Page 7 of Wicked Ends (Hellions of Hade Harbor #4)

Arianna

Last night, when I’d gone to The Clutch for dinner instead of sitting eating takeout in my motel room, I hadn’t imagined doing the walk of shame out of a biker bar in the early morning light.

The pale dawn felt like it was shoving railroad spikes into my eyes.

I’d had a grand total of about two hours of sleep.

Marcus hadn’t let me sleep any longer than that.

Despite my exhaustion and nerves for the coming day, a flurry of heat moved through me at the thought of the man I’d spent the night with.

Holy fuck. At the grand old age of twenty-five, I’d had no idea that the human body was capable of such pleasure.

I’d been missing out… no, that wasn’t right.

I had a feeling that Marcus was especially talented.

Not just any random man could replicate the night before.

It was special, and because of that, I hadn’t wanted to wait around until he woke up and spoiled it by asking me to leave.

I knew when to get the hell out of a place.

You could never accuse me of overstaying my welcome.

I crossed the lot to my car, cursing under my breath as I caught sight of litter rolling across the gravel. Leave it, Ari. You don’t have time. I was agreeing with myself even as I veered to the left and grabbed it, shoving it in my pocket.

My sister-in-law had always told me I was a person who couldn’t let things go.

I had to right wrong things. It was my nature.

Maybe she was right, or maybe it was a way to feel some kind of control in a world where I’d never had any.

I chased a wrapper blowing across the lot, awkward and inelegant as hell, finally managing to step on the edge and grab it.

Got you.

I shoved open my door and got into the car, stuffing my handful of wrappers into a bag I kept in there for that purpose.

It was only a ten-minute drive from The Clutch to the motel I was staying in while I tried desperately to pull my life together. I started my car, and it obliged with little protest, for once.

“You can do this. Today is your day. Nothing is stopping you from taking today by the horns and making it your own.”

The audiotape jammed into the tape player haunted me whenever I drove. Damn thing was stuck, melted in there in some way that kept playing, the voice eerie and at half speed. I’d named the voice Horace, thanks to his slow, stilted speech and archaic phrases.

“Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” Horace confidently stated, his voice tinny in the old, rattling speakers.

God, I hoped that Horace was right.

The Night Owl had to have been decorated in the 1970s. There was no explaining the brown, orange, and avocado-green décor otherwise. Still, it was clean and cheap. That made it perfect.

I unlocked my room, grateful I could park right outside instead of walking through the lobby and facing Earl, the kindly old receptionist who’d given me directions to The Clutch last night.

Inside, I dumped my purse and looked around the room.

Checking that nothing had been disturbed.

It was a habit, one that was proving hard to break.

My entire childhood, I’d gotten used to the feeling that someone had been in my room, touching my belongings.

Nowadays, it was second nature to scan. But there was nothing.

Since I’d left California and driven thousands of miles, barely stopping except for gas and water, there’d been nothing.

I’d left those days behind me. That fact hadn’t quite sunk in yet.

And anyway, should it? I still didn’t know if my past was done with me.

I still worried every knock at the door could be the cops, or worse, my ghost. The monster who had always lived under my bed.

In the dawn light, the motel room was comfortingly mundane.

Faded but crisp bedspread with owls on it.

Check. Tiny TV and small table in the window.

Check. Bathroom with owl-themed shower curtain, also check.

The Night Owl was living up to its name.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, and the entire thing moved.

It was a waterbed, something I’d previously thought only existed in dated pornos.

My weight pressed the water in and rolled me toward the middle of the bed. It took a second to get used to the odd feeling, and then I relaxed into the lulling sensation. It was weird, but I didn’t hate it.

I needed to shower. I could smell the scent of sex on me.

It was heady and intoxicating. I idly wondered if Marcus would be awake yet, then caught myself.

Why would he be? One thing was for sure: The possibility of waiting for him to wake before leaving, and seeing disappointment on his face in the harsh light of day, or worse, leaving him my number for him never to call…

no. I could take a lot of crap, and I had, for years, but that would break my heart.

Last night had been a perfect moment, where I hadn’t felt insecure or bad about myself, I hadn’t hidden away or sabotaged anything…

It was a good memory. A keeper. I wasn’t risking spoiling that.

