I let the murdery lyrics of Primal Ethos’ Fuckface drive me onward, using the unfiltered rage searing through my veins as fuel for the cruel pace I was forcing my body to endure. My sneakers pounded the blacktop and the chill of the evening licked at the warm sweat on my arms and chest. Stoking the fire inside.
Downtown Thorn Valley wasn’t much to look at. Especially not at ten on a Monday night. All the shops running along either side of the historic city center were shuttered for the night. Their wide windows dark, come back tomorrow signs hanging in doorways. The only lights still on that I could see were from a small cafe at the end of the block, and the low lights from the Valley-Mart I’d already passed four blocks before.
The hill from town to Briar Hall was the only chunk of this route not alive with at least some public activity, and I was delaying the return trip.
Fucking asshole.
Whoever sent that text was ruining my only escape. I’d been running down the hill and through town since Saturday. Only using a short arm of the trail behind Briar Hall in emergencies of frustration to blow off some steam between classes before my lid could pop.
It wasn’t that I was afraid, at least, not really. It just creeped me out. Whoever was sending these messages was clearly watching me. They knew I liked to go for runs. They were at the docks during the party Friday night. For all I knew they’d been watching me all this time, though something told me that wasn’t the case. That coming here somehow triggered this. This person was from Thorn Valley, but had seen me in Lennox years before. I was on their turf now.
Running alone in the dark through the trees, where no one except maybe the Crows might hear me scream just didn’t have the appeal it did a few days ago. It irked me that someone could be out there, where I couldn’t see them, fucking jerking off behind a tree or some shit.
Gross.
I vacillated between wanting to avoid it at all costs and going on a fucking hunting trip to find the bastard and carve his eyeballs out. I might still go on that hunting trip, but maybe best to let everything else die down first.
I held no illusions that my refusal of Corvus’ idiotic offer meant that my ‘protection’ from Brianna Moore and her wealthy father had been terminated. It was only a matter of time now before she launched her attack.
Corvus.
Fucking Corvus.
And the rest of them.
Smug bastards. As if they thought I would actually agree to...to be their plaything. To kneel like a peasant at their gilded feet and open wide for them to use my mouth like a fucking cum dumpster. I’m sure they would love that. They were probably getting off on just the idea of breaking me. Corvus for sure.
The worst part was that for the briefest second, I actually considered it.
My little problem with Brianna would evaporate. No legal problems. No cops. No retaliation. No more issues with teachers. No more detentions. Not while I was under their protection. Fuck, I’d even get laid.
I bet they were good, too. I bet…
Don’t go there, Ava Jade. You are not for sale.
Besides, Josh would do.
He was tall, stalky. Big feet. Long thumbs. All the telltale signs that he should be at least somewhat well-endowed downstairs. Whether he knew how to use it or not was a mystery, but one I’d solve soon enough. He didn’t strike me as the type of guy who dated, which suited me just fine. I wanted a fuck buddy.
Like Kit.
Speaking of, I really should message him back. And Dom, too. And okay, fine, Aunt Humphrey as well.
I slowed, hunching over with my palms braced on my knees to catch my breath for a minute, my throat burning. Sweat dripped down my temples and between my breasts. I could taste the salt of it on my lips.
I’d been out here too long. I needed to get back. Get some water. Some food. Sleep might also be a good idea. Hadn’t had much of that in the last few days.
A long shadow stretched down the sidewalk from up ahead, bouncing lightly as the person approached. I moved to the side, resting my back against the shop next to the illuminated cafe so the late-night walker could pass.
But he stopped, instead. “Ava Jade Mason?” he asked, and a sliver of adrenaline spiked into my bloodstream, making me vividly aware of the stranger’s nearness. Of his height and build. Of my hand’s proximity to the blades at my ankles.
“Who’s asking?” I panted, tipping my head up to get a look at his face while remaining hunched, overacting my tiredness to emphasize that I was weak. No threat to him. So that he wouldn’t be expecting it when I proved to be the opposite. Keeping my hands on my knees because that’s where they were closest to my blades.
The man wore a dark windbreaker over black slacks. His shoes were polished leather, scuffed lightly on the sides. His hair was cropped short. His face square, clean-shaven, light eyes searching.
He had a certain look to him that made warning bells ring loudly in my ears, but I couldn’t place what it was about his demeanor that was throwing me off.
Was this my stalker?
No.
This guy didn’t look like a stalker psycho, he looked…
The man reached into his windbreaker and I drew my blade, ready to disarm him, but he came out with something I hadn’t been expecting instead, rushing back two steps with wide eyes as he took in my weapon. My fighting stance.
Oops.
He held his other hand up. The one not holding the police badge.
Slowly, I lowered my blade and tucked it back into the sheath at my ankle, covering it over with the edge of my sweats. “Sorry,” I muttered, hands raised slightly to show that I was no danger to him while trying to assess whether or not he was carrying.
