Road Chosen: Sequel Book 2

Chapter 14

Elena

All I think of, is the word yuck. Why someone would want to commit any crime just to get caught and be put in a stink-filled area is beyond me. Maybe the sources of my adrenaline should be kept on the right side of the law.

Seriously. It smells like old-man stench mixed with dried sweat from someone’s jockstrap. The bench is cold and hard, there is absolutely no privacy if you have to use the restroom.

The toilet doesn’t look like it’s been touched with cleaning supplies in a decade.

Eww.

My knee is bouncing uncontrollably, and I can’t stop biting my nails. I’ve never been in jail before. This is new territory, and I have no idea what to expect. I don’t dare rest my back against the brick walls for fear of getting hepatitis or something. When was the last time this place was cleaned?

“Elena. Your ride’s here to pick you up,” Officer Malone tells me as she unlocks the cell door.

Thank God.

I can’t get out of the crummy room fast enough; she leads me down a hall and into the waiting area where I find Carol with a slight scowl on her face. Sighing, I trudge over to her.

She signs a piece of paper, retrieves my phone from the officer behind the desk. Carol gives me a look as she hands me my phone. Gently, she grabs my shoulder to lead me out of the precinct.

In her car, she drives a certain distance in silence. I feel myself getting nervous over the fact that she has yet to say anything.

I clear my throat and quietly tell her, “I’m sorry.”

She huffs and c***s her head but doesn’t take her eyes off the road. “What if something happened to you? Your father would never forgive me if you ended up in a grave before you have the chance to actually live your life.”

An involuntary wince takes over at the mention of how furious my dad would be. All I’m able to say is, “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” She shakes her head.

When we reach her house, she puts the car in park, sighs and turns to me. “I have been called to the jailhouse more than what should be my fair share because of the choices that my son has made in his life. I can tell you right now, you don’t want that. I know you are grieving, but honey… what you did today was reckless and could have hurt somebody. What if someone walked out to get their mail? Or a dog ran in front of the car– a deer, even. You wouldn’t have been able to stop and either someone would have lost their life or their pet. What if your car got totaled and you were in the hospital fighting for your life? There are speed limits for a reason, young lady.” She breathes in air and slowly lets it out.

I tear at my pinky nail and stare at the center console with no words. She’s right.

“I thought the therapy was helping,” she says tenderly.

With a shrug of my shoulder, I tell her, “It kind of is. I’m trying, I really am.”

She reaches for my arm. “Have you talked to him yet?”

Not wanting her to see my face, I look out the passenger side window at the ocean. The sky is getting dark, but everything is still. There is no breeze, the water is calm, and my heart fights against my ribcage at the mention of the word him. “No.”

“Well, I think you should. He must have all the answers you’re searching for,” she offers.

I look back to her and dip my chin. “I will talk to him. Just not yet.” I reach for my phone in my back pocket then look at the screen.

My heart cracks. He never called today…

****

Staring up at the blue sky, laying on the lush, full green grass of the church, I can’t help but wonder how my spirit can still be so crushed on a beautiful day like today.

As soon as I sigh up at the cloudless vast blue canvas, there’s a pitiful whine sounding in my ear. I turn my head to see Oreo lying next to me. His big dark wet nose inches from my face. Those light brown eyes peering into mine, he c***s his head.

“I know. It was stupid. The only life I’d rather put in danger is just my own. Even then, I’m not sure I actually want my life to end. I just… want to stop feeling pain, anger, and hate. I just want to feel… something else.” I reach up and pat him on his dark curly head.

“You’re such a wonderful listener, aren’t you?” I coo at him and a big, pink, wet tongue greets my face.

“What do you think I should do?” I look into his brown eyes of wisdom and wait patiently, as though the dog will respond.

Oreo gives me a quiet whine and wags his tail. I drop my head to the grass and mumble the words “trader.” Of course, he would want me to talk to him. Everyone is telling me I should talk to him. Why would Oreo suggest anything different?

I’m a stubborn girl – a prideful girl, and I refuse to talk to him. Are there questions that I would like answers to? Absolutely. Like, what’s his actual age? What did he spend the money on? Who else knew? Who sent me the video? What kinds of tasks is Randall making him do? What happened with his club? And my personal favorite - was it all worth it?

I could probably get his age from his mother, but I’m still not sure I want to drag her deeper into my own personal hell. She puts up with so much already and I’ll feel guilty asking her the questions that belong to her conniving son.

Earlier today, I tried talking with Reverend Viper about what I’ve been going through and the mention of Carol’s son came up. Viper knows about the lie, about how I was a job, but I didn’t elaborate any more than that. Only Oreo, Carol, Rachel, and what’s his face know about the darker details.

“I still don’t know how much I can trust Viper. He hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him. He’s been really sweet and thoughtful during this whole process,” I mention to the one-hundred-pound animal who wags his tail at my side. Oreo seems like he’s very well taken care of.

Then I remind myself and the dog, “I trust too easily.”

Sure, I told Viper about how my dad hired the brooding, dimpled, green-eyed boy because that’s no secret upon the Marcus clan. If he works for Marcus, a.k.a Randall, then he already knows that part despite the fact that he seems slightly surprised. He probably already knows how Randall killed my father in front of me, too. Maybe they’re trying to see if I’ll break and rat the whole thing out.

I lift my chin up to the sky and say to Oreo as though he’s in my head, “No one else needs to know right now.” He snuggles closer to me and rests his head on my shoulder; I feel my heart start to mend together.

This dog.

“He hasn’t called me in three days, Oreo.” I frown at the sky. “Maybe he’s given up, too.”

Oreo whines and nudges me with his nose. I sit up and take his face in my hands and stare into his honey-glazed eyes. “I’m not calling him,” I tell Oreo deliberately. The dog wags his tail in misunderstanding. “No, Oreo. I’m not calling him.” I cross my arms over my chest to show this puppy I’m serious, but he just keeps looking at me like he knows better.

The need to roll my eyes is strong as I stand up and lead Oreo back inside the church. Once inside, Oreo turns to me as if waiting for an answer to the question I believe I’ve already answered. I kneel and rub his ears. “Fine,” I whisper. “But I’m not doing it sober.” The curly-haired puppy licks my face and wags his tail.

“You’re lucky that I like you.”