Page 3 of Slay Ride

I can worry about auditions and how my life is a mess when I get back from the trip. For the next week, I have only two missions: get my first kill and kiss Maverick Eaton.

Chapter Two

Bennett

Doc Whitlow sent the email less than an hour ago, but I still feel a growing sense of urgency as my motorcycle picks up speed. He said she’s talking, but we never know how long these spells will last.

A slight chill slides through my shirt and kisses my skin as I make a left and cut down a road that runs beside the beach. South Florida is the perfect place to hunker down for the winter and ride my bike. The poor girl has been in storage too often lately.

On two tires, I eat up the open road. Though many people overwinter here, most have grown bored with the beach, so traffic is light. A group of women turn to look and giggle as I rumble past. If I weren’t headed somewhere, I’d be inclined to stop and take one for a ride.

But I have somewhere to be, so I turn onto the main road that winds through the beach town’s center. My destination lies ahead, tucked deep inside an oasis of palm trees, koi ponds, and an antiseptic smell that spoils the illusion of paradise.

During the summer months, the shops and restaurants on this strip bustle with activity. It’s a great place to people watch, if you’re into that sort of thing, but not today. Aside from a group of elderly gentlemen hobbling into a small cafe for brunch, the sidewalks are unoccupied.

Past the main drag, the sign for Sanctuary comes into view, but only if you know where to look. Despite the amount of money these people hoard from their clients, they’ve allowed the foliage to overtake the entrance signage. Philodendrons and Petra plants crowd everything.

As I turn down the paved path, I feel crowded too.

It isn’t that I don’t want to visit her. I just wish she didn’t have to be here.

The foliage breaks apart, and white marble columns file into view. If a stranger happened upon this place, they’d think it was a mansion tucked inside a tiny jungle. The director did an excellent job of making this look like anything other than what it is.

Which is a place where people go to waste away.

I suppose there are worse places to spend your final years. The staff keeps everything clean, and the residents are well looked after. No one is cruel. Well, the nurses, doctors, and other staff aren’t. The residents can be a different beast altogether.

After easing my bike into a parking spot in the underground garage, I head toward the elevator that will deposit me inside the facility. Next up, the security check. The residents are housed under lock and key for their safety. If it weren’t for the meticulously crafted Michelin-worthy meals and the stunning grounds and accommodations, I’d call this a prison.

As the elevator doors ease open with ading, a security desk comes into view. The guard behind the desk smiles and holds a red badge toward me.

“Doc is waiting in his office,” the man says. As I step closer, I’m wrapped in a cloud of garlic, onions, and olives. There’s no food in sight, so the pizza this man had for lunch is seeping through his pores.

I take the badge without breathing through my nose. “Thanks.”

He nods and buzzes me through the first airlock, and I take a deep breath as soon as the doors close behind me.

I enter a long hallway with windows lining one wall. Now that I’m inside the mansion, the facade falls away and I can see this place for what it really is. Gleaming white floors and windowed hallways are a hospital staple.

My mother sits in the courtyard just outside. A row of boxwood hedges stands just behind her chair, casting a shadow over her frail body. Beside her, on a small wrought-iron table, sits a dainty saucer and teacup. My mother always did love her afternoon tea.

But if she’s taking her afternoon tea, that may mean I’m too late. When she’s lucid, she won’t say things she shouldn’t.

I feel slightly guilty for looking forward to her bad days, but only slightly. When she received her diagnosis, it was her decision to be placed into immediate care, and I chose Sanctuary. Considering how much I pay this place every six months, the least I can do is get something out of it. I only wish my mother could get something out of it too.

But there is no cure. She’ll never leave this place, especially since the bad days have become more frequent.

I hurry past the windows and make a beeline for Doc’s office on the second floor. He requested I see him before speaking with my mother, and I already know why. I slide my hand into my pocket and finger the slip of paper.

My knuckles rap against the solid oak door, and a thready voice says I may enter. The doctor sits behind a massivemahogany desk, frantically clicking something on his computer as I take a seat in front of him. Soft moans dribble from the speakers, and I’ve never seen a man’s cheeks turn so red.

“Press alt and F4 at the same time,” I say. “That’ll close the active window.”

Doc searches for the keys, presses them, and the moans cease.

“Probably best not to sneak in a meat-beating sesh when you have a scheduled meeting, no?” I smirk and slide the cashier’s check across the desk. “I’m guessing this is why you wanted to see me?”

He clears his throat, straightens his white jacket, and grabs the piece of paper worth a sickening sum of cash. After studying the numbers, he looks at me for the first time since I entered the room. “Yes, this covers your past-due balance, plus the next six months.”

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