The Beautiful and the Damned (13 page)

Cyn stopped cold. “Did you do this to me?”

“Cut you? No.”

“I know you didn’t cut me. I meant, did you take off my bandages?”

“That was all you.”

“For some reason I decided to just take them off? Why the fuck would I do that?”

“You had your reasons.” He walked over to the door and held it wide open. “Now, you
said something about leaving?”

“Yeah. Right.” Cyn shook her head in disbelief and dropped her glass on the counter.
She’d actually thought he might be able to help her.
So much for that.
Carefully rolling down the sleeves of her shirt, Cyn doubled back into the living
room and found her coat lying on the floor beside the couch, then she met him at the
door. Her breath fogged up, and the cold night air bit right through her.
Damn, it’s cold out.

“The funeral will be at the church,” he said.

“Yeah, okay.”

Cyn turned her back before she could say anything more. Before she could beg him to
let her stay a little longer inside the warm house, before she could tell him how
even sleeping on a lumpy couch was ten times better than sleeping on a concrete floor,
before she could ask if he’d give her a ride back so she wouldn’t have to walk in
the cold, before she could say that she didn’t know if Hunter’s brother would be waiting
for her when she got back to her apartment and that she really, really, really just
wanted someone to be there in case he was.

He didn’t want to hear any of those things, and she didn’t want to have to say them.

~  ~  ~

He caught up with her about ten minutes after she’d left.

Cyn heard a motorcycle behind her as she walked away from Father Montgomery’s house,
hands stuffed deep into her pockets to keep them warm. She grimaced when she saw the
black-clad rider. “Keep driving, keep driving, keep driving.”

He cut her off by stopping the bike right in front of her.

Cyn tried to go around him, but he just straddled the bike and slowly followed her.
She let it go on for a few minutes before coming to a halt. “What? Why are you here?”

“To give you a ride back to your place.”

“
Now
you suddenly want to give me a ride? Why not when I left the house?”

He didn’t answer, and she started to walk again. “Okay, come on,” he said. “It’s nighttime
and I felt bad, all right? Anything could happen to you out here, and I don’t need
that on my conscience.”

“I’m fine, and your conscience is clear. I absolve you. Now go away.”

She faced the wind again and put her head down. The slow squeak of a rolling wheel
became her constant companion as she resumed her pace. And it was
insanely
annoying.

“I could do this all night,” he said. “But’s going to take a lot longer this way.”

“Nope.” Cyn shook her head. “I don’t do motorcycles.” She learned that the hard way
when she stole one once and wiped out on a dirt road. The jagged scar zigzagging up
her left knee didn’t let her forget it.

“I’m not asking.”

“Well, I’m not riding.” She pulled down on the back of her wig.

“Fine. Have it your way. But it’s a long walk.”

“How do you know? Maybe it’s only a short walk. Maybe I like the fresh air.”

“You like it so much, your lips are turning blue? And I know where you live because
I took you home from the bar.”

Cyn turned to face him. “That was you?”

“Yeah. Now get on.”

Cyn glanced around. She hadn’t seen any cars yet, and it might be a while until one
came by. And even then, in order for her to take it, the conditions had to be just
right. She wasn’t going to leave kids standing out in the cold.

She was about to turn him down again, but then he did something that threw her for
a loop—he smiled.

A really, really great smile.

It was actually more of a side grin, but it made Cyn feel a rush of nerves and sweaty
palms and the sudden urge to check her teeth and make sure nothing was stuck in them.

Taking a step back, she tried not to notice how his dark hair brushed the edges of
his jacket. Just how she liked it—long enough to run her fingers through. Shadows
played up his angular jawline, giving him cheekbones to die for and lips that would
make a model jealous.

Her gaze fell lower, taking in his long, lean body, and she took note of the fact
that he had to be at least six foot four. The perfect height for her. If she moved
close enough, she’d fall in line right with his chest. Her head would be able to tuck
under his.

Keep walking by yourself out here in the cold, or get on the back of a hot guy’s bike
and wrap your arms around him? No brainer, Cyn.

“Yeah, um . . . I . . . yeah.” She climbed behind him, holding tightly to his waist
as soon as she was situated. His motorcycle was ancient. It looked like it could fall
apart at the first pothole. “Is this thing safe?” she yelled into his ear as he cranked
the engine. “It looks . . . old.”

“This is a Vincent Black Lightning. Of course it’s safe. Fast, too. Haven’t you heard
of Rollie Free? Riding across the
Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah on a Black Lightning?” His voice was incredulous. “He
took the world land speed record in 1948.”

“Sorry. My neighbor keeps stealing my copy of
Motorcycle Weekly
.” They drove back onto the road and started picking up speed. “No helmets?” she yelled
into his ear again.

“Sorry. My neighbor keeps stealing all my helmets.”

Cyn bit back a grin and buried her face in his jacket. The wind rushing past her ears
was cold. The back of her wig started to take flight, and she freed up one hand, using
it to clamp down on top of her head. After a while, her ears and cheeks grew numb,
and she actually started to enjoy the feeling of freedom.

Not enough to make motorcycle riding in October a habit or anything—but she was glad
when, twenty minutes later, they came to her building.

