No Saint (Wild Men, #6)

by Jo Raven

  Fuck, it’s getting dark. I sink to the ground and punch my fists into the soft earth, tear out clumps of weeds, sink my fingers into the mud. I’ve fought this black fog claw and tooth, but I’m sinking, and I don’t know how to get the hell out.

  Get up, I tell myself. Get the fuck up, asshole. On your feet.

  Get up and keep moving. You don’t get to break down. You’re made of hardy stuff, remember? You’re like those germs that would survive a nuclear blast. Dad knew it. He threw everything at me to see how much I could take. I took it all. Kept breathing.

  About time it all catches up with me now...

  ***

  I wake up late the next day, an empty bottle of tequila in my hand, my head pounding. I can’t remember going and getting it from the house, or drinking it by the river—beside the hole in the ground where Mom had been buried.

  It was true, what I told Luna. There’s no grave. No place to sit and fucking weep. Now it’s Monday and I should have been at work hours ago.

  Fuck it.

  Getting up takes all my effort. My jeans are muddied, and I pick leaves off my face. A headache drills at the back of my eyes.

  Goddammit. I stumble back toward the house and the road to town. I’m not staying around here another minute. The garage is where I have my stuff stowed, where I have soap, a toothbrush, my blanket—and a car to work on to get my mind off this shit. Work has saved me from the black pit many times. Let’s hope it does the trick now.

  Luna’s stricken face flashes through my memory and it’s all I can do not to slam my fist into the house fence as I pass it by.

  Son of a fucking bitch. Why couldn’t I be the nice guy she deserves, treat her right? Why can’t I keep the one girl I really want?

  Why the hell do I always have to destroy everything?

  Checking the time on my phone, I discover it’s already afternoon. The light in the sky when I squint up is another indication of lost time. Way too much fucking time.

  What the fuck.

  Then again, tequila can do that to you. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  My hands are shaking as I walk up the way back to town, heading to the garage. I light up a smoke and draw on it as I find the first houses, kicking any loose stone I find in my path. I almost wish for Edward and his goons to come beat me up. I’d welcome the physical pain to distract me from the darkness writhing in my mind.

  And speaking of the devil... Edward appears like a ghost called forth by my thoughts, stepping onto the street, followed by his buddies, all attitude and sneers.

  Fucking awesome. This day is just getting better and better. I try going past them, blowing smoke their way—but they block me, and Edward steps forward, their spokesman or some shit.

  “Ross. What’s up?”

  I roll my eyes. “What, decided not to open up with punches this time? Mix it up for a change? Thought we’d have ourselves a little chitchat before busting each other’s faces?”

  “Yeah, I wanna talk.”

  “Woo, he can talk. I’m so fucking impressed. Sorry, though, not interested.” I try shoving past him, but two of his pals shove me right back. “What do you want?”

  “Told you before, but you’re not listening, are you?” What he thinks I listen to as I’m being beaten to a pulp is anybody’s guess. He says, “Join us. Be who you were. Be our leader.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? Your leader in what?”

  “We have a plan to make money.”

  I draw on my cigarette to avoid decking him. “The fuck you’re talking about? You make money working a job, same as everyone else.”

  “Do you wanna be stuck in this backwater forever? Don’t you think about escaping? We need cash to get away, go to the big city, start a new life.”

  No. I don’t know what the hell I’ll do. Ride away. Or... end it.

  “You’re gonna do something amazingly stupid, aren’t you?” I mutter. “You stupid fuck.”

  “Careful, Jones.”

  I laugh incredulously. “Or what?” I wanna howl and leap at him, plant my fist into his ugly mug. “You lead them if that’s what you want. Aren’t you just dying to?”

  “Come on. You were the prince of bullies. Still are. You taught us all we know. You—”

  “I didn’t teach you anything worth saving, you jackass. And above all, I didn’t fucking teach you to attack girls, use them as bait.” Anger flows through me like fire, and it feels good to feel something other than despair. “You learned nothing.”

