“Ah,” Vic says with a deep chuckle. It vibrates my body, even over the phone and separated as we are. “Tell Aaron he should take you mudding. Makes for a fun date. I’ll see you when you get here. Stay safe, princess.”
He hangs up before I can metaphorically bite his dick off for calling me princess again.
“He says you should take me mudding,” I tell Aaron, my voice clearly showing that I have no idea what this backup plan means. Aaron smiles tightly and nods, pulling into an empty parking lot to turn around. Within two minutes, Sara Young is behind us again.
“I can’t wait for you to see this,” Aaron tells me, taking us through some seedy back areas of South Prescott—by seedy, I mean like prostitutes on every corner and people passed out with needles in their arms—and over to the racetrack. It hasn’t been in proper use since the late fifties, but the local kids keep it up and running all on their own. Sometimes Prescott guys come here to race classic cars.
The most famous racer of all of them though is Scarlett Force, a girl who graduated just a year before the guys and I started at Prescott High. She’s made a legend of herself, as famous for her cars and her racing prowess as she was for seriously dating three men all at once.
You go, girl.
“Okay, this I can’t wait to see,” I say as Aaron flashes a grin that in any other school in the state would grant him the title King of the Cocky Assholes.
“Put that seatbelt on, Bern, and I’ll fucking show you.” Aaron hits the gas, sending the Bronco through the gate (that’s really just an opening as the actual gate has been missing for years) and onto the property. There’s a small driveway to the right that cuts through what used to be the stands for the crowd.
We blast through that and skid onto the track. Since it’s December, and it’s rainy as fuck in Oregon, the dirt track is filled with potholes and mud puddles. We don’t make it five seconds before we hit the first one and the windshield is spattered in mud.
I lean forward and put my hands on the dash as Aaron takes us around the track, hitting every bump and sending the Bronco flying. My stomach ends up with wings, fluttering into my throat as we hop up and crash down like we’re on a rollercoaster. Aaron lets out a whoop and turns the music up; “Tears Don’t Fall” by Bullet For My Valentine is playing now, like a soundtrack for our quickie date.
On the far side of the track, Aaron slows slightly and rolls down my window.
“Do you see her?” he asks, the sharp sound of his words cutting through the music. This part of the racetrack dips much lower than the starting line where the stands are. It’s easy to see the parking lot from here, and to note that Sara Young’s car is, in fact, there with the lights off.
“Yep,” I reply, wetting my suddenly dry lips. We need to lose her without, you know, letting her know that’s what we’re doing. Obviously, I’m sure she could find out where Aaron lived if she really wanted to, but she doesn’t need to know that I’m there tonight. Or that Vic’s there. Or that the other Havoc Boys aren’t.
Best to just leave the cops with as little information as possible.
“Fucking fantastic,” Aaron says, accelerating again and shooting us off the side of the track and into the woods. There’s a cleared path here, one that’s obviously been around for a long time. I’ve never been into the racing scene at Prescott High, so I didn’t know anything about it. Aaron turns his lights off and manages to weave us through the dark of the trees like he’s done this a million times before. Either that, or I guess he’s just a phenomenal driver. I remember him navigating through the dark woods to Principal Vaughn’s cabin; he didn’t use his lights then either.
“What the hell is this?” I ask and Aaron laughs, rolling his head over to look at me with a saucy expression on his beautiful face.
“This is where your grandparents probably came to fuck,” he says, and I make a face as the Bronco emerges from the woods and pulls into an old camping area buried in the woods. The signs are old as fuck and one of them clearly has a metal plaque attached that says Campground Closed. “This used to be the hookup spot before they expanded the Springfield suburban sprawl,” Aaron explains, turning left and snaking up a narrow single-lane road that connects to a neighborhood at the edge of the forest. “You could actually camp here and not see city lights.”
I look out my window at the darkness of the trees as Aaron rolls slowly down the quiet street and turns left again, sending us deep into a pretty Fuller neighborhood. It’s funny to me, because I know the kids who live here, on the outskirts of the neighborhood, are considered the ‘poor’ ones at Fuller High.
“That was fucking cool,” I tell Aaron as he holds out a palm, and I slap him a high-five. Even that small amount of contact makes my hand tingle, and I suck in a sharp breath. “Is that where you guys always go if someone’s following you?”
“Not someone,” Aaron corrects, his eyes equally as focused on the rearview mirror as they are the windshield. He’s watching for Sara. I turn around to look, so he doesn’t have to. “Law enforcement. Most Prescott kids know about the road, so it doesn’t help much there.”
“Well, it looks like it worked on Sara; I don’t see her anywhere.” I twist back around until I’m sitting properly in my seat.
“We do have a rendezvous point around here though,” Aaron says, slowing the Bronco and rolling down my window, so he can point out the twenty-four-hour convenience store on the corner. “They have a bathroom with a steel door, and a lock. If you’re ever on the run, and you need somewhere to hide, try this place. Even if you don’t have access to your phone. If one of us goes missing, we always check here.”
“Yeah?” I ask, feeling sassy as I lean back against the seat and look Aaron over. “And how often does one of you go missing?” Aaron just laughs and shrugs.
“Never?” he offers up, which makes me feel at least a little bit better. I watch him shoot a text off on his phone, and figure he’s letting Vic know we’re okay. “But at least you know this is here now.” Aaron curls his hands around the steering wheel and stares out the window with hard eyes for a moment. “We have so many little rat traps and hidey-holes and burrows around the city; you deserve a tour.” He glances back at me with a half-smile, his wavy chestnut hair falling across his brow. “Let me show you around sometime?”
“Are you asking me on another date, Aaron Fadler?” I ask, and he grins.
“If I were, would you say yes?” he queries back, raising both brows.
“Always,” I respond, and his grin turns into a smirk. Aaron hits the throttle, taking us the back way through the neighborhood until we pull into the driveway beside Vic’s Harley.
When we get inside the house, we find Victor waiting in the dark living room, smoking a cigarette. He watches us as we walk in, his eyes reflecting the light like a cat’s.
“Have fun?” he asks, but I can’t decide if he’s talking about us going mudding to escape from Sara Young, or about us fucking. Better be the former. It’s not like he wasn’t at the drive-in the whole time watching over us. Like I said, he’s a good actor when he needs to be. And right now, he’s being just as much a leader as he was when he told us to fire at motherfucking will.