Chapter 3 #2
Stone Fell is another territory; a place Dad doesn’t like me to go. It’s not unsafe for civilians; it’s unsafe if you’re a Leary.
The Hollows is in a part of Stone Fell that’s pretty desolate, although I’ve heard rumors about those hills. It’s a place with a lot of land and I imagine if you had a lot of money, it would suit a drug lord just fine.
But I don’t know who it is.
I’m not really far in.
I’m not even sure why Dad warns me away from the place. He says it’s on someone else’s territory, in terms of dealing, but all of that is beyond me.
I bag the product and give it to the lower dealers and I show up at the motel to reup the supplies and I do a lot of midnight runs to rich houses, slipping coke and pills under doormats for their overnight deliveries.
But I don’t know enough. Not yet, despite what my dad showed me over the summer.
My stomach rolls and I force the box to close. If I spiral in the woods, I won’t make it back to the house.
And I have to make it back, because Jeremy is counting on me for sunrise at the marina.
I help him out with maintenance and lawn care and machinery when I’ve done all the work I need to for the week, and besides, runs are at night anyway.
I don’t necessarily need all these jobs, but I can’t be bored.
If I’m bored, I get destructive.
And no one wants me to be destructive.
But it’s not only boredom that can eat at me.
I think of anger, the girl I made cry, the moment I swore I wouldn’t drag another woman into my mess ever again.
Stop.
I need to focus on this text and not the woman and how she reminded me of another one I’m doing my best to forget.
I frown in the dark and recount all the deals I’ve made over the last few weeks.
Too many to count, really. I scored an entirely new customer base in a gated subdivision half an hour from here because my dad introduced me to the CEO who lives on the street.
I have a boss I have to report to, Franklin, but he’s got one too, and on and on.
Yet they all know Hawthorn Leary and even though the only similarities between our businesses are that they’re illegal, the paternal connection still works in my favor when it comes to earning respect.
To say my bank account is looking healthy is an understatement.
And there’s the new drug my chemist, Grey, is working on, but it hasn’t gone out yet because I sampled it last week and nearly lost my fucking mind.
Ever since, I’ve been more edgy and paranoid, my fingers too twitchy, and I can’t seem to keep my hand off my gun or my mind off the summer night in the hotel with Dad and the other man.
No, everything else I’ve dealt with has been pretty standard, and I don’t cheat people of their money and I don’t put my nose where it doesn’t belong. I recently acquired a warehouse but those operations are normal. For my world, anyway.
Fuck it.
I decide to bite the bait. The person called me “Wolf.” They know enough already.
How’s that?
I send the text at the exact moment I hear the snap of a branch at my back.
Tense, I grit my teeth, push my phone in the pocket of my pants, and reach for the gun I rarely ever go without now tucked into the back of my waistband as I turn.
It’s hard to see much at all in the thick of the woods; better luck looking straight up with the light from the stars, but the noise was from a few feet level with me.
I curl my finger light as a feather on the trigger as my pulse ticks heavy in my head.
I blink a few times to clear my vision and help my eyes adjust to the darkness which seems heavier from this vantage point.
There’s nothing.
Nothing I can see, anyway
No need for all that. My dad’s voice in my head, and it’s exactly what the man who has enough ammunition to power a small country’s army would say to me.
But ever since the maroon hotel room…
Bile churns at the back of my throat.
I don’t need therapy and I don’t need help and I know everyone would say otherwise but all I need is to keep. Fucking. Moving.
It was probably an animal, and I should’ve known that in the first place. I’m in the middle of the woods for fuck’s sake.
But the tension and the fear and the nausea, they don’t leave easily.
I press the back of my hand to my temple, gun still clenched between my fingers.
Have I ever thought about pulling the trigger this close to my head?
Yeah.
But I’m a coward.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I exhale through my nose and lower the gun, then grab my phone with my free hand.
Unknown
Are you scared?
I glance around the woods. I don’t like this, but I’ve got the gun and this person has a fucking phone.
Terrified.
Seconds later, they text me back.
Unknown
Good boy.
I narrow my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek. Who the fuck?
I debate if I should keep this up. It seems like a waste of my time. I stare at my screen and just as I decide I’m not going to entertain bullshit, another text pops up from someone else.
It’s Sloane Estelle Stevens. The only reason I know her middle name is thanks to Remi; Sloane would never tell me herself.
