Chapter 11 - Delaney

11

Delaney

The beans are lukewarm at best. And they have little chunks of sausage in them. The orange fleshiness makes my stomach churn, so I push them around my bowl, digging for more beans.

“Are you going to eat that or are you just going to play with it?”

Ares watches me from across the room. I served up dinner, heated on a little camping stove, and Ares took the only seat at the table, leaving me with the choice of the floor or the lumpy couch. I fold my legs under me on the couch cushion and hold out my bowl.

Like a cautious Rottweiler, Ares considers me for a moment, then gets up from his seat. He takes the bowl and tips it back into his mouth, slurping up my leftover sausages.

“That’s disgusting,” I mutter as he lowers the bowl. He keeps his eyes on me and, like he’s trying to prove something, chews, swallows, and swipes his tongue over his lips to collect the last of the sauce.

It shouldn’t make my lower belly clench like it does.

It’s late. I can’t be sure of the exact time, and I can’t check my phone because it’s in my backpack, all the way over by the door. Over by Ares. My fingers itch to have it in my hand. To see if Aunt Judith has let Lilly call today. We don’t have a set schedule for calls, but it’s usually just before her bedtime, when Aunt Judith gets sick of Lilly begging to talk to me.

Ares tosses the plastic bowl in the sink and sits back down in his chair. He kicks back and thunks his feet on the table. Dried mud crumbles off the soles of his boots.

“How long are we going to stay here?” I ask.

“Until we’re told not to.”

“Do you always do what you’re told?”

“When it’s Griff doing the telling, yeah.”

I have so many questions that they’re bubbling up in my throat. I had been so curious as a kid, about Ares, his life, the big world beyond my own little front yard.

“What’s it like?” I ask. “Being a Wastelander.”

“Why do you want to know?”

I shrug. I shift my leg, unfolding it from underneath my butt, and lean against the back of the couch. “I just don’t see why anybody would want to be in a biker gang.”

“Motorcycle club.”

I snort. “Sure. You came together because of your shared interest in Harley Davidsons.”

“I don’t ride a Harley.”

The way he’s looking at me feels heated. Not in a bad way, just like he’s studying me. Trying to figure me out. Warmth creeps up my neck and I force my eyes down to the hole in the knee of my jeans. I pick at the loose threads.

“They were there for me when I needed them,” he says finally. “When I needed… I don’t know… something. It’s not that complicated.”

“What’s an enforcer?”

Ares goes tense and I motion to the vest he retrieved from the car, now hanging from a hook on the wall.

“The patch on your vest.”

“It’s called a cut.”

“Okay,” I say, rolling my eyes. “The patch on your super adorable leather cut —” He makes an annoying growling noise that I ignore. “It says that you’re an enforcer. I googled it.”

“Google, huh? You’ve come a long way from your library days.”

Memories flood back — knocking on his door in the middle of the night, my hands clutching my dog-eared book about ancient gods. Me, terrified but hopeful.

I clear my throat, push the past down and lock it away, where it belongs. “You’re like a cop, right? You solve the club’s problems?”

Ares looks horrified. He sits up fast, slamming his feet to the floor. “Not like a fucking cop. Holy shit, is that what it says online?”

“But that’s why you’re here. With me. Instead of one of the other guys. Because I’m a problem.”

He says nothing and I get nervous again. I know I’m right. I keep picking at the hole in my jeans. Wispy threads float to the floor.

“If the Wastelanders told you to kill someone, would you do it? Have you done it before?”

Ares shifts in his chair, the flimsy thing creaking. “What the fuck, Delaney.”

“It’s a simple question,” I say with a shrug.

“And the answer is none of your business.”

“What about what I asked?”

He looks at me like I’m crazy. “What, kill your daddy? That’s not fucking happening.”

“Why not? He’s a problem.”

“No, right now, the problem is you. The problem has always been you.”

His words are a gunshot. Loud and painful.

“And, yeah, if Griff told me to kill someone, I would,” Ares continues. “Want to know why? Because he’s my family. He was there for me when I got thrown in lock-up for molesting the Sheriff’s eleven-year-old daughter.”

