by Dallas Cole
I laugh. “It’s my own damn fault. I was reading all these weird scientific journals for school, and I came across something about how pig meat has the most in common, structure, taste, and texture wise, with human flesh.”
“Um. Wow.” Jagger coughs and eyes his burger suspiciously. “And who exactly did they call on to test this?”
“Just the hard chemical facts,” I say. “Anyhow, it totally wrecked bacon for me. Ever since that, I just can’t look at pork the same way.”
“Why not?” Jagger asks. “I mean, there is a grand tradition of cannibal psychologists. Maybe you’d fit right in, Doctor.”
I bust out laughing mid-sip of soda and end up swallowing it down the wrong way. “Oh, no.”
“I’m fuckin’ serious!” He grins wide. “I mean, first of all, you’ve got Hannibal Lecter, he was a real standout in his field. And then there’s . . . Well, okay. I guess there’s really just Hannibal Lecter.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “The goal is to help the patients, not to eat them.”
He gives me a sideways look that makes me want to kiss him all over again. “Oh, fine, if you wanna be boring about it.”
We chew in silence for a bit. It’s an easy silence, the comfort of feeling close enough to someone that you don’t have to rush to keep them entertained. As it continues, though, Jagger starts to look a little tense.
“Listen, Sophie . . . I, uh, need to ask you about something.”
I glance him over. He’s trying to look casual, but it’s close to breaking. Something starts to tighten in my chest, something I can’t yet define. “Okay,” I say carefully. “Sure.”
“You mentioned that ex of yours . . . Tyler, right?”
My heart starts pounding. The burger turns to ash in my mouth. I force myself to swallow down the cold lump of meat. “That’s right,” I manage to say.
Jagger winces. “I was just checking . . . he doesn’t live in Ridgecrest or anything, does he?”
“N-no. Of course not.”
My lungs are burning from trying to keep my breathing calm. I feel like I’ve run a marathon—my heart is pounding and my pulse is racing and everything hurts, I’m rendered primal with fear. No, no, please, no. He can’t have showed up here. Jagger’s just being—nosy, or overprotective, or—or something. It doesn’t mean—
“I came here,” I say slowly, “because I wanted to get away. I already told you this,” I add, though it comes out harsher than I mean.
“Right. Of course.” Jagger scratches his chin. “I was just thinking about—well, I’d forgotten. What it was that you said he did. Y’know, for work.”
Oh, hell no.
I am so not ready for this conversation. Not with Jagger or anyone else. I wrap up what’s left of my burger—my appetite’s gone anyway—and stuff it back in the bag. With a heavy heart, I turn my gaze from Jagger and put my hands in my lap.
“Actually,” I say, voice shaking, “I don’t believe it’s any of your business.”
Jagger narrows his eyes. He’s pissed. And I can’t blame him for being pissed. But I know what I have to do, and why. I can’t bring him into this. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, sounding deeply suspicious.
No. Not even a little bit. But I can’t risk him getting hurt, too. “Yep. Totally.” I stand up and loop my purse around my arm.
“Sophie, wait.” Jagger reaches for my arm, but I pull it from his reach. “No, please. I can explain. I—I wasn’t trying to pry, or anything.”
Now it’s my turn to cringe. “It sure fucking feels like prying,” I say. But the alternative is even worse.
What if Tyler got to him?
Fuck. I can’t even consider it. Cut and fucking run. I shake the crumbs off my shirt and head for the door. “I need to get back to work. I have another session starting up.”
“Okay.” Jagger forces a strained smile to his lips. “I’ll, uh—see you later, right?”
I grimace. “Yeah. Sure.”
But it isn’t Jagger waiting for me when I get back to Darla’s house. It’s Tyler.
My head is pounding the whole way there, turning over and over with possible scenarios. If Tyler hunted down Jagger, he would’ve just said so, wouldn’t he? Besides—how the fuck could Tyler know? No. It’s ridiculous. Jagger’s just being a possessive douchebag. As if he has the fucking right, after what I told him about Ty.
