As soon as she rounded the corner, she saw it. A large chain-link enclosure, bathed in the glow of fluorescent light.
The enclosure stretched from the back of the house all the way to the fence line. Camouflaged netting covered the links on top and wooden slats added privacy along the sides. To a casual observer, the enclosure might appear to be nothing more sinister than an extra-large dog run, but Shay recognized the signs of a big cat.
The concrete floors looked clean but smelled of territorial markings. An intact male lion definitely lived here. There was a kiddie pool filled with fresh water in one corner and she could see a number of “toys” scattered about. A couple of scarred wooden logs, some sturdy rubber balls, and a few old tires were visible through the slats.
Pulse racing, mouth dry, Shay crept along the edge of the enclosure, trying to catch a glimpse of its inhabitant. Her eyes were drawn to a square-shaped flap covering the lower half of the house’s back door.
Good God. The beast had the run of the house, too!
When the cat came into her line of sight, Shay froze in place, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling in awareness. He was at least as big as Hamlet, if not bigger. Muscles bunched beneath his dun-colored coat. The cage seemed to shrink in his presence.
Betty was standing on the other side of the chain-link fence. The entrance to the enclosure and the back gate were both wide open. “Run, you stupid cat!” Screaming her frustration, she prodded him with a steel bar while he spat and hissed. “Run!”
Holy hell. Betty was trying to free him. Shay studied the barren landscape beyond the fence line, seeing nothing but dark underbrush and pale rocks the size of headstones.
“Don’t,” she said, finding her voice. “Don’t do this, Betty!”
With another sinister howl, the lion turned his massive head in Shay’s direction. When his gray-green eyes met hers, she gulped and took a step back, her heart beating so fast she could hear it thundering in her ears.
“I won’t let you take him,” Betty said, her face ravaged by grief. “He didn’t mean to kill Yesenia. We were only trying to scare her, but Kato got too excited. She started screaming and he pounced. By the time I pried his jaw open, it was too late.”
Shay didn’t know what to say. Betty seemed on the cusp of madness. She had, after all, just bashed her over the head.
“He’s never hurt anyone before,” Betty said. “He was only playing.”
Shay realized that the woman was trying to save the lion’s life, not send him out on another rampage, and she felt a pang of sympathy for her. Shay knew what it was like to lose a beloved friend. Hamlet had been sacrificed unnecessarily, and now Kato would have to be put down as well.
She hated it when animals suffered because of human carelessness.
The circumstances were sad, but Shay couldn’t let Betty free a killer lion. “He can go to a rescue facility,” she lied. Kato wouldn’t be allowed to live, not even in captivity. “He’ll be put somewhere safe and secure.”
Betty let out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. “He can take his chances in the desert.”
Shay scrambled forward, trying to avert a disaster of epic proportions. “No, Betty,” she said. “He’ll never survive—”
But she was too late. Betty had already entered the cage.
Gasping, Shay stopped in her tracks. No telling what the lion would do.
When he didn’t do anything, Betty pointed at the chaparral-covered hills in the distance and waved her hands in frustration. “Go on,” she said, gripping the chain links and rattling the fence. “Be free!”
Shay’s eyes darted from the open gate to the stationary lion. She knew better than to make any sudden moves around a predatory cat. But what else could she do?
Betty grabbed the animal by the scruff of his neck, trying to force him out. He roared a protest. She didn’t listen.
“Oh, Jesus,” Shay whimpered, almost too afraid to watch. The cat was going to attack Betty and there was nothing Shay could do about it. With trembling fingers, she reached into her front pocket, closing her fingers around Dylan’s hunting knife.
When Betty yelled and pulled on the cat’s scruff again, he snapped. In a flash, Betty was stretched out on the ground with the lion’s jaws closed around her neck. There was a sickening sound, like a wet crunch, as he applied pressure. Horrified, Shay stumbled toward the gate. Now that the cat was preoccupied, she had the chance to shut him in.
