Racing The Beast (Dirt Track Dogs #2) (2 page)

It was happening again. The stupid fucking dream that she could never run away from no matter how many years had passed since the… incident. Being stuck in this goddamn hospital didn’t help things. It just brought it all rushing back like it was yesterday.

She’d spent eight weeks in one of these beds after a fucking piece of shit decided to beat her to a pulp and use her battered body to get off. Eight weeks recovering physically. A lifetime recovering mentally.

It would never be over. She knew this. But there were times when the nightmare didn’t come. Long stretches of existence where she wasn’t reminded that there were genuine assholes in the world.

But today…

The dream was always an out of body experience, which she used to be thankful for. But now, she recognized it was just as horrible to watch yourself get beaten and raped as it was for you to actually experience it. She knew because she’d done it. Not only in her dreams, but in that wonderful video footage that sent her attacker to prison.

Although it was the single hardest thing she’d done in her life, watching it had gone a long ways to helping her heal. Finding out the fucker had been shivved in prison had taken her even farther.

She closed her eyes to the scene before her, but that was the thing, it never helped. She could see it whether her virtual dream eyes were closed or not. That’s how dreams worked, the fuckers. Things that should be real weren’t and things that shouldn’t be, were.

Punk blinked again, still in the throes of the nightmare. Tears streamed down her face and she shook at the horror she was forced to witness once again. It would be over soon. She just had to endure it a little longer.

But bet your ass she wasn’t going to do it with her eyes open. Even if it didn’t mute the scene before her, at least she wasn’t a willing participant in this dream. She’d squeeze her eyes closed as long as she needed to.

She crossed her arms around her middle, holding herself because no one else could. Even if there was someone around, she wouldn’t let them touch her. She didn’t want anything like that ever again.

Punk shivered. They were getting to the worst of it. Shit, if she could knock herself the fuck out she’d do it. Whatever it took to escape.

Contemplating new ways to make the dream stop, she was thrown a curveball when everything went black. Like she’d been tossed into a soundless pictureless void, she heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing.

Except for a light pressure against her cheek. It was so tender it hurt. A vicious sob ripped past her throat but there was nobody there to hear it. Not even her. She could feel it, but there was no sound.

She kept deathly still, praying to the God her Nana always talked about, that the darkness would stay.
Please
,
please
, she begged silently.

The pressure moved to the corner of her eye where her stitches were. The darkness touched her so softly. Almost like she was revered. Like she was special. A treasure. The idea soothed the wounds inside her heart, but it also hurt. It threatened to crash through the steel wall she’d constructed around her emotions. The one she’d so carefully built through sheer will to live without fear. The darkness made her want to run headlong into it without any thought to how it could hurt her.

But would it hurt her? It touched her so gently. And smelled like home. Not her apartment, but Nana’s house. Like lemongrass and pine needles.

Punk felt herself relaxing. Her muscles eased, letting go of their hold on her bones. She breathed easier. Her forehead unfurled which gave her stitches some relief. She was eerily comfortable. Maybe more than she had been in years.

She drew in a long shuddering breath and released it slowly, silently thanking whatever caused this reprieve.

She blinked once more, and saw light. Horrified, she squeezed her eyes closed again. But this light wasn’t part of her dream, she realized. It wasn’t the dimness of a dark alley. It was bright, fluorescent. And there was the faint beeping of machines. She knew what this was.

Peeking through her lashes, she made sure her hunch was correct.

Yep. She was awake in her hospital room. With the yellow curtain and the horrible blue gown and…

A brown paper gift bag sat on the long over-the-bed table.

That hadn’t been there before she’d conked out.

Her gaze flew around the room, but no one was there. And Annie and Ella wouldn’t have chosen that hideous bag if they’d wanted to leave her a gift. Annie’s would’ve had flowers and hearts and shit. Ella’s would’ve been solid colored but ridiculously glittery.

Punk sat up, careful not to jostle the cast that ran from her ankle to just under her knee, and reached for the bag. Pulling out the contents, she was surprised to find her favorite snack. Mother’s Iced Oatmeal Cookies. She set the package on her lap and folded the bag, returning it to the table.

Who would bring her these?

Turning the package over, she noticed a yellow post-it note.
I’m
sorry
, was scrawled across the paper.

Punk squinted at the writing. They were from him. Beast. The one who’d put her here. The one who was responsible for the return of her nightmares.

She sighed, leaning her head back against her pillow.

It wasn’t
really
his fault. He hadn’t done anything wrong. The wreck was caused by another driver and then the fence that was supposed to contain accidents came down. It wasn’t something he could’ve prevented, but she had no one else to blame.

Actually, that wasn’t true. She could blame Ella for dragging her to the tracks so much over the past year. She could blame herself for actually going in the first place. She could blame the damn person who put up the fence, or the other drivers, or…

Beast was just easy to blame because she didn’t know him. She didn’t know what kind of person he was or if he even cared that he’d landed her in the hospital. Except now she did. These cookies answered all those questions.

He was thoughtful otherwise he would’ve just sent her some generic flowers.

He was regretful even though it wasn’t his fault, otherwise he would’ve ignored her completely.

He was apologetic otherwise he would’ve left the cookies without an actual “I’m sorry”.

Yeah, okay. So Beast wasn’t the devil she’d pretended he was these last couple days. Didn’t make any of this easier to handle.

