Ignoring her, I edge closer. They’re music boxes, I realize. Well, not boxes, actually. More like just the little mechanical parts of music boxes, all silver cords and string. On the side of each device is a little crank. I want to turn one so bad, but suddenly I feel like my hands are too big. I glance at Aspen who’s standing close by, her face lined with worry. She flicks her cigarette into a chrome trash can like she never wanted it in the first place. “Do these actually play anything?” I ask.
Her eyes glare past me at the trinkets, and I note the blue eye shadow smudged over her lids. I wonder why she wears it, because Mom—who also has green eyes—always said the shade was blasphemous.
“Yeah, they work.” Aspen steps around me as if she’s guarding them. Then, maybe because she can tell how badly I want to pick one up, she chooses one from the back. Then she rolls it between her gloved hands and gives me a long look. It’s like she’s silently conveying how much these things mean to her, though she’d never say it aloud. Glancing away, she holds it out to me, trying hard to act like she doesn’t care if I crush it under my heel.
I take it from her and then, balancing my cigarette in the corner of my mouth, I crank the miniature lever. Music ticks out from the gadget and I can’t help but laugh. It’s freaking awesome. I have no idea why, but it is. Aspen turns away and goes to get another cigarette. She lights it and curls up on her bed like a compressed coil, like if I make one wrong move, she’ll fire across the room. “Why do you have these?” I ask around my cancer stick.
She shrugs. “Why not?”
I spin the lever a few more times and then put the gadget back exactly where it was. Then I glance around the room again, looking to see what else I can find. This time my eyes land on a checkerboard. At first I think it’s décor, considering her room is splashed with reds and blacks. But the board and pieces are blue and yellow, and look way too intricate to be intended for actual play. Still, I know better than anyone that rich kids’ toys are always extravagant. Even crap like board games. I reach for a yellow checker.
“Stop!” Aspen yells, leaning forward. “Just…just stop touching things.” My arm freezes in midair, and a chill shoots over my skin. Most people would assume she’s just some spoiled brat who can’t share. But when I see the fear hidden in her eyes, I know better.
“What are you worried about, Aspen?” I ask quietly. And for once, I actually care what comes out of her mouth. I know Aspen likes to party, but before, I thought this was about a girl whose daddy didn’t pay attention. Now I’m not so sure.
My eyes rake over her dark hair, the small diamond stud in her nose. I watch her hands clench and unclench, and I zone in on her fingerless gloves.
Aspen toys with a small silver chain around her neck. It’s an unconscious action but one I notice all the same. There isn’t a charm on her necklace. It’s just an empty thread, like whoever bought it forgot the most important part.
I take a small step closer. “Aspen?”
In a flash, she’s on her feet. “Don’t give me that look. I’m warning you. Don’t you dare look like you feel sorry for me.” She jerks a finger in my direction. “I have everything. And I certainly don’t need some poser acting like I’m the one who needs help.”
Poser? my mind screams. Moi? But then I remember I’m wearing high fashion while driving a busted-up Kia.
I consider letting this go, but I’ve never backed down from a challenge. And this girl, she’s tossing ’em around like it’s the freaking summer Olympics. In three quick steps, I close the distance between us. I grab her upper arms and jerk her so that she can’t avoid my eyes. “You’re real good at pushing people away, aren’t you?” I growl around my cigarette. “Push, push, push. That’s Aspen.” My eyes search her face as I reconsider what I just said. “Push them away or pull them closer, right? So close they can’t even see you clearly anymore.” Cigarette in hand, I put my mouth right next to her ear. “I don’t get pushed around easily, doll. And there’s only one girl I let pull me in.”
Aspen spins her arms in a quick circle, then throws her hands into my chest. “Get off me!”
I stumble backward, and we stare at each other, breathing hard. There’s absolutely nothing sexual between us. It’s just two screwed-up people seeing each other for the first time.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. I have no idea why I say this. It just comes out. But once I say it, I know it’s true. I don’t care about saving Aspen. Not really. Even if Valery does insist she’s important to Big Guy. But I won’t leave her alone.
