Faster (Stark Ink, #3) (18 page)

She gripped the Honda’s key in her hand one last time, letting the teeth bite into her palm.

The pain didn’t bother her.

“Here,” she said finally, holding them out. “Take it.”

Clint froze.

“Do what you want with it,” she told him. She didn’t have to work very hard at sounding upset about it. “Sell it. Blow it up. Strip it for parts. Whatever. I want out.”

Clint’s hand flexed on the strap of the backpack. He looked from the key, to Ava, and back again.

Disappointment, anger, and relief raged inside her. A heady mix of simultaneously winning and failing, like beating your fastest time but getting beat over the finish line.

A long, silent moment hung between them.

“There
is
no out.”

The voice came from behind them. Ava whirled— startled— unaware that anyone had come in. In the doorway stood the large man she knew only as Haze. His eyes were dark, his features drawn tight. She was struck by the fact that he didn’t looked pissed off, or particularly menacing (other than his size). He looked... tired.

“Yeah, I was just telling her,” Clint replied, pushing past Ava to meet the man halfway. He shoved the pack at her as he passed, snorting loudly and throwing her a dirty look. “Dumb bitch.”

He turned back to Haze, but the older man didn’t seem to give much of a shit about Clint— or his opinions. Haze jerked his head toward the door behind him. “There’re boxes out in the truck,” he told them. “Bring ‘em in, stack ‘em somewhere out of the way.”

Clint looked irritated at being asked to do grunt work, but he shuffled outside anyway. Ava also took a step forward but as she passed Haze, the man’s large hand fell to her shoulder. She held her breath as she turned to look up at him.

They were alone now, in an empty warehouse, in a semi-deserted part of town, even. No one would help her. No one at all.

When her eyes met his, though, she was surprised to see such a familiar expression. Haze looked for all the world the way Adam sometimes did when Pop was having an episode, or the bills for his medical care came in the mail. This was the face of a man with a lot on his mind and none of it seemed to be ‘getting his rocks off with a teenage girl here on a concrete floor’.

“Hook’s outside,” he said quietly. “Don’t let him catch you mouthing off again.”

Ava’s eyes flitted to the door. She hoped that psycho didn’t come in here. She had no interest in ever laying eyes on him again.

“I won’t tell him,” Haze assured her.

Ava wasn’t certain what to say but she was grateful, nonetheless. Now with no options left other than to run when she’d saved enough money, she’d rather not be on Hook’s radar from now until then.

Haze waited for her to put the pack on. As she turned away from him, sliding her arms through the straps, he said again, “There’s no out.” In a softer voice he added, “I’m not even sure RCPD would help you, anyway. Keep your head down,” he advised, “and ride out the storm.”

Ava took a steadying breath and asked, “For how long, though?”

No answer.

She turned back only to find herself alone.

Outside, Clint and the others were unloading boxes from a small panel truck. God only knew what was in them. Ava sure as shit didn’t want to know. She adjusted the pack as she scurried past the men, toward her bike. One reached out and grabbed her.

Ava stifled a yelp.

“Candy,” Haze warned from a few feet away.

Ava didn’t know if he meant her. “I gotta go,” she told the guy holding her. He was short, just barely as tall as she was. His dark, stringy hair hung in his eyes. It needed to be washed. So did the rest of him.

“What’s your hurry?”

Ava patted the pack on her back, indicating its contents. “Gotta make this run. Fast, right?” she said as she ducked away from him. She risked a glance back.

He seemed slightly annoyed, but his business sense finally won out. He let her go. “Yeah,” he told her. “Straight there and straight back. Maybe we can party later.”

Ava bolted to her bike before he could say anything else. She jumped on her Honda, started the engine, and peeled out of the lot. Haze watched her as she sped past him. His face looked as grim as she felt. He nodded to her once, as though he was reminding her of the rules he’d told her previously.

Slow down, stay safe, don’t go inside. And don’t party with Candy. Or be his Candy. Or just carry the Candy. Whichever it was, Ava wanted nothing to do with any of it.

As soon as she was far enough away from the warehouse, she let off the accelerator a bit. She wasn’t being timed on this run and it wasn’t worth attracting the attention of the cops, or wiping out and ending up in the ER with a pack full of weed strapped to her back.