But if she didn’t intervene, Betty would surely die.
It was one of those life-altering moments. Shay had always wondered what she would do in this kind of situation, if she would risk herself to save someone else. Only for Dylan, she’d have said before. And so it was with no small amount of surprise that she found herself rushing to Betty’s aid after a short hesitation.
The lion had a death hold on Betty’s neck. His jaws were locked; her body was limp. It might be too late already, but Shay picked up a tire and heaved it at him, her head throbbing with pain. Panting from exertion, she dumped a bucket of cold water over the tangled pair. She tried to knock him loose with a block of wood.
He wouldn’t budge.
Betty’s blood slicked the concrete beneath them.
With nothing left to do but join the fray, Shay extended the knife, gripping it in her white-knuckled hand. Making a strange, feral sound, she sank the blade into his neck, going for the carotid artery.
She missed.
The lion released Betty and let out an earsplitting howl. Screaming, Shay fell away from him, her hands and feet seeking purchase in the slippery mess.
He turned on her and roared, his jaws wet with blood.
Shay’s entire life flashed before her eyes. And the world exploded into chaos.
27
Getting on that bus was probably the stupidest thing Angel had ever done. Getting off it in favor of being stranded at a deserted rest stop wasn’t too smart, either.
At the bus station, she’d watched Deputy Snell tackle Dylan and wrestle him to the ground. She’d wanted to scream Dylan’s name, to tell the bus driver to stop and let her out, to pull at Snell’s hair and kick him in the ribs. Instead she’d just sat there, frozen to her seat, weeping silently.
That was what she did for the next three hours.
It finally occurred to her that by leaving for Vegas, she wasn’t taking charge of her life. She was allowing the past to overwhelm her. Nor was she helping her brothers and sister by abandoning them, just as their mother had done, and perpetuating a vicious cycle.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen that until now.
The truth was, she’d been going half-mad since Christmas. Finding out about her mother’s new baby had brought her to an all-time low, and the horrible experience with Chad had taken her even lower. Instead of dealing with her feelings, she’d repressed them, pretending everything was fine.
Besides Dylan, she hadn’t told anyone what happened. Her boy-crazy best friend thought Chad was cute; she’d have squealed with delight and asked for a play-by-play. And how could a girl talk to her own father about sex? That was just … unnatural.
So Angel had kept every detail of the encounter to herself, from Chad’s whisky-laced breath and sloppy kisses to his rough hands and crude technique.
Dylan may not have known what he was doing in the bedroom, but what he lacked in experience he made up for in sensitivity. And eagerness to learn. She hadn’t lied when she’d told him he’d been way better than Chad. With Dylan, she’d wanted it to last forever. With Chad, she’d prayed it would be over as soon as possible.
Dylan had tried to take his time. He’d attempted to make it good for her.
Chad hadn’t cared. In fact, he seemed to take pleasure in hurting her, and after it was over, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. He’d used her and discarded her like trash. Like a wadded-up Kleenex he’d ejaculated into. It wasn’t as if she wanted to spend any more time with him, but coming on the heels of her mother’s latest rejection
, his casual disposal of her virginity had been devastating.
Angel had vowed not to waste any tears on Chad, who was a bad kisser, a poor student, and a miserable excuse for a human being. And she hadn’t. She’d refused to think about their hookup altogether until she saw him again at the Graveyard. When he first spotted her, a sly look had passed over his face. He was stinking drunk by the time he approached her, his manner as rude and arrogant as ever.
She knew he’d goaded Travis into hitting on her. She also suspected he’d enjoyed watching his friend hold her down. Seeing Chad again had released a flood of painful memories, and struggling with Travis in the backseat of Chad’s stupid car had been her breaking point.
This whole Vegas scheme, the confusing sexual game she’d been playing with Dylan, and every ridiculous thing she’d done over the past few days had been more about her acting out than taking control. A cry for help, rather than a quest for independence.