I enter through the kitchen door to find Tyler sitting in the breakfast nook with Ella and Jack.
My heart crashes against my ribs. He looks exactly the same—wry, confident, and far too strong for his own good. I have to get the kids away from him. I have to get myself away. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I manage to say, even though my mouth feels too dry for words.
Tyler sets down the bottle of beer he’d swiped from Darla’s fridge and smiles slowly at me. “Hey, baby.”
“Don’t you fucking baby me.”
Ella gasps, and Jack covers his mouth. “Aunt Sophie, you just said—”
“Yeah, that Aunt Sophie’s real naughty, isn’t she?” Tyler smirks at me. “There’s that filthy mouth again. And in front of your niece and nephew, no less.”
“Ella, Jack, go to your rooms,” I say. Ella slips out of her chair, but Jack reaches for her hand.
Tyler holds his hand out to calm them. “It’s okay. Your aunt Sophie and me just need to chat.”
“I’m not doing anything with you,” I snap.
Ella looks at me, wide-eyed. This is so far over her head. She wants to listen to me, I know, but a new adult entering the equation is throwing her off. And Jack, for his part, looks enraptured with Tyler. Fuck. Of course he does. If Tyler flashed his badge, fed him some shit about being so big and powerful . . .
“We’ll see about that,” Tyler says.
Jack hangs on Tyler’s every word. “Do you have a gun?” he whispers. “Can I see it?”
Tyler reaches out and ruffles Jack’s hair. “Sorry, kiddo, maybe when you’re a little older.” He turns toward me and offers his terrifying grin—all teeth and no mirth in his eyes. “This one here was very smart when I came to the door. He said, ‘No strangers allowed,’ which is good. But he understands the power of a badge. He knows what authority means.”
I work my jaw back and forth. I’m frozen on the spot; I want to run, but I can’t leave Jack and Ella alone. “Tyler, please leave them out of this.”
“A child—a child, Sophie—understands who the good guys are. And who the bad guys are.” He narrows his eyes. “Some day, you’ll get it, too.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s over, Tyler. I don’t know how many times I have to say it before it sinks through that thick skull—”
Tyler bounds out of the chair and is on me in an instant. I cower, bracing or him to strike me, but instead all he does is pull me into his arms. I’m trembling, still unable to react. God, I hate myself so much right now. Why can’t I break free?
“Shh. Come on, baby girl. It’s all right.” He cups my face in his hands. “No need to be upset.”
I try to shake him off of me, but he only tightens his grip. I’m pinned in place. There was never any chance of escape for me.
“We were good together, Sophie. We had a real good thing going, you and I. What’s the use in throwing it all away, like it never mattered? We were just getting started.”
He’s snarling now, spittle flying from his lips as he forces my gaze toward his. There’s no light in his eyes. Just an endless chill that spreads from him to me.
“Come back to me, baby. I’ll treat you like you deserve.”
It isn’t a comfort. “Please let me go,” I whisper.
Tyler leans back, but his iron grip on me remains. “Look at you. What a goddamned mess you are right now. A fucking slutty racecar groupie, tramping around in your miniskirts, living above a garage, running around with a bunch of criminals . . .” He snarls. “It’s pathetic.”
“They’re better people than you’ll ever be,” I manage to
wheeze.
“No. Look how they’ve warped your mind. You need me—to protect you.”
I’m shaking so hard my teeth are chattering, but I can’t fight back. Once again, I’m at his mercy. I was never going to break free, was I? I was only fooling myself.
“You need me to help you make the right choices. To help you do what’s best for you. For us.” He tightens his grip as I try to squirm. “We were so good together, baby. You know you want it back, too.”
“Get the hell out of my house.”
It’s Darla. Oh, god, it’s Darla. She stands in the doorway of the kitchen, still in heels and hose, clutching a can of pepper spray like it’s a laser-sighted pistol. I want to weep at the sight of her. I don’t know if I could be strong enough if she hadn’t showed up.
But she’s here. I jam my foot into Tyler’s ankle, and the momentary surprise is enough for me to wrench free of his grasp.
