CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE TOBIASMY WRISTS STING from the plastic tie the guard squeezed around them. I probe my jaw with just my fingertips, testing the skin for blood.
“All right?” Reggie says.
I nod. I have dealt with worse injuries than this—I have been hit harder than I was by the soldier who slammed the butt of his g*n into my jaw while he was arresting me. His eyes were wild with anger when he did it.
Mary and Rafi sit a few feet away, Rafi clutching a handful of gauze to his bleeding arm. A guard stands between us and them, keeping us separate. As I look at them, Rafi meets my eyes and nods. As if to say, Well done.
If I did well, why do I feel sick to my stomach?
“Listen,” Reggie says, shifting so he’s closer to me. “Nita and the fringe people are taking the fall. It’ll be all rig
