Inferno Anthology

by Gow, Kailin

  “You have blood on your cheek,” I say as I sit in the seat with my knees pulled up to my chest, shivering and chattering.

  He reaches up and wipes away the blood then glances over at me. He opens his mouth to say something, but then, I guess, decides against it. He starts up the car and drives out of the parking lot and onto the street.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask, shutting my eyes and turning forward in the seat. The heater blows over my body, however I can’t stop shivering.

  “Home,” he says, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  “What about my father?” I lean my head against the window, unable to hold my head up anymore.

  “I’ll tell Frankie you did the job and to let him go. Everything will be fine.” He’s speaking to me, yet he’s not.

  I open my eyelids, even though they feel so heavy. “And what about you? What will you do?”

  “I already told you not to worry about me,” he says, looking straight ahead at the road. “I can take care of myself.”

  I want to tell him that I am worried about him, that I do care about him, but I’m afraid to go there right now.

  Layton and I don’t speak until we reach my house, but I don’t think there’s that much to say, other than we could talk about what’s happened. However, I don’t want to talk about it. Think about it. Remember it.

  God, I’m a killer.

  I can’t stop staring at my hands. They look so different. So tainted.

  When he parks the car in front of my house’s entryway, he gets out and opens the door for me then helps me out of the car. My legs are wobbly and I stumble to get my footing. He catches me in his arms and helps me get my balance, holding me against him. He still doesn’t speak as he smoothes his hand over the back of my head over and over again. All I want to do is sink into him, disappear, vanish forever.

  He starts placing kisses on my head over and over, and then he steps back from me and again I feel so cold. “Go inside and wait for your father to get home,” he instructs, quickly brushing his finger down my cheekbone, looking torn over something. “But, Lola, don’t believe anything he tells you.”

  “What?” Confused, I struggle to get my balance. “Why not?”

  “I can’t tell you why. You just need to trust me.” His eyes plead with me to believe him.

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t even matter… nothing does… I’m as good as dead. You know it—everyone knows it.”

  He swallows hard and then suddenly he’s pulling me back to him, his lips rushing against mine before I can even take my next breath. He kisses me with so much passion, like it’s his last kiss, last breath he’ll ever take, and it means everything in the world to him.

  And just as quickly as it happens, it stops. He pulls away, slipping away, leaving me breathless as he whispers, “Run away. It’s the only way you’ll survive this. Run away and never look back. It’s what your mother should have done.” Without saying anything else, he gets into the car and drives into the night, leaving me stunned beyond words.

  Like my mother should have done? What does he know?

  I try to call him several times as I hurry inside, but it keeps going to his voicemail. I wonder if he has to go into hiding for killing Anthony. I wonder a lot of things, like why he thinks I can’t trust my father. Why he stepped up and shot Anthony himself. If it was because I hesitated and he thought I was going to get shot, or if maybe he was never going to let me shoot Anthony all along. If he does still care about me like he did when we were kids.

  My heart feels about as empty as the house, entirely unfamiliar, entirely dead. I want to crumble in the emptiness and cry my heart out, but I’m not going to. Blood on my hands or not, I’m not going to be a weak girl. I’m stronger than that. So instead, I pull myself together and go straight up into bathroom to take a shower, confusion fogging up my thoughts. What do I do? Where do I go? Who can I trust?

  I scrub and scrub and scrub. I scrub so hard to get the blood off my skin starts to bleed. By the time I’m done, I feel a little cleaner and my head is clearer. And I know what I have to do.

  After I get out, I get dressed and then take a pair of scissors to my hair, chopping it off. Erase who I am. I know better than to think that my father won’t do everything he can to find me and probably Anthony’s family will as well. If I don’t want to be found, I have to be careful. Be smart. Go into survival mode. I’m going to run. Disappear. Forever. Carry out the plan I made in the park, pretend tonight never happened. Do what Layton says, which I guess technically means I’m trusting him. I don’t know why, other than I am.

  By the time I’m finished hacking my hair off, it’s chin length and looks like shit, but I feel satisfied. I pack my stuff along with the letter my mom wrote to Everson. I grab a stash of cash from under my mattress, the one my father gave me for emergencies. Then I get in my car and drive away from the house I grew up in, never looking back, as if the last fourteen hours haven’t happened. I’ll turn it all off. That is my goal as I drive down the road toward the bus station.

  It’s a pretty far drive since we live in the more rural, rich area of town, and by the time I pull into the parking lot, the sun is coming up. I leave my keys in the car since I won’t need them. Then I grab my suitcase from the trunk and go inside the bus station.

