The Runaway

Hollie Overton

Digital Galley Edition

This is uncorrected advance content collected for your reviewing convenience. Please check with publisher or refer to the finished product whenever you are excerpting or quoting in a review.

By Hollie Overton

Baby Doll

The Walls

The Runaway

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Author photograph by Heather Overton

Cover design by Lisa Marie Pompilio

Cover images by Arcangel and Shutterstock

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First Edition: August 2019

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Overton, Hollie, author.

Title: The runaway / Hollie Overton.

Description: First Edition. | New York, NY : Redhook Books/Orbit, 2019.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019002121 (print) | LCCN 2019005005 (ebook) | ISBN
9780316482233 (Ebook) | ISBN 9780316482240 (Ebook Library Edition) | ISBN

9780316482257 (trade pbk.)

Subjects: | GSAFD: Suspense fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3615.V4745 (ebook) | LCC PS3615.V4745 R86 2019 (print) |
DDC 813/.6—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019002121

ISBNs: 978-0-316-48225-7 (paperback), 978-0-316-48223-3 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

LSC-C

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

COVER

DISCLAIMER

BY HOLLIE OVERTON

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

ASH

BECCA

ASH

BECCA

ASH

BECCA

ASH

BECCA

ASH

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

MEET THE AUTHOR

A PREVIEW OF THE WALLS

Dedication TK

ASH

The delicately inked tattoo was a work of art, that’s what sixteen-year-old Ash thought as she gazed down at her forearm, watching as the final needle strokes were completed. This wasn’t Ash’s first tattoo, she had four others, but this one, with its lifelike image of a human eye, an elaborate sword piercing through it, was special.

“Now you’re one of us,” her boyfriend Nate said, smiling at her, his blue-gray eyes sparkling. She watched as Nate’s family huddled around, inspecting Vic’s work. Ash had always been an outsider, afraid to get close to people. Nate had changed all of that.

Leslie, the sweet-faced seventeen-year-old from Padre Island with dimples and streaks of purple through her brown hair, smiled and high-fived Ash.

“Nate’s right. You’re so badass. You didn’t even flinch,” she said approvingly, holding her wrist up to show off her matching tattoo. Ash smiled back at her, watching as Leslie flitted away toward the center of camp.

Kelsey and Andrea, the hipster couple from Portland, weren’t the chatty types, but even they seemed pleased, patting Ash on the back before they moved away. Eli, the youngest of the group at fifteen, giggled, pushing his platinum-blond hair out of his eyes as he held up his own forearm to Ash to reveal his matching tattoo, like he was a superhero and they were activating their powers. “It’s awesome, Ash. We’re lucky to have you here.”

“Thanks, E,” Ash said, squeezing his hand. He blushed, and hurried over to the center of camp.

“That kid’s got it bad,” Nate said teasingly.

Ash shrugged, offering up an exaggerated hair flip. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

Nate laughed. “Agreed.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. A groan interrupted the moment. Until now Vic, the family’s resident tattoo artist, had been silent, but he was shaking his head, a mock look of disgust. “Can we cool it with the PDAs? Mo’s here with dinner and I’m about to lose my appetite,” he said as he carefully packed his needles into a small black bag.

Ash laughed. Nineteen-year-old Vic was the most serious of the group. At first, Ash had found him a bit unnerving. He was a mountain of a man at six foot five, with arms the size of tree trunks, and his entire face was covered in tattoos, not an inch to spare. The others had warned her it would be impossible to win Vic over, but Ash always loved a challenge.

“Sorry, Vic. Can’t stop. Won’t stop,” Ash said, planting another kiss on Nate, who laughed. Vic rolled his eyes, but Ash clocked the hint of a smile. She was finally making progress.

“Hey, Vic, mind giving me and my girl a few minutes alone?” Nate asked.

Vic nodded, glancing down once more at his handiwork. “It really is amazing,” Ash replied.

This time she got an honest-to-goodness smile as Vic shuffled away to join the others. Mo, the family’s matriarch, had arrived and was handing out sandwiches. She offered Ash a friendly wave. Ash waved back. “The food is here, and I know you’re hungry.” Nate was always hungry. “We should join the others,” she said.

