Page 13

TWELVE

I watch from my motel room window as the red and blue sirens from the police cars whiz by on the beltway. My heart is pounding so hard inside my chest, I’m afraid it’s going to pop out. I didn’t get a look at the person in the black car, but whatever happened back there wasn’t good.

Initially, I didn’t notice the white Tesla trailing me until I heard the loud engine from the black car, followed by the screeching of tires as the car forced the Tesla off the road.

I didn’t wait to find what happened. I took off running until I locked the door to my room.

I look to my right when I hear laughing and see a bunch of guys walking to one of the rooms with beer bottles in their hands.

It’s not uncommon. College kids rent a room to drink and shoot the shit. One is probably old enough to buy the alcohol, and the others tag along because they’re not twenty-one or have nowhere to go. I overheard some of the kids in high school when they were talking about going to college and finally getting away from their parents.

More will probably show up. The downside of living out of a motel is the strange people who come and go. Some are obnoxious and won’t let me sleep, staying up at all hours of the night. Doors slam. Beds bang on the wall. And Simon is too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it.

Scanning the hallway on the second floor, I see four guys leaning on the railing facing the door to their room. One of the guys wearing a letterman jacket catches me spying on them from the window. He nudges his friend next to him. He turns around. They both grin. The other two turn to see what is going on and start to laugh.

The blonde one lifts his chin and says loud enough for me to hear, “How much?”

I flip him off.

“Aw, come on,” the blond guy whines suggestively. “Name a price.”

I pull back, letting go of the curtains, hoping he gets shit-faced and chokes on his vomit.

“Shit,” I mutter. Hopefully, they’ll fuck off and leave me alone.

There have been times people have knocked on my door. Some have tried the handle, but none have gone beyond that. I hope it stays that way.

The following morning, I open the door and notice big white letters on my green-painted door that read, NOT FOR SALE, and underneath, FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT.

I couldn’t sleep last night hoping they wouldn’t do anything stupid, but whoever wrote this is funny. I’m not sure if it was the guys from last night, but I doubt it.

I smile, rereading the message, as I check the handle to make sure it’s locked. Rose is out for the weekend studying for exams, but I check my cell phone anyway and see that she hasn’t left me any messages.

It’s one p.m.; the sun is high in the sky, warming up the day. I slept in, and my stomach is begging for mercy. I head out to Moonlight Diner, two miles down the road. It’s the closest place to grab a bite to eat without a car, and I have some time to spare before my due at the club. It’ll give me time to contemplate over a cup of coffee. Apartment or car? Either way, I’ll have to start looking for both.

The wind picks up, blowing dead leaves off the trees. The smell of grass and earth floats in the air. The sign for the Moonlight Diner pops out from behind the tall trees.

I walk in; the smell of coffee and sausage singes my nose.

They’ve changed the place a bit, judging by the pictures they hung up like a storybook from the years this place has been open. Electronic payment devices now sit on the tables, eliminating the need to pay at the front register. Every table has a jukebox with a scanner, so you can tap your card and select music.

The woman with a red uniform refilling the napkin dispenser looks up. “Morn’n,” she greets me with a warm smile.

“Good morning,” I say with a soft smile.

She pushes the napkins in the dispenser without looking away and says, “Have a seat where you like. What can I get you to drink to start?”

“Coffee,” I reply.

“Cream?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Coming right up.”

I took a seat in a booth toward the back, and the server was already approaching me with a cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” I tell her when she sets it down.

“No problem, simply scan the QR code to place your order on the app.”

I nod in response. From where I sit, I can only see three people waiting tables and two cooks throughout the entire place.

I was about to take a sip of warm coffee when my phone vibrated in my pocket, followed by a piercing sound that caused me to spill it on the table. It’s an Amber Alert.

“Dammit,” I mutter, reaching for my phone and catching the notification of another girl gone missing. It’s the third one this month.

Reading the alert makes my blood run cold.

Shit,” I mumble.

She’s fifteen years old. Brown hair. Brown eyes. A ninth grader from a neighboring town. Her name is Brenda McKenna. She was last seen yesterday after school. A wave of protectiveness and anxiety runs through my veins, wanting nothing more than to help find her safe and sound.

