Into Dust: The Industry City Trilogy - Book One

by Marlee P. Louis

  Marked.

  Given.

  I began to shake, and he shifted from me to stretch again at my side, unresisting when he pulled me back to his chest and wound his arms around me. My bare skin was pressed to his, but I was cold, numb to anything but the realization that if I’d been traded to them today, I would have died. Ethan pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his words murmured. “It’s going to be okay.”

  I didn’t know if I believed him, but the circle of his arms it was all the safety I was going to find just then, exhaustion finally taking hold as I tumbled back into a dark and dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  I opened my eyes to find an early morning sunlight filtering through the blinds, the birds outside just beginning to greet the day. I was still plastered against Ethan, a tangle of arms and legs where he’d kept his hold on me while we slept, a hot rush of embarrassment coupled with a clenching need as I remembered last night. His phone vibrated on the nightstand, and I closed my eyes again when he stirred to the sound, deciding to take the mature way out and pretend to still be asleep, though I was sure he could feel the flaming of my face where it pressed to his chest. I felt him reach out, then listened to his grunted hello—the voice on the other end too faint for me to make out.

  “What time?” Ethan’s tone came fully awake with those two words and he shifted beneath me, extracting himself carefully to sit up. I waited until his back was turned to open my eyes again, my gaze traveling lazily from his shoulders down to where his sweats rode low on his hips.

  “Right. I’m on my way.” Ethan glanced back and caught me watching him. A frown tugged down the edges of his lips, his gaze serious, and I shrank back slightly—pulling the covers up around me. He disconnected and stood. “I had Johnson run a sweep of the hospitals from here to Emeryville. A man was brought in around 11 last night with a gunshot wound to the leg.” He paused, his features tightening. “He was dumped outside the emergency room doors and they were unable to resuscitate.”

  I froze, the blood draining from my face. “What?”

  “He’s dead,” Ethan clarified bluntly.

  “I don’t understand. I shot him in the leg.” I was doing my best not to panic and failing. “How can he be dead if I shot him in the leg?”

  “Depends on where you shot him,” Ethan answered with a slight shrug. “If it hits the femoral artery, he could have bled out.”

  I was stricken, staring up at him, and his gaze softened slightly. “We don’t even know if it was him. Stay calm.” He reached for his gun. “I’m going to take a fast shower, and I need to leave you here while I deal with this. Will you be alright?”

  I nodded automatically, and he disappeared, closing the bedroom door behind him. When the shower started a moment later, I sank back down onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling while a thousand fragmented thoughts spun in my brain. I was overwhelmed by fear, guilt, frustration—all of them warring inside of me until I finally latched onto one single emotion: anger. For all that I’d played my part in every action that had led me here, the constant string of bad luck and shitty situations that seemed to follow me no matter where I went was becoming too much to bear. From the moment a S.W.A.T. team raided our apartment a year ago my life had been spiraling out of control. To have that now end in murder was beyond my understanding.

  I laid there unmoving until Ethan reappeared. He’d dressed hastily in jeans and an untucked button-down dress shirt with the collar undone. He was freshly shaved, and when he walked back to the bed his aftershave called to me, inviting me to run my fingers along the smoothness of his jaw. I didn’t move, however, I only looked at him.

  “I need to go,” he told me. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the kitchen. I shouldn’t be long.”

  “And then what?” My tone was dull and void of emotion. “You’ll come back, and I’ll go to prison for killing someone?”

  “And then I’ll come back,” he answered. He paused as if he wanted to say more, his gaze running down my form where I lay hidden beneath the blankets, and for the briefest moment there was a slight flare to his nostrils, his eyes darkening before he turned and walked out again. A few minutes later the front door shut, and I heard the engine start in the front yard, and the fading rumble of gravel when he pulled away.

