Chapter 23 #2
I picked the lock on the back door with no real effort—a skill I had taught myself after the fifth time Marcus had locked me out of the house for speaking back to him—and slipped inside.
The place reeked like an ashtray, cigarette smoke mingling with the sour smell of dirty socks and old booze.
My stomach turned. A wave of my hand did nothing.
The stench still clung to me like the grime coating every surface.
An empty beer can crunched under my boot as I moved through the living room.
It was barely furnished, like Snake had filled it with yard sale rejects just to tick a box.
A stained couch with flattened cushions sat in the corner, piled with motorcycle magazines, the pictures barely visible through the dust that had accumulated. I almost felt sorry for them.
A calendar on the wall caught my eye, a timestamp from when Snake had last occupied the place. June had now turned into September.
I moved into the kitchen, a grimy scene with dirty dishes abandoned on the drying rack.
Another thick layer of dust had settled onto them as well—a death sentence to cleanliness.
Cobwebs clung to the corners of the window, their silky threads trapping the blackened specks of long-dead insects.
My hip bumped the edge of the fridge, and it rattled noisily, the outside of the door covered in rust and old takeout menus.
Cicadas hummed outside, a warning to the darkness that was ascending.
I rummaged through Snake’s cluttered desk, my fingers trembling as I rifled through unopened envelopes and junk mail.
A crumpled receipt caught my eye—a phone number scrawled on the back in Snake’s messy handwriting, with the name Jenkins scribbled above it.
My heart raced. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I had yesterday.
I yanked my phone from my back pocket and snapped a quick photo, shoving the receipt back into the drawer.
The sound of motorcycle engines rumbled in the distance, growing louder with each panicked second. Damn it. Talk about timing.
I’d barely even scratched the surface of the vile shit I knew Snake was hiding. And if I didn’t find something tonight, Rowan’s shooting would be just another thread in the tapestry of this town’s web of corruption.
But I was no good to anyone dead.
My hands fumbled with the drawer. I shoved it closed, heart slamming against my ribs, knocking over a lamp that wobbled like a child on the verge of a tantrum .
The bikes cut off outside. Footsteps crunched on gravel.
Shit. No time left.
I raced for the back door just as my phone vibrated in my hand. Scout’s name lit up the screen.
I answered in a harsh whisper. “What?”
“Sadie,” he whispered back. “Get your arse out of there now. Nicky’s here. Fuck.”
Nicky? I’d heard stories about him, none of them good. And there I was, playing chicken with the psychopath.
“I’m coming,” I muttered, already easing the back door closed. “Don’t have an aneurysm.” My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out Scout’s mumbling on the other end.
I ended the call and shoved my phone in my pocket, slipping out into the dark.
Overgrown weeds clawed at my ankles like tiny skeletal fingers as I crept along the side of the house. The air hummed with the cooling of early evening, soaked with the smell of petrol and smoke.
Voices drifted from the driveway. My entire body locked up, and I pressed myself against the siding, powdery white dust flaking off onto my black shirt.
A gravelly laugh sent a chill down my spine. Another man’s voice joined in, unfamiliar, but just as menacing.
I inched towards the corner, heart racing, knees about to give way. I pulled out my phone again, steadying my shaking hands as I peered around the edge of the house.
Nicky and a burly man with a shaved head stood by a sleek black Harley, their heads bent close in conversation as the dim porch light flickered overhead.
I snapped several quick photos, praying the shutter sound wouldn’t give me away.
I shouldn’t have dragged Scout into this. But it was too late to turn back now.
Adrenaline surged through me as I crept backwards, each step like a drumbeat in my ears. Once I was out of view, I darted across the overgrown yard, my breath coming in quick gasps as I tore down the street to where Scout waited by my car, practically bouncing out of his skin.
The only light came from a flickering porch bulb two houses down, casting the street in long, ghost-like shadows.
The relief on his face was almost too much for me to bear, and when he grabbed me and pulled me against his chest, my emotions almost brought me to my knees.
“Jesus, Sadie,” he said through gritted teeth, “I thought you were done for.”
“Not yet,” I said through panted breaths as I squeezed him like I never wanted to let him go.