Aspen mutters something under her breath.
“Speak up,” I bark.
“I said, ‘you will.’ Everyone goes away.” Her stone skin relaxes, like she’s just realized what she said.
“Nah, screw that.” I stub my cigarette out in a red ash tray. “I ain’t got nothing else to do.”
Aspen laughs. It’s riddled with nerves, but it doesn’t change anything, because now we’re both smiling like idiots.
“Can I come out now?” a small voice asks.
Aspen and I spin around to see her sister, Sahara, standing in the doorway. She appears to be about eight years old, and I notice she dresses the way Aspen does, all black with a pop of one other color. Sahara slinks into the room when Aspen doesn’t immediately tell her to leave. She goes to stand in front of her older sister, and Aspen wraps her arms around her shoulders.
“This is Dante,” Aspen tells her sister. Her eyes bore into me, like she’s warning me not to say anything about our super-strange moment.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Sahara holds out her hand like a businesswoman, and I offer my own in return.
“Nice grip,” I tell the girl. “You could be a race car driver.”
Sahara laughs and looks up at her sister. The muscles relax in Aspen’s shoulders as she watches us interact, and I can’t help but think Sahara seems pretty freaking cool.
“Want to see my new dress?” Sahara asks me.
I rub my chin like I’m deep in contemplation. “Depends on whether you want an honest opinion. ’Cause I’m going to give one.”
“Okay.” Sahara moves toward the door, smiling like the world is hers to hold.
I meet Aspen’s eyes, and she nods. Then she brushes past me toward Sahara’s room, and I follow close behind. The three of us trail down the hallway, and I can’t get over how odd this is. How moments ago Aspen and I were speaking in code about her messed-up life. And now we’re hanging out with her little sister like we’re best buds. But that’s the thing; Aspen can change her tune in a heartbeat. It’s what I always prided myself on, too, how I could put on different faces depending on who was in the room.
Aspen and I are so much alike, showing the world what we want them to see and hiding everything else away.
Watching Aspen touch Sahara gently between the shoulder blades, I realize she has something I never had—someone to cling to. A sibling. I don’t have one, but I’ve always wondered what it’d be like.
A wave of dizziness rolls over me, because suddenly I understand why I said I wouldn’t leave Aspen. Because she’s just like me. She and I could have been related.
She could have been my sister.
11
Hell in His Eyes
Aspen and I spend the morning hanging out with Sahara. It’s amazing how easy it is to just kick it when there’s a kid in the room. It’s even easy to forget that last night, a collector was in my room. And that he may still be lurking around, despite Valery’s assurance that there’s nothing to worry about. Or that I have no idea why Aspen is important to Big Guy.
At some point, Lincoln drops by. He scurries around the house like he’s looking for explosives then settles into a chair in Sahara’s room and paints his nails black.
“That’s pretty manly,” I tell him when he shows us the finished product.
“It’s black,” he responds, like this makes any difference.
“Right.” I raise an eyebrow at Sahara, who
laughs. She moves toward me like a cat, like she wants to be closer, but also wants me to come to her. I take two quick steps and scoop her up. She’s eight, not exactly a featherweight anymore, but she’s light enough. Her dark hair sprays out as I spin her in a circle. Then I set her down and tickle her until she can hardly breathe.
No mercy for the weak.
Glancing over at Aspen, I expect to see her laughing along with her sister. But instead, she’s staring at the floor with a blank expression on her face. I feel Lincoln studying me and meet his gaze. His forehead is lined with worry, but he doesn’t say anything.
Aspen’s head snaps up. She tilts her ear like she’s listening for something. When the doorbell sounds, I realize it must have been what she heard. She lifts herself off Sahara’s bed and makes for the stairs. Lincoln and I exchange another look, then we both get up to go after her. I don’t need whoever this is breaking her concentration. Hanging out with her sister does something good to Aspen, and if I’m going to liberate her soul, keeping her around Sahara may be my best bet.
