Where Souls Spoil (87 page)

More than anything.

“Cheyenne Grady,” Ruby shouts. My back straightens, and I look up at Ian with wide eyes, intent on avoiding Ruby’s gaze.

Ian mouths, “
Run
,” and I take off without another thought. I can still hear Ruby shouting in the distance as I bob and weave around as many people as I can. My feet are killing me as I force them into action on these stupid heels, but I don’t slip, and I suppose that’s something. Dad and Holly nearly catch sight of me, but I duck behind a burly man before curving behind a table and out the front door. Once out of the clubhouse, I take a deep breath and thank God that I made it out of there alive. With much slower steps, I walk to Ian’s bike and plan to wait until he comes out. A second later, he bursts out of the front door. With a wicked smile on his face he says, “She’s pissed,” and climbs on his bike. I climb up after him, and he starts her up.

I catch sight of movement on the picnic table. A mess of shaggy blond hair hangs in his face as his hands grip the shoulders of a half-naked woman he has bent over. His jeans have been slid down just enough, and her skirt is tossed over her ass as he rocks himself into her. I already knows it’s him—Daniel—so when he lifts his head and grunts, I’m not surprised. No, what surprises me is the look of pure satisfaction he has on his face as he grabs ahold of the woman’s hair, and without breaking eye contact, he slams into her hard. His lips part, and his eyes roll back in his head just a moment before they’re back on me. Just as we pull out of the parking lot and peel out, I let my face rest on Ian’s back and close my eyes.

I am so done with bikers.

So done.

The ride home is short, and Ian helps me disengage the alarm. My Bug is still in the drive. Maybe Dad won’t know I was there after all. Ian’s taken notice of my sullen mood, and just before he closes the front door on me, he says, “You’re better than that shit. Remember that. You deserve good, so don’t settle for fucked up.”

He leans in and places a kiss to my cheek and then strides away. I close my eyes and shut the door, not even worried that I’m going to wake Grandma up. It takes everything in me to climb the stairs to my room. I fall into my bed, shove my face in my pillow, and sob uncontrollably for the next hour. The only reason I think I’m able to stop myself from crying and have the good sense to clean myself up and wash away the evidence of sneaking out is because of the words that won’t stop ringing in my head.

You deserve good, so don’t settle for fucked up.

Just as I’m drifting off to sleep, I manage to send Ian a quick text. THANK YOU.

CHAPTER 13

January

15 months to Mancuso’s downfall

My left arm
curls around my notebook, and my right furiously scribbles a messy stick-figure drawing of Jeremy being beaten by a hammer. Drawing-Jeremy is tucked in the corner of the page, surrounded by a carefully constructed code I created in order to try to piece together the mystery of Mindy’s rape without fear that someone will find it. Drawing-Jeremy is almost finished as I detail the blood oozing from his head. In the other corner of the page, Drawing-Daniel has been beheaded and is missing his right hand.

I may or may not be in a bad mood.

Everything is hectic and upside down right now. I barely know which direction I’m turning in anymore. Between avoiding Jeremy like the plague—because holy crap, I’m a chicken—to digging up every tiny piece of information on Mindy’s attacker that I can, I’m worn out. If things had gone well on our date, I was going to try to pry a little into finding out what Jeremy knows about the whole thing. But things didn’t go so well. On top of the ill-timed text from Daniel, that disaster after-date incident cemented our first date into the history books as our last. Not that the public blow job didn’t make everything even worse.

Only, I hate the idea of that date being our last. Even despite the blow job. I’m so pathetic. I don’t want to let him go. I really don’t, and I can’t figure out why. I don’t want to like him, but there’s just something there that has me in knots over what happened. Holly told me once to be careful because every girl marries a guy like her dad, and by her estimation, Jeremy shares more than just a cut with Grouchy. Maybe she’s right, because I can see the protective side of Jeremy that I’ve come to expect with my dad. I see his playfulness, and even his bossiness isn’t a turnoff. I’d never admit it, but I secretly love it when a guy goes alpha on me. Unfortunately, Jeremy’s sidestepped alpha and rushed right into dirtbag.

I was hoping to be able to confide in Jeremy about my investigation. It’s come to a standstill, and without a little more intel on the situation, I’m kind of stuck. I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I found Dad’s manila folder full of hospital records in the garage, but that turned out to be my last solid lead. Even trying to look into this Scavo character has me banging my head against the wall.

Thanks to Google and the general public’s fascination with the Italian Mafia, I was able to stumble upon a few things that might be of help. Maybe I’m not a detective down in my bones, because it took a few days of research to figure out that I was going about everything all wrong. I have been looking into Carlo Mancuso’s thug roster to no avail. The only information I could find was on guys who had been pinched or who’d been “taken care of.” No Scavo to find. Anywhere.

Eventually it occurred to me that I had no information on this guy—not even a first name—but I do have a lot of information on one person who is deeply connected to the Mancuso organization. Alex.

