Unbeautiful Page 12

  We’re going so fast the surroundings are a blur and dirt encases the car. I can barely see the road and have to focus on the taillights of the car in front of us. As I struggle to keep the car straight, Doc sticks his arm out the window and points the gun at the other car. He mutters something under his breath and fires the gun.

  Tires squeal. Dust flies everywhere. The car in front of us disappears.

  Doc grabs the wheel from me and the Barracuda slams to a halt, skidding sideways in the middle of the road.

  I work to catch my breath as Doc hops out of the car, but the air gets knocked right back out of me when I spot where Doc is going.

  The car we were chasing is off the road, upside down, tires still spinning. The metal is crunched in, and smoke is leaking from somewhere.

  Shit. Fuck. Shit.

  Who’s in the car?

  My hands shake as I shove the door open and stagger out. I inch my way around the front, watching Doc stride for the wrecked vehicle and crouch down by the driver’s door. He ducks his head to look inside then reaches in with his free hand and drags the driver out.

  The driver doesn’t put up a fight, and when I reach Doc, I half expect to see a dead man being hauled like a sack of potatoes through the dirt. The guy is alive, though. Barely.

  Blood gushes from almost every part of his body, one of his arms is bent the wrong way, and his mouth makes a strange sound every time he takes a breath.

  He groans when Doc lets go of him. “Please...” He manages to get out, staring helplessly at Doc.

  “Please?” Doc spits out as he paces to the side of the man, grasping his gun, his eyes wild like he’s out of his mind. “Is that what my son said when he came to you for drugs?”

  The man lets out a choking sound. “I tried not to give him any... but... he... wouldn’t... take... no for an answer.”

  Doc’s expression burns with fury. “So a druggie comes to you, and you just crumble when you know the consequences for selling him drugs? God, you’re as weak and pathetic as my son.” He kicks him in the side, and the guy wails in pain. “Maybe even more so since you knew what would happen. My son didn’t have a clear head.”

  “I’m sorry,” the man moans, rolling to his side.

  Doc crouches down, grabs his shirt, and forces the man to look at him. “You’re sorry! My son is in a coma, and you’re sorry!” he shouts in his face. “Do you know how hard I searched for the person who sold him the drugs? How much I was hoping it wasn’t one of my own? And then to find out it was you, Ivan. A person I let into my home, who spent time with my family. Who knew about my son’s struggles.”

  “Please, don’t tell Elderman,” he begs. “He’ll kill me if he finds out I was dealing to family members in his circle.”

  Doc laughs, a chilling, hollow laugh. “Too late. I told him this morning that I found out it was you.” He leans closer and his lips curve into an eerie grin as the man starts to sob. “But don’t worry; he’s not going to kill you.” Then he stands up straight and points the gun at the man. “I am.”

  I rush forward, opening my mouth to yell stop out of pure instinct. No sound leaves my throat, though, as the gun fires. Blood sprays everywhere like rain and splatters across my shirt and face. For a moment, I’m thrown back into the memory of Ben and what I did to him after he beat Aura.

  Doc lowers the gun and stares at the man he just shot. “See, regret eliminated.” When he looks at me, I see blood painting his face. His expression is that of a madman. “Welcome to hell, Ryler, a place where the evil thrive and the weak die. This man was weak. My son was weak. And now they’re both paying for their sins.”

  Having no idea how to react, I just stand there, staring at the gory scene, the scene I helped cause.

  Doc snatches a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face off. Then he throws it to me. “Clean yourself up.”

  I rub my face with the cloth, noting how bad my hands are shaking. I just hope Doc doesn’t notice my fear; otherwise, he might question why I’m in this world in the first place.

  I follow him back to the car and get into the passenger seat while he climbs into the driver’s side. He sends out a text before turning the car around and driving back toward the freeway.

  “I’m not a monster,” he abruptly tells me as he drives up the ramp. “That man back there dealt to my son who’s suffered from an unfortunate heroin addiction since he was fourteen-years-old. He’s almost died twice, and my wife and I have tried everything we could to help him, but no matter what treatment he goes through, he always goes back to his habit within days. Every single one of my men knows not to deal to him. Ivan knew what he was doing, knew he was harming my son when he sold him the drugs, yet he still did it. He chose to harm my family, and I had to make sure he paid for his sins, just like I made sure my son paid for his. It’s what I have to do, Ryler; otherwise, the people in my life will do what they want.”

  Unsure what he wants from me, I nod, which seems to satisfy him.

  He focuses back on driving down the desolate freeway, listening to his music while I work to remain calm. But by the time he drops me off at my car, I’ve reached a state of shock.