  As I walk by people, I wonder if anyone can see what I am. What I’ve done. Can they see the blood on my hands? No one seems to be alarmed, yet I still feel nervous as I cautiously walk up to the counter to buy a ticket.

  When the cashier asks me where I want to go, I tell him, “Anywhere.”

  He gives me a confused look, like he has no idea what to do. “I’m sorry, but I need a destination.”

  I blow out a breath and think of the first place that comes to mind. “Do you have any buses going to Great Falls, Montana?”

  He types something on his computer. “There’s one headed in that direction in about an hour. There’s quite a few stops, though.”

  “Sold,” I say without missing a beat.

  Montana is far. Rural. An unlikely place for me to pick. And it just happens to be the address of the letter. I’m not sure if I’ll find this Everson man or if that’s even the point, but it might be a start to trying to figure out who the hell I am. Who the hell my mother was.

  After I pay for the ticket, I briefly consider asking the cashier guy if he’ll come screw me in the bathroom. He’s not bad looking at all, just a little preppy for my taste, and I need to relax somehow. I could do it again, just like with Layton.

  Layton.

  Pain crushes my chest, and after staring at the cashier guy long enough that I make him uncomfortable, I end up walking away for reasons I can barely comprehend. I take a seat on one of the benches, waiting to get on the bus. While I’m watching people wander around, searching the crowd for signs of the Defontelles, my phone goes off in my pocket. It rings on and off for five minutes, but I ignore it until a text comes through. I check it, and no surprise, it’s from my father.

  Dad: I’m okay, Lolita. On my way home. Stay there until I get there and please call me. I know you must have questions about everything.

  I read the message over five times, and with each time, I grow angrier. Everything. I want to ask him exactly what he means by everything. About his debt. About my mother. About why Layton thinks he’s a liar. And why the hell he got me into this mess after all those years of protecting me.

  Finally, I throw my phone into the trash bin. The last connection to my home is now gone. It gives me a little sense of peace. I wonder if Layton’s doing the same thing. If he’s erasing his identity. For the briefest moment, I think about pulling my phone out of the garbage and calling him, just to make sure he got away okay, but in the end, I don’t. I can’t bring myself to do so. And deep down, I know he probably won’t answer.

  Therefore, I wait for the bus, and when it’s time to board, I do so without looking back, leaving everything behind, knowing I can never be Lola or L
olita again.

  Jessica Sorensen is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author that lives in the snowy mountains of Wyoming. When she's not writing, she spends her time reading and hanging out with her family.

  Other books by Jessica Sorensen:

  Shattered Promises (Shattered Promises, #1)

  Fractured Souls (Shattered Promises, #2)

  The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden (The Coincidence, #1)

  The Destiny of Violet and Luke (The Coincidence, #3)

  Breaking Nova (Nova, #1)

  The Secret of Ella and Micha (The Secret, #1)

  The Fallen Star (Fallen Star Series, Book 1)

  The Underworld (Fallen Star Series, Book 2)

  The Vision (Fallen Star Series, Book 3)

  The Promise (Fallen Star Series, Book 4)

  Darkness Falls (Darkness Falls Series, Book 1)

  Darkness Breaks (Darkness Falls Series, Book 2)

  Ember (Death Collectors, Book 1)

  Connect with me online:

  jessicasorensen.com

  http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-Sorensen/165335743524509

  https://twitter.com/#!/jessFallenStar

  Meet the Authors of The Inferno Anthology this Holiday at: rockinhollywood.wordpress.com/

  Which of these fantastic books do you want to read?

  ALLURE

  by

  Lacey Weatherford

  © Copyright 2014 Lacey Weatherford Books/Moonstruck Media

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Published by Moonstruck Media

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  www.laceyweatherfordbooks.com

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author:

  Also Available from Lacey Weatherford:

  For The Reader

  Dedication

  For M. D. K.

  Your attention always made me smile.

  Rest in peace.

  Chapter One

  Six

  “We’re closed,” I hollered, as the door jangled behind me and I realized I’d forgotten to lock it and flip off the florescent sign. Everyone else was already gone. Tonight was my night to clean up and put everything away; not that I minded, I liked being alone in the shop, Inked Edges, and imagining the day when I’d finally be able to buy it from Edgin’ Eddy, like we’d agreed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” a soft feminine voice replied. “I saw the light. I…I can try to come back tomorrow.”

  Abruptly, I stilled. I knew that voice. Brooklyn Hall. Quickly, I spun to face her. “Wait!” I called, just as she was pushing the door to exit. She glanced back before slowly turning to face me.

  She looked so sweet, so out of place here. Long, honey colored hair draped in soft, perfect waves almost to her stomach; and her shirt had slipped to the side, falling off one of her shoulders, revealing a creamy expanse of skin that made my fingers itch to run over it. I assumed her hair placement was to hide the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra, but if that was her intent then she’d failed. I’d noticed immediately.

