Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(93)

The house is quiet, and apparently none of the guys are around. No Knox in the kitchen eating a breakfast that could easily feed two or three people, no Ash doing card tricks or twirling a butter knife between his fingers.

It feels weird to just leave without seeing them, but that’s bullshit. They all knew what this was. The deal was that as soon as Ivan was dead, I’d be out of here. And they all saw him die.

So it’s time for me to go. No harm, no foul.

Dog is under the kitchen table as usual, and he perks up when I walk in.

“Come on, Toto,” I tell him. Knox’s habit of calling him whatever name seems to fit in the moment has really stuck, apparently. “It’s time to go home.”

I grab his bowl and the dwindling bag of food, heading for the front door with everything. Dog comes, the way he always does, trotting eagerly after me.

I walk down the driveway to my car, unlocking it so I can start loading up the backseat with all this stuff. When I look up to try to get him in the car, the furry brown mutt is standing halfway between the house and the car, whining softly like he’s torn.

There’s a flash of hurt in my chest for some fucking reason. The only reason why this stupid dog got such a cushy little vacation in the first place was because I brought him with me to piss off the guys for being bossy jackasses. But now he wants to choose their house over me?

“Fine,” I snap. “You can stay here if you want. It’s not like you’re mine. And it’s not like my shitty studio is better than this place. I don’t have a yard or a kitchen table for you to sleep under, so whatever. I’m sure the guys would just love for you to stay here. Ash can yell at you every morning and you can shit in his shoes. It’ll be perfect.”

I don’t know why I’m arguing with a damn dog in the middle of the driveway, but after I say my piece, Dog finally trots toward me and hops up into the backseat of the car, curling up next to my duffel bag.

“Whatever,” I mutter under my breath. “Fucking drama king.” I slam the door closed, but I can’t help the grin that stretches over my face.

I start the car and drive away from the house, away from the fancy-ass neighborhood with the probably snooty neighbors who will be glad not to have to look at my eyesore of a car anymore, I bet.

Instead of heading back to my place, I take another exit and drive toward the address Avalon texted me this morning.

She left her cousin’s place, not wanting to get her into any trouble, and said she’s in a motel on the outskirts of town.

By now, Ivan’s absence will definitely have been noticed, and his people will be coming after the pimp, who will be looking for Avalon.

I park outside the place. It’s rundown as hell, a flashing vacancy sign above it, but no signage to say the name or the rates or anything. It’s the kind of place you’d come to try to disappear or hide something.

I grab my bag from the backseat and use my knife to split a seam in the side. There’s a little false pocket sewn into it, stuffed with the emergency cash I keep hidden there. You never know when you might need it, or when you might need to help someone who put their neck out to help you.

I count out a few bundles, five thousand bucks or so, and tuck them into my jacket. Dog and I get out of the car and head inside, going up to the room Avalon said she’d be in.

The hall is quiet, but there are definitely people fucking in a room I pass by on the way to Avalon’s. I knock on the door, and there’s silence for a moment, then the sound of footsteps.

“Yes?” a voice calls. It’s Avalon’s, I’m pretty sure, but she’s trying to sound different, just in case.

“It’s me,” I call back.

There’s another beat of nothing, then the sound of someone leaning against the door, probably to look through the peephole. Then the deadbolt scrapes back, the chain jingles as it’s drawn away, and Avalon opens the door.

She looks like she hasn’t slept at all, with heavy bags under her eyes and pale skin. I can’t really blame her for that. She’s in a tough spot. Even knowing it’s me, she still looks wary, like she’s expecting an ambush at any second. I remember how scared she looked all the way up until I dropped her off at her cousin’s place last night. Yeah, getting her out of here is the best thing.

“Listen,” I tell her, closing the door behind me. May as well get right to business. “You can’t stay here.”

“I don’t know where else to go,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself. “I couldn’t stay with my cousin. I didn’t want her to get in trouble because of me or anything. I—”

“I know.” I cut her off. “I mean you can’t stay in Detroit. Ivan’s people could be anywhere. They’ll be looking for you once your pimp rats you out. And you know he will.” That fucker would throw her under the bus to save his own skin in a hot second.

“So, you did it then?” she asks softly, glancing up at me with those tired eyes. “He’s dead?”

I nod. “He’s dead. Here.” It seems like a good idea to spare her all the gory details, and I don’t really want to get into it anyway. I pull out the wad of cash and hold it out to her.

Her eyes get wide as she looks down at it. She doesn’t have to count it to know it’s a lot of money.

“I can’t—” She shakes her head. “That’s so much money, River. I can’t take that.”