Sinful Ella (Seven Ways to Sin 6)

I left Demi with a promise to keep in touch, and hurried back to the garage. By the time I arrived, I was breathing hard and sweating profusely.

“Have the others come yet?” I asked the first mechanic I found. He looked at me like I was crazy.

“Others?” he asked.

“My bandmates? We were getting our van fixed here,” I explained. “Is it finished?”

“Ah,” the mechanic said, nodding his recognition. “Yeah, we finished that one up early this morning.” He gave me a pitying look. “Were you supposed to be on it?”

My heart began to beat a frantic rhythm. “What do you mean?” I asked. “Isn’t it here?”

“I mean a tall chick, a short girl, and a biker chick took off in it an hour ago,” he said. My heart sank.

“They left without me?” I repeated, numb.

The mechanic patted my arm awkwardly. “Is there anyone I can call for you?” he asked. “Someone who can come pick you up?”

Briefly, I considered letting this kind stranger call my dad. I imagined the conversation: his trying to refrain himself from telling me I told you so when I told him my bandmates had left me stranded in the city with no way of getting home. I shook my head.

“Thank you,” I said. “But maybe I can catch up with them. I know where they’re going.” I hesitated. “Can you give me directions to the nearest bus station?” I asked.

The mechanic hesitated. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You seem upset. I have a daughter about your age, and I know that if she were in your shoes, I’d want someone to tell her to call me.”

“I’m sure,” I assured him, touched by his concern. “I’ll be okay.”

The man seemed doubtful, but he gave me directions to the Greyhound station. “Just be careful, okay?” he said. “You seem like a nice girl, and there are lots of people out there who aren’t so nice.”

For a moment, he sounded and looked so much like my own father that I nearly burst into tears. Instead, I smiled, thanked him, and started off on my way.

18

Grant

I had never thought I’d spend a Sunday morning wandering from sex shop to sex shop, displaying a single dominatrix boot to every clerk I met. My vague hope was that someone would recognize them, remember who had bought them, and maybe—just maybe—if she had said where she was going next. I knew her band was on its first big tour; if I had to, I would drive up and down the East Coast looking for her.

But first, I wouldn’t rest until I had searched every sex shop in DC.

As I passed a monument to some long-dead general, I felt the first drops of rain on my cheeks, and I ducked into the next sex shop just as the sky opened up in a torrential downpour.

I looked around, heart sinking even further. This place was just tacky; Ella would never shop here. Still . . . those mannequins were dressed almost exactly like the dresses worn by the other girls in Ella’s band. I might still be on the right path.

The girl behind the counter, who had pink hair, a nose ring, and a bored expression, didn’t look up as I approached her. “Excuse me,” I said. She went on reading her magazine. “Excuse me,” I said again, louder this time.

Finally, she looked up, annoyed. “Yes?” she said. “Can I help you?” Her words were polite, but her tone told me to fuck off.

“So sorry to disturb you,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I promise not to take up too much of your time. I was wondering if you could tell me if these boots were purchased here.” I held up one of Ella’s boots.

The pink-haired girl barely glanced at it. “Nope,” she said, turning back to her magazine.

“Are you sure?” I pressed. “Maybe you can take a closer look?”

“I don’t need to take a closer look, mister,” the girl said, lips pursed. “We don’t sell anything like that here. Look around you; if it isn’t made of plastic and/or shaped like a giant dick, we don’t sell it.”

Disappointment slammed into me. When I had seen those dresses, I had hoped that maybe, just maybe . . .

I tried another tack. “Maybe you’ve seen the girl I’m looking for. She’s about so tall,” I indicated to my shoulder, “dark hair, big blue eyes?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Nope.”

This was hopeless, like trying to interrogate a brick wall. Only worse, because a brick wall didn’t act like you were the most annoying person they’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. Sighing, I turned to the door to leave.

Before I could reach for the handle, it opened, and Darren walked in.

“There you are,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”