Page 15 of Darkest Deeds

Ava

I shoveone leg at a time into a pair of cut-off shorts while watching the new girl pick at an invisible thread on her flowered peasant dress. She doesn’t belong here. Right now, she still has a soul, but if I don’t get her out of here, it’ll be claimed by the devil himself.

“Are you even legal?” Tugging a tank top over my head, I slide my feet into a pair of worn-out Toms and sling my gym bag over my shoulder.

She glances up, her eyebrows bunched in confusion.

Sighing, I place a hand on her shoulder and steer her toward a plain bench near a set of rusted lockers. After nodding for her to take a seat, she slowly sinks onto the splintered wood.

“Rose, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Rose, no bullshit, got it?” She nods, and I continue before she can open her mouth again. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” Her voice is small and breathy.

“Rose…” That one drawn out word serves as her only warning.

Her shoulders slump. “Sixteen.”

“Listen, I don’t know what or who you’re running from, but I do know this isn’t the place to run to.”

She tilts her chin. “Did you run from something?”

Not yet.

“We all have our demons, but this place,” I narrow my eyes and gesture around the decrepit room, “will suck you in and hold you under water until you drown. You’ll disappear.”

Literally.

“You’re a shitty trainer, you know that?” Her hand slides up, grabbing two of my fingers still resting on her shoulders. The familiarity takes me by surprise, and I jerk my hand away.

“Yeah, well, I’m a shitty dancer, so you get the whole shitty experience. My best advice is to get the hell out of Miami, but if you’re hell-bent on staying here, then try waitressing. You’re less likely to end up a statistic.”

“You mean homeless?”

So innocent.

Patting her leg, I grab my bag again and head toward the exit. Just before I walk outside, I toss her a wistful look. “Go back to Iowa, Rose. There’s no place like home.”

“Wait, how did you know I’m from—”

Letting the metal door slam behind me, I lean against it and breathe in the night air. It’s unusually quiet outside, and the silence is unnerving. Not to mention it’s pitch black. My car is less than a hundred yards away, but I’m almost running, and I don’t know why.

Two steps, three steps, five, seven, ten.

There’s no reason to panic. I deliberately slow my gait and time my breathing to match. I’ve almost got everything back to normal as I reach my car.

“Get a grip,” I mutter. Stopping at the trunk, I fish for my keys in my bag, bouncing from one foot to the other until I finally find the right one.

About time.

Shifting to the right, I take one step and freeze. My heart slams against my ribcage so hard I think it’s going to explode. A man steps out of the shadows, and a terrifying thought races through my head, snowballing into waves of panic.

It can’t be him. I imagined him.

His walk is slow and confident as he saunters toward me, his face shrouded by darkness.

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