Now she has a pretty long internet trail. I was able to find bits and pieces on her life, including some rather disturbing candid photographs that were taken while she was out and about with various people. There’s research and then there’s stalking. I tried to avoid those sites as much as possible. Nothing good turned up at first. A few mafia fansites led me to newspaper reports from the day her cousin was shot. Dad would rather I not know, but I’m fully aware of why Alex is here and that the club has put their lives on the line to keep her safe. I even know why Dad doesn’t want her here, but I keep that to myself to avoid a fight. The problem is that Dad hasn’t let me go over to Aunt Ruby’s house since Alex came to town. But that’s just fine. I have a plan. Only, I have to wait until the bell rings to get the hell out of this classroom for good.

“Miss Grady,” Mrs. Cowger says from the front of the room. Letting out a heavy sigh, I set down my pen and raise my head. Mrs. Cowger is an okay teacher. I mean, she tries. I just don’t really care about Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet were morons.

She raises an eyebrow and points at my notebook. “Miss Grady, I’d like your attention on me rather than your desk.”

“No offense, Mrs. Cowger,” I say. “I just don’t have the energy for this crap.”

The words leave my mouth, and I’m not entirely certain what I’ve just done. Half the room either gasps or snickers. My eyes shoot to Tracie, who sits across the room from me. She shakes her head and mouths with a grin, “
Bitch
.”

When we’ve managed to end up in the same class, our teachers have refused to seat us together. It’s my last day here anyway, so it shouldn’t matter. All my extracurricular investigations have taken away from the time I’m supposed to be in class. With over thirty unexcused absences—ten this semester alone—not even Holly can save my ass. Which is fine. We’re only a month into the new semester, so I have no way of making that time up. Nor do I want to. The sooner I get out of this place, the sooner I can figure out where I’m going next. First my GED and then eventually culinary school in the city. Dad’s pissed as hell that I’m basically being expelled less than a full semester before graduation, but I’m pissed as hell at life in general. We’ll deal.

“I think you should visit Mr. Beck’s office, Miss Grady,” she says in response.

“Good idea.” I smile and happily pack up my stuff. Fuck Mr. Beck. He and Holly already arranged for today to be my last day. What’s he going to do? Expel me? Mr. Beck and Dad already reached the agreement that in exchange for not expelling me that I would leave of my own accord.

Across the room, Tracie is just staring at me in astonishment. Drawing-Jeremy and Drawing-Daniel get shoved into my backpack, and I stride out of class without looking back. I wish I were badass enough to flip her the bird on the way out, but as it is, I’m already a train wreck of nerves. My hands begin to shake the moment the classroom door closes behind me. There’s only ten or so minutes of class left, but it’s enough to get to the office to tell Holly that I’ve been unceremoniously excused early. She is not going to like this.

But really, I was blowing this Popsicle stand anyway. Still, I’m going to be in for it when I get home. I don’t know why they’re going to care. I just know that they will. Parents are strange creatures who give a shit about the dumbest stuff. I can’t even begin to think about Grandma. She is going to tan my hide—that is if she’s even home. She’s been curiously busy and absent from the house lately. I don’t like it one bit.

The office door feels heavier when I open it, and the air feels stuffy when I walk up to Holly’s desk. She is smiling down at her phone in her hands and so engrossed in whatever she’s reading that she doesn’t hear my approach. God, I hope she and Dad aren’t sexting again. After the last time, I won’t be peeking at either of their phones anytime soon.

“Please tell me you’re in a good mood,” I say with my best innocent smile plastered on my face.

Her head shoots up as her eyes land on me. She places her phone upside down on her desk and clears her throat. Her cheeks are red, and her breathing is a little shaky. Yeah, sexting. Christ, that’s freaking gross.

“Hey,” she says with a smile. Her eyes slide over to the wall clock and then back to me. They’re narrowed now, and she’s looking back at me.

“You’re supposed to be in class,” she says in that “mom” voice she’s been using a lot lately. I swear, she’s picking up this “mom” shit so quick it’s starting to freak me out. But I also kind of like it. A lot. For only a few months under her belt, she’s picking it up pretty quick.

“Yeah,” I say. “About that. Mrs. Cowger let me go early.”

“Let you go or kicked you out?”

I shrug my shoulders and look over at Margot, who’s pretending not to listen in. “It could have gone either way.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, pulling open her desk drawer. She takes out two pieces of individually wrapped chocolates and tosses one to me. I easily catch it in the air, unwrap it, and pop it in my mouth. She lets out a happy sigh and then looks at me again. “Fine. You were leaving today anyway.”

“That was my point,” I say. “She didn’t get that. Why do I care what Romeo and Juliet did? They killed themselves? Okay, fine. Why is she even teaching us about a story that glorifies suicide? It’s not romantic—it’s stupid.”

“Holy crap, what is your problem?” she asks with wide eyes.

“I’m just saying. We have classes on suicide prevention, and then we’re reading this junk about these
children
who kill themselves when they only wanted each other because they couldn’t be together anyway.”

“Chey,” Holly whispers. She pats her desk and leans in close to me. “Let’s have a talk.”

“I don’t want to have a talk.” I fold my arms over my chest.

She stands from her desk, circles round, and takes my elbow in her hand. I allow her to lead me away from the center of the room and into the nearby bathroom. She locks the door behind us.