As they drove up to the door Cyn kept an eye out for Declan. She didn’t see him, but
she wasn’t going to take any chances. “Could you hang around for, like, five minutes?
Let me know if anyone comes?”

“Expecting company?”

“Something like that.”

“Five minutes.”

“Thanks.” She got off his bike and glanced around again before going inside.

Crossing over to her suitcase, Cyn began stuffing clothes into it. “Ready to find
a new place, guys?” She talked to her plants as she worked. “I’m tired of the cold.
What do you say we head south. Someplace warm. Maybe Mexico.”

She went into the bathroom to gather her toothbrush but stopped when she saw the toilet.
The knife was still inside the water tank.

“Just leave it,” she said out loud. “Forget about it.”

What if someone finds it and connects you to it? Do you really want to give them evidence
to pin something else on you? Take it. It might not be such a bad thing to have a
weapon to protect yourself.

Cyn fished the knife out of the tank and then wrapped it in an old towel. Burying
it in the very bottom of her suitcase, she zippered the bag up and hauled it over
to her sleeping bag, which rolled up like a cinnamon bun and fit snugly on top.

The last thing she did was retrieve her battered copy of
The Bell Jar
from beneath the three-legged table. Not only was it an excellent stabilizer, but
it also served the dual purpose of holding all the cash she’d managed to save up over
the last two months. The inside pages had been hollowed out.

But when she opened it, there wasn’t a stack of tens and twenties waiting for her.
There wasn’t any money at all. The only thing inside the book was another one of Declan’s
business cards.

This time it had
TRY TO RUN NOW
written on the back of it.

S
hit, shit,
shiiiiiiit
!” Cyn yelled, ripping the card up and throwing the pieces onto the concrete floor.
All of the money she’d so painstakingly saved up week after begrudging week was gone.
Twelve hundred dollars. Completely gone. “You fucking asshole!” she screamed.

Declan had hit her where it hurt.

It wasn’t like she could go to the police. They’d lock her behind bars for what happened
in Sleepy Hollow first, and ask questions later.

The door behind her opened, and Avian came in. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine.” She tugged at the back of her
wig and paced. “My life is completely fucked, but hey, it’s fine.”

He glanced around the room. “Are you going to tell me what just made you lose your
shit?”

Cyn continued to pace. “My money’s gone, Hunter’s brother is stalking me, and now . . .”
She shook her head. “Forget it. Just forget I said anything.”

“Who’s Hunter? And why is his brother stalking you?”

“Hunter is my— He was my— Just someone I knew.”

“And money is the other problem?”

At her nod, Avian pulled out his wallet and took out a fifty-dollar bill. “Here. Take
it.”

Cyn ignored him.

He came closer and jammed the money into the front of her jacket. “Don’t say I never
gave you anything. Your five minutes is up—I’m out of here.”

Cyn glared at him as he walked away. She realized that if she didn’t take his money,
she literally had nothing, but it annoyed the
shit
out of her that he could be so nonchalant about it.

“Thanks,” she said begrudgingly as he headed out the door.

He didn’t respond.

Cyn sighed, listening to his motorcycle start up. It wasn’t like she wanted him to
stay, and be her knight in shining
armor or anything. But damn. Just leaving her here like this?

She didn’t know
what
to do. Even if she managed to find another car to steal, between gas and food, fifty
bucks wasn’t enough to get her very far. No matter how careful she was. Of course,
there
was
the option of using her mind mojo to get her across the state. She could will someone
else to pay for all the gas and food.
Hell, maybe even get a hotel along the way. . . .

Cyn shook her head. Taking a car for a joyride and making people leave her big tips
was as far as she was willing to go. She still had principles.

So, what do you do now, genius?

Cyn resumed her pacing. She thought up several new plans and discarded each one just
as quickly as it came, for hours. The only thing she knew for sure was that in order
to leave town she needed a way to come up with more money.

She also knew that it wasn’t safe to stay here anymore.

“I can get another wait job,” she mused to herself. “Find a different diner, change
my name, get a new wig. No . . . I’ll dye my hair this time. Maybe even cut it. . . .”

Right now, though, she needed another place to stay. And there was really only one
option: Father Montgomery’s house. He had a spare bedroom, and as long as she steered
clear of Thirteen there was no reason why she couldn’t stay there. Father
Montgomery
had
told her that he was there to help if she needed anything.

She was just belatedly taking him up on that offer.

Cyn used the fifty bucks to call for a cab and crammed her suitcase and all of her
plants into the backseat with her, then had the driver make a quick stop at the liquor
store along the way.

If this was going to work, she was going to have to bribe the beast.

W
hen the doorbell at Father Montgomery’s house rang, Avian answered it with a scowl
on his face and a sword in his hand. It was a shitty time for visitors. He’d been
right in the middle of stripping the oil off his blade.

“Um, hi?” Cyn was standing there juggling her plants and a couple of brown bags. “What
are you doing?”

“Cleaning my sword. What does it look like I’m doing?” He gestured to the cloth draped
over his shoulder, and then behind him to the supplies spread across the kitchen table.