him, ready to protest, when a splintering crack echoes through the room, followed by a bang that tells me either a bear has awoken to a bed that is too soft, or the roof is caving in.

"Go! Let's go!" Without another second of hesitation, I loop my arm around Hayden and we rush to the door. It suspiciously opens right to the touch and we burst into the muggy, clean air, practically falling down the steps of the porch. Derek and the others are nowhere in sight and behind us the cabin succumbs to long red flames. Whirling around, Hayden and I stare at the roof groan under the fire's ruthlessness, and by the time we make it to the safety of the trees, the entire building crashes to the ground.

"I can't believe that happened," I murmur to myself. This doesn't feel real. That didn't just happen. "We almost died. We were almost burned alive. There are crazy people in camo jackets running around. Derek—the market—the party—"

"You need to calm down," Hayden instructs me, untangling my arm from his body. I didn't even realize I was still holding onto him.

"And they stabbed you!" I screech. "You're bleeding! We need to get you to the Emergency Room! We need to call the police! The news! CNN! Anderson Cooper would know what to do! We need to—"

"Alright," Hayden grabs my shoulders and holds me in place. "It's no big deal. We don't need to call CNN. I just need something to put pressure on this. A towel. Then I can patch it up in the clinic. Besides," he leans against a tree and studies the sliced skin. "It's not even that bad. I won't need to go to the Emergency Room. Calm down."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

He sounds like he's dealt with something like this before and my eyes instantly focus on the scar under his chin.

Hayden never seemed like the type of bad boy to get involved with bad people. He never seemed like the one to be breaking the law left and right, dealing with drugs, and possible pyromaniacs. I always thought of him as the schoolyard bully with nothing better to do in life. But this?

"Well?" Hayden asks with raised eyebrows. I snap out of my thoughts and helplessly look at the forest around us for anything that could help with the bleeding. There's only leaves and dirt. Would tree bark work?

"You have your jacket. Your t-shirt." But they're ruined by blood and—and—kerosene? "You smell like gas!" I choke. "Take it off! Take off your shirt!"

"If you wanted me to take off my clothes—"

"Shut up, Hayden! You have kerosene covered clothes on your open wounds!" I grab at the hem of his shirt. "Take it off! Now!"

Hayden Cross opens his mouth to protest but I hold up a hand. "Don't!"

Surprisingly, Hayden does as I say and the sight of gashed flesh and pink muscle has been two seconds away from fainting. He throws the shirt and red hoodie into a thicket.

"I'm not taking my pants off," he warns me.

"Good. Don't need to see that."

There's so much blood caked all over his skin. I don't even know how he's standing.

"It's not all my blood," Hayden answers, gauging the disbelief in my face. Like that's supposed to make me feel better!

I gnaw on my bottom lip. "We still need to put pressure on the wounds. I—I can't believe I'm saying this—but turn around."

Pale, Hayden raises his eyebrows. "Why do you want me to turn around, Ember?" I don't like the way he says it: flirty, amused.

I pull my hoodie over my head. "Don't get any ideas, Cross. You're not going to bleed out here with me." Another incident flashes to mind: the storage room and being so cold, Hayden giving me the flag to stay warm. "I owe you and after this, we're even."

And maybe he'll leave me alone for the rest of my life.

And maybe I need to wake up from this horrible dream or Ashton Kutcher needs to jump out from behind the sofa and tell me I've been Punk'd.

"You know, I never pictured you as the lacey black bra type."

"I said don't look at me pervert!" I scream at Hayden, yanking my t-shirt from where it stuck to my hoodie and folded up. I wrinkle my nose and hurl the blue fabric at his face and smile to see it wrap perfectly around his head.

"Come on," he smiles, "it's not like I haven't seen that before." He's referring to the locker room incident. My cheeks are warm.

I throw my hands up. "I'm not even going to comment on that. God, you're so annoying."

Hayden's lips curl into a smile and he bows his head. "Only for you."

I roll my eyes. "It's getting dark. We better get going."

Hayden nods and presses the sweatshirt to his stomach. I slowly move around and pull his arm over my shoulder. This time, however, Hayden jumps back as though I'm made of fire.

"I can walk myself," he protests with a growl.

I step away without argument and Hayden limps silently in the direction of the school. I can hear the way he sucks in his breath with every step. I can see the way his steps are getting slower by the foot and the way he quickly glances over at me when he thinks I'm not watching him struggle.

"Are you sure?" I ask after several long minutes of either waiting for him to catch up or hobble over a fallen tree. He ignores me. "You know what? I'm not even asking."

