Page 2 of Pawn

“I don’t know! He says he’s fucked and I don’t what the fuck that’s supposed to mean!” Tears stream down my cheeks. “I can’t lose them! Nothing can happen to them! Nothing!”

Fuck, and now I’m sobbing, my words a blubbering mess.

“Okay, okay. Did you call the cops?”

“No!” My head hangs, frizzy curls sticking to my wet face as detectives Branson and Hansen come to mind. “I can’t. They’re already out for me. What if they think I have something to do with this? What if I end up back in jail? In juvie? I’m eighteen in a few months, I’ll get shipped off to the pen. You can’t tell them!”

“Okay! Shit. Where are you?” Allie’s voice muffles before the sound of dangling keys. “I’m coming and we’ll figure this out, okay?” She mutters something in Spanish, shuffling in the background. “God, Jo. What did you get yourself into this time?”

I’m wondering the same thing. Allie knows it’s been nothing but trouble since my boots entered Eden but I didn’t expect this.

After I thank her and send her my location, it’s hard to relax, the disappointment of her voice still loud in my ear. Deathly trouble follows me, and it all started with Damien King.

He’s the first person I met when I set foot in that town and it’s been hellfire ever since.

Hellfire and heavenly bliss.

Would I be in this mess if it wasn’t for him?

Would his dad still be alive if it wasn’t for me?

Are we as I thought? A lighter near a broken valve? A disaster waiting to happen?

No matter, I can’t let Willow succumb to whatever fucked up plan Marion has. My stomach twists when the room shifts. Damien’s pain-filled voice sounds like it’s ringing through the room.

We’re fucked, Jo!

Not if I have something to do about it. As much as I want to shove my boot through Damien’s chest for getting me into whatever this is, this is what we do. We save each other. He saved me from a maniac of an ex-boyfriend, and the tight clutches of abusive foster parents. He saved me when I was on that ledge and now it’s my turn to return the favour. Again.

Once in the bathroom, flickering light above, making myself look less of a traumatized mess isn’t easy. My nose is redder than Rudolph’s, eyes matching. Even after living in Eden for months, I don’t look any better than when I left The Grove. My clothes fall off my frame, cheeks looking gaunt.

The phone vibrates from the dresser and I rush back over, Allie texting that she’s close. I’m quick to gather our shit from around the room. His wallet, that photo, Willow’s scarf. Where’s a minibar when I need one? Lights shine through the flimsy yellowed curtains, followed by two sharp horns. A text from Allie confirms she’s here.

With one last look around the room, my hand on the door, I’m remembering what I do when my back’s against the wall. When the people I love are in danger. When my life is at risk.

I fight.

The cold night air hits my face like a whip as I make my way to Allie’s car. Winter air cuts into my leather jacket, tattered jeans, and Docs, but the only warmth I crave is his.

“I guess we’re about to find out,” Allie says when I open the door, her finger on the touchscreen in the console. She isn’t the only one in the car and all wide eyes are on me. Two pairs of browns and a pair of striking emerald greens.

Christian and Isaac sit in the backseat of Allie’s Mercedes truck and they look like they’re waiting for answers. Climbing into the front with a deep breath, the smell of vanilla, wood and leather envelopes me

“Didn’t expect the whole crew,” I say, closing the door. “Guess I can use all the help I can get.”

“Hey, Jo.” Isaac sounds apprehensive like I’ve lost my mind. I haven’t, have I? If not, I’m pretty close. He pulls himself forward with his hands on the headrests. “First question, baby. Why are you in a place that looks like the set of a horror movie? On second thought …” His voice trails, peering out the window. “Everything on this side of the tracks looks like a horror movie.”

“That’s because I’m in one,” I respond, meeting his dark gaze, thick eyebrow to his glossy coils. He’s in a bright yellow sweater and a blue blazer that offsets this harrowing occasion.

“That’s what you ask her?” Christian sounds annoyed when he pipes up. Isaac’s wide body shifts to the side when Christian’s elbow lands in his ribs. Christian squeezes next to Isaac so they’re both sandwiched between our seats. His brown strands lay shaggy on his head, a rumpled ERA sweater and jeans telling me he didn’t expect to be here either. “What’s going on, Jo?”

“Yeah, Jo. What happened?” Allie looks around the empty lot before her eyes stop on a guy in a big puffy jacket. “And why do people here keep eyeing my car?”

“Because a car for them is like a Civic.” With my back against the window, my head falls on the seat. “Not a Benz.”

“Okay, sassy-pants,” Allie says, fingers curled around her steering wheel. “Do you want our help or not?”

“What do you mean ‘want our help’?” Christian nudges her head with two fingers on her purple beanie hiding most of her dark wavy hair. Her hat matches her cat-eye frames, a crisp black sweater and jeans going with it. She whips her brother with the yellow scarf around her neck and he pulls it from her. “We’re not gonna leave King and Willow out there.”

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