by Dallas Cole
“Yep. But Daddy paid it off, no problem.”
“Okay. If your dad was willing to do that—then why give Lennox such trouble now, when he’s free? Why is he trying to keep him out of working?”
“Don’t you get it? We want you people gone. Fuck. His grandmother was supposed to be dead by now.” Tears well in Amber’s eyes. “I don’t want people around who know. I don’t want any chance that someone might—but now you’ve found out, and—”
I fold my arms and wait for her to catch her breath. She’s just the sort of psycho to cry like this for show. I’m not about to feel the slightest shred of sympathy for her. Not after what she’s put Lennox through.
What she’s put all of us through. My whole family and crew.
“I’ll pay you,” Amber says, her voice whining now. “I’ll pay you not to tell anyone. I’ve got a little bit of money my daddy doesn’t control.”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“Please. Just leave town. You and Lennox both. Don’t tell anyone. Please. You can’t.” Then her expression sharpens. “My daddy’s a powerful man, and he’ll make sure you get blacklisted, too.”
“I’m not afraid of your dad.” I smile, thin, baring my teeth at her. “I’m the kind of person your daddy ought to fear.”
Amber rocks back and forth on her heels, her tears already dried up. “Fine. Just tell me what the fuck you want.”
“I want you to come with me.”
*
I call ahead to Uncle D to make sure the whole crew is waiting for us while we arrive. Lennox doesn’t answer, probably because he’s with the McManuses, but it’s okay. I want the old crew to hear her story first. I wouldn’t exactly call Amber a hostile passenger in my Camaro, but she’s obviously just as disgusted to be sharing air with me as I am to share it with her. I drag her inside the garage, where Drazic, Nash, Jagger, and Cyrus are all waiting, wearing varying expressions of confusion and disbelief.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting,” Amber says, jutting her chin out. “Elena’s just got some crazy idea in her head—”
I grab one of my trusty wrenches out of a nearby toolbox and thwack the head into my open palm.
Amber clenches her jaw.
“What the hell’s she doing here?” Nash asks. “I thought you had something to tell us, Elena.”
“Not me. Please, Amber.” I gesture with the wrench. “Be my guest.”
Amber takes a deep breath. “It’s . . . it’s about the night that . . . it’s about Troy’s death.”
Nash’s upper lip twitches. Instinctively, Cyrus puts a hand on his shoulder, while Jagger exhales and starts to pace with nervous energy.
“We were all at a party together. Me, Troy, and Lennox. Lennox didn’t want to go, but Troy was trying to get with Rani back then, and . . . well, you get the idea.” Amber looks down at her peep-toes. “It was my turn to be the DD.”
My throat tightens. As much as I need to hear it from her, it’s already starting to sting. I can only imagine what Nash is feeling right now. How Lennox has felt for the past four years.
“But oh, my god, it was just so fucking boring. I didn’t know any of Rani’s loser friends, and none of my friends were there, and . . . anyway, I started flirting with Monty, you know Monty, just to give me something to do, but Lennox saw and got all upset.” She rolls her eyes again. “It was so not a big deal, but he just had to make it into this big fucking fight. Because he’d already been drinking . . . and so he storms off and I start doing shots to cool off, too.”
“Son of a bitch,” Nash says under his breath. “No. This can’t be for fucking real—”
“Let the lady finish,” Cyrus says. His tone is steadying, but the look he gives Amber is pure venom.
Amber nods. “Right. Um. Anyway, I guess Troy struck out with Rani or whatever, so Lennox comes back to find me because they were both ready to go home. It’d had been a few hours and I thought—well, I didn’t want to make things worse with Lennox than they already were by telling him I’d started drinking and—I mean, it was only a couple of shots—”
Jagger stares at her, slack-jawed. “Just a couple? You fucking idiot—”
“Do you want me to finish or not?” Amber cries.
Drazic turns toward her. “Don’t mind them. Finish the fucking story.”
