Into Dust: The Industry City Trilogy - Book One

by Marlee P. Louis

  “I don’t know that, either. Let’s ask her.” He pulled out his cell phone, then frowned down at it a moment. It hadn’t occurred to me that Alex might have her number, wishing I’d thought of asking him before going to Gina. “I don’t think she’ll answer if I try,” he said at last, “Better use your phone.”

  I’d momentarily forgotten that I had one, and I blinked at him before remembering I’d left it on the kitchen counter. Alex read the number out and I tapped it in, mirroring his expression when I frowned at the screen in my hand, my thumb hovering between calling and texting. I finally hit the call button and lifted the phone to my ear, my gaze sliding from Alex to the wall while I listened to the ring. I really didn’t expect her to answer, the seconds stretching out until I was sure the click I heard on the other end would be her voicemail. Instead, there was a sound of fumbling, then a single, tentative word.

  “Hello?”

  I knew it was her just from that single, hesitant greeting. It wasn’t that I recognized her voice so much as I felt her presence in my head—the faintest thrum of chanting, the low, dull throb of pressure behind my eyes. I asked anyway. “London?”

  There was a pause, then the sound of more fumbling. I imagined her switching the phone nervously to her other ear at the mention of her name. I couldn’t blame her; an unknown number calling could be anyone. “Yes,” she said at last, “Who is this?”

  “Avery. I’m not sure if you remember me, we met at Duke’s last night.”

  “Hey Avery.”

  I paused—momentarily taken aback by a feeling of déjà vu from the night before. She didn’t sound surprised that I was calling, in fact her tone suggested we called each other like this all the time.

  “Um. Hey.” I hadn’t expected to make this call with Alex listening, and I suddenly found myself lost for what to say. “I saw you at the bar and thought I’d give you a call. I’m new here and don’t know many people, if you had time to talk. I—”

  “I can’t talk right now.” There was a clarity to her voice I hadn’t heard before, and I broke off in surprise.

  “Okay, sure. No problem. Maybe you’d be free for coffee later? Just to chat.” I could feel Alex watching me, but I ignored him, afraid if I looked at him I’d lose my nerve.

  Silence answered my request, going on for so long that I pulled the phone from my ear to see if we’d disconnected. I heard shuffling when I pressed it back, and then the faintest rumble in the background that sounded like a man’s voice before London spoke again, a new tightness in her tone. “I can’t leave, but you can come here if you want.”

  For the briefest moment the pressure behind my eyes increased, the sound in my head growing louder as the mark on my shoulder throbbed—and then it was gone. “Okay.” I forced the words out, dreading the reply I knew was coming. “Where’s here?”

  “The Civic factory. Do you know it?”

  “Yeah,” I said, my mouth going dry. My eyes finally moved to Alex, finding his attention hard on me, his expression tense. “I know it. I’m on my way, I’ll call you when I’m in the parking lot.”

  “Sure.” She paused. “Is Alex with you?”

  My eyebrows went up slightly. “Yes, he is. He was going to come with me. Is that okay?”

  “Yes,” she answered, a tremble in her voice. “That’s okay.”

  There was a click and the connection went dead. I let my hand drop to my side, the phone suddenly heavy. Everything felt like too much, including the weight of Alex’s gaze. I felt the exhaustion seeping into my core.

  “Please tell me you have a car.”

  He smiled at that. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  * * *

  “This is your car.”

  It was a statement more than a question. I was standing on the street with Alex outside the apartment building, my mouth hanging open at the new Mercedes C-Class sitting at the curb. It was silver with tinted windows, chrome rims and looked so out of place outside the used-up buildings it was almost laughable. Alex slid a look my way and hit a key fob to unlock it, then opened the passenger side door for me. “For now.”

  I climbed inside without hesitation. It was like being inside a luxury spaceship compared to the beat-up Toyota Camry I’d sacrificed in the warehouse parking lot. I could feel the press of the gun at my back when I settled into the seat, and I shifted uncomfortably, half afraid I was going to shoot myself in the ass, reminding myself I’d checked the safety half a dozen times.

  “What do you mean ‘for now’?” I asked when he moved behind the wheel and hit the fob again to start the motor, the engine coming to life with an expensive purr, “Are you selling it? Is it stolen? Are you a drug dealer?”

  “Do you really want the answer to those questions?” he asked, pulling away from the curb to make a sharp U-turn on the street.

  I looked over at him in surprise at his response. I’d been partly joking, but his expression was serious, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. “You’re going the wrong way,” I pointed out instead, watching the boarded-up businesses slipping past the darkened windows.

  “I know,” he answered, glancing over as he made a left turn down an unfamiliar road, “I thought we’d stop for food first.”

  “What about London?”

  “London can wait.”

  My mouth opened, then closed—remembering my ultimatum from the night before. “You’re taking me to dinner,” I said finally. He didn’t answer with words. Instead his lips twitched up, and his right hand dropped from the steering wheel to reach across the console and settle comfortably on my leg, his fingers splaying out over my jeans. A rush of heat to shot through my body and I pressed back into the seat with a deep breath, my hand moving to thread my fingers through his. I distracted myself by looking out the window again, though it was only a minute or two before the questions started again in my head, pushing themselves past the mental block I’d been trying to construct around them.

