5. Hellena

5

HELLENA

S trangely, the first thing that goes through my head is that they didn't break the door.

Everything's in its place.

Followed by panic and anger.

"What are you doing here?" I demand.

"We weren't sure how things were going to pan out last night or when you might make it out, so we wanted to leave a little message with your mommy for you when you got home." The sleezy gangster act from our last two meetings is gone. His deep, smooth voice is calm, emotionless. Cold.

It's utterly terrifying.

His clothes are neater too, a dress shirt, leather jacket, slacks. Looks like one of my stepdad's guards more than a street corner dealer. "She was kind enough to invite us in."

"Bullshit. Get the fuck out of our house." It's out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

"I'm impressed. You keep showing me more guts than I thought you'd have. More stupidity, too." He clicks the hammer on the pistol back, and my knees turn to jelly.

"P–please, no." I barely recognize my own voice pleading.

Rachelle blinks pointedly at me. She's handling this remarkably well. Better than my shaking hands and feeling like I'm about to pee my pants.

"I was going to… get in touch. As soon as I could."

"Shh. I know. Because I warned you what would happen if you didn't. But see, the situation you've managed to get yourself into, the heat you've got on you now that could be traced back to me, brings up all sorts of other problems. I. Do. Not. Like. Problems."

"I will get you your money, I just need to?—"

"Before you start making promises, let me make one thing clear. Our agreement was a contract . But the terms of that contract have changed with the police presence in your life."

"That wasn't my fault, I had no clue?—"

"Again with the interruptions. I mean, the fucking balls on this girl." His laugh doesn't reach his eyes as he glances into the kitchen. That's when I notice the other man in the house digging through the fridge for something. He's enormous.

"Hmm. Big tits, too. Nice."

"Bull. Don't be rude. We're guests in their house."

"Sorry, Boss."

Like that makes everything better. My mind disconnects from the situation. I'm pretty sure I'm going into shock.

"Listen to me, Hellena. It's simple. You need to pay me double , now. I will be back in two weeks to pick it up."

Now I'm fully shutting down. Double?

I fumble for an answer. It's not fair. I can't. How am I supposed to…

But I know there's no point in arguing. He watches the realization settle on my face.

"There it is. Let that desperation be your incentive. And all that tuition you need to pay, too." He sneers. I almost blurt out that I just got expelled, then almost laugh at the thought of admitting it to some drug dealer.

The shift in thought helps me gain some control, get my shaking to stop.

"Will you please put the gun away? She has nothing to do with this."

"No, you made damn sure she has something to do with this. It's the only way to make sure you do what you're supposed to." He slides the gun into the back of his pants, and my heart rate drops slightly. "So. Do you understand our deal? You work for the Holy Ghosts now." He flicks the emblem patch on his jacket.

"Yes. I understand. Twenty grand in two weeks." I understand, but I don't have a clue how I'm going to pull it off. Even if Todd pays up… it's not enough.

"I bet you'll get it together no problem. You're smart . If not, I know a guy down in Severance who could use another ass to sell to truckers. From the look of it, yours would fetch a good price, too. Come on, Bull. We'll see ourselves out."

"But I wanted a soda…" Bull grumbles, his eyes never leaving my chest as he nods at me despite not having a neck. The image of a great white shark in a black T-shirt sends shivers all over my skin.

Several seconds pass after they leave before I can move, before I dare to move.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Hellena?" Rachelle's voice cuts through the haze settling into my sleep-deprived, stress-addled brain.

"I'm so sorry. I messed up. The cops showed up to the party last night and…" I slump down on the couch beside her, gripping my arms. I can't look her in the eye.

"I'm just glad you're safe. I was worried sick. Take a minute. We're both a little shaken up."

She's being way too nice. She should be shouting, throwing stuff, telling me to get out. But that's not Rachelle, I guess. I've never seen her lose her temper. Even if this would be more than a justified time.

Instead, she takes a deep breath, goes into the kitchen, and starts making tea.

Instinctively, I move to help her, getting the cups out, the spoons. We move around in silence for a little while, and it really does help settle the waves of sickening dread that keep threatening to overwhelm me, make me break down sobbing. It's almost distracting enough to make me forget that I've barely slept in over twenty-four hours.

Once we're sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, she presses her lips together and nods. "Don't tell me every little detail. Just the basics. How much, and I already know when. Tell me how much trouble you think you're in."