Amber’s tears are real now; I don’t think anyone could fake the quaver in her voice. “So Lennox could tell as soon as we got on the mountainside that I’d had a few drinks. But I was so mad at him, I just wanted to get home, and . . . So he was screaming at me to stop . . . and Troy was shouting at him to calm down . . . Lennox told me to pull over and there was another car coming and then I swerved, and—”
We all cringe. Nash squeezes his eyes shut. His entire face is flushed with red. He’s barely holding it in. It’s only Nash’s gentlemanly nature that’s stopping him from beating the shit out of Amber right now.
Amber draws a ragged breath. “I think I blacked out at first. Probably when my nose hit the steering wheel. But it was only for a few seconds, I guess. I woke up to Lennox shouting at me, trying to see if I was alive, if I could move. He said we had to go get help for Troy, that he wasn’t breathing, and . . .”
“You’re going to fucking pay,” Nash says. “I swear to god—”
“Let her finish,” I say.
“So Lennox got me out of the car. When we couldn’t get Troy out, when he wouldn’t wake up—I just panicked, okay? I called my dad. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Like call the fucking cops?” Jagger asks.
Amber shoots him a withering look. “Right. I wasn’t that drunk. I knew better than that.”
My stomach sinks. I can’t believe the nerve of the Cartwrights. Either of them. How fucking selfish could a person be?
“Daddy showed up long before the ambulance did and made Lennox the offer on the spot. If he said he was the driver, then he’d take care of his grandma’s house. Because I—” Amber hesitates, and then smiles bitterly. “Because I had a bright future ahead of me, Daddy said. Back when I was still going to business school. And because Daddy could get him off light.” She laughs, ashamed. “We didn’t know then that ‘light’ would still be three and a half years.”
“You’re a fucking monster.” Nash is heaving, now, glaring at Amber like he still might tear her in two. “You killed him. For nothing! Because you were too much of a goddamned coward to admit you’d been drinking? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I didn’t mean it!” Amber sobs. The tears streak down her face in a trail of mascara. “I never meant to hurt anyone—not Troy, or Lennox, or—”
“Get out.” Drazic steps toward Amber. He’s blocking Nash’s path to her, but I’m not so sure he won’t slug her himself. “Get out of my garage.”
Amber wipes her nose on the sleeve of her blouse, leaving a smear of makeup. “You can’t tell. Not anyone. I swear to god, we will sue the shit out of you if you try anything—”
“If you want us to keep your secret,” Drazic says, “then you will leave this place and never so much as look at one of my crew members again.” His eyes narrow to dark beads. “And that includes Lennox Solt.”
Amber hesitates a moment, then nods. “Fine. But remember—I’ll sue the shit out of you, I swear. We’ll take your shop.”
“Go!”
Amber scampers out of the shop in a clatter of heels. I slump against the wall, overwhelmed with all the conflicting feelings I’m having right now. Disgust—with the Cartwrights, of course, but also a little bit with Lennox, for going along with their plan. But we know what it is to be poor, to have no other options. It’s why Uncle D does the things he does. As much as Lennox love his grandmother, I can see how he might have felt he had no other choice.
And heartbreak. For Lennox and the life he gave up, all because of his grandmother and probably, too, out of his misplaced love for Amber. He wanted to protect her, too, I’m sure. Thought he could show it by taking the
fall. Instead, she abandoned him, got herself a new nose, and is now slowly working her way up the short rungs of the Ridgecrest social ladder, all with Daddy’s help.
But also—relief. That now the crew knows the truth. They know Lennox wasn’t responsible for Troy’s death, even if he gladly shouldered the blame. No more vendettas and vows for revenge. Uncle D was right. Lennox is our family, still. Always has been. Hope stirs inside me that maybe, just maybe, my family can finally be whole once again.
Nash, Cyrus, and Jagger turn toward Drazic. I wonder if they’re feeling the same things I am, overwhelmed by it all at once. Even Drazic looks unusually sullen, his dark features drawn downward while he thinks.
Cyrus takes a deep breath to break the silence. “I miss Lennox.”