  I don’t know how long I laid in bed, but finally, I rolled myself out and went to collect my clothes from the bathroom. One look at them, though, had me rethinking getting dressed—they were filthy, torn and blood-stained, and my skin crawled at the thought of putting them back on. I padded out to the kitchen, where a door I’d spied on the opposite wall the night before opened into a small one-car garage. The cool air hit me the moment I stepped through, my toes curling on the cold concrete, and I groped for the light, flipping it on and taking in the small space. As I’d hoped, a washer and dryer sat tucked into a corner, tools hung neatly on the walls, along with several stacks of uncut boards—obviously waiting for some sort of home repair. These things didn’t keep my interest for long, though. Instead, it was the dark blue Jeep Wrangler dominating the small space that caught my immediate attention. It was obviously a weekend toy; mud splashed the tires and the sides, and the snap-on back cover had been partially pulled back in a makeshift sunroof.

  It didn’t take me long to decide.

  I retreated quickly back into the house, the worry over my clothes forgotten when I dressed quickly and shrugged into my jacket. I did a fast search for keys with no luck, then stood for a full minute outside Ethan’s bedroom door, wrestling with my conscience before giving it up and opening it. I was a parolee and a possible murderer—but I’d never felt worse than the moment I crossed into his private space, glancing around at the gray walls and dark wooden headboard of his bed without wanting to give them too much attention—if I didn’t acknowledge their presence, then it seemed less of an intrusion. I couldn’t help but notice the dark red comforter spread neatly over a perfectly made bed, however, and something about it made me smile. He might leave dishes and clothing strewn about the living room, but he made his bed with military precision. In another life, I would have stripped naked and slipped beneath the covers, playing Goldilocks for him to return to.

  That wasn’t my life, though. Not anymore.

  I moved to a long, low dresser against the wall that matched the dark wood of the headboard and found what I was looking for in a ceramic bowl sitting on top—keys to the Jeep. My fingers closed around them and I retreated quickly back into the hall, shutting the door with a sigh of relief. Back in the kitchen, I found a pen and an unopened envelope, flipping it open to write two words.

  I’m sorry.

  Was I, though? The thought filled my mind when I stepped back into the garage, finding the open switch for the automatic door and pressing it. It rumbled up, sunlight streaming into the darkened interior and splashing over the Jeep. I climbed in, holding my breath when I slipped the key into the ignition, then sagged back in relief when it growled immediately to life. I threw it into reverse and backed out with the question still turning in my mind.

  Was I sorry?

  I wasn’t sorry I was stealing his Jeep. I’d known weeks ago when I’d jumped parole that there was no going back; this was just another mile on a road I was too far down to change direction on, and there were no exits left. Leaving home had already promised a return to custody if I was caught, and a murder charge would only add to my time—tacking on a stolen vehicle to that list seemed like a small thing. Another stolen vehicle, I reminded myself, since my asshole of an ex had already pinned one on me. I wasn’t sorry that I’d tangled Ethan in my mess, either, as I’d been with Gina. It was his job to get messy, and he’d sought me out. I sat for a moment in the driveway, staring at the house in front of me with an ache in my chest I couldn’t avoid.

  The truth was, I was sorry I couldn’t stay longer. Sorry I wouldn’t spend another night pressed to Ethan’s chest with the safety of his arms around me. The simple
fact was that I liked him; he was the good guy, the knight in shining armor, the fighter of evil. The thought of his kiss was almost enough to change my mind, but I wasn’t the kind of girl who deserved a guy like Ethan, and I knew I was wasting time, losing precious seconds of freedom while I wished for fairy tales again. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone he’d given me, finding and deleting the tracking app he’d installed, and turned off the GPS locater for good measure. Then, I threw the Jeep into gear and peeled out of the drive, turning back onto the highway and heading towards Dust.

  It felt good to be driving again, even if every car that passed me caused my heart to seize up, afraid that Ethan would see me speeding past in his Jeep on his way back home. The world around me was a different place in the daylight, the houses I passed now seemed more sad than menacing; small children played behind broken fences, while mangy looking dogs roamed dangerously close to the road. The desolation and hopelessness of Dust spread like a cancer, reaching even those on the very fringes, pressing in around me the further I went. Going back wasn’t the smartest move, I knew, but neither was taking off with only the clothes on my back. Everything I had left was in my apartment, and it would take only a few minutes to get it, provided I didn’t run into anyone on the way. My luck hadn’t been good so far, but Industry City was nocturnal, and I was counting on it being too early for much movement in the building or the streets.

