Good Girl, Dead Girl (Valencia Lamb Book 1), page 7
Several of the other mechanics have smaller snake tattoos. Looks like Dad’s old theory is right--the local gang the Snakes are based at the shop. I bite the inside of my cheek and look over my shoulder long enough to confirm that they’ve closed ranks around me. My exit is blocked.
Lifting an arm, I smell my pits. Nope, I definitely do not smell like nervous sweat.
Coming into the shop alone was not my finest idea. But I can’t hesitate now. If I do, these guys will eat me alive and spit out the bones, grind them to dust for their bread, and gnash their teeth over me again.
Toolbox guy, who can’t be more than twenty, straightens, canting his head until his neck cracks. His gaze roams over my ribbed tank and cutoffs, and he laughs. “I don’t think you’re really here about the car. You got a blue collar fetish?”
“Gross. No.” I pull the lapels of my mom’s coat tighter around me.
“Too bad, because I got a thing for girls in leather jackets. Come closer, let me show you my moves.” Maybe it’s the malicious gleam in his eyes that seems familiar. No, that can’t be it, because I can honestly say I’ve never been looked at with such unfiltered malevolent condescension. Over the past six months, I’ve been looked at a whole lot of ways, and the mean mug this dude is giving me is definitely the worst. If I’d seen its like before, I’d remember.
He looms larger, easily a foot taller than my frame. Not hard to do, since I’m a crisp five foot even.
I am outgunned.
Slower than a sloth, I inch my hand toward where my phone is tucked in my back pocket. “Not in the mood for dancing.”
Toolbox guy chuckles, shifting his gaze over my shoulder. A guy behind me snags my phone and holds it out of my reach. Not good.
“Now, are you ready to dance, little bird?” Proximity alarms blare in my head.
Little bird.
The nickname burrows through my memories and unearths the manhandler’s identity. A friend’s older brother used to make fun of how I ate--chirping and wide-mouthed like a baby bird. I haven’t seen him in years, but this crap-pile is Leif Agani, Rock’s older brother. Even as a kid, he stunk. Age has only seasoned his repellent attitude.
Leif lifts a hand, but I smack it away. My attention swings from Leif to each of his goons and back. They’ve tightened their circle, trapping me in the center of the garage.
I will not panic. I will not panic.
Fear must slip into my expression, because Leif’s grin widens. He snags my wrist and tugs me closer. I twist, trying to use the escape method my dad taught me, but can’t loosen his grip. With his free hand, the creep runs his pointer down the side of my face and across my neck. Orders someone over my shoulder. “Turn up the radio.”
The speakers rumble louder as screeching club music threatens to make my ears bleed. Leif yanks me against him and swivels us, his dirty fingers gripping my elbows through the leather. I squirm, and his hands tighten, forcing me to move with him. “Come on, birdie. Dance.”
I fight with everything I’ve got not to cower away from his touch. The wicked gleam in his eyes is a promise. If I show any sign of a soft underbelly, Leif will cut me from umbilicus to trachea.
One of his hands runs from my elbow up to my shoulder. My neck. Slowly down my side. Eww, he needs to take his filthy paws off.
I talk over the music, still trying to hold my unaffected expression. “If you were smart, you’d give me my car and let me go.”
The inferior Agani bares his teeth. “I wasn’t the one who came strolling in here issuing orders. Plus, girls dressed like you want attention. I’m giving you what you asked for.”
I scowl, angry. “That’s garbage reasoning, you piece of trash.”
Leif chuckles, unbothered. His cruel hand moves to my waist. My dance partner glides with the music, twirling me roughly into one of his cronies. Thick arms band around my torso, keeping me from reaching for the pepper spray tucked in my back pocket like a tube of lipstick. His unwashed tongue rasping over a dry lower lip makes my stomach convulse.
My head pounds under the drill of the music’s relentless beat. Blood flows through my veins in spurts as my heart fights to keep an even rhythm. The soles of my shoes slip on the greasy floor and fly out from under me, crashing my body into my malodorous dance partner. “I think she likes me,” he gloats.