I don’t know how long turning a person good will take, because I’ve only ever turned them bad. Convincing someone to embrace their sinister desires isn’t so difficult, but convincing them to forsake those desires may take much longer. I’ll have to be a shining example of purity (not easy) and show her how beautiful life can be when you’re living it clean (kill me). All in all, because I am amazing at All Things, I think I can have this wrapped up in about a week or so.
Aspen reaches the bottom of the stairs and opens the mammoth door. It grinds on its hinges, and I spot Gage and Lyra standing outside. Great. Just what I need is these two snaring her with their jellyfish tentacles.
Gage leans his head inside and sees Lincoln and me on the banister. “What’s up, guys?” he says, all smiles and charm like he’s Boy Wonder. He looks back at Aspen and says something I don’t catch. She nods and gazes up at Lincoln.
“Hey, will you stay with my sister while I go out for a while?”
“No,” he retorts, the chains on his camo jacket rattling. “Just stay here with us, Aspen.”
Her eyes slide over to me. I can tell she wants to ask me to babysit but doesn’t fully trust me yet. Not with her sister. “Come on, man,” she says, her sharp green eyes returning to Lincoln. “I’ll do your hair when I get back.”
I glance at the guy next to me, my brow furrowing. Then I notice the blond roots growing from his scalp. “Don’t cave,” I tell him. I don’t know why I’m so wary of Aspen going off with Gage and Lyra other than what Lincoln told me. How Aspen is worse around them. And also maybe because I see the way they look at her, like she’s part of some agenda they have.
Lincoln shrugs a thin shoulder and mutters, “She’s gonna go no matter what. I don’t want Sahara to be alone.” He narrows his kohl-lined eyes and calls down, “Don’t leave me here forever.”
Aspen blows him a kiss and starts to slink through the door.
“Uh, hold on there, princess.” I descend the stairs, keeping my eyes locked on Gage. “I’m coming, too.”
“I don’t think so,” Lyra snaps.
I hold my palm up to her face and speak to Gage. “I’m coming, or Aspen stays here.”
Gage laughs hard, his neon teeth flashing. “She’s a big girl. If she doesn’t want you along, then you’re not coming.”
Aspen’s jaw is set like she’s pissed I’m acting this way, but there’s something else in her glare—another challenge, maybe. “He can come,” she says. Her mouth pulls into a smile, but the gesture doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Splendid.” I grin at Gage just to piss him off real nice. Then I turn back to Lincoln. I don’t know much about the paranoid, Goth-clad dude, but he seems to care about Aspen, which I may need. And if I’m being honest, I guess I appreciate it, too, because Aspen needs someone to care. I nod in an attempt to tell him I got this, but Lincoln just watches Aspen walk out the door before heading back to Sahara’s room.
When I turn back around, Gage meets my stare. “Ready to roll, pretty boy?”
I cringe, because “pretty boy” is what Max calls me. Max. Not him. I’m going to try and give Gage the benefit of the doubt, but we need to get off on the right foot. “Name’s Dante, asshole. Next time you call me something other than that, I’ll put you in the ground. Got it?” I slap him on the arm like we’re pals and brush past him.
Behind me, I hear Gage laughing, but I’m not sure it’s authentic. If it is, we could end up being friends. Crazier things have happened.
Aspen has already lodged herself in the backseat of the BMW 7 series—or the Regulator, as I’ve named it—and has pulled her knees to her chest. She bobs her head to the angry music Lyra’s flipped on, and I feel the beat rush into my veins.
“Don’t you have a car?” I ask Aspen as I slide in after her.
She nods her head toward the garage. “Old Man took the keys.”
As we pull away from Aspen’s fortress-of-a-house, my eyes cling to the garage, because if this is the casa Aspen calls home, I’d kill to know what her sleigh looks like. I look back at her to ask what she’s packing in there, but she’s already lost to the music, her eyes glassed over.
Gage turns around from the driver’s seat and grins at me. “Buckle up, Dante.”
Lyra cranks the volume, and Gage steps on the accelerator.
He drives fast.
And it feels good.
…
A half hour later, we pull into an overgrown neighborhood that probably keeps Kool-Aid and ramen noodles in business. Gage turns behind a small blue house and into an alleyway. After throwing the car into park, he looks at me in the rearview. Holding a finger to his lips, he winks.