  I pulled the Jeep to the curb in front of the apartment building and cut the motor, thankful to see the usual crowd in front of Duke’s hadn’t begun to gather yet. The street was silent, as was the tiny lobby of the building when I pushed inside and moved up the stairs. Five minutes—that was all I was allowing myself; I needed my suitcase and my duffle and that was it. Nothing else belonged to me, anyway.

  My feet hit the 9th floor and I moved to unlock the door to my apartment, then paused when the doorknob turned easily in my hand. It was already open. My hand shook slightly when I moved to the deadbolt Alex installed and turned the key with no answering click of the bolt sliding free. Also open.

  Someone had been in my apartment.

  Whatever breath I had left from the climb up the stairs was gone in the rush of fear and adrenaline that hit me. I knew there were two choices—forget my clothes and get the hell out, or face whatever might be waiting for me inside. Dry-mouthed, I examined the door. There was no sign of forced entry, which meant that whoever opened it either knew how to pick locks or had a key, and from what I’d seen of the Templars, they were more brute force than skill and were far more likely to kick my door down. Bits of past conversation with Alex began filtering up through my memory:

  “Hey, let me pay you for that.”

  “Don’t worry about it, I had an extra one.”

  My teeth gritted in a sudden flash of anger, staring at the deadbolt.

  “How did you get in?”

  “The door was open.”

  All sense of caution left me when I reached again for the knob. Somewhere past the rage there was a relief that he was okay, that he wasn’t dead—but this intrusion was just one more mark of betrayal, one more attack on the trust I’d blindly placed in him. All rational thought was gone, my decisions governed by the white-hot sear of fury building inside me, and I threw the door open hard enough to slam it against the wall behind, stepping inside my apartment ready for a fight. Only it wasn’t Alex I found sitting in the armchair watching me.

  It was London.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  * * *

  “What are you doing here?”

  I stood framed in the doorway, shock overriding the anger that had been pulsing through my body. I’d expected Alex, and the sight of London’s battered face left me off-balance. The bruise under her left eye from the day before was still prominent against her pale skin, but now the right side of her face was purpled and swollen as well.

  She was punished. Girly-voice sounded in my head, just the memory of his words enough to send a shudder ripping through me. A quick scan of the rest of the apartment assured me that unless someone was hiding behind the shower curtain, she was alone—which made her presence even stranger. She didn’t move when I stepped inside and closed the door behind me, the look on her face as vague and detached as I remembered.

  “I was waiting for you.” Her tone and manner were the same listless, defeated match to her expression, but I noticed her hands were clasped in her lap, her fingers so tightly intertwined that her knuckles showed white and her arms were strained. She appeared to be struggling with something, her body twitching slightly with every breath. Pain, I thought, she looked like she was in pain.

  “Why?” I stayed where I was with the door pressed to my back, my arm twisted behind me with my hand on the knob, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. London didn’t look dangerous, though. She looked like—

  “I need your help.” She answered, finishing my thought. Her face grew taut with the words, shaking herself all over like a dog coming free of the water, and my eyes widened in alarm.

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Alex’s keys,” she said simply, and my teeth bared slightly. I’d been right about that much, at least. “He gave them to me. I’m supposed to be looking for you. They all are, you know. Lucus is very upset.”

  Warning bells at her words were going off in my head. They were all looking for me. The Jeep was sitting just outside at the curb, all I had to do was run down, get in and drive away. I didn’t need my clothes—I needed my life. Still, I didn’t move. There was something about her presence that forced the words from me, no matter how badly I knew I should run. “Who is Lucas?”

  “Belial’s Chosen,” she answered automatically, her expression relaxing. “He is the Prophet.”

