His wife cries out like he’s just been beheaded and scrambles backward like I might attack her next while Will, the grill cook, steps between me and Austin. The shock on Austin’s face is so satisfying but it doesn’t tamp down my anger. I’m not the type to scream and rant. My rage is quiet and my voice is deathly calm when I tell him. “I know you did this. Get the fuck out.”
“I’m calling the police!” Bethany sobs, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her long blue jean skirt and retreating a few more steps. This woman is afraid of her own shadow. You could almost feel sorry for her since she was raised extremely sheltered, but she’s as hateful as they come.
Austin holds his hand up at her. “Don’t. I’m fine.”
“But you’re bleeding!”
Ignoring her, he swipes the rivulet of blood from his chin and glares at me. “That’s a serious accusation you’re making. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Bullshit.” The word escapes through my gritted teeth as I step around Will.
Austin starts to smile and winces a little. “You’ve had a hard time lately. I heard about your house and now this, so I’m willing to be charitable and forgiving. Apologize, and I won’t press charges for assault.” Even bleeding, he’s so smug, so sure he’s in control. The diner has never been so silent while everyone watches him take a step toward me again.
Some people just don’t learn the first time.
Before his foot touches the ground, I slam my fist into his nose. All my strength goes into the punch, along with all the anger and fear and despair I’ve felt since Mom died. No matter what happens, I’ll never forget the crunch under my knuckles and how good it felt.
“I said get the fuck out. Run and tattle to Daddy and Uncle Clay, you little bitch.” With that, I walk outside, sit on the curb, and wait to be arrested.
It’s freezing in here. The other time I was arrested was during the summer, and the cell was sweltering. This isn’t as bad as that. Unlike last time, I don’t bother Calli to come and bail me out since I already have a criminal lawyer on retainer because of the fire investigation. He thinks he can get me out on my own recognizance by tomorrow morning. I’m spending the night, but I don’t care. It was worth it.
There are three other women in here with me. A dour faced older woman sits on the corner bench, scowling at the gray floor. A redhead with an undercut and both arms full of tattoos lies on another bench, trailing her fingertips over a crack in the wall. The last one I recognize.
“Molly?”
A woman about my age lifts her head from where it’s been resting on her palm. “Hey, Silly.” I haven’t heard anyone use that nickname since I was a kid. Which makes sense considering we haven’t spoken since I was about fourteen.
I move over to sit beside her. “I didn’t know you wereback in town.” Molly moved away when her parents split up. She used to return to stay with her grandma in the summers and we often had sleepovers there.
“I was just visiting. Guess I didn’t leave fast enough,” she says with a giggle. She’s high on something judging by her tiny pupils and easy smile.
“What did they get you for?”
“Vicodin. At least I popped a couple when they pulled me over. It’ll make the night go easier. What are you here for?”
“I hit an entitled asshole in the face a couple of times.”
She blinks at me as if my words take a second to make it through, then bursts out laughing. “You haven’t changed a bit. Who did you hit?”
Sighing, I lay my head back against the wall. “Austin Matheson.”
The other two women instantly look my way and the redhead says, “The judge executive’s son?”
“That’s the prick, yeah.”
All eyes are on me now. They’re both quiet for a minute before the redhead exclaims, “Girl, they’re going to put you in a dungeon.” Her words crack me up in my tired state, and she grins at me. “What’s your name?”
“Silver.”
“I’m Kyla.” She comes over to sit near me and Molly.
“What are you here for?” I ask, stretching my legs out and leaning back against the wall.
“Weed possession. It’s boring. Tell us about whooping Austin’s ass.”
I realize the older woman is listening with interest as well. When our eyes meet, she nods. “I’m Abby.”
“Nice to meet you.” The words fall out automatically, but it feels like a strange thing to say in a jail cell. Nothing is nice here. “He’s mad that I won’t sell Lucky’s Diner to him. He tried siccing the health department on me but that didn’t work. Then someone vandalized the diner last night. Busted out windows, destroyed new equipment, and flooded the place. I can’t prove it was him, but I know it was. Then he had the audacity to come in and gloat over it.”
