Objective (Bloodlines #2)(7)

Beebe, Arkansas is a small town, to me anyways. The sign as I ride in says Population 7,400. It’s not quite the cityscape that I grew up in but it actually looks nice enough. I’m physically drained from being on the bike for so many days and hours. Even when I stand I feel like I’m still vibrating slightly. I can’t imagine anyone would ever look for me in Podunk, Arkansas, so I stop. I walk around the little downtown area and I decide that I like what I see. Small businesses line the main drag and it’s flat. So flat here. I’ve never been anywhere that looked like this before. It’s strange to see so much dust blowing around from all the dirt roads. Old trucks and cars line the main drag. It’s almost like a step back in time. No one even bothers to glance my way as I meander around. Trees are scattered about here and there, and people mill about at a slow pace, nothing like where I’m from. I like how it feels here, like people mind their own.

I wander around until I find a little real estate office. The air inside smells like smoke and stale coffee. The woman behind the front desk looks thoroughly irritated at my arrival. Her blonde hair is teased out to epic proportions and her nails are fake and too long and blood red. I explain that I need a place to rent and she shuffles through some papers and hands me a stack before going back to whatever she was doing on her computer. The clacking of her nails on the keyboard grates on my nerves as I pick out a few options to look at, hopefully today, and hand the rest of the stack back to her.

Three hours later I have my very own trailer just south of the downtown area. Five hours later I have a crappy car that I paid three hundred dollars for after I saw it sitting on the side of the road, and six hours later I’m sitting on the floor of my new home staring at the backpack. I crawl over to it and slowly unzip it. I’m still not sure I want to know exactly what I’ve taken. I turn it upside down and let the contents fall out around me. Shit. What the hell have I gotten myself into? This is bad, so very bad. Bundles of cash sit on the floor now, surrounding me. What the hell have I gotten myself into? This is bad, so very bad. Counting the money in the backpack I realize there’s more than I anticipated, so much in fact that I don't think I need to work for years. I don’t know if Cane’s errands for Ezra always amounted to this much cash flowing through our apartment but I know one thing: I’m not supposed to have it. I’m screwed. Really screwed. My breathing becomes labored at the shock at seeing this much cash. It floors me, but the realization that it’s sitting on my floor piled around me exacerbates my panic. This much money doesn’t go missing under anyone’s watch, let alone Ezra’s. Beyond his nephew dying, the money is just one more reason for him to hunt for me. Someone will be looking for their money and when Ezra can’t produce it things will get messy. I’m in so far over my head with this. Shock takes over and I scoop all the money back into the pack and zip it up. I don’t want to look at it. It’s tainted. I need a plan. I run a finger through the various pockets, sweeping them for any treasures or clues but find none. Did Cane always have this much cash sitting in this bag? If all Ezra’s business errands amassed such small fortunes then I’ve been truly blind to what had been going on. I thought the Ash operation was much smaller. I’m going to die. It’s certain.



The bike is tucked safely behind the trailer with a tarp over it out of sight, and my new-to-me car is parked in the driveway, or rather the patch of dirt that accompanies my trailer. At midnight I drift off to sleep in the fetal position on the floor of my new bedroom, feeling more lost and alone than ever.



“Clean up in aisle four,” the intercom boomed throughout the store. I stared at the spilled milk at my feet and felt my face flush. The gallon had just slipped out of my hand and when it hit the grocery store floor it popped like a water balloon. A dark-haired head bobbed around the corner and my breath caught. Cane Ash - THE Cane Ash - was headed right for me. All two hundred pounds of muscle and brawn was stalking toward me. His amber eyes held mine captive as his mouth turned into a smirk. “Hey. We have history together, right?” he’d asked, stopping on the other side of the spilt milk.

“Uh…ya. We do,” I muttered like an idiot. Those amber orbs danced with amusement as I spoke.

“Billy’s on his way over with the mop. You don’t have to wait here, you know,” he’d chuckled as he set up a wet floor sign I hadn’t noticed him carrying. I sucked in a deep breath and try to clear my head.

“Right. Okay then. See you tomorrow,” I said as coolly as I could muster. I took two steps before tossing, “in history, I mean,” over my shoulder. My third step is where my coolness tragically ended. I stepped right in the puddle of milk on the floor and lost my footing. I heard my name yelled just before my rear hit the floor, followed by my head.

I blinked hard a couple times as I heard my name being gently called. “Just sit up slowly, okay?” Cane said in a dreamy voice. I think every girl in the school had had a crush on him at one point or another. His always-tanned Cuban skin, graciously passed onto him from his mother, his dark brown hair and translucent amber eyes really did make him stunning. Besides being hot as sin he was also seemingly a generally nice guy. Sure, he didn’t do too well in school and it was rumored he got in a lot of fights, but every interaction my friends or I had had with him he’d always been a gentleman. The back of my head throbbed as I finally opened my eyes fully and everything came into focus. Cane was staring intently at me, worry etched across his handsome face. “What happened?” I croaked, taking in my surroundings. Right. I fell. In the grocery store. In front of Cane Ash. Shoot. Me. Now. I could feel the heat creep up my neck and warm my cheeks. He chuckled lightly before winking, “You’re alright. Come on, I’ll help you up.” He smiled and reached his hand out to me and I hesitantly took it. His palm was rough and warm and strong. It felt like heaven. I tamped down the butterflies in my stomach and cleared my throat. “Thanks,” I said before swiftly walking out of the store, promptly jumping in my car and slamming the door shut.