  “Ryler, if you keep going the way you are,” Doc says as I climb out of the car, “then you’ll do just fine in this world. You have the gift of silence, something a lot of people take for granted. But you, you see things and don’t have to speak of them.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat, understanding his message. Keep your mouth shut about what happened tonight, and you’ll be fine.

  I’ve seen a lot of rough shit in my time. Aura almost beaten to death was one of the worst, but I tried to stop that from happening, stepped in to fight. Tonight, I did nothing except watch. I even helped in the chase.

  I’m not any better than Doc.

  I try not to think about what happened, try not to let that horrible time creep into my mind, but the memory strikes me hard—the time I spent in juvie. How I got there. The blood that painted my knuckles as I was cuffed and driven down to the station. How no one would help me, even the people I cared for. No one would tell the truth.

  I force the thought out of my mind. No, I won’t go there. Never again. I refuse to dwell in the past.

  I hop into my Challenger and drive away from the bar, Doc, this night. By the time I arrive at my apartment, shock has possessed my body. My teeth chatter and my body shakes as I trudge up the stairs, slip quietly into the apartment, and hurry to the bathroom to take a shower and wash the blood off me.

  I scrub my skin so roughly I start to bleed. The sight of the red pooling out of my skin is the final straw that sends me over the edge. I crumble onto the bathtub floor and start to cry.

  I can’t do this anymore.

  I can’t be this person.

  I can’t be okay with watching death come by the hands of another.

  By the time I get out of the shower, my body aches and my mind is exhausted. I still have to do one more thing before I pass out, though. I grab my personal phone and text Stale.

  Me: I’m out.

  I toss the phone on the floor before he can respond. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, don’t want to question my choice. I got into this for my freedom, but I don’t think it’s worth it anymore. The scars from this night will never be worth anything.

  “I’m out,” I mouth to myself as I lie down in bed and shut my eyes. But my thoughts whisper something else. I’m not out. This is barely starting. There’s much more death and violence in my future.

  “Welcome to hell, Ryler. A place where the evil thrive and the weak die.”

  I think I’ve been in hell for a while.

  Chapter 9

  A Riddle

  Emery

  For the first half of the night, I sleep fantastically. I dream of Ryler and his body covering mine, hot flesh to hot flesh. Warm lips. Searing metal. God, that orgasm...

  Then I wake up, and the figure I left behind at my old house is in my room. This time
, I know who it is, though.

  “Emery, please help me,” Ellis begs, stretching his hand out toward me. “I’m so cold.”

  I reach my hand out for him, but don’t dare get out of bed. “How can I help when I don’t know what’s going on?”

  “Ask questions.” And just like that, he’s gone.

  Ask questions? About what? And to whom?

  I sleep terribly for the rest of the night, tossing and turning. I wake up well before the sun rises and consider going for my jog early, but after the incident last night, I’m not sure I should go out alone.

  I decide to busy myself by taping up the window. I use some masking tape I find in one of my boxes and a grocery bag since I don’t have any plastic. I’m not sure if I should tell the landlord or just fix the door myself. I consider calling my mom and finding a subtle way to ask for her advice, but my mother will more than likely be able to read me.

  I remember when I was thirteen and stole a candy bar from her purse. I wasn’t allowed to have candy because I was “getting too thick” as she put it. She sat me down in the chair, taped my legs and arms together, and asked me the same question for five hours straight.

  “Did you steal the candy, Emery?”

  On the fifth hour, I cracked, too hungry and tired to go on. My father was so disappointed.

  “When my father did that to me,” he said, “I made it three days. How are you ever going to survive torture, Emery?”

  No, I definitely won’t go to my parents for help. I’d rather stab out my eye.

  I decide to ask Ryler. He was so nice last night, and I don’t think he’ll mind.

  Since I skipped the jog this morning, I opt out of taking a shower. I pull my hair into a ponytail, dab some lip gloss on, and tug on a grey T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Today, I’m going minimal, another part of breaking my routine.

  I slip on my sandals and cautiously open the front door, peering out into the stairway to make sure the coast is clear before I step outside. Then I jog down the stairs, stop in front of Ryler’s door, and raise my hand to knock. But I realize that the sun is barely kissing the top of the hills. It’s really early. Ryler had to have gone to bed late since he left for work at eleven.

  I start to back away, figuring I can wait a few hours to ask him, when the door swings open and Ryler walks out, doing up the belt on his jeans.

  My gaze immediately drops to where his hands are, and I bite my lip as my skin warms.

  “Emery?”

  I look him in the eyes. “Hi.” I smile brightly.

  “Hey.” Dark circles are under his eyes, his shoulders are hunched, and his hair is disheveled, as if he just rolled out of bed. He’s still beautiful, amazingly stunning, striking me speechless. “What are you doing here?”