So I spill the beans as concisely as I can, leaving out names, the specific substances, etc. I give her the bare minimum. Jail. Drug charges. Debt to my party vendors, and of course, my new debt to the drug dealers who just paid us a visit. It dawns on me that I don't even know the guy's name. I've been calling him "the dealer" in my head this whole time.

Makes me feel even more foolish.

"And… I got expelled. The school found out about all of it. But at least they're not adding to the charges."

Rachelle sits listening the whole time, but only at this detail does she react—pity, a sad, caring look filling her eyes with tears. It's too much to bear. "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."

I can see the lecture she's holding back, and I've never been more grateful for who she is. She knows I was so close to finishing my degree, that all my eggs were in this basket, to keep schooling, open my own business…

But she doesn't berate me or tell me off like my mom would have. Or shout and hit me like Marco.

She reaches out to me and takes my hand and works through it. Even though I've let her down.

"Here's what you're going to do. You are going to do everything you can to get that money, right? How much do you have now?"

"Yes, of course. But… I spent everything I had paying bail."

"Hmm. I may be able to help you some, but you've got to do a couple of things first."

"Okay…"

"First, you have to promise me that you will do anything and everything to make this right. I always want you to be safe, but safe's out the window for now. That said, we are going to get some protection."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a friend I am going to go stay with. This house will be unsafe for a little while… maybe forever. These types of people have long memories, and there's no guarantee that they'll leave us alone even once you pay them off. Not if they think they can get more money or favors out of us in the future."

A swell of terror rises at the thought. That hadn't even occurred to me.

"Don't panic. You got yourself into this situation, and I know you are capable of getting out of it. You've been through worse." And she's right. Rachelle knows all about the life I escaped.

"So, the house not being safe means you can't stay here either."

"I… don't really know anywhere I can go. Can I come with you?"

"I'm sorry, Hellena. You have to stay in Sanctum Harbor. You can't run away from this."

"Um… Okay. Most of my friends were on campus, so I can't stay with them or even go see them. Maybe a motel, or…"

Rachelle huffs a humorless laugh and shakes her head. "No motels. No money. You need protection ."

"I'm not getting a gun." I hate guns. Not that I haven't shot one. Marco made sure I knew how. Davi always carried one, too. Another sickening and haunting image threatens to surface, and I shake the thought away, tossing my head slightly.

"I wouldn't ask you to do that. And it's not what I meant. When you came to stay with me…I had to make a few adjustments. Understanding that your life might follow you here someday, I also had to make some plans. I know someone you can go stay with. Probably."

"Probably?"

"He's a friend of Damon's, your daddy. Frankly, I think it's overdue, the two of you meeting. He's the only connection besides me you may have left of him, since he…"

She rarely brings it up, my father's absence, his whereabouts, the likelihood that he's dead. The case is technically still open and several years cold. And it's one of those subjects I never know how to bring up, even though I have a million questions.

But I know she doesn't have the answers. Rachelle told me about him. More of who he was, less of what he did and where he's been. It more than likely has to do with the years after he and my mom split, his military service, enemies he made. A lot of it is pretty vague, mostly because she doesn't know most of where he was or what he was doing, working all over the world.

And after that…

He was evasive and solitary. He lived outside of town. One day, he just vanished.

Rachelle slides a slip of paper across the table toward me, bringing me back to the situation at hand.

"His name is Gavin Rorshak. He served with your father, and they worked together after that for many years. It puts you a little way outside of town, but that might be for the best, considering."

"Okay. I guess staying out of town is wise. And… what, he's supposed to protect me from those guys? What makes you think they won't just hurt him too?"

"Honestly? Because he's the scariest sonofabitch I've ever met."

Driving out along the coastal road has me white-knuckled, gripping the steering wheel as I take another hairpin turn up the cliffside. It's not just the narrow road that has me shaking. My nerves are shot to shit, and I'm going to meet a terrifying stranger to put my life in his hands.

Worse, he lives in the creepiest and most notoriously spooky place around Sanctum Harbor. The Black Forest.

The name is just stupid, and so on the nose, but every horrifying local legend centers around the area. Kids go missing periodically, and there really are wild animals out there. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really feel like prey walking right into the jaws of a predator.

It's the helplessness, the desperation. I know, it's probably all in my head.