I smiled into the covers and let myself enjoy something for once.

It was wild behavior, totally unlike me, and it had been liberating as hell.

For once, doing something I wanted to, without overthinking it.

Maybe in this new life, in this new town, I could finally be a different person.

Someone who was allowed to have what she wanted. A risk-taker. A dreamer. Someone happy…

Maybe. Just maybe.

The weekend passed in a blur. I slept most of it away.

There was a deep well of exhaustion inside me that had only grown deeper toward the end of my previous life.

Sleeping in different motels every night for weeks, seeing my survival money dwindle every day…

it hadn’t been a situation suited for deep, restful sleep.

Arriving in Hade Harbor felt like drawing a line between that life and this one. There was something awfully similar to hope blossoming in my chest that I was scared to examine too closely.

I ventured into Hade Harbor once, to stock up on some food from the supermarket and get a feel for the town. It was picture-perfect in the morning sunshine, though the air was still cool. I picked up a warmer jacket at a thrift store, as well as a backpack to carry to class.

I went to a coffee shop for lunch with the only person I knew on this entire coast.

My lifeline. My guardian angel.

MacKenna Brooks had grown up in my hometown and then moved to Maine to live with her dad and brother at the end of high school. Apart from my sister-in-law, she was my only real friend, and now, she was the reason I was here and had a chance to start over.

She stood when I walked in, waving wildly in my direction. I made my way over to her, surprised by her hug. This was who I was now, a person who was touch-starved and unfamiliar with casual affection.

There was plenty of casual affection last night, a little voice reminded me, and my face heated.

I sat opposite Kenna. I still couldn’t believe I’d done that.

I’d had a one-night stand with a smoking-hot biker bartender, and it had been everything the last few sexless years of my life had needed.

Kenna would throw a fit if she found out.

Kenna was all huge, dark corkscrew curls and big gestures. Her orange sweater and emerald pants would look completely over the top on anyone else, but they were perfect on her. Bright colors for her big personality.

“I can’t believe you’re here. From Cali beach cafés to Maine coffee shops,” Kenna sighed, sitting back as the waitress brought us water and menus.

“Lunch today is on me, before you argue about it,” Kenna announced.

“I can pay for myself!” I protested.

She shushed me. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. I said it was on me, because I’ll never be able to pay you back for all the help you gave me in senior year. No arguments.” She held a finger up to stop me from complaining.

I sighed and took a deep drink of water. The truth was, I couldn’t afford to refuse. The money I’d save by letting Kenna pay would feed me for a week. This was what my life had become. This was how far I’d fallen.

“So, where are you staying?” Kenna asked after we’d ordered.

“The Night Owl Motel.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That old dump? You should stay with me. Seriously, that’s awful.”

“It’s not that bad. Believe me, after the last few years, the Night Owl is fine.”

She shuddered theatrically. “I can’t believe that the girl who grew up in your grandparents’ place is calling the Night Owl—which rents rooms by the hour, FYI—‘not that bad.’”

“Yeah, well, a little perspective is a powerful thing, I guess. I never had any growing up, and now, I might have had too much.” I tossed her a wry grin so she’d know I was joking.

Kenna’s face softened. “If you want to talk about any of it?—”

“I don’t, but thanks for the offer.” I gave her a tight smile. I hated to see her sympathetic expression. “I’m fine. I’m going to be fine. I made my choices and I’m happy with them,” I told her, voice firm.

I wished I could stamp I am not a fucking victim across my forehead and be done with it.

Kenna gave a reluctant nod. “Fine, but if you get grossed out at the Night Owl, you come and stay with me. Deal?”

“Okay, deal,” I said, even knowing I wouldn’t take her up on it. It was bad enough she was lying for me, accepting my fake credentials to get me the job, a fireable offense. I couldn’t impose any further.

“Oh, that reminds me. Look what I found,” Kenna said, flicking through her phone.

She showed me a photo. It was me and my grandmother, standing at the piano that used to live in the music room of their old house. I gazed at it, a lump forming in my throat. Even though she’d passed when I was seventeen, I missed her like it was yesterday.