Simon and Rachael weren’t kidding when they said girls go missing this time of year. The ones found were raped and mutilated. They were dumped like trash in the woods or on the side of the road. The police found some of them, chopped into pieces, floating inside a black bag in the river. Meanwhile, the police continue to search for the remaining ones. When they discover their remains, their pictures appear on news alerts, but they quickly fade into obscurity as soon as the news feed refreshes or a new story breaks. The worst part is that anyone could be behind the killings. They have no leads or witnesses.

I pull out my reloadable bank card and tap the scan icon on the jukebox, flipping through the music selection before placing my order. I press my selection and look up when “Edge of Seventeen” by Stevie Nicks plays through the speakers, and the server starts singing along, placing three plates at the booth’s far end.

Scanning the other booths for the first time, I’m the only other customer. The other server looks my way. Her cheeks are pink with rosacea, full-figured, probably in her late fifties.

gives me a wink for choosing a good song.

I look through the menu on my phone and order a burger, fries, and a strawberry milkshake. I’m going to need a hefty meal to get me through the night at the club.

While I wait for my food, I scroll through the music selection on the jukebox to keep me busy. I have two more credits to use, so why not?

I flip through the seventies and smile when I find the eighties section, ignoring the sound from the front door when someone enters.

I press “Cold Hearted” by Paula Abdul, and the air washes out of my lungs when I look up. Not because of the server currently placing my plate on the table. My attention is on two women and a tall man who walked in.

My mystery clown of horror and his ladies. But today he isn’t wearing makeup. He’s wearing a black sweater. His boots thud against the black-and-white tiles when he walks close toward the screen of the register. The redhead leans close, licks her red-painted lips as she scans the menu on the screen. The one with white hair glances at me. Her black-painted lips lift into a wide smile, flashing me her pearly white teeth when she recognizes me from the club.

The redhead glances at me for a second. Then she moves closer and slides her hands around his waist, facing me, making her point. His back is turned toward me, causing the black material to stretch to its limit, obscuring his face from my view. The redhead is tiny compared to his impressive height. She has to tilt her head slightly to the side so that she can glare at me.

This is about last night at the club. Her hands slide to his ass, staking her claim.

If I was wondering if he’s taken, I have my answer. Mission accomplished, sweetheart. He’s all yours.

His rejection makes sense now, and I won’t look his way again. I gaze at the butter knife on the table, conjuring up sinister thoughts. The things I could do to her using the butter knife.

“Pity,” a little voice says in my head.

I blink the thought from my head. He isn’t mine.

“Will that be all for you, sugar?” The server asks, grabbing my attention.

“Yes,” I reply, with a weak smile drawing his attention as he turns to face me.

Our gazes clash, his eyes dark like the sky with no light. My heart gallops in my chest. Time pauses, or it skips. I’m not sure, but I can’t look away. His eyes hold me in place, ensnaring me like he’s locking me inside a gilded cage for his own pleasure.

The redhead moves in front, blocking his line of sight, rising on the tips of her toes to whisper something I can’t hear because of the music.

He looks down at her, then up at me with an antagonistic stare.

He’s gorgeous without his makeup, with sculpted cheekbones, white skin, a straight nose, and pitch-black hair long on the top—messy, but it works for him.Tattoos cover his neck, his nose piercing adds to his appeal, and his full lips are tinted red.

When he blinks, black lashes kiss his cheeks. The tops of his hands are inked. His nails painted black when he pulls at the sleeves of his sweater.

His eyes dip to the redhead. His mouth moves quickly. She stiffens, steps back, and storms out, pushing the door with more force than necessary, causing it to slam closed.

I don’t miss the way his hand curls into a fist when I finally look away and begin to eat my food.

When the song ends, I catch the last words the blond girl says to him, “You know how she gets.”

I wait for him to respond, my ears straining to hear his voice, but I’m disappointed. He doesn’t say a word.

The temptation is too strong not to look up to see his expression or if he’s still staring at me. When I raise my head, a furious glare hits me like a punch to the stomach, making me flinch.

