by T. L Hodel
I rubbed my tired eyes and glanced around the room, half expecting my aunt to be standing there with a plate of pan de muerto. One look around the moonlit room and I remembered I wasn’t in Mexico anymore. I kind of wished I was.
I groaned and slapped the mattress in search of my phone. “Really? It’s midnight?”
My stomach rumbled in response.
“Fine. You win.” I dropped my phone and rolled out of bed.
My search for the exit wasn’t a pleasant one. I stood in the closet for a bit before my brain registered the hanging clothes. I smacked my knee off the vanity, stubbed my toe on the couch, and tripped up the step behind it. By the time I made it out in the hall, I was pretty sure the house its-self had it out for me.
It didn’t help that this house was so big. The vast space held an eerie ambience in the night. My footsteps echoed as I tiptoed past shadows, whose forms stretched unnaturally in the moonlight. The dark wasn’t something I was afraid of. Even as a child, I embraced it. The darkness didn’t tell my secrets. It didn’t judge or make me feel inferior. It cloaked me in the shadows, sheltering me from my harsh reality.
But this was enemy territory, and Micha had a thing for popping up when I least expected. I searched every shadow twice as I slowly made my way down the stairs toward the kitchen. Though it was only dimly lit by the patio lights, it seemed like a beacon, shining brightly in the middle of a dark abyss. One I readily rushed into.
My first instinct was to turn on the light, but I paused, my finger just below the light switch. Did I really want to turn it on? My dad would be less than happy if I was up this late, and what if Logan was home? Or worse, what if he wasn’t alone? I dropped my arm, deciding it was better not to draw attention to myself.
This house was overwhelming. They had everything. Literally! From an expresso machine with far too many buttons, to a separate ice dispenser – because apparently cracking ice out of a tray was too much work. I knew my way around a stove. My grandma insisted I learn how to cook. I think that went with my family’s motto of ‘feed them and everything will be fine’. She and I used to have cooking parties. We’d blare the radio and dance our way through meal prep. I could make anything from mac and cheese to a full on turkey dinner, and I didn’t even know what half this crap was. What the hell do you use a springy looking, long spoon thingy for? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
I ended up settling on a bowl of strawberries. It was a simple snack to prepare, just rinse and pull the tops off. Plus, fresh fruit, most of the time, was a luxury we couldn’t afford. I sat on one of the stools at the island, and took a bite out of a berry. The juices flowing over my tongue were bitter-sweet. Here I was eating one of Mom’s favorite fruits, while she was rotting in a grave. Not very hungry anymore, I tossed the berry back into the bowl.
I kept going over that night in my mind, searching for something I had missed. A clue, or some kind of sign. We’d just finished watching a movie, and I was getting ready for bed when Mom announced she was running out for milk. Apparently she wanted to make pancakes in the morning. The last time Mom cooked was my birthday the year before . . . And what did I do? I went to bed, foolishly believing that things were fine. I knew something was wrong when Chase woke me up.
The rest of the night was a blur. My body went through the motions, but it was like I wasn’t there. An empty shell sitting on the hard hospital chair. My dad, Chase, and Shelby tried to comfort me. I could see their tears and feel their embraces. But all that was drowned out by the damn deafening tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall. The sound thundered in my ears and filled my head, until I heard those inevitable words . . . “I’m sorry Miss. Adams, we did everything we could.”
Instead of streamers and balloons, my birthday was filled with dirt and tears. How’s that for a sweet sixteen? While packing up the apartment, I found a present hidden in Mom’s closet. Wrapped up in pretty pink paper, with a note that said: to my precious daughter. It was currently upstairs packed in a box, unopened. I swept away the tear burning down my cheek, and turned my attention to the glass doors.