  “Um...” Oh, yeah, I did come down here for a reason other than to stare at him. I point upstairs. “Okay, so last night, my window was broken, and since I’ve never rented a place before, I’m not sure what to do. Should I report it, or should I just fix it myself?”

  “What’d you do? Go home and have a big party for the first time?” he signs with a forced, playful grin.

  I miss a beat. Last night, his smiles seemed so real and genuine, but now, they seem all wrong.

  I lower my hand to my side and shake my head. “I wish that were true. Someone actually threw a brick through it.”

  His lips part in shock. “Are you being serious?”

  “Unfortunately. It happened not too long after you left.”

  Signs of his exhaustion dissipate and are replaced with anger. “Why the hell would someone do that to you? Fucking assholes. I bet it was our neighbor on the bottom floor. He sometimes gets destructive when he drinks.” He storms for the stairs, his intensity startling me. “You know what? I’m going to go talk to him. If he did this, he’s going to pay.”

  I snag the bottom of Ryler’s shirt and my knuckles graze his side, causing shivers to course through me. “I don’t think it was him.”

  Ryler briefly glances at my hand on his shirt, and I quickly free it from my death grip. I’m not positive what the boundaries are of this thing we have going on or even if it can be considered a thing. As with everything else, I’m uncertain what happens after you make out with your hot, mysterious neighbor. One thing I am certain of, though. The protective side he’s showing now is totally turning me on, which also may be another first for me.

  “How would you know?” Strands of his black hair dangle in his eyes as he looks me over. “Do you know who did it, Emery?”

  “No, but I don’t think it could have been a random act of drunkenness, considering there was a note attached to the brick.” I bite down on my tongue. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him that. Then again, I probably shouldn’t have told him a lot of things I have.

  I’m so confused.

  About right and wrong.

  Who to trust.

  Although, it feels like I can trust him.

  “A note?” he signs with inquisitiveness. “What’d it say?”

  I rub my hands down the sides of my legs as goose bumps dot my flesh. Not from the cold, but from my nerves. “If I told you, you’d have to promise you wouldn’t tell anyone and that you won’t ask questions.”

  He scratches the side of his face, and I notice his arm is red and scratched, as if a rough surface was dragged over his flesh. When he sees the direction of my gaze, he hastily jerks the sleeve of his grey thermal shirt down to cover the marks up.

  “I’ll try not to ask questions,” he replies. “But, with how nervous you’re acting right now, I’m guessing whatever that note said is going to make me want to ask a lot of questions.”

  He’s letting me decide.

  He’s letting me make the choice.

  If I want to let him into that part of my life.

  “Well, you can ask,” I say, turning for the stairs, “but I more than likely won’t be able to answer all of them.”

  He follows me up the stairs and into my apartment. I still haven’t cleaned up the glass on the floor, and his eyes immediately fall to the shards stuck in the carpet then drift upward to the taped-up window.

  “They threw it through your door?” He shakes his head as he moves to the sliding glass door and inspects the hole through the plastic. “When you said window, I thought you meant window.”

  “Window. Door. They’re kind of the same.”

  “So, where’s the note?” Ryler’s brow arches when I twist the lock of the door, locking up, something I do completely out of habit. “Are you afraid of someone, Emery? Is that why you’re locking the door, because you’re afraid of the person who did this?”

  “Kind of.” Which is the partial truth.

  I collect the note from the coffee table and give it to him. “This was on the brick,” I explain as he reads the short letter. “At first, I didn’t see it and thought someone had just thrown the brick to scare me.”

  He worriedly glances up from the paper. “Emery, this isn’t just a note. It’s a threat.”

  I sigh as I sink onto the sofa. “I know it is.”

  He sits down beside me, leaving too much space between our bodies in my opinion. “Did you call the police?”

  I shake my head and slump back on the sofa. “I can’t call them.”

  He looks from the paper to me and a pucker forms at his brow. “How come?”

  I shrug. “Because I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  I flop my head back and stare at the ceiling. “Because I just can’t.”

  He stares at me, wanting more, but I can’t give anything else to him. Last night, when we hung out and played cards then listened to music and kissed in his room, I got my first taste of normalcy. Telling anyone about what I think the note really means and who it’s from would forever ruin my chance of having a more normal life. My parents would find out. I’d be sent home where I’d marry Evan and turn into my mother, forced to be my husband’s pillar, keeping his secrets for him.

&nb
sp; “Emery...” he signs before his hands fall to his lap.

  Frowning, I turn my head to face him. “You promised you’d try not to ask questions.”

  “I know I did.” His gaze flicks back and forth from the note to me. Then, with a heavy sigh, he tosses the paper onto the coffee table and sits back in the chair, rubbing his tired eyes. “Can I at least ask if you have any idea who did it?”