I sigh, shaking my head. “My name. It’s Vanessa.”
“Sassy suits you better.”
“Ugh. You’re impossible.”
He grins. “No, I’m Dax.”
“Can you stop being a clown and get in? Is it really so hard for you to accept help?”
With another trademark eyebrow raise, I gather his answer is yes.
He drops the cigarette to the ground and stomps on it with his boot. When he strolls toward me, I feel minuscule. Am I really letting a total stranger into the car? Not to mention, a stranger with an incredibly bad reputation.
“I’ll take the bike home,” he says flatly. “But thanks for the offer, Miss Ashworth.”
Dax backs away, and I notice his unbalanced steps as he approaches his motorcycle. I slowly enter the sedan, keeping a watchful eye as he hoists a leg over his bike.
“Roger,” I call. “Can you follow him on his motorcycle? He’s passed out twice today, and I want to make sure he gets home safe.”
“As you wish, Miss Ashworth.”
Roger takes off a few car lengths behind the motorcycle. Dax weaves around cars and takes corners sharply. My mind replays his slight limp and the way he held his side. I swallow hard, dreading the idea of him skidding off the moving motorcycle.
Is it an image I want to see in real life? I don’t know this boy. I shouldn’t want to know this boy. I should forget this boy, go home, and get ready for dinner at the country club. But I can’t get Dax out of my head. Deep inside me, something desires to know more about him.
But this is crazy. If my parents knew I was venturing further into Logan’s Point, they’d be livid. I just won’t get out of the car. I’ll check Dax gets home okay and then leave. Hmm. Maybe I’ll also check out his home. And maybe see that smirk one more time.
As we breeze by the main street of Logan’s Point, the houses outside my window become smaller and decrepit. The car jolts along potholes and cracksin the road. Unsupervised children gather by the road, and Roger is forced to brake hard when one chases after a wayward basketball. Unkempt plant life grows in the cracked sidewalk and disappears into abandoned homes. At least, I hope no one lives in them.
As the houses worsen, my stomach quivers when a thought hits me. How bad must Dax’s home be? As the car slows where the motorcycle turned off, I gulp anxiously and unbuckle my seatbelt.
The car idles outside a ranch-style tavern. Above the windows and below the guttering, an aged sign reads, ‘Scorpions.’
“Miss, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get out of the car,” Roger says, turning in the driver’s seat.
I press a hand against my window, searching for Dax. “Do you think he got inside okay?”
“Yes, Miss. I really must be getting you back to Ashworth Estate.”
As I look at the rundown building across the street, my blood runs cold. The front yard is cemented, but in true Logan’s Point fashion, it’s cracked and littered with overgrown grass and weeds. Parked out front are a few motorcycles, accompanied by abandoned engine parts and other junk.
I assumed Dax was going home, but this must be where the motorcycle club meets up.
Despite it being a bad idea, I open my passenger door. “I’ll be right back.”
“Miss Ashworth, please…”
I don’t let him continue. “Don’t follow me. I’ll be quick.”
I leave the car and walk across the street. A damaged chain-link fence surrounds the uninviting property. A knot ties between my shoulder blades, and my jaw clenches. I don’t understand what is drawing me in, but the need is hefty.
I take a deep breath and open the flimsy gate. The tall, deadened grass itches against my legs. Oily, garbage smell wafting from the abandoned junk irritates my nose. I look up at the beaten and torn screen door, and move along the side of the building.
Four more motorcycles are parked along the driveway. Further down is an open garage, and I spy Dax’s motorcycle parked inside.
I sigh out. “Phew.”
Okay, Vanessa, that’s enough. You’ve seen the bike and have confirmed he’s home. Now, back away. No good can come from going any further.