I contemplate popping him in the eye but decide to let his douche lord move slide.
He climbs out of the car, and the rest of us follow along. When we get to a garage immediately outside the alleyway, he turns and faces us. “You guys ready to get stupid?”
Aspen wraps her arms around herself. “Just show us what’s inside,” she deadpans.
Gage glances around and rolls the door open with a rattle. Inside are three motorcycles that look way too tight to be in this part of the city. I don’t know much about rides with only two wheels, but already my blood is pumping, because I appreciate anything with an engine.
Lyra walks inside, her long brunette ponytail swishing back and forth. She’s dressed in all white—white blouse, white leggings, white heels—which makes me think she didn’t know about Gage’s idea. But it doesn’t stop her from turning around and saying with a smile, “Bad.”
Gage walks past us and throws his leg over a yellow Suzuki that reads Hayabusa. Without missing a beat, Lyra gets on behind him and grabs onto his thighs. “Geezer won’t even know they’re missing,” Gage says. He pops his chin toward the other bikes, his gaze steady on me. “Two more bikes, two more players.”
My head pounds with excitement, because this is the old me. I’m the guy who’d borrow some anonymous person’s pride and joy without thinking twice. But I can’t be that person anymore. Because I’m with Charlie, and she believes I can be one of the good guys. Gripping the horn in my pocket, my mind flashes to where she is—
—and a bolt of anger fires through me. Because Charlie isn’t at home. And she’s not at school. But she is somewhere near her house, which means she’s probably spending her lunch break at Salem’s house.
My body floods with concern, but then I remember how she stuck up for him and his brother. I also remember that Max and Valery are both around, protecting her from doing anything unsafe.
So she’s just there…hanging out.
My mind snaps to attention when I hear the snarl of an engine kicking on. “If you’re coming, you better hurry the hell up,” Lyra sings.
Aspen straddles a storm cloud–colored bike with an exhaust pipe as wide as my biceps. She starts the engine like she’s done this a million times, though the rigidness in her frame tells me other
wise. She looks at me through the gap in her helmet, her riotous eyes flashing. “Sure you ain’t got nothing else to do?”
She’s quoting what I told her earlier. And I know what I need to do is get her off that bike, because crap like this earns seals for hell, not heaven. But that growl rolling off the twin bikes—oh, shit, that growl—it creeps in; it slinks through all the openings in my body and smothers my resolve. Without thinking, I touch a finger to the skull on my red belt. It’s cool and reassuring beneath my skin.
My eyes land on the third bike. It’s cherry freaking red. And it’s calling my name. I move forward and—gripping the chrome handlebars—I mount her. Then I start the engine, pull on a helmet, and close my eyes in ecstasy. When I open them, Gage is smiling at me—
And in his eyes is something I’ve only seen in hell.
The sight should scare me. It should tell me to get off the damn bike and get Aspen out of here. But for the first time since I left Charlie, my head isn’t back there with her, it’s here and in the now—a beast between my legs, an empty road begging to be plowed, and a dare in Gage’s eyes I’m not about to abandon.
Throwing my head back, I howl at the open sky like an animal.
Then I release the brake and thunder out into the afternoon sun.
The last thing I see before my eyes lock on the road is a flesh-colored tattoo peeking out from beneath Gage’s sleeve. And I swear on all that is unholy, I’ve seen it somewhere before.
12
I Want Her
After racing on the bikes for several hours, we finally return them. The owner still doesn’t know they’re gone, so no harm done, I figure. We leave them in the garage and jump into The Regulator. Then we hit up Mickey D’s before swinging by Aspen’s house to get Lincoln.
Gage lays on the horn as he stuffs French fries into his mouth. “Come on, shithead.”
I almost laugh, but the sound dies in my throat, because I like Lincoln. And I can’t tell whether Gage does. For some reason, I doubt it. It feels like we’re all here for Aspen, like we all want a piece of her just like Lincoln said, and that makes us competitors. Still, I like to think Lincoln and I are on the same train. So yeah, I don’t laugh.