As she rode to her destination, she felt further and further from her goal. It was clear that Clint wasn’t going to accept her money. He might not even be able to. She knew too much anyway. It had been stupid to think she might be able to buy her way out.

The police weren’t really an option. Haze had all but confirmed it anyway. Ava had lived in Rapid City all her life. She’d seen the news, heard her parents and the people at church talking about it occasionally. Corrupt cops. Shady law enforcement.

How did you tell the good guys from the bad? She was just as likely to end up cuffed and delivered right to Hook himself if she confessed to the wrong person wearing a badge.

Haze was wrong about one thing. There was one way out. Unfortunately, it meant never being able to get back in.

She made it to the house in a decent amount of time. She knocked on the door and then took two steps back. They couldn’t even drag her in, not without making a scene. And between Hook and Clint and the guy who’d invited her to his pants party, Ava was ready to scream bloody murder over the next man who skeezed her out.

The door bounced open and the same grungy hippie peered out at her from behind the dirty screen. His face lit up when he recognized her. “Hey, it’s you! Come on in!” He pushed the screen door open and held it wide.

Ava shook her head, slipped the pack off her shoulders, and tossed it to him. “I’m in a hurry,” she told him. “Hook’s waiting for me.”

Technically true. Hook was at the warehouse. Ava was headed back to the warehouse. Best to keep this dude’s head in the game, what was left of his head anyway.

He frowned. “You should chill with us.”

“Later,” Ava lied. Now she had two invitations.

How long could she dodge them both?

The guy seemed doubtful but finally shrugged. The door banged shut as he disappeared inside. She held her breath, wondering what to do if he never came back out. Her tension left in a whoosh, though, when he finally returned and held the pack out to her.

She snatched it out of his hands, careful not to get too close. Turning, she sped down the broken steps toward her ride.

“Come back tonight!” he yelled.

She gave him a half wave as she put her helmet on. The pack was heavier this time, and she snapped it around her middle for extra safety. She could only guess at how much money was in it.

The hippie said something else that she couldn’t hear. She ignored him and took off back the way she’d come, pack bouncing heavily against her back. As she turned onto the highway and back across town, she was tempted by the exit sign that was closest to her own neighborhood.

There was undoubtedly enough money in the backpack to get to the Grand Canyon, and farther still if she felt like it. It wasn’t a real possibility, though. Taking anything that belonged to the Buzzards— cash or drugs— would give them a reason to retaliate against the family she left behind.

They might overlook the fact that she’d run, but they’d never forgive her if she took anything that was theirs. And she knew who’d pay the price for that.

She pulled up to the warehouse and revved her engine loudly. After a few seconds, she tried again. Finally, the door swung open and Clint stomped out, looking pissed. Without a word, Ava slid the pack off and chucked it at him. She didn’t even wait to see if he caught it before she drove away.

She was glad to be rid of them, free from the “invitations” she had no intention of accepting. How long she could avoid them was anyone’s guess. As she turned onto her own street, she looked ahead and saw a familiar bike parked in front of her house. Without thinking, she released the throttle and slowed to a crawl as she approached.

Rapid City was small, but she’d never thought it was
this
small. It seemed anyone could find her, and she repressed a shudder at being reminded that the wrong people had. She parked and headed quickly up the porch steps. Stepping inside, she saw Adam’s scowling face first. Ava was sure he didn’t know what to make of Ava’s sudden popularity.

Ava wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it either.

“Hey,” Calla called from the kitchen. “Is Emilio going to stay for dinner?”

B
efore Ava could answer, Emilio shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he called into the kitchen. “In fact, I’ve come to take Ava to dinner. With my friends.”

Adam grunted. “Good. We’re not feeding half the male population of Rapid City.”

“Adam!” Calla chastised.

Adam ignored his fiancée completely. Narrowing his eyes at Ava, he said, “If any more show up, I’m going to start beating them off with a stick.” Adam turned to Emilio. “And my stick’s made in Louisville.”

Emilio simply nodded, neither cowed nor cocky.