She wasn’t a martyr for her family or the savior of her siblings. She was just another pathetic cliché, the girl who believed she was worthless because her flighty mother left her and a dumb jock used her like a whore.
Brushing away her angry tears, she watched while the last bus cleared out of the parking lot. She was dead alone at a deserted truck stop, vulnerable to the kinds of perverts she thought she’d be tough enough to perform for in Las Vegas.
Alone … but for one small pickup truck. Her father’s rusty white 4-runner. And, Santa Maria, was it a sight for sore eyes.
Her dad came out of the driver’s side and she was up on her feet in a flash, launching herself into his open arms.
More tears streamed out of the corners of her eyes, tears of hope and joy and relief. Her mother might not love her, but this man did, so much he’d dropped everything to come after her. He must have driven like a maniac to get here so fast.
She was aware that Dylan was with him, standing in the background. The side of his face was scraped raw. He hung back, obviously pleased to see her but reluctant to interrupt the touching scene.
Her father pushed her back by the shoulders and searched her face. “What are you doing here, mi hijita? Were you really going to Las Vegas to … dance naked?”
In the background, Dylan shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced away, watching the blur of headlights on the freeway.
Angel tore her gaze from him, feeling betrayed, and looked her father in the eye. He was a stern man, solid and strong. As much as she wanted to, she was unable to lie.
“What were you thinking?” he asked. “Are you loca?”
“I thought I could make money. Enough to send some back.”
His befuddlement hardened into anger. “You thought I would take money from you? Money you earned—” he gestured to her chest “—enseñando las tetas?”
She flushed at his crude language.
“I would rather die than take money from you,” he growled, gripping her upper arms and shaking her a little.
Dylan tried to intervene. “Mr. Martinez—”
“Callate la boca!” he roared.
He shut up.
“I always wanted the best for you,” her father continued, his voice heavy with emotion. “Why do you think we came to America? I grew up in a house with a dirt floor, and never once did I complain.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I work very hard for the things we have. And you shame me by suggesting what I’ve given you isn’t good enough? Desgráciada!”
“Hey,” Dylan said. “She already feels bad—”
She ignored the interruption. “You’re right. I was foolish.” Her throat tightened. “Disgraceful. I’m sorry.”
Her father sighed and he released her arm. “I know I’ve expected too much from you since your mother left. It was not fair for you to take care of your brothers and sister when you were just a child yourself.” His eyes met hers. “I … I also am sorry.”
Unable to speak, she only nodded, more tears spilling onto her cheeks. He brought her close and kissed the top of her head, murmuring soft words of comfort.
Sniffling, she let his T-shirt absorb her tears. “Let’s go home.”
He patted her back. “No.”
She frowned up at him. “No?”
“I will take you to your aunt Espe.”
“I have an aunt Espe?”
“Sí. Your mother’s sister. Esperanza. She wrote me a letter a few months ago. You’ve never heard of her because she and your mother didn’t get along.”
“Where does she live?”
“LA.”
“Is she married?”
“No. She lives alone.”
“Have you met her?”
“Yes.”
“What is she like?”
“Different from your mother,” he said, choosing his words with care. “Quiet. Kind.”
Angel felt a flutter of nervous energy. “Well, I can’t just … barge in on her. What if she’s not home? What if she … doesn’t want me?”
He looked guilty. “She wants you. In her letter, she offered to put you in her extra room while you went to one of the local colleges. I didn’t think—” He broke off, swearing in Spanish. “I didn’t know you were so miserable.”
Her breath hitched painfully. “Oh, Papa. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I have her address in my truck.” He studied her in a way that made her sad and happy at the same time. “It is better if you go now.”
She knew what he meant. If she went back home first, Yoli would cry and cling to her legs and make it twice as difficult for her to leave. Her gaze skipped over to Dylan, who was watching her face, awaiting her decision.
“Yes,” she said, a strange lightness spreading through her chest. “I will go.”