There it is. The can is open and those wriggling worms are spilling out. I feel myself shrinking, curling in on myself, wishing I could be a worm instead of the living, breathing fuck-up that I am.

“You weren’t charged. I told Dad… I told everyone that it wasn’t like that, that you never—”

“Do you think any of those assholes care about the truth?” he replies, sharp as a knife. “Seven years, Delaney, that’s how long this town has looked at me like a child molesting piece of shit. All because your father won’t let them forget it.”

I get it. I do. I know what it’s like to have him twist his tongue around a lie so it all comes out tasting like the truth. Oh, don’t listen to Delaney, she’s always been trouble, always making things up.

What am I supposed to say? As much as I should, I can’t make the words ‘I’m sorry’ come out of my mouth. Ares doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand how dangerous my father is. While he might not be as blind as the rest of the people in town, he still thinks I’m just a rebellious brat with daddy issues. So I take a breath and say the closest thing to an apology I can muster.

“I never meant for that to happen.”

Ares scrubs a hand over his face, his palm scraping against his stubble.

“Yeah, well…Until the heat dies down and Griff gives me the all clear, we’re stuck here. Like it or not, I’m the only thing stopping Jackson from getting his hands on you.”

It’s like he’s slamming me into the ground and knocking the air from my lungs all over again. Ares doesn’t see it, the way my shoulders fold inward, my eyes hollow out.

If only Ares had listened to me the first time, that night in his kitchen, a cup of warm cocoa between us. Would he have been able to stop those hands from making the last seven years of my life a living hell?

“Go on. Get some sleep.” He jerks his head to the back bedroom.

I start to shake my head. “You should take the—”

“The couch is closer to the door, so it’s mine. You take the bed.”

“But—”

“For fuck’s sake, Delaney. For once in your life, can you just do what you’re told?”

I grit my teeth and stand up. As I walk past, I snatch up my backpack.

When I settle down on the bed, I check my phone. I’m almost out of charge and, of course, I forgot my charger at home. There are a few missed calls from Dad. No texts. He wouldn’t want written proof of the things he wants to say to me.

Lilly hasn’t called, and it’s probably for the best, because I don’t think I could hear her voice tonight without breaking down in tears. Instead, I clutch my backpack to my chest and pretend it’s her, that I’m hugging her close, and I rock myself to sleep.

***

I can’t breathe. There’s pressure over my mouth, half blocking my nose. My eyes fly open and two pale eyes stare back, unblinking in the murky darkness. Ares’ breath is warm over my face. Fear roars at me, turning my body to stone.

He’s no different , the fear says. He creeps and claws and takes what he wants.

Something inside me dies. A light snuffing out.

The bed creaks, his knee finding the edge of the mattress, and Ares leans further over me. I am frozen, waiting for him to pull back the thin sheet, to rake his eyes over my body — God, why didn’t I sleep in my jeans? Maybe that would have sent more of a signal. But this, me in just my t-shirt and underwear, it’s like I invited him. Gave him permission.

My pulse hammers in my ears as I wait for him to make his move. He lifts a single finger to his lips.

And that’s when I hear it. The purr of an engine. The crunch of tires on gravel.

We’re not alone.

I can’t parse out the relief from the new terror, so I just nod against Ares’ hand and he lets me go. As he turns, he fishes the gun from the back of his jeans. It’s a smooth and practiced motion, like he’s done this countless times before.

“Stay here,” he murmurs. Even though his voice is low, it booms in my ears.

As he leaves the bedroom, I throw off the sheet and scramble into my jeans. My sneakers are so well-worn that I never untie them anymore, just slide my feet right in.

I make it into the dark living room to find Ares flattening himself beside the window, his gun tight to his thigh. He glares at me as I hover in the doorway.

“What did I just say?”

“Is it Flores?” I ask.

Ares parts the blinds with one finger and peers outside. “Too dark. I can’t tell.”

“A Wastelander?”

