11. Ava
ELEVEN
AVA
There’s a loud crack at the front window, and I nearly jump out of my skin. Scott and I spin around.
Lars and Rick are standing on the other side of the automatic door, a baseball bat twirling in Rick’s hand. Though he’s more fat than muscle, compared to Lars’s scrawny frame, I wouldn’t want to mess with him.
The sliding door is powered off, and the glass is not shattered enough for them to step through unscathed. But something tells me Lars doesn’t care about that.
His chin is angled down, his eyes fixed on us. On me . A strand of hair falls into his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Whatever hatred Lars has always bore for me, it’s more hair-raising and sinister now and I fear what thoughts play behind those dark eyes of his.
“The lights are off,” Lars sings, “but it looks like you’re home.” He points to the broken door. “Are you going to let us in?”
“What do you want, Lars?” Scott says, his shoulders squared as he steps toward the door. His voice is calm, as if he knows Lars is a ticking time bomb that needs no prodding, but he holds his pistol at his side. It’s not aimed at either of them. Yet.
“I wanted to get some shopping in,” Lars says. He mutters something inaudible to Rick, who then takes the end of his bat and breaks the rest of the glass loose so they can step inside.
Scott lifts his pistol. “You already vandalized my shop. If you take another step inside, I will shoot you,” he warns.
Lars grins. “I doubt that very much.”
Where the hell is Knox? It’s all I can do not to glance toward the back in search of him, but I don’t dare take my eyes off Lars. Knox probably drove away, not wanting to deal with me and the drama he knew followed me here. I can’t say I blame him, though a part of me resents him for it too.
Lars’s smile turns sinister and his attention shifts in my direction again.
“Wait—” Just as I remember Ty was with them, I hear the crunch of boots behind me too late. A heavy arm wraps around my middle, and I shriek as it bars me against a hot, hard body. The smell of stale cigarette smoke is nearly suffocating.
Scott spins around, fear flashing in his eyes, and he aims his pistol at the guy behind me.
“You’re outnumbered, man,” Lars says. “Drop your gun.” He points a pistol of his own at Scott for added encouragement.
“Let go,” I grind out, loud enough for Ty to hear. My heart pounds as I pull uselessly against my unseen assailant.
Half turned, Scott glances between me and the gun in Lars’s hand, the seconds ticking by in a sluggish blur of commands and movement.
“Do it,” Rick warns him, twirling his bat for added effect.
Finally, Scott tosses his gun onto the pallet of dog food bags a few feet in front of him.
Lars seems appeased enough, and his smile returns. He peers around, making a show of appraising the fully stocked, if disarrayed, warehouse of supplies. “So, this is where the goodies are.” Lars whistles with approval. “Don’t mind if we do. It wasn’t why we came here, but—” He shrugs.
“What are you doing, Lars?” Scott asks. He sounds like a disappointed father figure. “You’re better than this.”
“I told you,” Lars says with a sneer, “we’re shopping.”
“Take whatever you want then?—”
“ Whatever I want?” he clarifies, glancing at me.
“Whatever supplies you want,” Scott amends.
Lars huffs a laugh. “Gee, thanks. But I was already planning on it.”
“Don’t do something you’ll regret, Lars. You might be an asshole, but you’re not a killer. Or a—” Scott’s words peter out, and that piques Lars’s interest.
“Or a what?” His gaze shifts to me again. “A rapist?” He steps closer to Scott until he’s standing only a few feet away. “Is that what you were going to say?” The playfulness in Lars’s tone vanishes with his smile, and canting his head, Lars crosses his arms over his chest and looks Scott up and down. His pistol tightens in his grip. “You know nothing about me, asshole.” Again, his gaze skirts to me, and the loathing glint in his eyes returns.
Clearly irritated, Lars looks at Ty behind me. “We don’t have all day,” he chides, and Ty holds me tighter. Rick walks over, grabbing a rope from the aisle along the way, and I exchange a pleading look with Scott. I can tell he’s silently strategizing as he assesses the situation.
My shoulders drop and I stop struggling. “What is your problem, Lars?” I rasp. Ty’s hold on me shifts, his arm coming around my throat this time.
Rick heads for us, nearly stumbling on a fallen rake as he unwinds the rope. Distraction is all I can think of to buy us more time.
I glare at Lars. “Why do you hate me so much?”
His lip curls. “What makes you think this is about you?” He flings his arms out, incredulous. “Why does everything always have to be about Ava Hernandez?”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because,” he says flatly, “you’ve always been the center of attention—the topic on everyone’s wagging tongues, and it’s time to see what all the fuss is about.”
“You think I want any of that?” I hate that it comes out like a whimper. “You think I’ve wanted to feel like a social pariah my entire life?”
Lars shakes his head with a cruel smile. “Ava is sick at school and gets special attention. Ava has her bodyguard Knox to protect her when mean ‘ol Lars is picking on her?—”
“ Knox? ”
“Ava’s drunk uncle kills a teacher, and she doesn’t get shoved into the system. Even your goddamn mom died. Mine? She fucking chose to leave. You didn’t have to deal with an abusive family. No, you got the nice old lady down the street to take you in.”
My eyes well with tears despite myself. “That’s how you see my life?”
“Fuck you, Ava,” he spits. “Don’t act innocent. You’ve got everyone fooled—even Captain America here, whisking you away as the world falls to shit. But I won’t make it that easy for you.”
“Son—”
Lars lifts his gun up and points it at Scott’s head. “ Don’t call me son,” he seethes.
“So, you’re going to what?” I say, forcing Lars’s attention back to me. “Kill me? Beat me? Rape me to teach me a lesson—to prove how horrible you can really be?”
He shrugs. “You know, Ava, I haven’t decided yet. None of this was planned. Again, you’re always assuming the world revolves around you. I simply saw an opportunity and took it.”
Rick reaches for my hands.
“Drop it.” Knox’s low voice rumbles by my ear, and all attention shifts behind me as he slowly cocks a gun. It practically rings through the warehouse in everyone’s silence. Ty’s grip loosens, and I tug out of his hold while I have the chance.
Lars and Scott are a flutter of movement as they lunge for Scott’s discarded gun. I crouch, pull a broom from the toppled display, and whirl it around, hitting Rick in the side. The broom’s wooden handle breaks in two, and we both stumble backward. Rick loses his footing, giving me a single moment’s reprieve, and then a shot rings out.
Scott lowers his pistol, and Lars’s steps falter. His gun clatters to the floor as Lars grips his side, liquid red glistening on his fingers. “Fuuuck!” he bellows, his eyes wide with shock.
Knox wrestles with Ty, and I lunge for Lars’s gun as Rick grabs me from behind, flinging me onto the cement floor like a linebacker sacks the offense. My shoulder screams in pain. The sound of bones crunching and flesh on flesh meets my ears from where Knox and Ty grapple with one another.
Groans and grunts and a whimper of my own fill the store as Scott swings Rick’s discarded bat. Once. Twice. A third time. Then Scott tosses the bat aside and grabs my arm with one hand, yanking me up. He aims his gun at Rick with the other. “Don’t think about moving,” Scott growls.
Rick moans, crumpled on the floor at our feet as he clutches his side.
Footsteps echo behind us before a shoulder meets with my back, and Scott and I are shoved forward as a deafening roar fills the warehouse. I register the metal shelf and the quarts of oil lining it a split second before the cold steel meets my head, and its contents collapse around me.