“I miss Elena. And Troy.” Jagger glances my way. “But I miss Lennox, too. We’ll never be whole without Troy, but at least with him . . .”
Nash turns away from them and kicks a metal stool. It screeches across the concrete floor of the garage. “Fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand it. It’s just so senseless. How the fuck could she do that? And then let someone else take the blame?”
Hope stirs in my chest. If Nash is acknowledging that Lennox isn’t at fault, then maybe this really can work.
Drazic approaches him and gently cups an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not right. It’s never been right, the way the Cartwrights get to steamroll over other peoples’ lives whenever it suits their fancy. But we’ll find a way to make them pay. I promise you.”
Nash shakes his head. “I just don’t know, man. I’ve been so angry for years now, and it was always Lennox’s fault. I can’t just—switch that off.”
“I’m not asking you to. But I am asking you to come back to our family. With Lennox and Elena. Can you do that?”
Nash shrugs. “It’s gonna take me some time.”
Cyrus frowns. “We don’t know that Lennox wants to come back. Or could, even if he wanted to. The McManuses own him now.”
“Well, that’s his call to make,” Drazic says. He looks toward me. “And yours, too, Elena. You’re welcome back anytime, djevojka, but it’s your life.” He smiles sadly. “You deserve to be in control.”
Tears needle at the corners of my eyes. I fling my arm around Uncle D and hold him tight. “Thank you so much,” I whisper. “For everything.”
“Does this mean you’re back?” Jagger asks, hopefully.
I let go of Uncle D and tuck my hands in my back pocket. “Let me talk to Lennox first. He may not be happy that we found out his secret. But I’m sure I can bring him around.”
*
I wind my way back to Grandma Solt’s house, barely able to contain the buzzing, ecstatic feeling in me. My family. The only one I’ve ever really known. Oh, my god, how incredible it would be to have them all back together, all getting along . . . And I know Nash is right. Things won’t be the same. But I think they can actually be better. I’m going to have a bigger stake in the crew from now on. Maybe turn the shop’s finances around, so the boys don’t have to make their “runs” anymore. Hell, with Lennox, Nash, and Jagger, we’ll have the best drivers in the state. We can earn enough in prize money alone to pay down our debts.
And maybe, just maybe, I can start driving, too.
I know Lennox will be hurt at first, or afraid the Cartwrights are going to try to get revenge on him somehow. But it doesn’t matter. He did his time. He deserves to be free.
“Hi, Mrs. Solt!” I shout as I unlock the front door and let myself inside. No one responds, so I head to her bedroom to see if she’s napping, and make sure she isn’t hurt. But it’s empty. I frown. She does go out with friends every now and then, her bridge club buddies who can still drive, though I didn’t think this was their usual afternoon to do that. And there’s still no signs of Lennox.
I try calling Lennox again but it clicks straight to voicemail. Still on a job with the McManuses, then. I try to ignore the ugly twist it puts in my stomach. He was acting extra strange when he set out this morning, and warned me he might not be back until very late. I check the clock. Plenty of time for me to fix a pot roast, then. A nice dinner to celebrate.
I fall into a pleasant rhythm as I chop up the vegetables and assemble the roast. While I’ve never been much of a cook, some of my few memories of my mother are of baking Croatian sugar cookies with her. I’m trying to get better. I like this domestic role I’ve taken on, helping look after Lennox and his grandma both. And it serves as a good distraction. As the sun sinks into the desert, the twist in my stomach pulls tighter, and I throw myself deeper into cooking. One of them should be back by now. I slide the roast into the oven and settle onto the couch with a book.
Just after eight, someone knocks on the door. A tingling sensation on the back of my neck warns me not to answer, but that’s stupid. Maybe it’s Mrs. Solt’s friends dropping her off. I wait a few minutes before I slip off the couch. If it’s her friends, they’ll knock again. But there’s nothing.
I creep toward the door, staying away from the windows in the front parlor. Check the peephole.
Nothing.
What the fuck?
I head back toward the kitchen. There’s still plenty of time left on the roast, but I’d feel a hell of a lot better with a butcher’s knife beside me while I wait. Just in case.