  Not that I was some perv who just noticed things like that; well, that wasn’t true either—I kinda was—but I especially noticed with her because of who she was. For some reason, this girl had been haunting my dreams at night, crawling under my skin and I couldn’t shake her. I didn’t know why, either. She was much younger than me—at least enough to be called “jailbait” in probably every state except for Nevada, but that didn’t seem to stop the response of my body, or my mind, every time I saw her.

  Suddenly realizing I was standing there gawking at her like an idiot, I managed to find my voice. “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.

  Biting at her plump bottom lip, she glanced around the room, fumbling with the hem of the too large shirt that hung over her tight skinny jeans as she rocked onto the sides of her flat tennis shoes. “Well, yeah. I wanted to get a tattoo.”

  A thrill shot through me. I’d love to ink her pretty skin. “How old are you?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. I just wanted to see what she’d say.

  “Seventeen.” At least she was honest. Points to her for that.

  I sighed heavily. “The store policy is you have to be eighteen years old or have a parent present to sign consent to get a tattoo.”

  She hung her head and nodded. “I know all that. Sorry, I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position. My brother, Tommy, told me if I ever wanted one, to come see you.”

  That changed things. Tommy Hall, her older brother by several years, had been struck by a vehicle while crossing a street last week, dying in the crosswalk. The bastard who’d hit him had fled the scene, getting away with the crime. My hands clenched involuntarily when I thought about what I’d like to do to that driver. Tommy had been a good friend of mine.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to him,” I said staring at her, my words seeming hollow and empty in the face of her loss.

  “Thanks,” she replied with a sigh, her eyes watering slightly. “That’s what I wanted the tattoo for—in memory of him.”

  My heart clenched in a vise. How was I supposed to turn down a request like that? “Do your parents know about this?” I asked, even though I was positive I knew the answer to that, too. She was a society kid. No way they’d let her come into a place like Inked Edges.

  She shook her head. “No. And they’ll be very upset if they find out.” Again, the truth. I liked that she didn’t dance around using lies to try and get her way.

  “If they find out?”

  Her face heated slightly. “I plan on putting it somewhere special…more .. . . private, where it will be harder for them to see it.”

  Grabbing some of the ink supplies off the counter I’d been restocking, I stepped from behind the register counter. “I could lose my job.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I understand. I’ll try to find someone else, then.”

  Like hell. Possessiveness that had no business being there welled inside me. There was no way I was letting her get a hack job from someone else who might screw it up. “I’ll do it,” I said, uttering the words before I could even consider them. “But you can’t tell people it was me.”

  “Really?” Her eyes lit up for the first time since she’d entered, and all of a sudden I felt like some damn hero. A hero I was not. I wasn’t fooling anyone, either. There were plenty of people who knew my work by sight. Of course, if she was keeping it hidden, then it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

  “Do you know what you want?” I asked, moving toward the small space where Edgin’ Eddie worked and she nodded. Tilting my head, I gestured toward the hall. �
�Why don’t you head on to the room at the very end, then? I’ll lock things up and turn out the lights so we won’t be disturbed.”

  “Okay.” She stepped forward and I watched her approach until she was about to pass me.

  “It’s the last door on the left. I’ll be right in.” Hurrying, I quickly stocked the items in Edgin Eddie’s cubicle, before going to the front. I spun the locks and flipped the switch for the neon sign, plunging the room into darkness, and turned toward the glow coming from the hallway in the back.

  This was certainly not the turn of events I’d been expecting today—not that I was complaining. I could think of a whole lot of things I’d love to be doing alone in a room with Brooklyn Hall. It was a damn shame none of them had anything to do with tattooing her, either.

  She was already seated in the tattoo chair when I entered, busy glancing at the different designs that hung about my workspace. My eyes traveled up her long slender legs crossed casually in front of her, causing me to imagine things I shouldn’t be thinking about. Damn, she was fine.

  “Are these all ones you’ve designed?” she asked without looking at me, effectively snapping my attention back to the project at hand.

  “Some are,” I replied as I began digging fresh equipment from the drawers and setting it on the metal tray beside the chair. “Others are designs I’ve done for people that they brought in to me.”

  “Looks like you’ve done a lot.” There was a hint of awe in her voice, and for some reason, I liked hearing it.

  “More than I could even try to count.” As soon as the tray was ready with my basic items, I glanced at her. “Do you know what you want and where you want it?”

  “I do.” She slipped her dainty hand into the pocket of her pants, producing a piece of paper and carefully unfolded it. She glanced at it briefly, before extending it to me.