Dropping my napkin, I slide out of the booth, rushing to the women’s restroom, hopinghe’ll leave by the time I return.

Once I’m inside, I lean back on the door, my chest rising and falling like I’m hyperventilating. I walk into the stall, not needing to pee but wanting a place to hide and collect my thoughts. I can’t think when he’s around. Music begins to play through the overhead speakers, and I almost want to cry out in frustration as “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails plays, and for some reason, I know it was him who selected it.

The bathroom door swings open, followed by the loud thud of boots on the bathroom tiles, causing my heart to race when the stall next to mine is pushed open and the latch slides into place.I let out a deep breath and count to three in my head before opening the stall door.

It’s a woman. That’s not him.

You’re seeing shit, Athena. You think it’s him, but it can’t be. Who would look for a girl they don’t want in a restroom at a diner?

I convince myself that I’m overreacting as I slide the latch open and step out. Suddenly, the door to the stall next to mine opens, pushing me against the wall and forcing the air out of my lungs in a whoosh.

A large hand covers my mouth. My eyes widen and I’m smothered by his scent clean and exotic.

“It’s dangerous to walk out alone this time of year,” he says darkly.

My nose flares, breathing him in. There’s something about the way his voice sounds. His voice is deep, dangerous, and addictive.

“I’m going to remove my hand if you promise not to scream.” I nod, and he leans close, his nose ghosting my ear. Don’t take last night personally. You’re not ready for my kind of pain.”

His hand falls away, and he steps back, leaving a small space between us. My gaze shifts to the lock on the door, and as expected, he locked us inside.

“That’s too bad, because I’m positive you’re not ready for mine,” I challenge.

His expression turns from rigid to fascinated. He smiles wide, flashing me perfectly white teeth, and then asks, “What’s your name?”

“I think you established you weren’t interested in names.”

He arches a dark brow.

I don’t have to give him my real one. “Trix. What’s yours?”

“I want your real name, not the one you want people to call you because you’re not interested in making friends.”

”You want to be my friend?” I ask playfully.

“No, I want to know your name.”

“You go first,” I challenge, my stomach fluttering. “You better make it quick, or your girlfriend will figure out you got lost in the women’s restroom.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Wife?”

“I don’t have one of those either.”

“You make it sound like it’s something you buy.”

“Isn’t it?” he ponders.

“I’ve never sold myself to be with a man.”

“But you dance for money?”

“I dance because I enjoy it. I don’t have a sign convincing them to drop their wallet when I’m done.”

After last night, I should leave and get the hell away from him. But then my curiosity gets the best of me and has my mouth asking questions I’m not sure I want answers to. “How do you know I walk alone?”

His eyes hardened like a wall, preventing me from looking in. “I don’t. It’s friendly advice.”

It was him.

In the black car that drove Charlie off the road. I got a news alert that a man last night was run over in the middle of the night with his hand cut off. They never found a car or had any leads as to who did it. The case is under investigation, and the police are asking the public for help. I don’t feel any remorse that Charlie is dead. He was a creep who followed me and who knows what sick game he had in mind?I’m not sure what game the man in front of me has in mind either.

“Well, mister,” I say in a sultry voice, “I can take care of myself.”

“Mister?” he mocks.

My eyes slide down his face to the five letters tattooed on his neck right when he reads them aloud.

“Draco,” he says softly. “My name is Draco.”

I can hear a tinge of a British accent, but he hides it well. My eyes lift to his. “Athena.”

“Athena,” he repeats and steps back. “Be careful, Athena.” He turns the lock on the door. “It’s almost Halloween. You never know what you might run into out there.”

“Why, are you a vampire?”

“Does it look like I’m a vampire?”

I use the excuse to get a good look at him from head to toe and back up. He’s gorgeous.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen any fangs yet. But don’t worry about me. I’m used to the weirdos that dress up to hide what’s underneath.”

I’m not sure if what I said offended him because he opens the door and walks out, but I got what I asked for last night. His name.

I test it in my tongue, liking the way it sounds. “Draco.” I smile at the closed door. “It was nice to meet you, Draco.”