  He frowns. “And what was the lesson, exactly?”

  “People grow up, Ed. They realize their bullshit and try to change. Become better. Ever thought of that?”

  Luna’s words, coming back to me. Resonate with me, through the black cloud hanging over my head.

  “We don’t wanna become better,” he sneers. He likes sneering, that fucker. “We want a better life.”

  “Starting a new life doesn’t require big cash or a big city. Just a change of heart.”

  “It requires pussying out, you mean, like you did?”

  “Shut your hole. You don’t understand shit.”

  Truth is, I don’t know if I’ve had a change of heart. The clues of my ruined life tell me I haven’t managed the change, the transformation. I’m still a fucking caterpillar, crawling in the mud.

  “Not sure you understand, Ross. Either you walk with us, or we take you down.”

  “Take me down then.” I fling my cigarette away and open my arms wide. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Not the way you think.”

  Whatever the hell that means.

  “What, you thought of a better way than beating me bloody to work out your frustrations? You choose today to fuck with me of all days.” I shove at him. “Come on. Come at me.”

  But Ed swears and pushes the idiots back, not letting them tackle me. “Work with us,” he insists, arms folded over his chest, head cocked sideways. “Lead us. We need someone like you.”

  “You got guts coming to tell me this after ganging up on me and beating me up once every few days. You grew bored of your new hobby, huh?”

  Though if that means they’ll leave Luna alone, leave me alone, who am I to complain?

  “It’s a cordial invitation, Ross Jones.” He performs a mocking bow. “Doesn’t change the fact we’ll bust your balls and bash your face in if you don’t play along. Or...” He waggles his caterpillar brows. “Or touch that girl you seem to like so much. How about that?”

  Son of a motherfucking bitch. I’ll throat punch the fucker. Red descends over my vision, and I find myself flying at him, fists raised. I catch him by surprise and get a few hits in before his goons grab me and haul me back.

  Ed wipes blood from a split lip. He glares at me.

  Goddammit, I want them to fight me. Throttle me. Tonight of all nights they leave me unscathed and I need the pain. Fuck, I’m not right in the head. Then again, what’s new?

  “Fight me, dammit. I’m not gonna do what you want, whatever bullshit robbery or whatever it is you’re planning. No fucking way. Go to hell.”

  “Then why are you still here, Jones?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why haven’t you killed yourself already?” Ed asks and everything shuts down. I’m vaguely aware they’re finally fighting back, ignoring Ed’s presumed orders to leave me in peace so we can talk. “What do you have left, if not your cruelty? Nobody and nothing, that’s what. You’re Jasper Jones’s son, his disciple, his successor. If you won’t take the throne, then I will.”

  He’s insane. Dangerous. If he’s serious about doing whatever the hell he’s thinking about starting.

  And that’s when he nods at his friends and finally they pile on top of me, beating me up, kicking me about, roughing me up just enough to make sure I’ll feel it in the days to come.

  But although I asked for it, for the pain, by this point I barely feel anything. Such a waste of a good beating. My mind’s gone again, back to
the shadows, my body’s numb. By the time they get off me and I limp down the main street, in the vague direction of the garage, curious eyes following my unsteady progress, all I can feel is emptiness. I’m back in prison.

  “Why don’t you kill yourself?” ask the voices of the other inmates in my memory. “What do you have to live for? You’re done.”

  But Luna...

  “Check out. Find peace. You know you want it.” Faces leering down at me. Mocking me because I did think about checking out. “Fucking pussy. Cunt. Kill yourself now.”

  Ah fuck. I start to run to outrun the voices in my head, even if I know it’s impossible.

  ***

  Home sweet home.

  I curse under my breath as I unlock the garage padlock, sweat running down my back, my temples, into my eyes. Not from running, no.

  Why don’t you die already? the voices jeer. You’re a dead man walking, Ross Jones. Son of a serial killer. Did you have a hand in doing your old lady in? Did you know where your dad liked to bury them? Did you dance on their grave? You got nothing to live for, and you know it.

