The Lies We Steal (The Hollow Boys #1)

Chapter One When Darkness Calls You Home

Alistair

I a lways knew I was born with a ravenous appetite for violence.

Destined to be the black sheep of my family.

They should learn to warn others about the children that are left to cultivate with the absence of light. When you take away their luster, the darkness doesn’t just become a part of them, they become the darkness.

Power rippled through my arm as I felt this kid’s nose shatter. My knuckles dug into the flesh of his face chasing the only thing that could sustain my hunger.

Pain.

The tall, lanky moron who’d thought it would be a good idea to challenge me fell hard to the ground with a thud.

In official mixed martial arts you’re supposed to stop when your opponent falls that hard.

Fortunately for me, this is The Graveyard.

The abandoned racetrack on the outskirts of town, where kids gather from surrounding areas in search of trouble.

Illegal street racing, fights, drugs, and half naked girls.

It’s the Garden of Eden for rich kids. The grass in the middle of the cracked asphalt circle was where the fights took place, all the while engines roared and echoed seeing whose daddy bought machine would pass the finish line first.

The Graveyard is the place you come to get buried. Especially if you’re up against me.

I charge forward mounting him while pressing my knee so far into his gut I could feel his organs shift below me.

My agile fists, heaving punch after punch to his already inflamed face.

My breaths rush out methodically, each point of contact I let out another breath.

There are hands grabbing at my shoulders, clawing at me to stop.

I don’t care, it only makes my knee press harder. My fists bludgeon him mercilessly.

Why should I let up because he was stupid enough to step into this ring with me?

Seems like a personal problem.

My heart is thrashing inside my chest, the energy coursing through my veins like drums in my ears. It blends with the screams of the people around us, the revved engines, and the smell of oil.

Fuck, what I would give to feel like this every second of the day.

I deliver a right hook, watching as my ring imprints my initials onto the tender skin of his cheek, splitting it right open above the letters A.C.

A gush of searing blood splatters across my chest from his face.

A ferocious roar rips through me, the crimson liquid acting as gasoline to the flames inside my body.

It wasn’t the blood I wanted though. I wanted his agony.

I wanted to see him hurt. I wanted to know that he’d need to be carried to his car tonight, driven home and he’d probably crawl to his fucking bed.

Where he’d stay for the next week because the bruises I imprinted were too much to handle.

It made chills speed down my spine.

That’s my not so secret, secret.

I’m always, always angry.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Caldwell, let him up! That’s enough, man!” The voice rings between my ears, but I throw one last punch, before shrugging the eager hands off my skin.

The circle of people around us chant for the brutality that had just taken place.The inability to turn away from tragedy or disaster. All of them are the same as me on the inside, addicted to the cruelty. They’re just too afraid to admit it.

I hate cowards. And every goddamn person in this fucking town is one.

Monsters behind masks terrified of their neighbors seeing the skeletons they keep shoving into their closets. What they don’t know is you can’t keep anything a secret in Ponderosa Springs. Not for long.

I know that better than anyone.

Shades of red flash behind my eyes as I stand up, hot spit coming from my mouth and landing right next to his groaning body. He’s lucky he’s able to make noises, even more fortunate he isn’t dead.

Besides the blood on my chest, there isn’t a mark on my skin. Which almost makes me angrier. Nothing challenges me anymore. I clench my jaw, as I turn around, the mass of people parting like the Red Sea, leaving me an open pathway to exit.

“Money for the bets.” One of the older guys running this chaotic shit, presses crumpled up bills into my chest. I look down at it, then back at him.

“Keep it.” I grunt.

I didn’t need or want that money. He could do fuck all with it, I didn’t fight for cash. I fought because if I didn’t, I’d kill someone.

I quickly scoop up my leather jacket, shrugging it easily over my shoulders. My t-shirt was somewhere in the muddy grass and I didn’t feel the need to search for it.

My breathing begins to regulate as I make my way to my car. Even if the fight was bland, releasing even just a little of my fury would mean I could sleep tonight. With everything going on, sleep was not something I could afford to lose.

Music poured from my speakers as soon as I turned the key over. The sound heavy and exhilarating. My left-hand grips the wheel tightly, I can faintly see the white beneath my blood-soaked knuckles. They throb so hard that it almost feels good.

