Page 3 of Kash
I swing onto my bike, ready to get the hell out of here, but the skater boy rolls closer, stopping a few feet away. He kicks his board up into his hand, casual, like he’s got all the time in the world.
“Nice bike,” he says, his voice smooth, with a hint of a challenge. “You new around here?”
I don’t answer right away.
My first instinct is to shut him down, tell him to mind his own business, but there’s something about him that makes me pause.
Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me, like he knows I’m hiding something and doesn’t care. Or maybe it’s the way his lips curve, just enough to suggest he’s trouble in the best kind of way.
“Just passing through,” I say, my voice rough, keeping it neutral. “You take it easy.”
The boy nods, like he doesn’t believe me but isn’t gonna push it.
“The name’s Spike,” he says, leaning against a lamppost, his board tucked under his arm. “You got a name,biker guy?”
“Kash,” I say, before I can stop myself.
Fuck. That was stupid.
Giving my real name’s a risk, but something about Spike makes me want to play along, just for a second.
I start the bike, the engine’s growl cutting through the moment.
“Stay out of trouble, Spike,” I say, chuckling. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Spike grins, all teeth and attitude. “Trouble’s my middle name…”
I shake my head, fighting a smirk, and pull away.
Spike’s laughter follows me, light and reckless, and I feel that heat in my gut flare again.
Damn it.
I can’t afford this. Not now, not when every cop in a hundred-mile radius is looking for me.
But as I ride back to the cabin, the groceries strapped in saddlebags to my bike, I can’t shake the image of him—those green eyes, that defiant grin, the way Spike moved like he owned the world.
Back at the cabin, I unpack the supplies, my movements mechanical, a stiffness in my body that’s a sure sign that the stress of the situation is getting to me more than I might like to admit.
The ocean’s louder now, waves crashing against the bluff, and I step onto the porch to clear my head. The night’s dark, stars starting to poke through, and I light a cigarette, the glow a small rebellion against the shadows.
I’m used to being alone—have been for years, even before this mess—but something about Cresthaven feels different.
Maybe it’s the isolation, or maybe it’s him. Spike. The name fits him, sharp and unpredictable…
“Don’t even think about it,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head.
I take a drag, letting the smoke curl into the night. I need to focus.
The Vipers framed me for a murder I didn’t commit, and the police have got their orders to shoot on sight. Maybe that’s not the official word, but I know for sure that’s what they’ll have been told off the record.
As far as the police are concerned, I’m a cop killer. And that’s going to make me a dead man walking as far as they’re concerned.
I can’t offer any genuine alibis to the police because where I was during the murder was on a serious bank job across state lines.
Jace is working on finding out who the killer actually was, but until then, I’m a ghost. No ties, no attachments.
If I admit to being on the bank job, I’m looking at least thirty years inside. Maybe more. And that’s just not happening. But unless I can prove I didn’t kill the cop, then I’m dead anyway.