At the sensation of a crusty nose buried in my hair, I crack. “Get away from me!”
Somewhere above, a phone rings, cutting through the music. Leif drags his leer to the enclosed loft-like room that is suspended over the garage. Through the large, open window are a dresser and a desk. An office, maybe? Nostrils flaring in annoyance, he slaps at the radio, blasting the music even more. Shoving past my eager dance partner and me, he snarls, “Get her out of here, then get back to work. We need to finish with these cars.”
“But we were just getting into a groove,” my partner says, sweaty hands clinching my hips.
Agani stops on the stairs, and the glare he aims over his shoulder makes everyone in the garage look like they want to take a big step back.
I seize their distractedness as an advantage, elbowing the guy holding me in the ribs. His hands drop from my hips with a cry. Whipping the canister of pepper spray out of my back pocket, I unleash it on him. Screaming, he paws at his eyes.
My own eyes burn, but I can’t stop moving. Once I’m safe, I can flush out my eyeballs.
A corded arm wraps around my shoulders.
Oops.
He swats the canister out of my hand. It hits the ground with a clank. Fingernails black from grease dig into my shoulder and hold me in place, squeezing enough to hint at pain. “Nice dancing, tweety bird, but I’d like to hear you sing.”
“Pass.” I slam a heel down on his instep, making him howl as his hands release me. Spinning, I shove my palm into his nose with a crunch that makes blood spurt. An anguished, livid growl splits his lips as blood seeps between grimy fingers.
Through tear-blurred vision, I make out two more figures lunging toward me. A tiny bit desperate, I hop up on an overturned crate. “Stop!” I shout, swiping at my eyes with my clean hand. “If I don’t walk out this door in two minutes, Sheriff McCandles will receive a tip that you’re running a chop shop. You better believe he’ll bring a swarm of deputies down here to go over every car and part in this dump, and if he finds even a single one that’s stolen… you can guess what he’ll do.”
When Leander picked me up at the bridge, I had him drop me off at the library. Told him I needed to pick up a couple books for my mom. As soon as he left, I bolted. Agani Auto is less than a mile away from the library, and I arrived across the street just in time to catch Rock yelling at the guy who stole my Corvette. Once he was done, Rock helped put the car on a lift. I got most of it on video.
Blessed mercy, my warning about the sheriff makes the two remaining potential dance partners hesitate.
Slowly, my heart sways down from where it is jammed against my vocal cords. I drag a gulp of air into my lungs, thankful the breeze coming in through the open garage doors is making quick work of the pepper spray.
“How do we know you aren’t full of shit?” Rotten egg breath makes me want to gag when the nearest guy poses his question. I clench my stomach to keep from losing my lunch all over the grease-streaked floor.
“Your breath is foul. Do you ever brush your teeth?” I snap. I want my car, and I want to go home.
“You little bit-.”
“Let her go.” The commanding voice makes everyone go preternaturally still. Our heads swivel toward its owner, unable to resist. I put a big step between myself and Rotten Egg Breath, glaring at none other than Rock Agani coming down the stairs.
Each step is slow and deliberate. Rock looks over each of the guys standing within bruising range of my tiny frame. When his hard eyes skim over me, his jaw clenches.
My chin lifts in defiance.
The younger Agani reaches the shop floor. Meets my stare, and the chill is a punch to the gut. Never thought I’d be on the receiving end of Rock’s judgmental stare, but here I am. “Better do what she says. Valencia Lamb is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of ‘em.”
Rotten Egg Breath sneers.
Rock levels him with a hard look, maneuvering through the cars and tools until he’s standing close enough to smack. I’d love to strike out at him for helping those koala brains hide the Corvette. If my dad was in town, no one in town would dare. I cross my arms tightly.
Rock meets his boy’s glower. “I know what Leif said, but he’s busy now. I’m saying drop it. I’ll take care of it.”
“If you don’t give me back my--” The ice in his eyes makes my voice box seize up. I hate him for it, but beneath my injured pride I can see that he’s trying to get me out of my self-constructed predicament.
