Willing to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Before her dad could chase her down.

But as she started the engine and clicked in her seat belt, he appeared outside her window.

And he looked like shit.

He’d always been handsome, had an easy, happy-go-lucky demeanor that attracted women like bees to honey, or moths to a flame, or, more realistically, like flies to raw meat.

But now, not so much. Lines that had once made his sharp features rugged in that Hollywood cowboy way had deepened to age him. Worry and regret had started turning his hair gray, and that easy smile that had turned so many heads? It now seemed forced, his eyes having lost their spark. He was shivering in the cold, his bomber-style jacket losing a battle with the January chill.

He now looked desperate.

Sad.

Afraid.

Well, too bad!

Her heartstrings tugged a little. They had once been close. He had once, she believed, adored her. And pain came from grieving for the daddy she’d lost and how deeply that man she’d trusted had betrayed her. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to trust him ever again. She would not, would not let him close to her. Not ever again.

He tapped on the window as she twisted on the ignition.

“Go away!” she yelled, her breath fogging in the Jeep’s cold interior as the engine turned over.

“Princess, don’t do this.” He was yelling. Other kids’ heads turned.

“Watch me!”

She pressed the window’s down button and as the glass lowered, she ground out, “I’m not your princess.”

“I just want to talk to you.”

“No!”

He leaned closer, his head coming through the window opening. “Don’t do this, Bianca. Don’t shut me out.”

She couldn’t believe him. “Are you serious? You expect me to talk to you after what you did? You almost got me killed! You planned to have me kidnapped! And now you’re upset that I’m shutting you out? Well, fuck that! I never want to see you again!”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. I really do. And you may as well know. The minute I turn eighteen? I’m changing my name to Bianca Santana!” With that, she slammed the gearshift into reverse and hit the gas. Lucky just managed to pull himself back before her tires squealed and she shot backward.

“Hey!” A sharp falsetto voice rang out as she nearly clipped Marv Pointer’s Toyota RAV4 and the kid himself. A skinny red-haired kid in a hooded ski jacket, he hopped out of her path. “Jesus, Pescoli! Just cuz you’re a cop’s kid doesn’t give you the right to mow me the fuck down!”

“Just get out of my way,” she ordered, ramming her Jeep into drive.

“Bitch!” Marv yelled.

“Hold on!” Lucky again. Well, she wasn’t holding on. No way. Especially not for him. She caught a glimpse of Marv hoisting his middle finger into the air. Fine, let him flip her off all he wanted. She didn’t care.

Fuming, she drove out of town, through the suburbs, along the ridge and into the countryside where snow covered wide fields before the road angled upward into the stands of fir and pine, needled branches bowed with the weight of the snow. Why the hell had her life turned upside down? First her mom got pregnant, which was just gross, then she married Santana, who Bianca had decided was a good guy, though at first she’d resisted her mother dating him. Then Little Tuck had been born. Bianca had been mortified by her mother’s pregnancy, then accepted it, but wasn’t convinced she needed a baby brother when she was told the news her mother was going to have a boy. Not that a baby sister would have been all that much better. But then once Tuck was born, she’d warmed to him . . . a lot. He was just such a happy, sweet little soul. So, yeah, he brought some joy into the house and Santana and her mother were over the moon. And Tuck’s arrival had taken a lot of the attention off her, given Bianca some freedom. So, Tucker Grayson Santana had been a benefit after all. Kind of a surprise, but an okay one.

Her father, however, was another story.

By the time she turned into the long drive, Bianca was calmer. She let her death-grip on the steering wheel relax a little. Her cell phone buzzed, but she ignored it as she was almost home. When she pulled into her parking spot at the side of the garage, she checked the screen and saw that her father had texted her again.

She growled low in her throat, then erased the text and ran up the front walk and into the house, where she heard Tucker’s gurgles and another voice, a girl’s she didn’t recognize, drifting down the stairwell.

Ivy.