  “So, are you a drug dealer?”

  “No, I’m not a drug dealer.”

  I waited for more information that didn’t come, though it seemed he’d decided to reward himself for answering by pushing his hand a few inches up my thigh. I arched my brow at him. If this was the game, I was definitely going to win. I lifted my hand from his and leaned to place it instead on his leg—sliding it up slowly. The car jerked forward when the muscles in his leg flexed, his foot hitting the gas pedal, and I bit back I smile.

  “Did you steal it?”

  He shifted in his seat before glancing at me. “I feel like you’re too innocent for this conversation.”

  My hand moved further up his leg until my fingers were wrapped around him, stroking him through his jeans. “Try me.”

  “Jesus.” His voice roughened, his left hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “Alright, fuck it then. Yes, it’s stolen.”

  “You stole it?”

  “Yes. That’s what I do. I steal cars.”

  My hand continued to move over him, my nails dragging lightly over the rough material of his jeans and he groaned. There was less finesse in the push of his hand up my thigh, but I didn’t stop him—his fingers pressed against my center and I arched into them, biting my lip to hold in a moan. It was difficult to think about anything else but the steady build of need coursing through my veins, but I wasn’t ready to give in. I still needed answers.

  “What do you do with them?”

  “I drop them at a shop and they break them down for parts.”

  “Like a chop shop?”

  “Yes.”

  It was getting harder to form the questions in my mind, my words almost panted as his fingers worked against me. If he hadn’t been driving I would have been over the console and straddling his lap in an instant, and I desperately wanted to tell him to pull over, so I could do just that, but something told me to wait.

  “Where is it?”

  “They move around. Dust has a lot of warehouses that’ve been abandoned,
it makes it a good place to set up shop.”

  Suddenly, I stilled. My hand stopped its teasing, frozen in place as the pieces began to come together. “Like the warehouses at the Civic factory?”

  His hand had also stopped moving, his attention now fixed on the road. “Yes.”

  A sick feeling washed over me, and I pulled my hand away completely before pushing his out of my lap. “Who do you work for?”

  “Avery…”

  “WHO?”

  He sighed, slumping back in his seat. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh my god.” My hands fumbled with the seatbelt. “Pull over.”

  “No.”

  “Pull over!”

  “I’m not pulling over until you listen to me.”

  My hands were on the door handle, but he’d sped up the car in an effort to keep me inside it, relocking the doors each time I hit the unlock. I turned and punched him as hard as I could in the shoulder, though I was certain as my hand collided with hard muscle that I’d just hurt myself far more than I’d hurt him. “I swear to god, if you don’t let me out I’m going to punch you in the dick.”

  He cut his eyes towards me and his lips twitched up, which only served to infuriate me further. “Please don’t punch me in the dick.” The smile dropped when I made another fist and he held out his arm in an effort to block me. “Okay! Okay. Five minutes, just give me five minutes to explain and I’ll drop you wherever you want. I swear.”

  “One minute.”

  “Avery—” I raised my arm and he immediately dropped his hand to cover his lap. “It’s for Gina,” he said quickly, “I’m doing it to keep her safe. And my mom. That’s why, okay? They told me they’d take Gina and kill my mom, and after what I saw them do to London—” He cut himself off, his jaw tightening.

  “What do you mean? What did you see them do?”

  He didn’t answer, instead turning into a parking lot before cutting the engine. Buildings surrounded us on three sides, one of them with a large, faded mural of what I assumed was the Mexican countryside painted onto the brick, a sign advertising the best tacos in Industry City just above. The parking lot itself was about half full, and as we sat there in silence two other couples exited their cars and disappeared around the front. “Can we eat?” He asked at last, looking over at me, “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  I wasn’t hungry, but I nodded anyway. At least the restaurant was a safer bet than being trapped in the car. He looked relieved as we climbed out and walked towards the front of the building, where a striped awning wound with clear lights sat over double glass doors marked Enrique’s. In any other city it would have ranked on the lower-end of the scale, but for Dust it was a five-star setting. Alex held the door for me as we entered, the dimly lit interior boasting wooden booths, tables with polished tops, and decorations covering the walls that ranged from sagging pinatas to ancient strands of red chili ristras. A short man with a green tie and matching green apron bustled up to show us to a corner booth, seating us with our menus and lingering for a drink order. Alex ordered a beer, and I asked for a house margarita. Tequila was probably a terrible decision but given my current path I didn’t see how one more bad idea could hurt. We sat in silence until our drinks arrived, my eyes widening at the giant glass that was set before me, effectively blocking Alex from view. Alex seemed content for me to leave it there, but I immediately shifted it out of the way and raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Well?”

  He reached across and nudged my menu closer to me. “I’m still taking you to dinner. There’s time to talk after we order.”

  I pointed at something on the menu without looking at it. “I’ll have this.”

  He smirked, and my gaze narrowed.

