Текст книги "Reaper's Fall "

Автор книги: Joanna Wylde

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

“Where is everyone?”

“Let’s go inside,” Painter said, dodging my question. I followed him in, then turned, looking at him expectantly for an explanation. Something was up, this was obvious. He knew what it was, too.

“Well?” I asked when he didn’t answer my question.

“Reese and Loni are leaving town,” he said. “Most of the club is going with them. We’ve got some business to deal with in Portland. You can just stay here for now, okay? I’ll have the prospects bring my car over for you in the morning.”

He reached down and pulled out his wallet, opening it and counting out a stack of cash. “You can use this to get a place if . . . Well, if things don’t work out here.”

I stared at the money blankly—those were hundred dollar bills.

“I can’t take that.”

He reached for his phone, checked it again. “I don’t have time to argue with you. Take the fucking money.”

With that, he grabbed my hand, wrapping it around the bills. Then he started toward the door, something almost angry about the way he moved.

“Painter,” I called after him, confused. He turned back to me.

“You can do it, Mel.”

“What?”

“You can make it through this. Whatever happens, don’t forget that.”

“Painter, what the hell is going on?” I demanded. There was a seriously bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. He shook his head, taking a step toward me. Suddenly his hands were in my hair, jerking me into his body as his lips touched mine.

It wasn’t a movie kiss.

He didn’t stick his tongue in, and it hurt more than anything. Just a mashing of our lips together like he couldn’t help himself, until he shoved me away.

“Go to bed,” he growled, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand, like I disgusted him. Something painful twisted inside.

“Why?”

“Just go to fucking bed, Melanie. Tomorrow you can take the car and you can start looking for a place.”

Then he turned away and walked out the door.

•   •   •

The next morning I woke up to find a dark blue Toyota SUV in the driveway and a set of keys on the dining room table. I drove it to work, and after my shift I went to the library so I could use the Internet.

I needed to find an apartment.

That was Tuesday.

On Wednesday I sat alone on the porch, wondering if anyone would ever come back. By Thursday I’d given up on them. Loni was gone, just like my mom, and she’d taken Painter with her. I worked a double shift, and talked to one of my fellow waitresses about a bedroom in the house she rented with friends.

She thought one of them might be moving out in a couple weeks.

Friday morning, I woke to the sound of a big diesel truck in the driveway. Rushing downstairs, I opened the front door to see London climbing down from the vehicle, looking exhausted. Reese was already out, and then another person slid out of the crew cab. My best friend, Jessica—the same girl who’d thrown a tantrum and run off to California not long ago. Her hand was bandaged and strapped to her body in a sling. Bruises covered her face.

There was no sign of Painter.

Reese walked over to me slowly, glancing at the SUV parked in the driveway.

“He said you can borrow it as long as you want,” he said bluntly.

“Why isn’t he with you?” I asked, but I could already see the answer written across his face. Something had happened. Something bad.

“He’s in jail,” Reese said. “And I think he’ll be there for a while longer. He said to tell you he’s sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should write and ask him.”

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