Falling back, I grab his arm and throw over my shoulders. Hayden doesn't seem to protest anymore, eyes drooping from exhaustion. He is careful not to put all of his weight on me and I push against his force to keep balance. We walk in silence.

"So, Cross. Why exactly are you meeting with baddies in an old, abandoned cabin?"

Hayden exhales from his nose and gives me the 'do you seriously think I'm going to tell you?' look. The low caw of a black crow echoes in the distance over the graying forest. I shiver.

"Westwood." Hayden answers almost hesitantly, though it sounds more like he's speaking to himself. "I met them there."

"And?" I push, adjusting his arm on my shoulder. He wraps his arm tighter around me. Heat travels through every nerve of my body.

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have met them."

I scowl in disbelief. "Hey! Wait a second! It wasn't entirely my fault, you know. You're the one who pulled the trigger." Deeply buried memories claw their way to the surface of my mind and for a moment, all I can see are flashes of red and blue light. My abdomen burns from a splintered memory of blood and screams.

"It happened regardless," he whispers.

And we'll suffer for it for the rest of our lives.

When we approach Valleyfield High, I'm glad to see that the back entrance of the school isn't locked like the others. We wobble up the steps and down a dim hallway, careful to avoid any janitors noisily wheeling by. I dig my fingers into Hayden's muscular shoulders as best as I can to hold him into place when we approach the Nurse's Office. And when I push the door, it opens without trouble, almost like it knew we needed what was inside.

Hayden wobbles to a long examination table cranked low to the ground and plops down.

"Alright." I mutter urgently to myself, pulling random cabinets open. "Bandages, disinfectant—oh! Here it is!"

Hayden eyes the giant bottle of rubbing alcohol I place on the tray next to him. "You're not going to....?" He covers his face with his hands and lets out a heavy groan.

"What?" I coo. "Bad boy afraid of a little pain?"

Hayden frowns. "Absolutely not."

"Right. Well, the bottle is empty so I guess we're just going to have to use soap and water." I press my fingers to his chest and lay him on his back, refusing to let my eyes rest on one part of his exposed torso for more than a second. Hayden looks up at me, eyes intense and lifts the sweatshirt from his cuts. The bleeding has stopped. "I'm going to fix this up as best as I can." It's not that hard to dress a wound. Or at least, it didn't look so hard on House and Grey's Anatomy. I grab an empty container from the shelf beside me and begin to mix the solution. Hayden watches me dip a clean cloth into the water.

"Just don't make it worse than it—hey! That hurt!"

Slowly pressing the cloth over his cuts, I successfully make my bad-boy-arch-enemy hiss like a snake. Something pinches my hip and I look down to see the fingers of Hayden's free hand curl tight against my exposed skin. He squeezes his eyes shut. I can't help but feel some sympathy for him.

"Easy, there, bad boy."

The bad thing about Nurse's Office is that instead of fancy gauze and long bandages, I have to dress Hayden's wounds with the only bandages I can find.

"Are those...?" Hayden croaks with one eye open.

"Yep!" I confirm with a smile, holding the box up for him to see. "Hello Kitty Band-Aids. It's your lucky day, Cross!"

He bangs his head back against the table repeatedly. "You've got to be kidding me."

By the time I'm done, Hayden's abs are decorated with four boxes of little pink strips depicting Hello Kitty with multiple things: purses, lipstick, headphones, high heels, the Eiffel Tower.

Looks like I found a silver lining to this terrible day.

"You pull them off, Cross." I whip out my phone. "Smile pretty for the Internet, Hayden!"

Hayden is mid-curse when I snap the picture of him lying on the table covered in the girliest things on the planet.

Hayden sits up lightning fast and grabs for my phone. "You didn't!"

My smile only grows larger. "Maybe I did? Maybe I didn't..."

"You bitch."

"This is war, Hayden." I remind him. "Time to have a giant spoonful of your own medicine."

Whirling around, I turn to hit send. But before I can, strong arms capture my waist and I'm swung back off of my feet. Lifting my arms up, I slide easily out of Hayden's grasp and crawl across the floor. Hayden grunts in pain but follows me, grabbing for my phone, and wraps his fingers around my ankle, yanking me across the floor and right to him.

"Take them down," he orders, his voice strained between his labored breathing.

"What?" I whisper. "Don't like the way it feels to be humiliated on such a massive scale?" Hayden plucks the phone from my fingers and deletes the picture from my camera roll. "You can't delete things once they're on the Internet, Hayden."

"Wow. All four people are totally going to laugh, Emmy.

"Four?" I laugh. "Try fourteen thousand followers on Tumblr, Hayden."

"What?"

"Are you ready to be the next big meme, Cross?"

* * *