  “What?”

  “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Is this our first fight?”

  “First, last, only…”

  He sobered. “I’m not a bad guy, Avery.”

  The waiter returning cut off my reply, depositing a basket of tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa on the table, his smile fading as he took in the obvious tension radiating between us. He cleared his throat, his accent heavy. “Ready to order?”

  Alex broke in before I could answer, leaning to look at where I’d pointed to on my menu. “She’s having the…menudo. Wow,” he sank back into his seat, “Didn’t know you were a tripe fan. My mom will love you.”

  I paused, glancing down at my menu to see what tripe was.

  “Cow stomach,” Alex supplied. “You ordered cow stomach soup.”

  “I really don’t like you right now,” I told him. “What are you having?”

  “The chili verde burrito,” Alex answered, handing his menu to the waiter. I gave the poor man my friendliest smile when I handed mine back as well. “I’ll have the same.”

  The waiter scribbled our orders down on his pad and made a fast escape, my attention returning to Alex the moment he was gone.

  “Time’s up,” I told him, “If you don’t tell me right now, I’m leaving.”

  He leaned back, scrubbing at his face with his hands a moment before they dropped into his lap. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “How long have you been working for them?”

  “About a year. Maybe longer. When they first showed up it was just a joke, you know? These fucking weirdos having seances or some shit in the factory. But then people started disappearing and when they found them…if they found them, they’d been messed up real bad. Most of the time they found them dead, but the few that were alive they had to lock up, they’d gone so crazy. Not just crackheads, either—a couple of them were my friends.” He paused then to pull a chip from the basket, crumbling it slowly onto the table. “After that, they started hitting the businesses. People were talking by then, and scared.”

  “What did they want? Money?”

  “Money, control over the way things were done, things for free. The weird thing was, this wasn’t the first time this shit has gone down around here. Places like Dust get hit a lot by gangs looking to take over, and people always fight back. But not this time. The Templars just came in and took what they wanted, and no one tried to stop them.”

  “How did you get involved?”

  Alex rolled his shoulder in a shrug. “I was boosting cars for a buddy of mine at his garage. It was a good set up—he did legit repairs during the day and at night we’d strip down the cars I brought in. It wasn’t exactly a secret, a lot of people knew but no one cared. I pulled cars in from Emeryville, so it didn’t really matter. We were making good money, and I guess the Templars wanted a piece of it. I thought for sure he’d fight them. This guy, he takes shit from no one, but he rolled over like a bitch, just like the rest of them. Said they got in his head.”

  “Did you fight?”

  “What do you think? Of course I did. I told them they could go fuck themselves.”

  I raised my margarita to hide my smile at that, licking the salt from my lips when I put it down. “Do you know what he meant by ‘got in his head’? Did he tell you?” His attention fell to my mouth as his gaze darkened and I took another hasty drink to cover the traitorous flush of heat that shot through me.

  “He told me a little,” Alex said, “Nothing I haven’t heard from other people. They can do hypnosis, right? Some kind of mind control.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re stronger than that, though, aren’t you?” Alex’s expression was suddenly tense. “London, she’s not as strong as you, another six months and they’ll tear her down completely. But you’re different, you fight them.”

  Fight. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “It seems to get worse every time I get near them. I don’t know what’s going to happen. What I don’t understand, though, is how they’re dragging everyone else into it, but not you or Gina. Haven’t they tried?”

  “Probably,” he shrugged.

  “Why doesn’t it w
ork?”

  He looked suddenly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat before draining half his beer in one go. “This will sound crazy.”

  “Crazier than people being taken over by a mind controlling cult?”

  “Yeah, okay.” He frowned at his bottle, turning it slowly in his hands. “Do you know what a bruja is?” I shook my head. “It means witch, or shaman, in Spanish. My mom, she’s always been into it. My whole family is, really. She was famous in Mexico before she came here, and people still come from all over to see her.”

  I leaned forward. “What does she do?”

  “She helps people with their problems, mostly. If they’re in love, or sick, or need money. Or protection.”

  “Is that what she does for you? She protects you?”

  “That’s what she says.”

  Our food arrived then, giving me time to process what he’d told me. In some ways, it was all too much to believe—demonic cults, witches, mind control. It was like my car had broken down on the set of some fucked up horror movie. Then again, I’d experienced the darkness too many times to pretend it wasn’t real, and despite half of Dust shuffling around like hollowed-out shells of humanity, Alex and Gina seemed untouched. Normal. Safe.

  The waiter disappeared, and I picked up my fork, pushing my food around on my plate. “Do you think she could help me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. She’s gone, though—my uncle is sick, she went to Emeryville for the day.”

  I nodded, still staring at my food. There was guilt in me, remembering how I’d cut Gina off in our fight when she’d mentioned her mother—and now here I was, desperately grasping at any crazy idea that might help save me. “If your mom can do that, why are you working for them? Can’t she protect herself?”

  “She thinks she can. She thinks her magic can do anything. But you know what I think? I think magic can’t stop a bullet. These people are crazy. They gave me a choice—work for them, or they’d kill my family.”