  I stared at her, pity warring with fear at her response as every piece of information I’d ever heard about cult members fell into place. A hundred questions that I didn’t really want the answers to threatened to break free, but I picked the only one that seemed to matter just then. “Where’s Alex?”

  “Alex is being punished.” Her tone was calm, but her eyes were strained—for the first time looking directly at me. The effect was immediate; the faint pressure behind my eyes coupling with the echoes of chanting. London seemed to realize what was happening, jerking her gaze from mine seconds after, and I sagged back against the door. “Lucus is very angry. He said if he cannot give you, he will give Alex instead.”

  “Give Alex?” My tone was harsh, my breathing shallow. “What the fuck are you talking about? Give him to who?”

  “Belial.” Her tone told me the answer should have been obvious, “The Sacred demands a sacrifice. It was meant to be you. You were marked for it.”

  Ethan had told me but hearing her say it was far beyond terrifying. I raised my hand to my shoulder, wincing at the flare of pain when I pressed my palm against the mark.

  London shook herself again, her entire body going rigid when her gaze snapped back to mine. This time, however, there was an intensity in her eyes that I’d never seen before, and for the first time there was no chanting in my head. Instead, I was frozen in place by the sudden, blazing force of a personality that until that moment, had been hidden beneath a vacant stare. Her words were clipped, hasty and afraid. “They’re going to kill him, Avery.” Her body jerked, her left eye spasming before she sat upright again. “Tonight. You have to tell Gina.” Every muscle in her body was straining, and as I watched her a cold rush of understanding washed over me.

  You have to fight. The words rose unbidden, and I stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away.

  She was fighting. She was pushing them out of her head.

  “Why me? Why can’t you tell her?”

  “Lucus will know,” she snapped, her tone impatient. “He’s everywhere, do you know how hard it was for me to sneak in here without being seen? Those people outside the bar all belong to him. Besides, Gina won’t speak to me, she doesn’t trust me, she’ll think I’m lying
. It has to be you.”

  It was a surreal feeling, like I was speaking to an entirely different person. “What am I supposed to tell her, that Alex is going to be sacrificed tonight? Do you hear how crazy that sounds? This is insane, call the cops. Do something.”

  “No one cares, don’t you understand? No one else can stop it. You have to tell Gina. Please, Avery.” Another shudder ripped through her and her hands gripped the arms of the chair with a grimace of pain that was too much for me to watch.

  “He was going to give me to them for sacrifice. He was going to trade me for you and let them kill me.”

  “Of course he wasn’t,” London said sharply, “He didn’t know anything about it, only that Lucus would give me up for you. Alex is an idiot, but he’s loyal. He told me he had a plan to get you out of Dust once Lucus let me go. He was doing what he thought was best.”

  “He told you? You’ve seen him?”

  “They brought him to Lucus after you ran. It wasn’t good. I only had a few minutes with him, after. He gave me his keys and told me to come here.” Another spasm ripped through her and she gritted her teeth. “Are you going to let him die because you won’t deliver a fucking message?”

  My nostrils flared in sudden anger. “Fine.” I pushed away from the door and snatched up my duffle, refusing to look at her. I shoved the spread of clothes on the bed inside it, then zipped it up. I picked up my suitcase and turned for the door, pausing with my hand on the knob to look back. London was slumped back in the chair, her expression slack, her eyes staring ahead. I hesitated, then opened the door, and at the sound, her gaze shifted towards me without turning her head.

  “Hey, Avery.” She sounded as if I’d just arrived, “You wanted to talk to me.”

  I left.

  There was no answer at Gina’s apartment when I went up, knocking impatiently until I was sure she wasn’t home, then ran down the 9 flights and through the front doors, thankful to find the Jeep still waiting for me at the curb. I threw my bags into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel, staring out through the windshield. I’d spent far too much time inside the apartment building, and a crowd was already gathered in front of Dukes, heads turning to watch me. I had no desire to go inside the bar, not with London’s warning that Lucus was everywhere. Instead I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the screen, wincing at the readout. 15 missed calls and 20 text messages all from the same number. I didn’t have to guess who’d been trying to reach me.