The assemblage looks less than thrilled when Rock takes my phone from one of them. Pocketing it, he takes hold of my elbow and tows me out through one of the garage’s two main hatches into the sunlight. I didn’t realize how shallow my breaths had gotten until I’m surrounded by freer air. My chest rises and falls rapidly as I inflate my shuddering lungs. The tantalizing scent of hot pizza wafts from across the street. Now I’m hungry and pissed off.
“Let me go,” I yowl, tugging my arm out of his grip. Whirling to square off with Rock, even knowing I must look a mess with red, puffy eyes thanks to my own pepper spray.
Rock flinches. “What are you doing here?”
My eyes burn as I glance at the four mechanics standing in the doorway, staring at us without even a pretense of working. In a blink, I snatch my phone from his pocket. “I came to get my car back, but your lackeys weren’t cooperating. Nice guys you’ve got working in the shop, I have to say. Very hospitable.”
“They’re mechanics, not event planners.”
“I want my car back.”
Rock steps closer. “I was going to bring it by later. After everyone left.”
“I’d like it back now, please.”
“I can’t get it now,” he murmurs. “Since my dad got arrested, Leif’s in charge, and he’s…”
“Unstable? Unhinged?”
Rock’s face goes stony, and I know I’ve stepped in it. His dad, Dino Agani, was arrested months ago for drug possession and intent to sell. He got a hefty sentence for it. The man pled not guilty, of course, but he was caught with a trunk-full of coke. Even so, losing his dad had to suck. And Rock’s relationship with Leif has never been good. Rock and I were friends once, and there’s still a part of me that wants to honor that with loyalty.
“You need to leave, and not come back. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to call off Leif and his guys if they see you again.”
I rub my already sore biceps. “It’s that bad?”
Rock turns away, his dismissal erecting an invisible brick wall between us. One I won’t ever be able to climb, circumvent, or knock down. Not that I intend to try. “See you around, Valencia.”
“I have video of you and two guys putting my dad’s Corvette on the lift, and if you don’t make it right, I won’t have a choice but to send it to Sheriff McCandles.”
My former friend’s feet stop moving. His fists clench at his sides, and it looks like it takes a fair effort to uncoil them. He doesn’t turn around. Not even a glimpse of his expression is visible when he says, low and slow, “You’d do that. For a car?”
“For my dad’s Corvette? Yes.” I never thought I’d be capable of blackmail, but desperation has blurred the lines I won’t cross.
Rock’s head dips, and that tiny move is a sharp prick in my chest. If you’d told me seven years ago that one day I’d be standing in front of this boy threatening to get him arrested, I’d have picked a fight with you and thrown down so hard. As hard as a ten year old girl can, anyway.
When Rock shoves his gaze to mine over his shoulder, he might as well be a tin soldier. Not an iota of emotion shows behind those eyes I used to know.
The Pissing Contest
Portia tucks a stray hair into the swirling braid she’s weaving at my crown, and picks up the hairspray. “Close your eyes,” she says, aiming the can directly at my face.
Coughing at the thick, cloying mist, I wave my hand in front of my nose. “Wow, that smells terrible.”
Portia’s eyes gleam. “You look ravishing. If Leander’s jaw doesn’t hit the floor when he sees you, he’s not worthy.”
Spinning in front of the mirror, I do a little dance at how fantastic I look in the velvet sweater dress Portia is lending me. My wardrobe consists of jeans, black tees, and the red leather bomber jacket my mom wore in college. Not really first date attire. My black combat boots complete the look. “Seriously. I look amazing. Who knew boots would go with velvet?”
Portia eyes my footwear warily. “You sure you don’t want to wear my slippers?”
I give her a look. “I’m not a slipper girl. You, on the other hand…”
Destin enters with his arm buried in a bag of dry seaweed. Bert follows, panting at his heels.
Tossing my arms wide, I strike a pose. “What do you think?”
Plopping down on the edge of my bed, Destin gives me a once over. “If you weren’t practically my sister, I wouldn’t be mad if I showed up for a date and you looked like that.” Gesturing for me to bring it in, he gives me a side hug. Resting his head on top of mine, he whispers. “Remember what I said. If Leander turns out to be a snooze or a jerk, call me. Bert and I will be there in a second to set him straight.”