Moonlight bounced off the clean edge of the pool. Water had this way of reflecting things, almost like there was a secret world hidden just beneath the surface. The same as this one, just a little different. Much like the reflected world I painted on City Hall. A beachside mural of peace and happiness. Where no one turned to alcohol, the little girl’s parents were still happy, and the little boy wiped away her tears instead of caused them. My dad said it a waste of my time and the town’s money. But Ashen Springs had yet to remove my painting. It was still there months later, for all to see.
My head tilted as I scanned the outer wall and smirked. Surely painting the place you lived in couldn’t be considered vandalism? People did it all the time, right? And Paisley did get me all those art supplies. It’d be a shame to let them go to waste. I knew how much my dad hated waste. Slipping off the stool, I crept closer to the glass doors, eager to see my next possible canvas.
The room was suddenly flooded with light.
“Shit,” I grumbled, throwing my arm up to shield my eyes. Busted! “I was just going to bed.”
Hopefully my dad would buy my excuse and I could leave without getting a lecture. Except it wasn’t my dad who answered . . .
“Last time I checked, the bedrooms were upstairs.”
Logan.
“Why is a little mouse scampering around in the dark?”
My fists immediately balled. Little mouse . . . that’s what Micha called me.
“To avoid assholes,” I snarled and spun around.
Thankfully, Logan stood alone in the archway. He didn’t say anything, just leaned against the frame with that stupid smirk on his face. Running into any of the Knights wasn’t a good thing. That’s what people called Micha and his friends – which was the worst gang name ever, if you asked me. If I had to pick one Knight to have a run-in with, it’d be Logan. The asshole was kind of charming. So much so, it almost made it hard to hate him.
Almost.
“You know, it’s rude to stare.”
I huffed and crossed my arms. “I wasn’t staring.”
“It’s okay.” he said, giving me a wink, “I know I’m pretty.”
I rolled my eyes. “What do you want?”
As much as it pained me to admit, he was right. There was a reason girls fawned over the great Logan Hudson. He was tall and cut, with blonde hair that was tousled in a messy, yet styled way. If it wasn’t for the ink covering his neck and arms, Logan would fit the pretty boy persona perfectly.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you weren’t happy to see me.”
“Your powers of observation are astounding.” I sighed and plopped back onto the stool. “Don’t you have a puppy to kick somewhere?”
His jade eyes twinkled as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is that anyway to talk to your brother?”
“Don’t remind me,” I grumbled.
My dad couldn’t have married that nice receptionist down at the station? No, he had to marry Paisley Hudson.
Logan pushed off the doorframe, meandered over, and plucked a strawberry out of my bowl. He flashed me his perfect white teeth, and popped it into his mouth.
“Help yourself,” I muttered, hoping he’d choke on it.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
I sat back, watching him eat my strawberries, which I suddenly wanted, and tried to figure out what his game was. Logan didn’t just causally talk to me – not unless he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security – and I wasn’t about to fall for that trick.
“Careful with the eye-fucking, sis. I wouldn’t want you getting any ideas.”
“The only ideas I get when it comes to you involve an axe and a lot of jail time.”
“Sounds kinky,” he sang and shot me a playful wink.
I openly groaned and rolled my eyes. “I don’t see your usual parade of skanks. Don’t tell me you’re playing solo tonight
?”
Logan barked out a laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, I never play solo.”
“My mistake,” I said, sweeping my hand through the air. “Don’t know how I missed the line-up of girls waiting to bask in your masculine glory.”
At that moment a scantily clad blonde in a red dress decided to join us. She carried herself with an aura of arrogance, and why shouldn’t she? This girl would make a potato sac look great. Long, shapely legs, perfectly manicured nails, and hair that shone like spun gold. Girls like her looked down on girls like me, the ones who didn’t spend an hour in front of the mirror.
“What’s taking so long?” she mewed, wrapping her arms around Logan’s neck. “Amy and I are getting bored.”
“I’ll be right there,” Logan said, giving me a smug smirk.
Well played Karma. Well played.