As soon as I step into the harvest gold kitchen, though, I find Rory McManus waiting for me, his lanky frame nearly reaching the ceiling.
Adrenaline spikes through my veins. Run. Run. But I’m frozen to the spot. Rory smiles, his mouth like the gash of a knife wound. And he has the butcher’s knife in his hand.
“Elena Drazic.” He takes a step toward me. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person. I think it’s time for you and I to have a nice chat.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Lennox
I couldn’t do it.
I took one look at those girls and I couldn’t do it. They were huddled in someone’s trailer, obviously underaged and heavily drugged, their hair matted and their bodies reeking of filth. They were runaways—had to be. Some poor desperate girls leaving abusive parents or predatory stepfathers who thought the McManuses would be the answer to their prayers. Instead, I was here to drive them off to an even more horrifying circle of hell than they’d already lived through.
Rory nudged me in the ribs with his elbow—none too softly. “I know they aren’t much to look at right now, but once we get them cleaned up, teach ‘em some manners . . .” He let out a low whistle.
“And they . . . agreed to this?” I asked. I tried not to sound disgusted, but Rory never made that easy.
He snorts. “You’re kidding, right? Look, I dunno what fantasy land you live in, but the world is shit out there. We’re giving them an opportunity. Earn some easy money. If they do well, they can rise up in the ranks, and we’ll cut them a bigger percentage. It’s like . . . business school, or something.” Rory flashed me that icy grin of his. “Way better than trying to scrape by on their own, and trust me, only a matter of time before some other pimp got ahold of them.”
Maybe Rory was right. Maybe they wouldn’t be any better off on their own. But the longer we drove, the more the sick feeling spread through me, oily and vile. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t force them into this fate. When one girl woke up, probably going through withdrawals, and started screaming for her mother, I knew I couldn’t go through with it.
The midday sun was so thick pouring through the van’s windows. It felt like we were crawling. My heart pounded as I waited for Rory to find us a gas station just shy of the Nevada border so he could hit the restroom and grab us some snacks. My phone was locked up at the McManus pub back in Ridgecrest—one of their many forms of collateral. I had no way to call Elena, or check on shelters, or anything. But then I remembered the shelter Grams used to volunteer at, back before she’d broken her hip.
Okay. I could do this. Wait for Rory to head inside. Hea
d to the shelter. Then go immediately to check on Elena. Keep her safe.
“You want anything?” Rory asked.
I smiled. “A soda and corn nuts.” I glanced back toward the cab. “Maybe some ear plugs.”
He laughed. “I prefer chloroform, myself.”
I wanted to vomit as I laughed back with him.
He headed inside. I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel, watching him through the windows of the convenience store. He had to wait in line for the restroom. Then he headed inside. Slow breaths. I gave him a count of twenty.
Then I revved the engine and peeled away.
The element of surprise was on my side. All he had was a burner phone, and our contact was another ninety miles away; I knew he couldn’t follow me on foot. The best thing I could do was keep a slow, steady pace, and not attract attention. I felt my face warm with the start of a sunburn as the daylight continued to beat down on us; the girls’ cries grew louder.
“I’m going to get you to safety,” I told them, not that I thought they could understand me right now. “You’ll be all right. I promise.”
I could barely keep the van above forty without the engine overheating as we wound back across the desert. Thankfully the shelter Grams used to work at was around the other side of the mountain, far enough away that it wouldn’t be an immediately obvious place for the McManuses to look. They had good security, isolation, and a no-nonsense attitude, just like Grams did, back in the day. I pulled through the security gates after identifying myself as Perdita Solt’s grandson and drove the girls up to the front stoop.
They clung to each other, the three of them, bewildered expressions on their faces. “Whatever your names used to be,” I told them, “pick something else. Work with the counselors. They’ll get you on your feet without sending you home. Promise.” The most lucid of the three nodded at me, her chin held defiant. “And forget my name. Forget you ever saw me. Can you do that?”
She nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I wish more guys were like you.”