  Luna said—

  You know it, Ross. It’s your doing. You fucked everything up, your whole life long.

  Fuck.

  I head straight to the small office and retrieve a half-empty bottle of scotch from under a cupboard. Dad’s stash. I avoided it for a while, but then I thought, what the hell. I figure it’s the least my old man owes me. Not like he’s gonna be needing it where he is now, in the slammer. It’s good Scotch and it goes down like fire with a smooth aftertaste. It relaxes the muscles in my shoulders.

  Sends my thoughts into a deeper spin.

  Nothing shows you the error of your ways better than a fucking mirror held up to your face. My dad. Then prison. I saw different versions of myself, different outcomes. I saw my futures laid out in a row, none of them good. I saw my dad’s face looking back at me and it fucking terrified me. I don’t want to be him.

  But maybe that’s exactly who I am.

  I was planning to work on the car brought in for repairs when Luna and I were so rudely interrupted. I look at my bike, remember kissing Luna there. Everywhere I look, everything I do reminds me of her, and something dark comes over me.

  Oh, I try to fight it. Been fighting it all my life. Like a thorn, it keeps snagging at me, making me bleed, and now it just won’t let go.

  Swearing, I stride past the bike and go up the ladder to the roof, intending to finish the bottle.

  Banish the ghosts. Breathe fresh air.

  The sky looks so close from up here. I stand on the sloping tin roof, rusted in places, faintly illuminated by the full moon and the street lamp right below, reflections of light.

  I take a swig from the bottle, and close my eyes.

  I’ve always been a loner. My buddies at school were never my friends. They were followers. Fellow idiots. Such a stereotype. Broken family, shallow relationships. No feelings. But being a loner is one thing.

  So damn lonely...

  And wow, a fucking pity party. Go me. It’s just that the familiar darkness won’t leave me. It sinks its claws deeper, scouring my mind.

  I could call Merc. My half-brother’s made it plenty clear I should if I ever wanted to talk. But do I wanna talk? I take out my phone, stare at it. I want...

  I want Luna.

  And I told her to fuck off.

  Christ. I never really believed she’d been there for cheap thrills. She made me a sandwich for chrissakes. Gave me pills, which I should be taking now instead of drinking. They’re in my back pocket.

  Things used to make sense. Lashing out made sense. It was meant to fix things somehow. Doing what Dad did, hitting things, inflicting pain, a savage ritual meant to put the world to rights, to set my mind straight, take away the dark, but it never worked then.

  Isn’t working now.

  It was an illusion I built for myself, an easy solution. Answer pain with pain. Mirror my bitterness in others.

  I was so very fucking wrong. And fuck, even though I’m standing high, looking at the sky, I’m drowning. I shouldn’t let myself sink, I know that, but my feet move of their own volition, bringing me closer to the edge.

  The chain of the pendant hangs out of my pocket and I finger it. Think of the photo folded with it, the memory it contains. Think of my mother’s cold bones buried in the woods.

  “Why are you here?” Ed asked. “Why don’t I end it?” my jailmates demanded.

  And I still don’t have a goddamn answer.

  My boots slip a little on the tin, and my breath comes out in a grunt. It’s a beautiful evening, but I close my eyes, choosing the dark. One more step—

  “Ross,” a soft voice says behind me, “are you here?”

  I stand still, so still I can hear my pulse in my ears like a distant drum. No way. I’m imagining this. Dreaming it.

  Luna?

  I turn my head and she’s right here, at the trapdoor leading to the roof, eyes wide, face a pale oval. As I watch, she climbs out slowly, her curls wild, her eyes round.

  Beautiful.

  Why is she here? Does it mean she forgives me? Does that mean I didn’t fuck up completely? Hope is a shot straight to my head, to my heart, like adrenaline.

  I smile, turn completely toward her.

  “Ross...” she whispers. “Don’t move. Please don’t move.”

  But as I take a step toward her, my boot slides, right to the end of the roof, and I’m falling.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Luna

  The day doesn’t start off bad. No different from any other day. No indication it’s going downhill, down twisting spirals, until it’s almost over.