Though I knew the girl was the mayor’s daughter, I didn’t know her name. The only time I’d seen her was when her family made appearances at town functions, like the annual seaside festival. And by appearances, I mean they spent ten, maybe fifteen minutes, talking to a couple of people and taking pictures for the paper. Marnie called it good publicity, I called it bullshit.
Keeping his gaze locked on me, Logan reached around and squeezed her ass. “Why don’t you two start without me.”
Pause for inward eye roll.
I knew something about fake. Hell, most of my childhood was spent watching Mom hide her pain behind a smile. And though this girl was staring at Logan, with a dreamy gleam in her eyes, it was nothing more than a mask. And that mask dropped, the instant she noticed me.
“Shouldn’t you be cleaning something?”
My brow rose. Guess looks didn’t account for personality.
“And what makes you think I’m a maid? Maybe I’m round one, and you’re about to get my sloppy seconds.” Just because I wasn’t some cookie cutter Barbie cutout didn’t mean I was any less than her.
“Round one, hey?” Logan chuckled, making me regret my choice of words. “I’m game if you are, sis?”
“You couldn’t handle me,” I growled, glaring at the twinkle in his eye.
The bastard laughed! Full-on belly chuckled like I’d just said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
“Have you even seen a cock?”
I huffed and crossed my arms. “Course I have.”
“Porn doesn’t count.”
“It wasn’t porn.” I read a lot of art books, and the male form happened to be very popular.
“Uh huh.” Logan snickered. “I’m sure you have a closet full of slutty lingerie.”
“Maybe I do.”
He bent down, resting his forearms on the counter. “What do you think, Naomi?” he said, amusement and challenge sparking in his bright eyes. “Is she wearing a lacy thong or white cotton panties?”
They happened to be blue, thank you very much.
The curl in Naomi’s lip deepened. “I think she smells like cheap cleaner.”
Snapping my glare her way, I snarled, “At least I don’t smell like a baby prostitute.”
She reared back, shocked. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Naomi, this is Riley.” Logan waved his hand between us. “Riley, Naomi.”
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome. Wasn’t a big deal. I’d put up with Micha and his minions all my life. None of which were the regular brand of bully. Besides, being the sheriff’s daughter wasn’t exactly a great qualifying aspect for popularity. What I didn’t expect, was the deep scowl on Naomi’s face when she heard my name. She really hated me.
“Daddy may have married up, but you’ll never be anything more than a piece of docksider trash.”
Docksider trash wasn’t the worst thing I’d been called, and that was today.
“So, no slumber party, then?” I said, giving her a fake frown. “How about ice cream?”
She flicked her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.
“Okay, not an ice cream fan?” I tsk-ed, “How about pie? Everybody likes pie.”
“Do you think you’re funny?”
I shrugged. “I have my moments.”
She leaned in, bending over the island, and said in a low tone, “From what I hear, so did your mother.”
The smile instantly fell off my face.
“I hear yours gets around.” I lifted my brows in suggestion. I’d seen the mayor’s wife sneaking out of Tanner’s apartment above Chase’s tattoo parlor. “Guess her daughter’s just as cheap,” I added, dragging my gaze over the scrap of red fabric she wore.
“Did you just call me cheap?”
“Hmm, let’s see,” I said, scrunching my face up in contemplation. “Slumber party, ice cream. Pie. Cheap.” I nodded and pursed my lips, “It appears I did. My bad.” I touched the center of my chest and widened my eyes. “I meant to say fake.”
“I am not fake,” she called out insulted.
“When’s the last time that smile on your face was real?”
“It’s called keeping up appearances. Something I’m sure you know nothing about.” Her gaze fell down to my faded navy shirt. “I stopped wearing Minnie Mouse when I was five.”
I frowned. I liked this shirt. “At least I’m not afraid to show the world who I am.”
“Honey, no one cares who you are,” she sang and waltzed away, heels clicking on the tiled floor behind her.