Ella and Annie said not to worry about things, but it was impossible. With the broken leg, Punk would be out of work for several weeks. She had rent to pay and Ella wasn’t there anymore to pay her part. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t be a problem. The tips from Red Cap paired with her simple living had always left her with extra money. But not enough to allow her a six to eight week vacation.

She ripped the package open and pulled out the first cookie, nibbling at the edge while she pondered her situation. It was easy on her stomach, which she needed after the nightmare.

Her phone buzzed making her jump. Shit, she had to chill the fuck out or everyone would know how shaken she was. And she couldn’t afford to appear weak. It was the first rule she’d learned in self-defense therapy so many years ago.

The weak are preyed upon. Appear strong whether you are or not. Take no shit. Be a motherfucking badass even if it distances you from people. But keep close the ones you can trust. They’ll be your lifeline in a crisis.

With Nana gone, that consisted of exactly two people: Annie and Ella. Still, she didn’t want them to know she was a mess right now.

She picked up the phone and saw a picture of Ella on the screen.

“Yeah,” she answered.

“Hey, it’s Ella.”

“Yeah, I know. This is 2015. Every phone has caller ID now.”

There was a slight pause. “Well, someone’s feeling sprite today.”

“
’Sprite’
? Are you fucking kidding me? Who under the age of eighty uses the word ‘sprite’ anymore unless they’re talking about the soda?”

Ella broke into laughter. True belly laughs pumped through the phone’s earpiece like they would never end. “Annie, that’s who,” Ella managed through giggles. “It’s her new favorite word. She says it sounds bright and cheery. I just wanted to be the first to say it to you so I could get that very reaction.”

Punk grinned in spite of herself. God, Annie was like, the girl everyone wanted to hug and squish and keep in their pockets. And it was because of things like “sprite” and the way she could cook a meal that made you feel like you were melting under the comfort of it.

If she didn’t get laid soon there’d be no hope for the woman.

“I’m sure she won’t even wonder when I don’t make a big deal about it later.” The smile remained on Punk’s face. She really loved her friends.

Ella sighed, coming down from her laughing fit. “I just called because I have some good news. Drake says there’s work in the garage you can do until your cast is off. Some organizational crap. I’m sure you’ll love it,” she said sarcastically. “He says the boys don’t have time so they were going to hire someone anyway. So… what do you think? You up for it?”

Punk threw her head back, staring at the ceiling. She knew good and well they’d all come up with this to help her out. And she fucking appreciated it. She just didn’t want to be a burden.

But that was the second rule she’d learned during self-defense.
Depend on the people around you for help. Alert them to your problem. Many times, it’s a stranger who’s dialed 911 that saves the day.

“Yeah, I’m up for it. Or I will be once they free me from this prison of tubes and machines and bandages.”

“Which should be very soon,” Ella assured her. She would know since she was a nurse before she’d moved to Cedar Valley.

“They said maybe tomorrow.”

“Great. I’ll tell Drake to get your room ready and then someone will come pick you up when they unshackle you.”

Punk blinked twice trying to make sense of Ella’s words, but finally she had to ask.

“What do you mean get my room ready?”

“Well, you’ll be staying here in the big house of course.”

Yeah. Of course.

“You can’t stay in your apartment. Can you imagine crutching up and down those stairs day and night for six weeks?”

Shit. She hadn’t even thought of that. And she had another oh-my-god moment when Ella’s words really sunk in. She wouldn’t be able to drive. Not with this cast on her leg.

Son of a bitch.

“Punk? You there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Mother of fuck, Ella. I’m screwed. I can’t drive. My house isn’t handicap friendly.
And
I can’t work. What am I going to do?”

“Hang on.” She heard some muffled scratching and then a door close. “Listen, okay. First, you’re going to breathe. Then you’re going to let your friends help you. You’re going to ask for a ride when you need one and you’re going to stay here where there is a whole crew of people ready to wait on you hand and foot. Trust me, Punk, they’re dying to help you. They feel responsible for all this.”

“All of them?”

“Yes, all of them. They do everything as a group including feeling guilty.”

“God, this just keeps getting worse. None of them owe me anything.”

“They’ll never give up until they feel like they’ve done right by you. Trust me. This is a good group of guys. You might as well just indulge them.”

Punk sighed. She was only doing this because Ella said it was okay. She
did
trust her. Ella wouldn’t let any harm come to her. And also… Punk could take down a grown man even with the fucking cast on. She knew all the crucial places to hit ‘em.

“I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Of course you do. If you really want, I’ll move back in with you for a few weeks. But fair warning, you’ll be seeing more than you want to of Drake. And you’ll still have to manage the stairs.”

“Dog Boy? You mean he’d sleep over or something?”

“Yep. And since I was on the couch when I lived with you…”

“Ew. Stop. I can’t handle the thought.”

Ella laughed.

“Okay, okay.” Punk shivered. “I’ll stay at the club for a while. As long as you’re sure they don’t mind.”

“Nope. They insisted.”

“Fine.”

The line was quiet for a few breaths before Ella spoke again. “Hey, did Beast make it over there today?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I dunno. I’ve been worried about him. Drake says he’s not himself lately. I thought once he talked to you and saw that you were okay, he’d feel better.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly talk. He came while I was sleeping and left some cookies.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. But he got the right cookies. That was nice. He really shouldn’t feel bad. None of them should. I’ll tell them when I see them. Would that help?”

“Yeah. I think it would.”

“Fine. Done deal.”

When she hung up with Ella, she finished off half of the cookies and watched some reruns of Gilmore Girls. When she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore, she let herself drift to sleep, hoping there wouldn’t be any nightmares.