Luke threw Garrett into the back of his squad car and got behind the wheel. “Trujillo,” he barked into the receiver as he pulled out of the driveway, tires squealing.
“Deputy Trujillo here, over.”
“Where the fuck are you?”
“On my way to back you up. Where the fuck are you, sir? Over.”
Luke met Garrett’s glowering visage through the rearview mirror. “Where does Betty live?” he asked, hitting the lights.
“Arroyo Drive,” he mumbled. “Number 331.”
Luke quickly entered it in the navigation system and turned his attention back to the CB. “Go to the Bighorn,” he told Clay. “I want you to pick up Shay.” When this request was met with silence, Luke realized he was ordering an officer who didn’t work for him to pick up his girlfriend at a café. “She might be in danger,” he added belatedly. “Over and out.”
A few minutes later, Clay communicated with him again. “The café is empty, Sheriff. No one here. And no answer at Shay’s house. Over.”
He swore offline, raking a hand through his hair. Betty lived on the outskirts of town, and although he was driving fast, he was still several miles away. “Meet me at 331 Arroyo Drive. And call for more backup. We have another lion situation.”
Signing off, he focused on the road in front of him, pressing down hard on the gas and taking the corners at a speed that was borderline suicidal. Garrett, handcuffed and unsecured in the backseat, went flying, slamming his head against the door.
Luke didn’t slow down.
After what seemed like an eternity, he was there, pulling into the driveway beside a new-model gray pickup, noting the custom bed-liner and a passel of dead rabbits as he drew Garrett’s revolver and exited the vehicle.
Somewhere close by, a lion roared, sending a hard chill down his spine. Abandoning stealth, Luke started flat-out running, both hands on his weapon and his eyes sharp. He went around the back of the house, drawn to the light, and was met with the goriest, most frightening scene he’d ever witnessed.
Two women lay in a pool of blood in the middle of a chain-link enclosure, like slave warriors in a gladiator arena. One was facedown, the same way Yesenia Montes had been, her lifeless arms flung out by her sides. The other was still mo
ving, trying to creep backwards, her shoes slipping all over the wet ground.
Between them, the lion. A big fucking lion, jaws dripping blood. His muscles bunched in readiness, his odd green eyes alight with deadly intention as he leapt, sailing through the air in a flash of teeth and extended claws, graceful and terrifying, 250 pounds of poetry in motion.
Luke lifted his arm and aimed, squeezing off three shots in rapid succession. Hit mid-air, the lion’s body jerked from the impact. He fell as suddenly as he’d jumped, collapsing on top of the scrambling woman in a clumsy, boneless heap.
Hands shaking, because he’d never shot and killed a living thing before, Luke rushed forward, setting the gun on the ground and kneeling by the slain animal. It was unmoving, unseeing, unbreathing. Dead.
With a powerful heave, he shoved the lion’s body aside. Beneath it was Shay, her blue eyes wide with fright, face covered in blood.
“Oh my God,” he said, gathering her in his arms. She was hurt, maybe badly, but she was alive, and she was hugging him back. He knew he shouldn’t move her, but he was so relieved he couldn’t let her go. “I wasn’t sure it was you under there.”
She pressed her face to his neck and sobbed, clinging to him desperately, her entire body trembling. Or maybe that was his body. After a moment, he lifted his head to examine her, running his hands over her throat, searching for injuries. Her hair was hanging in ropy red strands down her back and her clothes were wet.
“Where did he get you?” he asked, tugging at the neck of her T-shirt.
“Nowhere.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine.” Her eyes darted to the other woman, who was clearly not fine.
Letting his emergency training take over, Luke went to Betty, assessing the damage. The wound on her nape was still seeping blood, and he found a pulse. It was weak, but it was there. She was alive.
In the near-distance, a police siren rang out and then quieted. His backup had arrived. Footsteps thundered along the side of the house.
Set the Dark on Fire Page 31