Ride Wild(3)

Damn, there was no denying this woman was good with them. Even more, she  was good for them. Much better than the older neighbor lady had been,  with her smoking and bad knees and dislike of noise.

Slider had gotten lucky finding Cora. Once, he might've thought that  she'd come along right when they needed her, as if the universe had  personally done him a solid by dropping Cora Campbell in the Ravens'  lap. But Slider didn't believe in luck or fate or divine providence, and  he knew one day, Cora would leave him, too.

Everybody did.

They were just using each other in the meantime.

Been there, done that, got the motherfucking T-shirt.

When Cora returned five minutes later, he stood at the kitchen counter chugging a glass of water.

"So, I'll get changed," she said, thumbing over her shoulder. He gave  her a nod and tried not to let his gaze connect the rain droplets that  darkened her sweatshirt and slicked the exposed skin of her legs. "But I  wanted to mention that we need to go grocery shopping."

We. The word was a total sucker punch.

And it made him need to get her the hell out of his house. At least for a  few hours. Because the only we Slider did now was the kind he'd created  with his own blood. "I'll get on it."                       
       
           



       

She didn't leave to get dressed like he expected her to. Instead, she  lingered, then finally said, "I know you're on again tonight and need to  sleep. Maybe . . . I could get Bunny to take me and we'll drop  everything off here later."

"That's okay," he said, shaking his head.

"Or, if it's easier, I could even hang here today and you could take me  when you wake up. God knows I don't have anywhere special I need to be,  so it wouldn't be a problem . . ."

He pictured her staying in his house in a sudden flash of images-her  making lunch, her cuddled into the corner of the couch watching TV, her  stepping out of the bathroom, hair wet from a shower, and the  sweet-smelling scent of her lotion trailing after her . . . Twin  reactions coursed through him. A yearning for the companionship of  another adult sharing his space and his life. And a kneejerk  fight-or-flight hell no that both left him unsettled and pissed him off.

All of which meant she had to go. Now.

"Jesus, I said I'll take care of it. I don't need you." Something akin  to panic had the words coming out more harshly than he'd intended, and  his brain was already scrambling to clean up the mess his mouth had  made. "To do it, I mean. I don't need you for shopping. Okay? I got it."

"Right. Of course," she said, backing out of the room, green eyes flashing with an emotion he couldn't name.

Annnd he was a giant asshole. He scrubbed his face on a long sigh and  waited for her to come back so he could drive her home. And apologize.

He waited. And waited.

What the hell?

"Uh, Cora, you ready?" he called out, making sure his tone lacked the  frustration he felt with himself. Two-plus years of withdrawing from the  world around him had left him all kinds of rusty at interacting like a  normal human being.

When there was no response, he waited a few more minutes. Guilt a weight  on his shoulders, Slider finally went back down the hall toward the  family room, where she slept on the couch because she'd long ago refused  his offer to use his bed on nights when he wasn't home. The downstairs  bathroom was empty. And so was the family room. A creeping apprehension  squeezed his chest when he noticed that her bag was gone and the  blankets she used were back in their neat little stack, too.

No. No, no. Shit.

His gaze lifted to the door to the back porch, and that was when he knew.

She'd left.

He'd been an asshole, and she'd left. And now she was out on the street.

Sonofabitch.

Slider imagined telling Sam and Ben that Cora wasn't coming anymore,  that he'd upset her and chased her away, and something close to horror  flashed through his gut. He had to fix this. He had to fix it now.





Chapter 2




I don't need you . . .

The words were dickish, but that wasn't why Cora had gotten the hell out of there.

She'd grown up hearing one variation after another of that from her father.

You think I need you around? I don't need your shit. I need you here  about as much as I need another hole in my head. On and on and on.

And then . . . that night.

She'd thrown it back in her father's face.

I thought you didn't need me, Dad. Remember that?

Backing her into her bedroom, the one still decorated in teenagerish  pinks and purples, he'd leered at her, his words slurred by alcohol.  Maybe I need you for this . . .

The memory had broadsided her out of nowhere, stealing her breath and  making her panicky until she'd felt like she might crawl out of her  skin. No way could she have faced Slider that way, so she'd thrown on a  pair of jeans, jammed everything into her backpack, and fled out the  back door and up the driveway to the rural road in front of the Evans  house.

It was maybe two miles to the racetrack that the Raven Riders owned and  operated as their main business venture, and maybe a half mile up the  mountain from the track to the clubhouse Cora called home. Walking  wouldn't have been that big of a deal if it hadn't been raining. But  what had been a drizzle fifteen minutes ago was now a steady and cold  autumn rain that was going to leave her soaked before too long.

Fine. Whatever. She'd survived worse.

But five minutes later, it was as if the universe was sticking out its tongue at her, because the skies erupted into a downpour.

Walking faster, she pulled out her cell and debated, then shot off a  text to Phoenix, her go-to guy when she needed something with no  questions asked. Any chance you're around for a pickup?

One minute passed, then another. The sound of a car's engine approached,  and Cora stepped into the wet weeds on the edge of the road to make  sure she was out of the way. Stupid driver didn't even swerve to give  her a little leeway. She frowned down at her cell. Phoenix was usually  quick to respond, but it wasn't even eight in the morning.                       
       
           



       

On a sigh, she wrote to Haven next, fully aware there would be all kinds  of questions asked. I know it's early, but any chance someone is around  who could come get me?

Her phone rang immediately. That was a best friend for you. "Hey," Cora said by way of answering.

"Where are you? Are you okay?" Haven asked, her words a little hard to hear with the rain pounding the ground.

"I'm . . ." She looked at the tall stalks of corn growing in the field  along the right. There was no answer she'd give that was going to make  Haven believe she was okay. "I decided to walk home, but then it started  raining."

Silence. Like Haven was trying to sort out all the ways that her answer  was weird, because, well, it was weird. "You're walking? Why are you  walking?"

On a sigh, Cora decided to brazen it out. "Just felt like it," she said  instead of telling the truth. But she didn't want to have to explain her  panic attack . . . because then she'd have to explain the memories  that'd caused it. And Haven didn't know about any of that. It was a  secret Cora hadn't shared with another soul. At first, she'd kept what'd  happened to herself out of shame and the desire to focus on just  getting away from their evil fathers, not to mention the gut-deep belief  that Haven's home situation was so bad-and had been for such a long  time-that Cora didn't want to give her one more thing about which to  worry. Now, all that was behind them and Haven was happy. Really happy,  with Dare. And the last thing Cora wanted to do was mar that happiness  with her own problems.

Problems that were all in the past now that her father was dead. And the  ironic thing about his death? He'd died helping Haven's father try to  kidnap Haven, but hadn't tried to nab Cora while he was at it. What kind  of fucked up did she have to be that, on some seriously twisted level,  it bothered her that he hadn't wanted her back, too? When the last thing  she'd wanted was to ever see him again . . .

"Are you still there?" Haven was asking.

The words snapped Cora from her spiraling thoughts, which was when she  heard another car engine approaching behind her. "Yeah, sorry, car's  coming." She stepped into the weeds again.

"Dare's gonna come get you. Tell him where you are," she said, not waiting for Cora to answer.

"Cora," he said in that serious-as-a-heart-attack way he had. "What's  going on?" But she didn't have a chance to answer, because just then,  Slider's pickup truck came alongside her, the passenger window down.

"Cora, get in," Slider called out, crawling along beside her as she kept walking.

For a moment, Cora felt trapped between the two men, which in another situation she might've found funny or arousing or both.