I cleared my throat and brushed away the twang in my chest. Because Naomi was right. No one did care. It was better this way.
Logan chuckled. “And ma thought you’d have problems fitting in.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure we’ll be braiding each other’s hair in no time.”
“No one’s called Naomi on her shit before,” he said, tossing the last strawberry in his mouth. “That was kind of awesome.”
My eyes narrowed suspiciously. Since when was anything I did awesome? Maybe Naomi was just the warm up round. Wouldn’t be the first time they enlisted someone to help torment me. Micha once sweet-talked the girl at the ice cream parlor into accidently dumping a milkshake on my head.
“Is she your girlfriend or something?”
“I don’t do girlfriends.”
“So then, why is she here?”
“I wanted to fuck Amy, and Amy wanted to fuck her. So . . .” He twirled his hand in the air.
I grimaced. “Gross.”
“You asked.”
“My mistake.”
Why was Logan being so . . . nice? Adrenaline course through me as my gaze shifted to the shadowy entryway. Was Naomi the only one here? There was no figure looming in the dark, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there. I glanced at the stairs, wondering if I could make it to my room in time?
The click of a lighter pulled my attention back to Logan. He puffed on the end of a cigarette, making the ember glow brighter, and eyed me. “You expecting someone?”
“Should I be?”
“Maybe?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke and nodded out of the room. “Why don’t you go find out?”
I glared at him and bat away the cloud of smoke, filling my nostrils with the rich scent of tobacco. “And risk running into your skank again? I’ll pass.” We both knew Naomi wasn’t who I was worried about running into. “I’m just going to go to bed.”
“You do that.” Logan butt his cigarette out in the strawberry bowl and waltzed away, pausing in the entryway. “Your door does have a lock on it, right?”
Chapter Four
Micha
My mouse came back today. I should be at Logan’s playing with her, instead of waiting for the Order’s thieving accountant to show his face.
Fucking Jack!
But Order business came first. As future King of Kings, I had to show I was committed, no matter how small I thought the job was. Didn’t mean I was happy about it. When you waited years to get your hands on the prize, another day felt like an eternity. I could toy with Jack for a bit before ending his miserable life. Might amuse me some
. . . Fucker owed me that at least.
I cocked my head at the guy getting mugged down the alley, and the two hookers strolling that way. I was a bit surprised when the younger one’s face dropped. For a second I thought she might try and help. That would be something new in this lawless cesspool. New Haven. The name it self was mocking. There was no haven here, just addicts and criminals, only concerned about themselves. A fact proven when the older hooker steered the younger one back to the front of the motel.
I’d been watching them for awhile now. Not because I was bored. They interested me. The younger one clearly wasn’t from around here. If I had to guess, I’d say she was sixteen, if that, and was clearly new at this. She shied away from Johns when they pawed at her. Better get used to it, sweetheart. If she thought this was bad, wait till some sick fuck got her alone. I’d pay to see that shit. My lips pursed as I pulled my eyes up the girl’s bare legs. Maybe I wouldn’t have to pay . . . Since the auction last week, there were a few spots open at Malum.
My phone went off, buzzing quietly in my pocket, drawing my attention away from the hookers.
“What?”
“Well, hello to you too.” Logan chuckled. “You finished with Jack yet?”
“Does it sound like I’m fucking finished,” I growled, glaring at the motel. “Fucker’s still hiding in his room.”
“So, go in and get him.”
“It’s cleaner if we do it on the street.”
Most people around here would look the other way. But you never knew who was staying in a hotel, crap hole or not. There was always some prick out there looking to play the hero, which meant more loose ends, payouts, and time wasted.
“She there?”
“I assume you’re referring to my newly acquired little sister?”
“Your parents have been married for a year, asshole.”
“Ah,” he sang, “but technically, little sis just joined the family.”
I groaned. There was no way in hell Logan would claim the sheriff as family, but he sure as shit had no problem with Riley. “So, she is there?”