“Let them wait,” Nate said, staring at back at her with those worshipful eyes. Sometimes his intensity made Ash uneasy, as though she weren’t quite worthy of his devotion. He pulled Ash closer, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. The folding camp chair sagged under their weight. She didn’t care. She loved being here in his arms, watching as the sun disappeared into the horizon, light bouncing off the downtown city skyline.

Moments like this, Ash could almost forget where she was. Then a rat the size of a housecat would scurry by in search of food, or a junkie would let out a blood-curdling scream, or a sharp pungent odor would invade her nose and Ash would be reminded that none of this was normal. Nate was homeless, living here on the streets of Skid Row. They all lived here, Leslie, Eli, Vic, Mo, and the others, joining thousands of homeless men, women, and children. They called themselves the Tribe, a makeshift family that looked after one another. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but Ash was glad he’d found people to look out for him. Nate deserved that.

“You’re too quiet. What’s going on up there?” Nate asked, his finger lightly tapping her temple.

“Just thinking about us,” she said with a kiss. Her phone buzzed, the familiar text alert. It was her foster mother. Got stuck on a case. Running late. You order the pizza. I’ll pick it up. Home by eight thirty. Xoxo

Ash’s eyes flitted back to her newly inked tattoo. She was so caught up in the moment, everyone cheering her on and encouraging her to get the tattoo, that she hadn’t thought about Becca. Not her smartest move. Her foster mother was going to be pissed.

Ash blamed Nate. He made her careless. All the promises she’d given to Becca, her probation officer—even her therapist—went out the window once he came along. When she wasn’t hanging out with him, she was thinking about when she could see him again.

Not wanting Becca to worry, Ash quickly responded. Can’t wait. I’m starving. Hope you had a good day. See ya soon. She hit send, and turned back to Nate. “I have to go,” Ash said softly.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“No. She would worry.” Ash wound her arms around Nate’s neck. “You could always come with me.”

His entire body tensed. “I can’t and you know it,” he said.

Ash couldn’t hide her annoyance. “Are you serious? Jesus, Nate, I’ve been sneaking around for three months. Lying to Becca about us for three months.”

Nate’s carefree demeanor vanished, his grip loosening on her. “Please don’t do this, Ash. Not now. Not tonight.”

That’s what he always said. Not now. Not tonight. This isn’t a good time. Don’t ruin it.

“All I’m asking is for you to come to dinner, so Becca knows you exist. One night. That’s all.”

“Then what? She welcomes me with open arms, no questions asked? Nothing about how we met? Where we met? No questions about my parents? Or where I live and go to school?”

They’d had this discussion before. Ash understood Nate’s concern. He was a minor—as were many of the others. If Becca found out they were living on the streets, she would be legally obligated to report it.

“I’ll run interference. Keep the interrogation to a minimum. I’m good at that,” Ash said, trying to keep her voice light.

Nate wasn’t having it. His hands were clenched tightly into fists. “I can’t do it, Ash. It’s not just me. I can’t put the family at risk.”

Ash stepped away from him, pushing her dark hair out of her face. What about what Ash was risking? “So I do all of this lying and sneaking around behind Becca’s back. I even get this damn tattoo for you…”

“For me? I didn’t force you to do anything. You said it was cool. You said it would bring us closer together,” Nate said, frustration clouding his face.

Ash sighed. “I know, and I wanted to do it. I just don’t understand why you can’t do this for me,” Ash said. She hated how weak and needy she sounded.

“And I don’t understand why you want to screw up what we have,” Nate said, his voice rising.

“You okay, Ash?” Ash turned to see Eli eyeing Nate warily. He’d puffed his chest out as though he was attempting to make himself larger. A surge of appreciation flooded through her.

“We’re fine, Eli,” Nate snapped before Ash could speak.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Eli said, not backing down. Ash was surprised. Eli looked up to Nate, always following him around, asking him to teach him a new chord on his guitar. He was such a sweet kid. Crush or no crush, she appreciated his support. But she could handle Nate.

