Chapter 14 - Ares

14

Ares

Delaney browses the aisles of thrift store clothes, mindlessly scraping hangers along the wobbly racks.

I eye her still empty hands and sigh. “We’re not going to a fashion show. Just pick something.”

She slides a bright red blouse along the rack. “I’m going as fast as I can. It’s not like there’s a section for what to wear when you’re on the run from your psychopathic parent.”

“That’s two aisles over.”

Delaney snorts a laugh. “You know, you can be kind of funny when you want to be.”

“You should see my stand-up act.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket and when I pull it out, I recognize the number right away.

“Gotta take this,” I mutter. I sling the pair of jeans and the two t-shirts I had grabbed for myself off my shoulder and into Delaney’s arms. A line forms between her eyebrows and her mouth opens in surprise.

“Pick something and hurry up,” I say, cutting off her protest.

“How am I supposed to pay for—”

I shove the wad of cash into her palm, then stride out of the store, the phone already to my ear.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, answering. I settle my back against the brick exterior of the thrift store.

“How’s the girl?”

That’s Reaper for you. No nonsense.

“A pain in my ass,” I reply. Then, because I’m not a total monster, “She’s fine.”

Except that she’s not. She’s being hunted by her sick fuck of a father and I can’t see this ending well for her. And then, because it feels wrong to not say it, “She’s tough.”

Reaper makes a sound of acknowledgement. “I have news. Rigby and Jay are out of lock-up. Charges dropped.”

I blink, surprised. “That’s… good?”

“Yeah,” Reaper replies. Like me, he doesn’t sound convinced that this is, in fact, good news.

“What?”

“Could be nothing.”

“Reaper, come on, man.”

“I don’t know. Just doesn’t feel right. Rev saw them towing the Sheriff’s patrol car in this morning, tires all shot out. That was you?”

“Lucky shot.”

Reaper chuckles. “Anyway, you’d think after that, we’d have cops swarming the compound. Only it’s dead fucking quiet.”

“And?”

“And it’s like something’s changed.”

Dread sinks into my gut. “Like what?”

Reaper goes quiet, then: “Like Sheriff Jackson’s moved on to something that’s more important to him than taking us down.”

More important means Delaney. And because it’s me with her, that’ll rile him up even more. I felt it last night, the hatred in his voice.

He’s not going to stop until he finds us.

“What’s the plan?”

But I know what the plan is. What Griff will tell me to do. What he’s ordered Reaper to tell me over the phone. There’s nothing that the Wastelanders will protect more than each other. We’re a family — blood brothers — and nothing will stand in the way of that.

“Griff says to ditch the girl.”

No.

The feeling is so strong. So visceral. Before Reaper is even finished saying the words, I know I’m not going to follow that order.

“Lay low,” Reaper continues. “We’ll contact you when we know the heat is off.”

“And what’s Delaney supposed to do?”

Reaper pauses. I think he’s surprised I would ask that. If I knew me like he does, I’d be surprised too.

“She’s not our problem anymore, Ares.”

The swoosh of the thrift store door lets me know I’m not alone. I sense her, feel her in my chest, before I lay eyes on her.

“Ares?”

Reaper’s voice is a buzzing gnat in my ear.

“Copy,” I say. “I get it. I’ll wait for your call.”

I hang up before he can say anything more, and then I turn to Delaney.

My heart stops.

This isn’t the girl I know: scrawny and sharp and angry. The Delaney before me is a woman. Her sundress hits mid-thigh, the fabric light and covered in tiny yellow flowers. It hugs her curves, dipping in the chest to show a hint of cleavage. My eyes follow the gentle sweep of her collar bones, rising up to her pale neck. Her throat bobs with a nervous swallow. Her hair is down, probably combed through with her fingers so it falls in dark, messy waves around her shoulders. Her lips, plump and naturally rosy, are tilted down at the corners. Her eyes narrow at me accusingly.

“What?”

It takes me a minute to recover. I thrust my phone into my pocket and my fingers brush the growing hardness of my cock.

“What the fuck is this?” I say finally, coughing to shift the lump in my throat.

“ This is a dress,” she replies, all that sharpness and venom back in her voice with full force.

“You look ridiculous. We’re on the run, not going to a county fair.”

Delaney rolls her eyes. She swings a large plastic bag to me, full of clothes, then props her hands on her hips. “I got you some more stuff too. You can thank me later.”

I groan and screw my eyes shut, partly regretting my decision not to abandon her.

“Where’s the rest of my cash?”

There’s a rustling noise. When I open my eyes, Delaney is fishing the folded bills out from the front of her dress and my breath catches in my throat. She hands me the cash. It’s still warm from her skin.

I know it now, more than ever: Delaney Jackson is going to be the death of me.

***

I want to kill the guy at the front desk. I’d also consider dislocating his jaw, just for the way that he’s smirking at Delaney and sucking the meat of his cheek between his teeth. Beside me, Delaney looks uncomfortable. Her shoulders curl in and she tugs at the fabric of her new dress like she’s regretting buying it in the first place — and that makes me go right back to wanting this fucker dead.