“And I’m going to start using it on your bike,” Adam told Ava, “if you don’t start letting me know where the hell you are. It’s been almost two hours since your shift ended. If you haven’t been with him,” he jerked his thumb at Emilio, “then where were you?”

Ava bristled at being called out, especially in front of Emilio. “Out!” she said simply.

She could tell that Adam didn’t want to argue in front of a guest, so he refrained from probing for further explanation. “Well, you could have called, in case we needed you here.”

She froze for a moment and her irritation dissipated nearly instantly. She glanced around, looking for Pop. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

“He’s in the dining room,” Adam replied. “And he’s...” He trailed off, cutting his eyes to Emilio for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I can’t tell.”

Ava immediately forgot about Adam— and Emilio. She tossed her helmet onto the couch and headed to the dining room just off the kitchen. She found Pop sitting at the head of the table, his usual spot. He was looking out the window into the back yard. His sketchbook was open in front of him.

Ava had learned that this wasn’t always a bad sign. He wasn’t always
trying
to remember when he flipped through the drawings. Sometimes he just
wanted
to.

It had barely been a full year since Mom had died. And they’d been married longer than Ava had been alive. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for the old man. She hardly knew Emilio but already wasn’t looking forward to letting him go.

Building a whole life with someone, two sets of kids, one set of shared memories, would be devastating to lose.

“Hey,” she said cautiously.

He turned to look at her, but he didn’t reply. Ava recognized the look, the attempt to cut through the mental fog and retrieve a connection, a name, a relationship with the person standing in front of him.

His eyes cast down to the book and he slowly turned the pages until Ava’s smiling face appeared. His hand ran over the pencil drawing and down to the writing in the corner.

“Ava.”

She couldn’t tell if he was remembering or simply reading it.

Before Ava could confirm it, Emilio appeared in the doorway. Surprising them both.

Pop frowned at him. “You’re not in my book.”

Ava started forward, to grab Emilio and pull him away. She didn’t want anyone seeing Pop when he was like this.

Instead, Emilio sat down in the empty chair beside the old man. “I’m not?”

Pop shook his head.

“Well, who is?” Emilio asked kindly.

“My family.”

“Can I see?”

Pop considered it for a moment, then pushed the book toward Emilio.

Emilio took it and opened the cover.

Mom was first; her smiling face and twinkling eyes looked out from the page, a perfect rendering of the subject. Adam’s work was impeccable.

Emilio flipped through the pages carefully, taking them all in.

All the Starks were present and accounted for: Dalton, Ava, Jonah. Adam had even drawn himself. Over the last few months, he’d added a few new portraits: Calla, Zoey, little DJ. All had their names and birthdays written in the corner. All had titles: Son, daughter, grandson.

Pop watched him carefully, mouthing the words along with him. Ava could almost swear she saw the fog lifting from his eyes.

“These are nice,” Emilio remarked.

“My son drew them. Do you know my son?”

Emilio looked up. “Well, I know Jonah.”

“You’re friends?”

Emilio grinned. “I just met him the other night, but yeah, I’d say we’re friends.”

Pop grunted. He looked up at Ava questioningly, then turned back to Emilio. “Are you her boyfriend?”

Ava stiffened.

Emilio glanced at her and then back to Pop. “Honestly? I don’t know,” he replied. “If
she
knows, I wish she’d tell me.”

Pop smiled. “You might be waiting a long time, then.”

If Emilio was surprised or disappointed by the comment, he didn’t show it. Instead, he told Pop, “I got time. For the right girl, I got nothing
but
time.”

“What’s your name?”

“Emilio.”

“You got a job, Emilio? You aren’t some worthless bum sniffing around my daughter, are you?”

Instead of being offended, Emilio laughed. “No, sir. I mean— yes, sir. I have a job. I work over at Burnout. Chris Sullivan’s place. You know him?”

Pop nodded but made a face. “I do. He turned out to be all right, I reckon. Considering his old man. Lot of folks in this town thought the apple wouldn’t fall far from the tree, and for a while there, it looked like it might not.” Pop whistled low. “Boy, I’ll tell you, Chris Sullivan was meaner than a pit bull when he was your age. Can’t say I’d have wanted the Buzzards to end up with a president like that. Chris’ old man was bad enough.”