“I’m fine, E. Go finish your food. We’ll be over in a minute.” Eli hesitated. He didn’t leave, standing his ground.

“Jesus, Eli, give us some fucking space,” Nate shouted. He flinched just as Mo appeared.

“Okay, what is going on here and how can we resolve it?” she asked. Mo was the oldest of the Tribe, mid-forties, with ruddy sunburnt skin, and gray-streaked brownish hair that she always wore in a ponytail with a tie-dyed scarf. She was regarding them curiously, as though they were some kind of sociological experiment she was documenting.

Eli startled, eyes cast downward. “Nothing, Mo. It’s nothing,” Eli said as he hurried away. Nate didn’t say a word, staring down at his scuffed sneakers. As far as Nate and the others were concerned, Mo could do no wrong. Ash wasn’t so sure. There was something about Mo’s excessive cheerfulness, always wearing this slightly off-kilter smile. She reminded Ash of a puppet she once saw at the local library, the puppet master pulling its strings tighter and tighter until it was impossible to distinguish a smile from a grimace. Mo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Relationships are complicated. I understand and value that. I’m happy to offer some insight if you’d like.”

Ash wasn’t sure why this rubbed her the wrong way. It wasn’t like Mo had made such great life choices. “What I’d like is to talk to Nate in private,” Ash said.

Ash saw Nate flinch, but Mo didn’t react at all, her smile unwavering. “Didn’t mean to intrude. If either of you change your mind and need my counsel, you know where to find me.”

Mo slipped away, leaving Ash alone with Nate. He kept his voice low, speaking through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing, “How could you talk to her like that? You know what Mo means to me. What she’s done for me.”

“You know what Becca means to me. What she’s done for me. You just don’t care.”

Nate didn’t speak. A long, awkward silence lingered. The last thing Ash wanted was to pick a fight. There was a simple solution to all of this. She reached out, taking Nate’s hand in hers, keeping her voice low. “Mo and the others don’t need to know. I won’t say a word. Just say you’ll come to dinner.” She stared at him with pleading eyes. Come with me. Come with me.

He shook free from her. “Damn it, Ash, I said no. Don’t ask me again,” Nate snapped.

This time he was practically shouting. Stunned, Ash took a step back. She turned and saw the others, now eyeing her with suspicion, all their goodwill seeming to vanish.

“Guess you better get back to your family,” she said. She turned and headed down the street, expecting Nate to follow after her, begging her to come back. He didn’t. It wasn’t until Ash rounded the corner that tears began to fall. She glanced down at her arm, a stinging sensation setting in, as if the tattoo were suddenly mocking her. All of Ash’s excitement, that sense of belonging and closeness, vanished. She wasn’t Nate’s and she certainly wasn’t one of them. Not even close.

ASH

An hour later, Ash unlocked the door and slipped inside the elaborate two-story Silver Lake craftsman, lovingly remodeled and filled with handmade furnishings, and hundreds of scented candles. After the grit and grime of Skid Row, being back in this well-lit, perfectly maintained home was a jolt to the system.

Freud, Becca’s raucous pit bull mix, burst into the hall, barking loudly, his tail wagging furiously, demanding to be petted. Ash bent down and hugged Freud tightly, allowing him to lick her face, his tail thumping loudly in excitement. She knew things were bad when even Freud’s presence wasn’t enough to cheer her up. “Come on, buddy. I’ve gotta clean up.”

She hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, and peered into the mirror, her eyes bloodshot, cheeks tearstained. She splashed cold water over her face, grabbed her concealer, and went to work. The last thing she wanted was for Becca to start asking questions She eyed her phone, willing Nate to call or text. All she wanted was for him to say he was sorry and that they’d figure things out together. She wanted to know there was some kind of plan.

Downstairs, Freud began furiously barking, signaling Becca’s arrival. Ash couldn’t think about Nate now. She had to survive this dinner. She caught sight of the tattoo in the mirror, bright red and raw, and quickly reached for her favorite oversized Dodgers hoodie. She would have to explain the tattoo eventually, but she didn’t have the energy. Definitely not tonight.

The Runaway

Digital Galley Edition

Copyright

CONTENTS

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