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Maybe Iamruined.
* * *
The next morning,I wake up on top of the covers with dried blood running in spiderweb patterns down my legs. The knife is still next to me. Apparently I passed out from exhaustion and… everything else last night without cleaning up or anything.
I make my way to the bathroom, pleased when none of the cuts reopen from walking, and use a wet towel to wipe away the blood until my skin is clean.
I told Gage I’d be out of here today, and I plan to stick to that. The deal is up. Ivan’s dead, and I don’t have a reason to be here anymore.
I pack up my things, shoving it all into that duffel bag I brought with me when Knox made me come here. It feels like a long time ago, even though I know it was just a couple of weeks, really. It takes some time to hunt down everything I brought with me, but I have the most important shit.
Hannah’s picture, my weapons, my nail polishes and razor blades. I don’t bother to fold any of the clothes, just chuck them all into the bag, and when it’s stuffed full, I zip it up and head downstairs.
The house is quiet, and apparently none of the guys are around. No Knox in the kitchen eating a breakfast that could easily feed two or three people, no Ash doing card tricks or twirling a butter knife between his fingers.
It feels weird to just leave without seeing them, but that’s bullshit. They all knew what this was. The deal was that as soon as Ivan was dead, I’d be out of here. And they all saw him die.
So it’s time for me to go. No harm, no foul.
Dog is under the kitchen table as usual, and he perks up when I walk in.
“Come on, Toto,” I tell him. Knox’s habit of calling him whatever name seems to fit in the moment has really stuck, apparently. “It’s time to go home.”
I grab his bowl and the dwindling bag of food, heading for the front door with everything. Dog comes, the way he always does, trotting eagerly after me.
I walk down the driveway to my car, unlocking it so I can start loading up the backseat with all this stuff. When I look up to try to get him in the car, the furry brown mutt is standing halfway between the house and the car, whining softly like he’s torn.
There’s a flash of hurt in my chest for some fucking reason. The only reason why this stupid dog got such a cushy little vacation in the first place was because I brought him with me to piss off the guys for being bossy jackasses. But now he wants to choose their house over me?
“Fine,” I snap. “You can stay here if you want. It’s not like you’re mine. And it’s not like my shitty studio is better than this place. I don’t have a yard or a kitchen table for you to sleep under, so whatever. I’m sure the guys would just love for you to stay here. Ash can yell at you every morning and you can shit in his shoes. It’ll be perfect.”
I don’t know why I’m arguing with a damn dog in the middle of the driveway, but after I say my piece, Dog finally trots toward me and hops up into the backseat of the car, curling up next to my duffel bag.
“Whatever,” I mutter under my breath. “Fucking drama king.” I slam the door closed, but I can’t help the grin that stretches over my face.
I start the car and drive away from the house, away from the fancy-ass neighborhood with the probably snooty neighbors who will be glad not to have to look at my eyesore of a car anymore, I bet.
Instead of heading back to my place, I take another exit and drive toward the address Avalon texted me this morning.
She left her cousin’s place, not wanting to get her into any trouble, and said she’s in a motel on the outskirts of town.
By now, Ivan’s absence will definitely have been noticed, and his people will be coming after the pimp, who will be looking for Avalon.
I park outside the place. It’s run-down as hell, a flashing vacancy sign above it, but no signage to say the name or the rates or anything. It’s the kind of place you’d come to try to disappear or hide something.
I grab my bag from the backseat and use my knife to split a seam in the side. There’s a little false pocket sewn into it, stuffed with the emergency cash I keep hidden there. You never know when you might need it, or when you might need to help someone who put their neck out to help you.
I count out a few bundles, five thousand bucks or so, and tuck them into my jacket. Dog and I get out of the car and head inside, going up to the room Avalon said she’d be in.
The hall is quiet, but there are definitely people fucking in a room I pass by on the way to Avalon’s. I knock on the door, and there’s silence for a moment, then the sound of footsteps.
“Yes?” a voice calls. It’s Avalon’s, I’m pretty sure, but she’s trying to sound different, just in case.
“It’s me,” I call back.
There’s another beat of nothing, then the sound of someone leaning against the door, probably to look through the peephole. Then the deadbolt scrapes back, the chain jingles as it’s drawn away, and Avalon opens the door.
She looks like she hasn’t slept at all, with heavy bags under her eyes and pale skin. I can’t really blame her for that. She’s in a tough spot. Even knowing it’s me, she still looks wary, like she’s expecting an ambush at any second. I remember how scared she looked all the way up until I dropped her off at her cousin’s place last night. Yeah, getting her out of here is the best thing.
