Page 26 of American Hellhound
He kissed the edge of her jaw, the sensitive place just below her ear. “You better be careful, little girl,” he murmured. “The next guy’s gonna want more than that.”
He withdrew, leaving her cold and rattled in his wake. His expression was smug as he stepped back, his eyes raking her head to toe, mentally undressing her.
“You–” he started, and tripped over the bags he’d left behind him.
He kept his footing, but the heel of his boot tore the thin plastic of the drugstore bag he’d been carrying when she first saw him. The contents spilled out onto the dirty concrete: Children’s Tylenol, Children’s Motrin, and a generic brand of brightly colored kid’s fever reducer; a bag of Skittles; Pepto-Bismol.
She stared at the bottles as her heartrate slowed, trying to make sense of his purchases. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who had trouble swallowing aspirin. No, this was for a child. Maybehischild.Probablyhis child.
As she watched, his entire demeanor changed. “Aw, fuck,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand back through his hair. He crouched down and started repacking the bottles with fast, hurried movements, fumbling in his haste. The bag had lost all integrity, though, and they spilled back out. “Fuck,” he hissed again. “Just fuck me. Fucking…” He gathered them up in his arms and surged to his feet.
There was color in his cheeks, and she didn’t think it had anything to do with their kiss. He ducked his head, held his purchases tight to his chest, and hurried away from her without looking back.
Maggie watched him go, dumbfounded, his shoulders tense and drawn in, his strides quick and uneven. Gone was the swaggering young man who’d first spotted her on the sidewalk. The frantic guy in his place seemed a different person entirely.
The torn bag flapped, and rolled, and set off across the parking lot like an errant leaf. The other bag rustled noisily, held in place by its contents.
When her legs felt steady enough, Maggie stepped away from the wall and bent over the Hiram’s bag. Inside was a six-pack of Bud Light, a bottle of Jack, and the change from the twenty she’d given him.
And Ghost…he was a ghost. Disappeared around the corner.
Seven
Then
Maggie was fourteen when she realized she could jimmy open the downstairs powder room window and slip through in the dead of night without either of her parents knowing about it. But it was only recently that she started putting that knowledge to use. Tonight, she escaped in record time, interior pocket of her borrowed jacket weighed down by the bottle of Jack Ghost had left behind that afternoon.
Her breath misted and her shoes crunched through the frosted dew on the grass as she made her way down to the street, sticking to the shadows and skirting the sensors of the security lights. The jacket wasn’t warm enough, but her white wool coat would have drawn eyes like a beacon.
It was a long, tense, cold walk down the street and around the corner to where Rachel waited in her brother’s Camaro. The lights were off, but the engine was running, gray steam snaking out of the tailpipes. The passenger door opened as Maggie approached, and Rachel hissed, “Get in.”
Rachel’s brother, Trevor, was behind the wheel, which meant Rachel had to lean her seat so far forward her chin hit the dash in order for Maggie to scramble into the tiny backseat. They managed, though, and then Rachel locked the seat back and Trevor pulled away from the curb with too much accelerator, so the engine growled.
Maggie reached for her seatbelt, and saw that it wasn’t there. It had been sliced neatly at the top, a useless tongue remaining at the source point, flapping a little as the car surged forward, too fast, too loud, no doubt waking people up. She wanted to tell Trevor, the huge idiot, to slow down, but that would only get her kicked out.
“Where’s the party?” she asked instead, toeing a small pile of cheeseburger wrappers out from under her boots. The interior of the Camaro smelled like fast food, sweaty gym gear, and whatever cologne Trevor had doused himself with: a nauseating combination.
“Hamilton House,” Rachel said excitedly, twisting around so she could smile at Maggie. The dash lights illuminated a massive set of silver hoop earrings swinging over her shoulders. “It’s totally a haunted house party.”
Maggie stifled a groan. “Why can’t it just be a regular party? I thought we were going to someone’s house?”
“We’re going toahouse,” Trevor said with a laugh.
“Yeah, a house the cops always show up to. Guys, if we go there, we’ll end the night in handcuffs,” Maggie tried to reason.
“Psshhh,” Rachel said, facing forward again. “You don’t have to be faster than the cops, just faster than the people you’re with.”
“Planning to outrun me?” Maggie muttered.
“Look, the Peterson brothers are running this thing,” Trevor said. “They’re one strike from being expelled from school. If anyone’s gonna take the rap for this party, it’s them.”
“And even our grandmother could outrun them,” Rachel said. “Fucking stoners.”
Maggie let her head slump back against the seat, the weight of the bottle in her pocket tugging the jacket’s collar tight against her neck. She had a very bad feeling about this party.
~*~
Ghost’s day had started out poorly…and gone downhill from there.