As peppy as she is, she doesn’t let you know too much about her.
She’s secretive in a way that’s hard to define.
I knew her in high school but only in that we went to the same school and she was a cheerleader while I pretended to give a fuck about being on the football team.
Otherwise, Sloane is the sunset, and I’m still chasing the rays.
We’ve never even kissed even though I’ve thought about fucking her way too many times. And it’s weird, because I’ve slept with Remi twice and I’m not sure Sloane knows about both times, but then again, she’s never asked, so here we are.
Sloane
What are you doing this weekend?
I almost laugh out loud. It’s past midnight, Saturday crawled into Sunday, and this feels like a hookup text, but Sloane doesn’t do that with me.
Maybe she’s drunk and she thinks she’s texting her last lay.
But thinking of her in a corrupted way is hard in my mind.
She’s like sunshine. Soft and warm and gorgeous. She would be a nice place to land.
Are you drunk?
I ask it jokingly, but something twists in my gut after I send the text.
She can do whatever she wants of course.
But she’s precious. I don’t want anyone to ruin her even as she fucks around.
Not like I ruined it with Remi. Me and Cortland both, and Chase and Brinklin too, but one of them is dead now and the other knows he fucked up.
My screen brightens and my heart races but when I look down, I see it’s not Sloane who texted me back.
It’s the unknown number.
Unknown
Sloane Stevens, huh?
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I cast my eyes around the woods, then spin around, gun still in one hand.
Fuck this.
I call the number, pressing the phone to my ear.
But it only rings, and rings, and fucking rings.
It doesn’t go to voicemail, on account of it being full.
I jerk the phone away from my ear and watch as Sloane replies to me.
Sloane
Are YOU drunk, Stormy?
I roll my eyes but it doesn’t abate my fear.
Should I go to her apartment?
She moved into a place by herself since Remi moved out last December. So she’s alone if she’s not out. And someone knows about her. Knows right now, I’m texting her.
I don’t even know how the fuck that’s possible but I know better than to question it. Nothing in tech is ever secure. It’s the first rule of the work I do.
I call Sloane instead of texting her back.
She answers on the second ring, and I can tell from her voice she’s at least tipsy. “You called me,” she says, a laugh in her words.
I turn in the woods, eyes darting around every corner, but it’s hard to see anything at all. “Surprise, surprise,” I deadpan. “Are you home?”
“You wanna come over?” she asks me, giggling a little. There’s a hiccup at the end of the question.
I close my eyes tight and don’t let her innocence affect me. I will not fuck up her life. “So you are home.”
“Yes, Stormy.” She laughs again.
I smile despite myself. “Is your door locked?”
“Why? Do you want to come through it?”
This fucking girl. “Answer me, Sloane. Is it locked?” I speak each word coldly, enunciating every single one.
There’s a pause, like she knows this is serious. Then she says, “Yes, of course.” And there’s no breathless giggle or slurred intonation.
“Good. Don’t open it for anyone.”
Then I hang up.
I text the unknown number back.
If you come after her, your spine is going through your fucking heart.
“Have fun playing in the woods again all by yourself?” Cortland asks me as we sit side by side on the couch in the living room.
Remi and Lyle are sleeping upstairs and I put on a horror movie out of habit.
It’s Remi’s favorite genre and I blank out when I watch anything.
I never pay attention, which is a secret neither of my housemates seem to have caught onto.
It’s like scrolling through your phone but better.
No rush of dopamine. Just sitting and staring off into space but it looks like I’m doing something normal.
I blink at Cort’s question and see on screen a man with a butcher knife lurking in the doorway of a black and orange lit house. So long as it’s not a hotel room, I’m good.
No problems here.
“Did you wanna come, Cort, baby?” I ask him, my voice sweet.
He laughs and I see the pillow he threw at me right before it can hit my face. I reach out and grab it with one hand and draw it in toward my lap, curling my fingers in the plush orange velvet. Remi’s doing; velvet pillows didn’t exist in this house until she moved in.
“Nah,” he answers me. “I’ve had enough of your weird games to last me a lifetime.” Before he can get anything else out, he stifles a yawn with the back of his hand.
I glance at him as eerie music starts to play from the butcher knife movie, a crescendo of piano and organs. The instrument, not the…you know.