Scout let out a long exhale. “Just so you know, I like yellow daisies.” I pulled back enough to look up at him, and he shrugged. “For my funeral after Rowan kills me.”
I didn’t deserve his trust. But I needed it more than oxygen.
“What the hell are you smiling about?” Jasmine said from behind the bar, her smirk barely hidden as she expertly polished a glass until it sparkled.
She never missed a damn thing, especially with me.
I stifled my grin, pressing my lips together, but it was a failed attempt to hide from her.
Jasmine’s knack for reading people was uncanny, almost as if she possessed some kind of sixth sense.
It had been a while since a smile felt this real.
Not something I wore to keep people comfortable—just mine.
The reasons for letting my guard down were numerous.
Snake was locked up where he should have been, hopefully suffocating under the weight of his misery.
I was also pretty sure Scout hadn’t rattled me out, based on the fact Rowan hadn’t hightailed it back to Barrenridge just to rip me a new one.
If anything, our connection was starting to feel less like a charade and more like something real. At least to me.
I stared at Rowan’s last text message. He’d sent it as he was leaving Sydney about an hour before.
Rowan: On my way, Firefly. Hope you’ve been behaving.
I shook my head and slipped my phone into my handbag, attempting to hide from her curiosity. “None of your business.” My voice gave me away—too light, too playful to pass as casual.
The old Sadie was clawing her way to the surface, no longer drowning in guilt and never-ending grief. Sometimes, just the simple act of looking at Rowan was enough to quiet the storm inside my head.
In all the wrong that surrounded this town, having people I loved back in my life was just . . . right. The home I’d abandoned years ago was now growing roots again.
Jasmine arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into the same teasing smile she used to wear whenever Rowan had strutted around shirtless, mowing the yard like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I couldn’t hide the way my cheeks flushed back then. Nothing had changed.
“Oh, yeah?” she said, filling the glass with ice and coke and sliding it over to me. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain tall, dark and handsome VP, now would it?”
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe.” I traced the condensation on the glass, pretending his voice wasn’t still echoing in my head from this morning .
Jasmine rolled her eyes dramatically. “God, Sades. You’ve got it bad, girl.”
I pointed a finger at her, as if to deflect her words. “It’s not like that.” The words felt thin, even to me. “It’s just pretend.”
I didn’t tell her how he looked at me this morning. Or how I still felt it, hours later, like a fingerprint pressed to my skin.
Or maybe I’d made it all up again. Just like I used to when I was sixteen and didn’t know the difference between real love and wishful thinking. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d let my mind weave fantasies about Rowan Knight that had no basis in reality.
A sigh slipped out before I could stop it and my shoulders sagged under the weight of my uncertainty. That’s all it was supposed to be. Pretend.
But pretend wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Not when it lingered.
I dropped my chin onto my palm, my elbow firmly pressed against the sticky, worn surface of the bar.
Jasmine’s rose-scented perfume mingled with the citrus cleaner clinging to the old wood as it tried to mask decades of spilt booze and poor decisions.
The dim lighting cast shadows over the rows of liquor bottles on the shelf behind Jasmine.
Even my reflection in the mirror seemed to mock me—a warning that I was falling too hard, too fast, and I was about to hit the jagged bottom.
Rowan was due back any moment, and I couldn’t fight the bundle of nerves twisting in my stomach at seeing him again.
The number I’d found earlier in Snake’s house might have meant something.
I wasn’t going to explain to Rowan how I’d acquired it, though.
I’d leave that little piece of information for the snails to devour.
Besides, if he so much as got a whiff of the lengths I’d gone to—what I’d convinced Scout to do—I was going to be buried under those yellow daisies Scout loved so much. And Scout right there beside me.
A shadow fell over me, the chill creeping in like the mist on a winter’s morning—quiet, invasive, and impossible to ignore. Jasmine’s hand stilled on the beer bottle mid-pour, eyes locking on the person standing beside me. Her mouth twitched like she wanted to speak but thought better of it.
A cold sweat broke out, my heart galloping. Even the low hum of conversation behind me died, like the room sensed exactly the predator who had entered.
For one split second, my vision faded to black, the hole I’d been digging myself out of, caving in at the edges. It had me scrambling for solid ground.