“Mommy said a no-word,” Ella whispers.
I rush toward Ella and Jack and scoop them into my arms. “Come on, sweeties. Let’s go upstairs.”
Tyler holds up his hands to Darla. “Now, come on, sugar. Let’s talk this out like a couple of adults.”
Darla steps toward him, still wielding the spray. “You want adults? Coz I’ve got a top-notch alarm system and a whole suite of corporate lawyers from Cartwright Industries that I can put on retainer.”
“C’mon, we’re just chatting.” He keeps grinning that ice-cold grin. “No need to get worked up.” His gaze darkens. “And you really think some two-bit lawyers have anything on me?”
I flinch. He has a point there.
Darla glances toward me. “You want him gone, Soph? Just say the word.”
I take a deep breath. Of course I do. But I’m terrified of where he might go. I set Jack and Ella down and push them behind me, then thrust my shoulders back in a feint of confidence. “Yes.”
Darla snorts. “Then scram.”
Tyler sidles toward the door, but then pauses, twisting to look back at me. “Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “You’ll come around.”
I shake my head. No. No. I can’t live this nightmare again.
“You always do.”
11
Jagger
By Wednesday, I still haven’t heard jack shit from Sophie. It’s like she just ghosted off the whole fucking planet. I thought I’d at least get a text telling me not to bother her, or something—anything. But turns out, she’s even more cold-blooded than I thought.
Or maybe Drazic and the guys have a fucking point. Maybe it really was a setup all this time.
I leave her one last voice message—“Look, just give me a fucking yes or no, okay? Is that too much to ask?”—and try to wipe her from my mind.
It’s easier than it sounds.
I kick around the garage, my nerves wound up tighter than a lug nut. I need something to take the edge off. Something to help me forget.
A fresh job to pull, maybe. I’ve been hearing lots of chatter about some ritzy new casino down in the southwest corner of the state, near the reservation, that’s drawing in all kinds of suckers with more cash than sense. That parking garage has to be ripe with potential pay dirt, and I’m dying to get my greasy fingers on it.
But Drazic’s right—we’ve got to shut that shit down until we’re completely sure we don’t have any federal agent bloodhounds sniffing up our asses. God dammit. I hate this not knowing. All this constant looking over my shoulder.
A nice, sweaty lay might take my mind of things for a while. But every time I think about it, I see the smooth, pale arc of Sophie’s ass bent over her couch. I remember how tight she clenched around me when she came, and how ragged and hungry she sound as she screamed. And all I want is to feel it, hear it, see it again. Every time I think about taking one of the skanks at the Crow Bar home, I already know they’ll only disappoint.
I really just want Sophie to turn up again. Spread her legs, kiss my way up her thigh, taste that silky-soft pussy so warm and wet . . .
Fuck. But I need answers from her. And depending on the answer, I may need to cut her loose for good.
If she hasn’t already cut me loose herself.
Drazic pulls the wrench from my hands. I’d been turning it over and over for god knows how long, watching him work. There’s no new inventory for me to haul, nothing for me to try to sell on the sly. I’m completely out of work, more than useless to him right now. Shit. I’ve got to find something to do.
“It’s a slow day,” Drazic says. Like they aren’t all slow. Business is real bad—has been for some time. “Maybe we should head out to the tracks.”
“You sure it’s okay to close up the shop?” I ask.
“Even if a fucking customer did manage to show up,” he says, “one look at your ugly mug would scare them off.”
I gave him a playful slug. “Sorry. Got a lot on my mind.”
“Well, better snap out of it. We need you in top form for the finals in a few weeks. I’ll call Cyrus, tell him to meet us over there.”
I groan. But I know he’s right. Lennox and I are the only members of the crew left in contention now, and I want to be damned sure I do right by everyone. But I also want to know what the fuck is going on. With Sophie. With that fucking fed douchebag who pulled me over. Nothing about it feels right, and it’s like a splinter under my skin. I don’t know how well I’ll be driving until it’s done.
No. Drazic’s right. Focus on the race. Driving’s always been my distraction and my golden ticket out of all kinds of shit. Might as well turn to it now, too.