“Anything?” I ask, shifting my body so I block Delaney from his line of sight. He taps at the keyboard a few times.

“Just for the night?”

“Undecided.”

The guy leans sideways and leers at Delaney some more. “We also have an hourly rate. If that takes your interest.”

I side-step, once again putting myself between him and Delaney. “The night’s fine,” I reply tersely.

The guy sucks on his teeth, clearly annoyed with me and not intimidated in the slightest. I’m mentally kicking myself for picking such a shithole motel. This guy is obviously used to dealing with lowlifes. He locks eyes with me and seems to realize that he’s not going to get any more chances to perv, because he sighs, slides a plastic keycard through a card reader and slaps it on the desk.

“Twelve. Around the corner. Pool closes at ten. No parties.”

I take the keycard, replacing it with a few extra bills than the room is worth — unspoken payment for both the stay and for not asking for ID. The guy stuffs it all in his pocket anyway.

“Enjoy your stay!”

I motion for Delaney to head outside and she pushes out the door into the parking lot. There’s more cars parked than there are rooms at the one-floor motel, but a glance around sees a pool hall slash dive bar combo across the street with its doors open.

Delaney finishes saying something. I snap to her. “What?”

“I said—” She starts walking down the breezeway, passing motel room doors — the paint on each of them in different stages of flaking off. “I wonder where that guy keeps his mother’s mummified corpse. Hopefully not next to our room.”

I grunt. “I think he’s more of a ‘drill a hole in the wall to watch you shower’ type”.

“Norman Bates did that too,” Delaney replies.

We round the corner and stop, the door to room twelve right there. She hesitates, nibbling on her bottom lip as she looks warily at the door.

“You don’t think…”

I slide the keycard into the lock. It whirs and clunks, un-locking.

“I’ll check for holes,” I sigh.

I shove the backpack and the bag of thrift store clothes at her, along with the second bag of necessities we picked up at the drugstore. Delaney waits outside, the sun throwing her long shadow on the thread-bare green and purple carpet.

I make quick work of the small and stuffy room, checking air vents, light fixtures, and even the shower head for anything even slightly suspicious. When I emerge from the bathroom, she’s inside, clicking the door closed behind her.

“All clear on hole patrol.”

I regret it as soon as I say it. Delaney’s nervous expression cracks into a wide, delighted grin.

“I meant there’s no cameras or anything fucked up,” I say quickly. I fold my arms across my chest, silently daring her to say something.

Delaney clears her throat, her cheeky smile softening.

“Okay, so what do we do now?”

“How much cash have you got?”

Slowly, like she’s not sure she can trust me, she puts her backpack on the table and fishes out an envelope from inside. She hesitates, then hands it over. There’s not much. I do a quick calculation in my head and hand the envelope back. Surprise at behind handed back her money flashes across Delaney’s face, then she squirrels the envelope deep in her bag.

“I had more,” she says. “A lot more. But Aaron— Deputy Flores went through my room.”

“He go into your room a lot?”

Delaney stiffens. She whirls away from her backpack, eyes shooting daggers at me. “Are you calling me a whore?”

“No, of course not—”

“Because I’m not, despite what everyone in town thinks about me.” She fixes her shoulders and crosses her arms firmly under her tits. “And if I were a whore, I wouldn’t fuck a deputy. Ever.”

I hold my palms up in surrender. “Your brothel is gonna be strictly for firefighters, got it.”

Delaney’s shock makes her pause, then her lips curl. “I’ll just call it ‘Hose’. For the double meaning.”

“Not Hole Patrol?”

Delaney’s laugh is unexpectedly loud. She throws a hand over her mouth and snorts. I grin back. Triumphant warmth pulses in my chest. Making her laugh feels like a reward, like a badge of honor.

After a moment she takes a breath and looks around. Grabbing her backpack, she walks past me and places it on the queen bed furthest from the door. Good, she’s learning.

“You cool if I take the first shower?” she says.

“Actually, can I ask you something?”

She turns back, wary again. Wary of what I might ask, what secrets I’ll pry from her.

“Do you know how to defend yourself?”

She narrows her eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not what I asked,” I say, taking a deliberate step closer. She backs away, her legs hitting the edge of the bed. “Okay, there. First thing, you’re showing fear.”

“What? Like hell I am.”

“You backed away.”

“Because you came closer!”

“And that’s supposed to deter me? I want you, Delaney.”

Fuck. Take back the words. Shuffle them around in my head to get the right ones.

“Pretend I want to hurt you,” I say carefully. “Can you defend yourself?”

Her breathing is coming sharper now, her cheeks burning pinker. Her eyes dart around the room, before landing on a spot by my feet.

“Can you show me?”

I blink. I was expecting a fight or at least a little more pushback before she agreed. I nod and step back. Swallow around the nervous lump in my throat.

“Come here.”