Set The Dark On Fire

down. Seeing Chad again had released a flood of painful memories, and struggling with Travis in the backseat of Chad’s stupid car had been her breaking point.

This whole Vegas scheme, the confusing sexual game she’d been playing with Dylan, and every ridiculous thing she’d done over the past few days had been more about her acting out than taking control. A cry for help, rather than a quest for independence.

She wasn’t a martyr for her family or the savior of her siblings. She was just another pathetic cliche, the girl who believed she was worthless because her flighty mother left her and a dumb jock used her like a whore.

Brushing away her angry tears, she watched while the last bus cleared out of the parking lot. She was dead alone at a deserted truck stop, vulnerable to the kinds of perverts she thought she’d be tough enough to perform for in Las Vegas.

Alone… but for one small pickup truck. Her father’s rusty white 4-runner. And, Santa Maria, was it a sight for sore eyes.

Her dad came out of the driver’s side and she was up on her feet in a flash, launching herself into his open arms.

More tears streamed out of the corners of her eyes, tears of hope and joy and relief. Her mother might not love her, but this man did, so much he’d dropped everything to come after her. He must have driven like a maniac to get here so fast.

She was aware that Dylan was with him, standing in the background. The side of his face was scraped raw. He hung back, obviously pleased to see her but reluctant to interrupt the touching scene.

Her father pushed her back by the shoulders and searched her face. “What are you doing here, mi hijita? Were you really going to Las Vegas to… dance naked?”

In the background, Dylan shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced away, watching the blur of headlights on the freeway.

Angel tore her gaze from him, feeling betrayed, and looked her father in the eye. He was a stern man, solid and strong. As much as she wanted to, she was unable to lie.

“What were you thinking?” he asked. “Are you loca?”

“I thought I could make money. Enough to send some back.”

His befuddlement hardened into anger. “You thought I would take money from you? Money you earned-” he gestured to her chest “-ensenando las tetas?”

She flushed at his crude language.

“I would rather die than take money from you,” he growled, gripping her upper arms and shaking her a little.

Dylan tried to intervene. “Mr. Martinez-”

“Callate la boca!” he roared.

He shut up.

“I always wanted the best for you,” her father continued, his voice heavy with emotion. “Why do you think we came to America? I grew up in a house with a dirt floor, and never once did I complain.” He placed a hand over his heart. “I work very hard for the things we have. And you shame me by suggesting what I’ve given you isn’t good enough? Desgraciada!”

“Hey,” Dylan said. “She already feels bad-”

She ignored the interruption. “You’re right. I was foolish.” Her throat tightened. “Disgraceful. I’m sorry.”

Her father sighed and he released her arm. “I know I’ve expected too much from you since your mother left. It was not fair for you to take care of your brothers and sister when you were just a child yourself.” His eyes met hers. “I… I also am sorry.”

Unable to speak, she only nodded, more tears spilling onto her cheeks. He brought her close and kissed the top of her head, murmuring soft words of comfort.

Sniffling, she let his T-shirt absorb her tears. “Let’s go home.”

He patted her back. “No.”

She frowned up at him. “No?”

“I will take you to your aunt Espe.”

“I have an aunt Espe?”

“Si. Your mother’s sister. Esperanza. She wrote me a letter a few months ago. You’ve never heard of her because she and your mother didn’t get along.”

“Where does she live?”

“LA.”

“Is she married?”

“No. She lives alone.”

“Have you met her?”

“Yes.”

“What is she like?”

“Different from your mother,” he said, choosing his words with care. “Quiet. Kind.”

Angel felt a flutter of nervous energy. “Well, I can’t just… barge in on her. What if she’s not home? What if she… doesn’t want me?”

He looked guilty. “She wants you. In her letter, she offered to put you in her extra room while you went to one of the local colleges. I didn’t think-” He broke off, swearing in Spanish. “I didn’t know you were so miserable.”

Her breath hitched painfully. “Oh, Papa. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I have her address in my truck.” He studied her in a way that made her sad and happy at the same time. “It is better if you go now.”

She knew what he meant. If she went back home first, Yoli would cry and cling to her legs and make it twice as difficult for her to leave. Her gaze skipped over to Dylan, who was watching her face, awaiting her decision.

“Yes,” she said, a strange lightness spreading through her chest. “I will go.”

Luke threw Garrett into the back of his squad car and got behind the wheel. “Trujillo,” he barked into the receiver as he pulled out of the driveway, tires squealing.

“Deputy Trujillo here, over.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

“On my way to back you up. Where the fuck are you, sir? Over.”

Luke met Garrett’s glowering visage through the rearview mirror. “Where does Betty live?” he asked, hitting the lights.

“Arroyo Drive,” he mumbled. “Number 331.”

Luke quickly entered it in the navigation system and turned his attention back to the CB. “Go to the Bighorn,” he told Clay. “I want you to pick up Shay.” When this request was met with silence, Luke realized he was ordering an officer who didn’t work for him to pick up his girlfriend at a cafe. “She might be in danger,” he added belatedly. “Over and out.”

A few minutes later, Clay communicated with him again. “The cafe is empty, Sheriff. No one here. And no answer at Shay’s house. Over.”

He swore offline, raking a hand through his hair. Betty lived on the outskirts of town, and although he was driving fast, he was still several miles away. “Meet me at 331 Arroyo Drive. And call for more backup. We have another lion situation.”

Signing off, he focused on the road in front of him, pressing down hard on the gas and taking the corners at a speed that was borderline suicidal. Garrett, handcuffed and unsecured in the backseat, went flying, slamming his head against the door.

Luke didn’t slow down.

After what seemed like an eternity, he was there, pulling into the driveway beside a new-model gray pickup, noting the custom bed-liner and a passel of dead rabbits as he drew Garrett’s revolver and exited the vehicle.

Somewhere close by, a lion roared, sending a hard chill down his spine. Abandoning stealth, Luke started flat- out running, both hands on his weapon and his eyes sharp. He went around the back of the house, drawn to the light, and was met with the goriest, most frightening scene he’d ever witnessed.

Two women lay in a pool of blood in the middle of a chain-link enclosure, like slave warriors in a gladiator arena. One was facedown, the same way Yesenia Montes had been, her lifeless arms flung out by her sides. The