Cyrus meets us at the track. The Ridgecrest Raceway is good for what it is—practice—but it’s no substitute for the adrenaline intoxication I get during a real race. Chicks screaming my name, the other drivers fighting me for space on the asphalt . . . there’s no substitute for that. The Raceway’s only got three tracks, too—one Indy-style oval and two different rally-style tracks, which are the closest they can get to replicating the street circuit experience.
I’m most comfortable on their motocross circuit, which is shorter but jammed full of sharp turns and wild curves. The longer rally track is probably closer to the city conditions we face—block-length stretches, ninety-degree turns, but also a few curving roads that mimic access roads and bypasses like we often use in circuit tracks. I’m not as familiar with it, though, so of course Cyrus wants to drill me on it instead.
“I know we don’t practice on this course as much, but don’t worry too much about building muscle memory for this particular track,” Drazic says, as we set up at the starting line. “The important thing is being able to adapt. We’ll pick different starting points each time and have you run it the opposite direction some, too.”
“Sure thing.” I climb into the Firebird and ready to burn some rubber. Maybe burn all these shitty feelings straight out of my head.
Right after we start, I’m flying, leaning into all the turns and pegging the RPMs right where I want them. But right off the bat, I can tell something’s wrong. Not with the Firebird—Elena tuned her up just fine after the last race. Something in my head, I guess. I’m pulling my corners too slowly and jerking between gears something fierce. “Smooth it out,” Cyrus yells at me over the earpiece. “Unless you’re trying to burn your transmission out?”
After about three different circuits from various starting points, Cyrus tells me to pull over so we can reassess. Drazic’s arms are folded over his chest, tattooed forearms bulging, and his lip is twisted in a scowl. I jam my hands in my pockets, already feeling defensive. He wants a fucking fight? I’ll give him a goddamned fight.
“The fuck is going on with you, Jagger.” It’s a statement, not a question. “You’re losing your finesse.”
“I told you. Got a lot on my mind,” I snap.
“Well, we all do. You think I like the idea of someone sniffing around the garage?”
Cyrus narrows his eyes, his bald head gleaming in the afternoon sun. “Wait, what’re you talk
ing about?”
“Jagger’s little girlfriend has ties to some kind of fed,” Drazic says.
“Now, wait a minute. We don’t know that for a fact.”
“Don’t we?” Drazic raises one eyebrow. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter the source. It’s our problem now, regardless.”
“But the feds?” Cyrus asks, then whistles under his breath. “Do they know about—”
“He didn’t know shit. Was just taking a stab in the dark.” I yank my earpiece off and stuff it in my pocket. “And we’re cool. We’re clean.”
“Then you shouldn’t be having any problems driving clean,” Drazic says.
I exhale slowly. Squeeze my eyes shut and try not to blow my goddamned lid. Drazic’s the last person I want to lose it on, and deep down, I know that, but it’s not always easy to remember when I’m this pissed.
“I’ll get there, okay? We’ve still got a couple of weeks on the race. I just need a few days more to clear my head.”
Drazic nods. “See to it that you do.”
Later that night, I decide to check Darla’s house one last time to see if I can’t set the record straight and be free of Sophie’s grip on me once and for all.
The main house is mostly dark, and Sophie’s car is parked behind the freestanding garage—a good sign. I hadn’t seen her car here or at the youth center all week up to this point. I trot up the stairs to her apartment, do a quick peek through the lace curtains—her main light is on inside—and knock. “It’s Jagger,” I add, remembering how fucking jumpy she was the other time I came by her place unannounced.
The door cracks open and she stares at me, sullen. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Please, Soph.” I cross my hands in front of me, trying to show her I’m not a threat. “I just want to understand what the fuck is going on.”
The door eases open a fraction. She’s bundled up in all kinds of layers, though it’s cool spring air outside. She’s trembling, too, and her face looks paler than usual, like she hasn’t gotten much sleep. “Fine.” She throws the door open and saunters away to the kitchen to pour herself some tea.