I quickly throw it into gear, ready to make the drive to my parents’ home.

Twenty-eight thousand square feet, nine main bedrooms, ten spares, seven bathrooms, twenty-six acres, and there still isn't enough space between myself and my family.

My grip tightens, I was supposed to be on a flight to the East Coast next month.

Putting an entire country between them and me.

Instead, I’m trapped here for another year at least, chasing a ghost.

Making a hard right I turn into our driveway. One that’s covered by towering trees, the paved road stopped momentarily by the large steal gate blocking the entrance. I click the button on my remote to automatically open them, pulling past them and into my family’s estate.

Pulling around the tacky marble fountain in front, I slide into my parking spot easily. None of the usual cars are here, meaning no one’s home. It wouldn’t matter anyway, even when they are here, I’m invisible to them.

I always have been.

Lightning cracks across the sky behind the house, lighting up the fog for a split second before thunder rattles the ground beneath my feet as I walk towards the door. The keypad glows under my touch, entering my passcode and stepping inside.

When my parents and brother are here, this house is shining with light. Its glow can be seen through the trees on the road. Extravagant parties, celebrating a clipped toenail, family dinners that I’m never invited to. But when they are gone, it’s just me and the dark.

My boots echo off the floor, step by step until I’m in the kitchen turning the faucet on. I run my swollen hands beneath the lukewarm water. The blood begins to flow down the drain, some of it anyway. There is some stuck between my fingers, already dried.

There shouldn’t be noise inside the house. It should be how it always is when I’m here.

Dead silence.

Except there isn’t. My ears twitch, picking up on the familiar click, followed by a whoosh at the lighting of the flint.

“Trying to scare me?” I say out loud, drying my hands slowly before I turn around.

I peer into the dark of the parlor room, Rook’s face illuminated by the single flame of his zippo as he flips it across his knuckles and through his fingers. I spot the single diamond strike match resting in his mouth, the scarlet tip peeping out of the side.

He’s leaning back in the leather beveled chair, arms resting on the sides as he stares at me through the dark.

“If I was, you wouldn’t have heard me.” He retorts.

I navigate myself into the chair across from him. Pulling the lamp string, illuminating the room in an amber glow. Just as I sink into the stale material, resting my arms on my knees, I hear footsteps approach behind me. I don’t bother looking over my shoulder.

“Thatch.” I greet, as I see his shadow walk past me, taking the seat to our left.

At six-four, Thatcher is the tallest one of the group. Not like he needs his size to scare anyone.

He slings one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee, “Get your rocks off battering some poor kid’s head in, Ali?”

I grind my teeth, the pompous asshole knew I hated being called that. Known that as long as we’ve been friends, but it wouldn’t be him if he wasn’t trying to get underneath someone’s skin.

You see, Thatcher’s veins were constantly pumping with ice water and mine were always boiling.

“You really wanna talk about what gets people off, Thatcher?” I raise one eyebrow at him, taking in his Armani suit. I’d learned to stop questioning his extravagant wardrobe a long time ago.

“I wouldn’t wanna give you nightmares.” He smirks, and I can’t help the matching one that appears on mine.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wanted to rip each of their heads off at some point. We knew how to push each others’ buttons. However, right now, I was reminded of how I’d kill anyone who’d try to do the same.

It’s why I’m willing to stay in this godforsaken town because one of our own had been scorned.

“Where is Silas?” I ask.

“Sleeping for the first time in, fuck I don’t even know.” Rook answers.

“Don’t be naive, Rook. Silas doesn’t sleep anymore. When he does, he sees her. We all know that.” Thatcher interjects, reminding us all why we are here in the first place.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes signaling that midnight has reached us. The weight of his words pilfers into the room. The wrath I’d just tried to release earlier, started to creep back up. I could feel the flames licking my heels, the copper taste in my mouth.

“Speaking of her.” Rook reaches forward, tossing a cream-colored folder onto the table in the middle of all of us. Perks of being the district attorney’s son.

I lean forward, grabbing it up, “You look inside yet?”

He shakes his head, “Wanted to wait until we were together.” Raising up a bit, he reaches into his back pocket grabbing the white pack of cigarettes. Pulling a single one out, raking a hand through his long brown hair.

“Mind?” He asks, referring to the smoke.