The officer narrowed his gaze on me before tucking the badge back into his windbreaker and clearing his throat. “Name’s Vick,” he said, still studying me warily.
“Was I running too fast or something,” I sniped, panting lightly from the run and the burst of adrenaline still thrumming through my swollen muscles, making me feel lead-limbed and tired. I didn’t want to deal with this right now. Whatever this was.
Officer Vick let out a breathy laugh at my smart-ass response. “Nah. Nothing like that. Could we talk? In private?”
He gestured to an alleyway carving a dark path down the side of the cafe and scanned the street up and down. What was he looking for?
“Uh,” I hesitated, feeling a creep of unease set in like phantom fingers tripping up my spine. “What for?”
If the cops in Thorn Valley were anything like the ones in Lennox, going down that alleyway with him could be just as dangerous as going down it with any random dude off the streets. Maybe more so.
“Just a talk.”
The officer lifted his jacket, doing a slow spin, showing me that he was unarmed.
“Can I see that badge again?”
The man balked, but when I didn’t move a muscle, he wrinkled his nose and retrieved the badge, holding it out to me again.
Victor Stoll. Thorn Valley PD.
Okay, looks legit. That doesn’t mean he isn’t here on an errand from Mr. Moore, though. A hired gun sent to intimidate the girl who dared raise a hand to his daughter.
I gave him another once over and decided I could take him if I had to. I didn’t need to add a cop to my list of enemies in Thorn Valley unless I had no other choice.
“All right,” I agreed, and followed him into the alley, going no further than just into its shadowed mouth.
When he saw that I would go no more he stopped, sighed, and leaned casually against the brick wall, kicking a bit of trash out of his way. He folded his arms and fixed me with an investigative stare.
I should have had him pegged as a cop from the moment I saw him. It was written all over him. The shoes. The haircut. His posture. The fucking navy windbreaker. Standard issue.
Christ, I needed to get out of my own goddamned head and pay closer attention.
“I hear you’ve made some friends at Briar Hall,” he said, the words a verbal nudge. A prompt he wanted me to finish.
I didn’t.
His jaw ticked. “All right. No beating around the bush.” He lifted himself to his full height, all traces of good cop gone. This was business now. “It’s been brought to my attention that you’ve drawn the interest of a particular three students. You might know them as the Crows: Corvus James, Rook Clayton, and Grey Winters.”
This was not where I thought this was headed.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” he continued, not even bothering to give me more than a few seconds to formulate a response. “Now, I’ve done some digging. I know that your father, a Mr. John Mason, was recently killed in a gang-related incident.”
My skin prickled with heat, fists curling.
“That’s not how the cops in Lennox see it,” I bit out.
He pursed his lips. “No. But you seem like a smart girl. I’m sure you know that these things aren’t always dealt with as they should be.”
He and I could agree there, but he wasn’t painting himself in the best light. What made him any better than those useless badge-toting rednecks in Lennox?
“I want your help,” he said, surprising me for the second time. “The Saints are squeaky clean. My department can’t seem to make anything stick to those slippery bastards. And my boss…let’s just say his allegiance is and always has been questionable at best.”
That was a serious accusation. One he was making to an eighteen-year-old girl in a dark alleyway at nearly 11pm.
He wants my trust, I realized. He was trying to put himself on my level. Make it seem like we were in on some private secret.
I don’t trust it.
“Why don’t you just ask for a cut and turn the other cheek like all the other asshole cops do?”
A knot formed between his bushy brows. “It’s…personal,” he offered, giving no more than that.
I nodded silently, imagining a million possible scenarios without his needing to utter a single word.
“Okay. So what do you want?”
“I think you’d like to see those boys and their entire empire fall just as much as I would.”
The screams of the man in the shed returned to me in sharp clarity.
Corvus’ rough fingers around my wrists.
Rook’s malice.
Grey’s attentive stare.
“I want your help,” he repeated again. “I need an informant. One Diesel and his psycho sons won’t see coming.”
“I don’t—”
“Wait,” he interrupted, rushing forward a step like he might try to cover my mouth. Stuff my refusal back in. “Don’t answer now. Think about it. If you’ve seen anything—if you see anything—just…”
He dug into the pocket of his slacks and opened his wallet, digging out a crinkled white business card. He thrust it out to me. “Just call me. The Crows don’t mess around, Miss Mason. I can help you. We can help each other.”
Victor Stoll left me standing there in the alley with his card in my hand as the only evidence that this encounter happened at all. Heels clacked on the sidewalk not far away, and I slipped the crumpled paper into my bra as a woman appeared in the entrance to the alley. A black apron covering her long-sleeve gray dress. A trash bag held at arm’s length.
“Uh, you can’t be back there, hon,” she said, pointing up. “Read the sign.”