My body tenses, remembering cruel, greedy hands on my waist. Unwelcome words taunted in my ear. The radio blasting so loud I couldn’t think. I haven’t told my friends about the Corvette being stolen, or about how I got it back. They’d only worry, and I won’t put Destin through any more emotional stress. Not after the past six months of his grief, not now that he’s acting more like himself again.
“Amen,” Portia says, clapping her hands. “Oooo. We can hang out at the other end of the diner, just in case.”
Hiding my scuttling emotions with a tight laugh, I pull away from Destin. “That’s sweet, guys, but I’ll be fine. Don’t forget I have Sting in my purse.” Picking up the cross-body bag, I pull out a fresh can of pepper spray. I used to think it was overkill when my dad insisted I carry it everywhere, but after the mess at Agani Auto the other day, I’m never going anywhere without it. I even personalized it with a sticker of a sword.
“Can I borrow that for my next Renn faire? One of the turkey-leg guys was a real cockerel last time.”
“Any time. But watch yourself. It burns.”
Destin’s suspicious look makes me turn away before I end up telling him what happened with Leif and his buds. An embarrassed blush overtakes my neck and ears. I play with the tendrils of hair Portia left down around my face, wishing they would cover the telltale rosy hue.
“Val,” Destin says, a hand tugging at my shoulder, not taking silence for an answer. “There something we should know?”
“Uh-uh. Nope. All good here.” I shake my arms to loosen my nerves.
My mom sticking her head into my room saves my butt. She grins. “Honey, you look beautiful. And just a heads up, Leander’s here.”
I have to fight the urge to squeal. My date is here.
It’s been a long time since I went on a date, and I’m so excited I’m practically hovering.
Portia and Destin follow me downstairs to where Leander is standing in the foyer, looking scrumptious in a fitted pair of jeans and his silver and blue letterman jacket over a black button-up.
Leander’s eyes light up when they land on me. He whistles. “Damn, Valencia. You look really pretty tonight.”
My blush creeps higher, painting my face pink. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
Leander’s smile grows. Drawing his hands from behind his back, he offers a single white rose.
I take it, my organs dissolving into a warm puddle. I bury my nose in its warm, delicious scent. “You ready?”
He holds out a hand, and I take it, shooting a quick grin at my friends. “I saw your car out front. I’m surprised they found it so quickly. Usually when a car like that gets stolen, it never--”
“Bye, everyone! We’re going.” I drag my date to the front door.
“Hey, what …?” Leander shoots a surprised look over his shoulder at our audience.
Destin, Portia, and my mom look confused. If Leander says anything else, they’ll start putting pieces together about why the Corvette was “in the shop” for the weekend. Ignoring the jitters in my fingers, I pull my date out the door. “Let’s go.”
He opens the lifted truck’s door for me. He defers to my musical tastes and doesn’t balk when I turn the radio to classic rock. Also, he’s a good driver. Like, really good. We pass one of the deputy’s cars as we’re heading toward the diner, and I wave. The deputy waves back. The news of us being out is going to be all over the department radio before we even step out of the truck.
But aside from the music, it’s quiet inside the cab. Leander hasn’t said a word since I shoved him out of my house. Only two minutes into the date, and I’ve already made it awkward. Perfect. Just perfect.
Leander’s fingers tap on the steering wheel, his lips sealed.
My stomach clenches. Maybe this was a mistake. I open my mouth to say as much, when Leander--.
“They don’t know about your car being stolen, do they?”
“I didn’t tell them.”
“Why not?” He cuts a look at me.
I shrug. “Didn’t want them to worry.”
He exhales, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “I get that. But where did they find your car?”
My hands ball nervously into my skirt, keeping my eyes locked on the road. A local BBQ place has a massive grill set up in their front lot, and the flame rears up as we coast past. It triggers a memory “Oh my god. Do you remember that time Caruthers busted you in the evidence locker?”
His mouth loosens. “Yeah. That was---Val. Where did they find your car?”
