Ruthless Love (Ash and Innocence 1)

Without asking, Tristan lifted me out of the chair. Cassian turned and reached for me, like he was expecting Tristan to hand me up to him. Instead, Tristan walked up to the back of the truck bed and stepped his way up with an impressive combination of balance and strength.

All the swaying around made my head spin, but not so much that I couldn’t see Cassian eying him. Tristan set me in a sitting position and then hopped back down to get my chair, which he loaded up with us.

Tristan sat uncomfortably close to me while Cassian sat across from us. My mom would’ve had a heart attack if she knew I was sitting unsecured in the back of a pickup truck that was flying down backcountry roads at night. She definitely would’ve died if she saw the boys I was riding with.

Despite everything, the thought made me grin a little. I could pretend, at least while nobody was talking. I tried to imagine this was normal—that the cold rush of wind in my hair and the silent thrill of a night out with the football guys was just how I rolled.

Except the metallic rattle of my wheelchair with every bump was like a screeching reminder that it was all a fantasy. That, and the fact that I was sitting beside Tristan, who might as well have been a black hole that sucked up any nearby happiness with ravenous hunger.

We pulled off the main road and drove up the switchbacks for a few minutes before Logan brought the truck to a stop. The gears of his vehicle groaned in protest when he shifted them into park. I briefly wondered how screwed we’d be if the old truck refused to start when it was time to go home.

Tristan helped me into my chair, but the way nobody was really talking had already started to make icy fingers prickle across my skin. It felt like something was going on, and I was the only one who wasn’t in on it.

The old jailhouse Tristan mentioned was a looming, dark square of a building in the middle of the woods. It must’ve been really old, and it looked ridiculously haunted.

A hundred questions popped into my head, but the silence of the entire group crunching their way through the forest while Tristan pushed my chair felt too oppressive. I didn’t want to be the one to break it.

They had to widen a hole in the fence that had been cut at some point to make room for my wheelchair but managed to squeeze me through.

Once we were inside the building, I felt minor relief to see that it looked like kids really did come here to party. There were some signs of recent activity—a few cups, some fast food wrappers, and an oddly expensive looking set of speakers and electronic gear.

I looked skeptically at the setup.

Logan was the first to talk. “Only people we trust know about this place. It’s kind of like the go-to party spot when nobody’s house is available. Cassian bought all this shit, anyway, so it’s not like he’ll care if it gets stolen.”

“I’ll happily fuck up anyone who tries,” Cassian said, sounding almost bored. Something about his violent indifference unsettled me, like he could seriously hurt someone and not even feel the slightest bit of remorse.

Tristan pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and then loud music burst from the speakers. He chucked his phone on a ratty leather sofa that looked like it had been dragged from a dumpster somewhere and brought here.

“Want a tour?” He asked, taking my chair and pushing me toward another room.

My eyes darted around. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. The two girls that had come watched Tristan go with sullen expressions, but quickly turned their attention to Logan and Cassian. Logan fished some cards out of his jacket and Cassian pulled a rotting floorboard up, revealing a secret stash of liquor.

“Cards sounds fun.” I looked toward the group of people, unable to help thinking how I’d probably be safer in a group than alone with Tristan, if that was his plan.

“Nah.” Tristan’s lips curled up slightly. “You’re not here for cards.”

“Why am I here?” I tried not to let too much fear spill into my voice.

“You’re here because I want to make sure you don’t forget.” He pushed my chair toward a row of old, rusted jail cells that shot off from the main room where the music was playing.

I tried to stop the wheels of my chair, but this time, Tristan was ready for it, and all I succeeded in doing was hurting my hands when I squeezed the unyielding rubber.

“Wait.” Desperation was creeping into my voice, no matter how hard I tried to shove it down.