He levels me with a tight look. Stupid question. Nobody would have come out here without contacting Ares first.

The car stops and the engine goes quiet. There’s the grating squeak of a car door opening and pin-pricks of fear creep up my spine. It’s funny, how one sound can imprint on your brain, like a finger drawing in wet cement. Unable to be erased. It’s a sound I would lay awake waiting for. A sound that meant I had about three minutes to grab a bag and climb out my window before he came looking for me.

I suck in a gasp and Ares’ eyes dart to me.

Outside, the car door slams.

“I know you’re in there, kiddo! Why don’t you come on out and stop all this nonsense!”

Ares’ lips pull back into a snarl. “Fuck,” he growls.

My knees give out and I sink to the floor, my back pressed flat against the wall. It bows against the pressure of me. Like a house made of cards, it’s all about to come tumbling down — my plan, my life — and I’m going to take Ares down with me. I’m going to ruin his life all over again.

“Del, you hear me, sweetie? I just want to know that you’re okay.” Dad’s sugary voice floats through the night air. My chest constricts. Tightens painfully.

It’s over. Over. Over. Over.

“Delaney? Baby girl, it’s time to end this. You come on out, bring what you took, and all will be forgiven. No harm, no foul.”

I try to swallow, my tongue dry as sandpaper. Ares looks at me, his mouth pressed into a grim line.

“It’s over, Ares. I have to go.”

Ares shifts his weight, moving back from the window. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters. “How’d he even find us?”

“My bag is in the bedroom. I’ll get it.”

I press my shaky palms to the floor, about to lift myself up, when footsteps crunch outside. Dad coming closer. Ares points the gun at the window.

“Don’t take another step, Jackson!”

The footsteps stop. Dad chuckles. “That you, Warner? Well, whaddayaknow, it’s Cameron Warner.”

Ares’ head drops, his shoulders sagging. He mutters a curse under his breath, then rallies. Pulls himself up. “Nothing here for you, Sheriff.”

“Beg to fucking differ, Warner,” Dad replies. “How’d my girl convince you to come along on this little jaunt, anyway? She offer you another taste, huh?”

Ares’ spine goes rigid. I curl in on myself more, my stomach aching, bile rising.

“Yeah, I bet she’s awful tempting in there. Alone. Afraid. Ripe.”

I want to press my hands over my ears, but I can’t move.

“How about this,” Dad continues smugly. I can picture the look on his face, the one he wears when nobody else is around. It’s a look that says no matter what comes next, he knows he’s already won. “How about you toss out those bricks Del stole from my station, and I let you have a little one-on-one time with her. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I bury my face in my knees.

“She can be real good girl when she wants to be.” Dad’s voice is venom, slipping through my veins and turning my blood to mush.

I feel pale gray eyes on me.

Silence.

“Delaney.”

I can’t look. I don’t want to see what’s on Ares face. The disgust.

“Delaney, get up.”

I force myself up, my legs shaking. This is it. Ares knows. Knows I’m damaged goods, that I’m fucked up beyond repair. There’s no other choice for him except to hand me over.

“Look at me.”

I feel my head shake, wagging side-to-side. Then, firm fingers on my chin. Gripping me hard, wrenching my head up so that I see him. See the disgust.

Only there is none.

There is only rage.

“In the bedroom,” he says, his voice low and rough. “The window. You open it, you climb out, you run. Got it?”

“W-what? But I—”

“You take your bag and you run. You find some place in the woods and you hide.”

The dull throb of fear shifts, making way for confusion. “But what about you?”

“I’ll find you, Delaney.”

“But—”

“I promise. Now go.”

He shoves me. Hard. I stumble into the hallway, pausing only once to see Ares return to his position at the window. He looks back at me and something passes between us. I nod once, turn, and race for the bedroom.

Ares will find me , I tell myself as I hoist my backpack over my shoulder.

Ares will find me , I tell myself as I wrench open the window and drop down to the spindly weeds on the other side.

Ares will find me , I tell myself as I stay low and dart for the dark tree line.

And that’s when I hear the gunshots.