  Josh even says good morning to me before vanishing in his room with his laptop, and Dad calls me over to take a look at old photos which include mom, giving me hope we can talk about her one of these days—and work is fine. The customers are easy to please today, no complaints, no returned dishes, no squabbles. Also no spilled coffee—and that reminds me sharply of Ross and that day I burned his hand with my clumsiness.

  He’d been spot on in thinking I’d been flustered by him. He always makes my hands shake, my heart race, and... of course he’s not in the diner.

  This is the time he usually comes in, after work. Not that I’ve taken note of his times or anything.

  He also wasn’t at the house when I went by, or at the garage which was still padlocked when I checked on my way here earlier on.

  There’s only one other person I know who keeps track of the town’s most notorious bad boy. It feels weird to think of him that way now, to be honest, even after his behavior yesterday, when I think of all the ways he’s been changing.

  He has changed.

  Ross has changed.

  The realization hit me during the night as I tossed and turned, angry at him, sad for him, trying to understand what happened. He backslides sometimes but he is trying. I can feel it, sense it.

  And I have to trust that gut feeling.

  Just like I got to trust the feeling telling me that something’s wrong. The bad feeling grows over the day, expanding as the minutes tick by. It could be my usual preoccupation with Ross, the worry for him that I can’t get rid of. A side effect of having such a crush on him.

  Or it could be a sixth sense trying to tell me he isn’t doing well. That outburst yesterday? If I’m reading it right, it wasn’t an attempt to intimidate me.

  It was a defensive, preemptive strike. Part of his arsenal against pain. Something I said set him off, and although that’s not okay, I want to think that I’ve understood him well enough by now to know it wasn’t meant to hurt me but...

  But what? I need him to answer that question. If I’m right. If I’m not making all this up to sooth the hurt, ignoring the truth.

  And first I have to find him.

  Dena walks into the diner kitchen, hands piled high with dirty dishes, and I hurry to take them off her hands and talk to her.

  “Hey,
have you seen Ross today? I can’t find him.”

  I don’t see her face as I grab the dishes and place them by the sink. I hear the incredulity in her voice, though, when she says, “Well, that’d be the day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You, openly looking for Ross.”

  I bite back a retort. After all, she’s right. “Well, I am.”

  “Haven’t seen him at the diner in days,” she says, and my heart sinks. “Certainly not today. Haven’t seen him around town either.”

  “He hasn’t been here because I told him not to come. You said he wasn’t paying his bills.”

  “Oh, honey. Why did you do that? It’s between him and Mike, nothing to do with us.”

  “He made me so mad that day,” I whisper. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “Not many places to eat around here, you know. Drinking and not eating, not a good combo. At least here he got something to line his stomach.”

  God. “But then I told him it was a mistake, that I wouldn’t go to Mike. I thought he heard me.”

  Did he really avoid the diner since then because of me? Hearing my dad talk about how Ross was in and out of prison, I didn’t think much of it, but it seems he really, really doesn’t want to go back in there. Not that anyone in their right mind would, but still... I’m starting to wonder if there’s more I don’t know about.

  It makes me all the more determined to find him. I can’t explain this twist in my stomach, the heaviness on my chest. By all rights I should be furious at him for the things he said and suggested, for the accusations that I was only there out of morbid curiosity.

  But why would he so easily believe I care for him?

  Do I care for him?

  Oh come on, Luna. I think it’s too late to lie to myself now. Would I be looking for excuses for him if I didn’t? Would I be looking for him?

  There you go. Case closed. I’m falling for Ross Jones.

  Guilty as charged.

  ***

  No way to look for him before my shift is over, though, despite the urgency I feel in my bones. What’s up with that, huh? I’ve never been much for instinct and premonition.

  It is what it is, though. Dena has already asked to leave early today and the diner is filling up with customers. The joint is jumping. Some folks have a birthday cake and are singing. Another group have taken up half the diner. A school reunion?