Rachelle wouldn't send me to someone who would harm me, but the stakes have me all out of sorts and imagining the worst. My entire life just fell apart. So, naturally, I assume it can only get worse.

Last resorts usually mean you've hit bottom, but I've learned there's always another floor you can fall through.

And this is my last resort.

I tried to think of an alternative, friends, favors I could call in. None of the people I know have any more of a clue how to deal with this kind of situation than I do. Most of them are even more naive than I am, or they're spoiled, rich kids who haven't dealt with anything harder than deciding which BMW to choose.

In other words, I've got no one else.

For a fleeting second, I even think of Tell, my crush from the party. It's ridiculous, but he seemed so… capable. If I just had his number, maybe he could offer some advice, or…

It's idiotic. He's just some guy I foolishly made out with at a party. Even if I can't get him out of my head, even while grappling with a life or death scenario.

My eyes dart to my bag in the passenger seat again.

All the fear and nerves aside, I keep feeling like I forgot something at the house. It only took me a few minutes to pack a bag. I don't own a lot of things, and I had to train myself to be able to leave stuff behind when I left Montevista years ago.

But there are a few things I treasure. Pictures. Mementos. Not to mention the simple fact that I finally found a home, a place I considered mine. They won't matter if I'm dead or sold into prostitution, though.

Sleep pulls at my eyelids again, trying to get me to make up for what I lost the last couple of days.

Rachelle let me take a nap after we talked while she got her things ready and packed up or threw out the food from the fridge. Just going about all of it like it was perfectly natural to lock up the house and disappear for a little while.

Like this is normal.

Maybe that's what I feel like I left there… the tiny sense of normalcy she gave me.

Who knows, maybe everyone in Sanctum Harbor has an escape plan. It would fit the history, fit the weirdness that I've always noticed on the periphery of the town.

I just hope I don't have to leave. That Rachelle doesn't disappear on me.

Tears immediately burn my eyes at the thought of never seeing her again, and I jam them down, gritting my teeth. I can't fall apart. I won't.

I have to stay focused. I have to fix this, for me and for Rachelle.

One step at a time.

I check my phone again, the map guiding me up into the hills. Huge trees line the road, darkening the already dreary late afternoon. It only gets darker the farther I go, veering off the main road onto a single lane track that winds back away from the coast.

All the makings of a great horror movie.

Every ghost story and serial killer story I've ever heard come flickering to life as I pass an old wooden gate, a barely legible ‘ Keep Out ' sign dangling from a rusted spike on the post. Thankfully, the house that comes into view around the bend in the dirt road isn't quite as intimidating. It's simple, an old, wooden, single-story farm-style house, fairly well kept up aside from the fading blue paint. Warm light glows from the front windows, and for a second, I don't feel so worried. I've been freaking myself out for nothing. The worst thing that can happen is that he tells me he can't help or that he won't.

Or that he's not even here.

After ringing the doorbell and knocking, I fidget around out front for a bit, kicking myself for not calling first. What if he's out of town?

With the sun setting, the temperature drops dramatically and I suppress a little shiver. Should have brought a thicker jacket.

My chattering teeth make up my mind that exploring might serve me better than waiting around to freeze to death. I can always sleep in my car if I have to. Even my back seat is starting to sound pretty good, given how little I've slept in the last two days.

A big, two-bay garage sits up on a small rise behind the house, and I'm surprised to find one of the doors open, fluorescent light bathing the gravel drive and a beat-up, tan pickup truck that smells like it was driven recently.

"H–hello?" It comes out as a pathetic whisper, and I clear my throat a few times to try and gain the courage to announce myself louder as I cautiously step into the garage.

Inside, it's clean. Organized. Shelves line the walls with every tool you can imagine. It's a workroom, clearly well-used, but equally well-maintained.

Guy must be a carpenter or a mechanic or something.

I make a slow circle around the workbench and consider opening the only other door to the back room.

If he's in there, I definitely should not barge in.

Sighing at my predicament, and my cowardice, I head back out, listening closely for footsteps, intent on making it back to my car and trying the number on the card Rachelle gave me. If I can get a signal out here…

I only get a split second to react, goosebumps on my neck shivering, when a shadow rushes me from the side. A powerful, huge hand is at my throat, and I'm slammed up against the metal siding of the garage, unable to even scream from the fear and the pressure. And the sting of something razor sharp held against my ribs.

"You have five seconds to tell me who the fuck you are and why I shouldn't gut you."