Chapter 20
THE MOST DANGEROUS DRUG
NATE
The wrench slips, screeching off the exhaust manifold — a sharp metal-on-metal scream that drills straight into my skull.
“Fuck.”
Pain bites into my knuckles. I shake out my hand, jaw tight, blood buzzing ugly under my skin. The Mustang stares back at me, hood up like it’s fucking smirking — one more thing I can’t fix.
My phone buzzes against the concrete floor where I left it. Nick's name flashes across the screen.
"Yeah?" I answer, not bothering to wipe the grease off my fingers first.
"They suspended Danny." Nick's voice comes through tight, clipped.
I straighten up, and suddenly the carburetor doesn't seem so important.
"What the fuck for?"
"What he said, that he was 'overstepping boundaries' with South side reports." There's venom in Nick's voice, the kind that comes when someone's trying real hard not to put their fist through something. "Bullshit bureaucrats speak for getting too close to the truth."
The wrench feels heavy in my hand. I set it down on the workbench, my fingers leaving dark smudges on the metal.
"Did he find something else out?"
"Danny's been trying to track digital footprints—bank transfers that don't match property values, shell companies buying up South side lots through automated bidding systems. Plus surveillance footage from before the fires that shows the same van at multiple sites.
" Nick pauses, and I can hear him moving around, probably pacing.
"Someone's using GPS coordinates to systematically target these families. "
My chest tightens. The corruption runs deeper than we thought—deeper than just my father's dirty money and campaign promises. It's in the system, wrapped around the town like a disease.
"Danny thinks it goes higher than just Scott," Nick continues. "It's a pretty fucked up web."
I lean against the workbench, my knuckles white where I'm gripping the edge.
"What's Danny going to do now?"
"He's going underground. I mean if they suspended him for asking questions, imagine what they'll do when we find actual answers that could put these guys away for good."
The garage suddenly feels smaller, the walls pressing in.
This isn't just about exposing Scott anymore. This is about something bigger, something that's been festering in this town for years. And now we're all caught in its fucked up web.
"There's more," Nick says, and somehow I know I don't want to hear it.
"Serious?"
"They're getting desperate, Nate. The extremes they're going to, to make things look like accidents, it's getting out of hand. People are going to get hurt or die if they’re not already."
"Adrian sent me files this morning," I tell him, running my free hand through my hair. "I had a quick look, but I don't think it's enough."
"What kind of files?"
"Financial records, mostly. Some communication logs. It's damning, but..." I trail off, staring at the oil stains on the concrete floor.
"Nate, I know you don’t want to hear this but I think Jake's involvement is deeper than he knows and I hate to say it, but I think he’s the key to uncovering what all of this really is."
“Even if I wanted to get Jake involved, there’s no way he’d out Scott. Not after the spell he’s got him under.”
“Maybe if you showed him everything we have, he might—”
“Nick, where I can, I really want to keep Jake out of this. At least until we have solid proof that can’t be overlooked.”
“Okay.” Nick’s voice is filled with understanding rather than disappointment. He’d probably do the same if it was his brother in this position.
Movement catches my eye through the open garage door. Nora's walking up the driveway, but something's off. Even from this distance, I can see it in the way she's hugging her arms to herself, and something cold settles in my gut.
"Hey, I have to go but I'll call you later."
I hang up before he can respond, shoving the phone into my back pocket.
Nora reaches the garage entrance and leans against the Mustang's fender, but she doesn't look at me.
The scent of her perfume mixes with motor oil and gasoline, and for a second I forget how to breathe properly.
That's when I know something's really wrong.
I grab a rag from the workbench and start wiping the oil off my hands, watching her face.
"You okay?"
She finally meets my eyes, and there's something raw there, something that makes my chest tighten. Her eyes are glassy, like she's been fighting back tears, and I want to put my fist through the fucking wall.
"I just saw Jake."
Of course.
"What did he say?"
"It's not what he said." She shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself. "It's what I saw in him. There's so much hatred, Nate. I've never seen anything like it before."
"He's trying to prove himself."
"To who?"
"To someone who doesn't give a shit about him." I can’t even say it’s harsh, because it's the truth.
Nora's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the Mustang's paint job. She’s the only person who’s allowed to do that. I watch those fingers, remembering how they feel against my skin, and my mouth goes dry.
"How did things get so fucked up?"
Despite everything, I almost smile.
"Uhh, have you met my family?"
That gets a small laugh out of her, but it doesn't reach her eyes. The sound is hollow, brittle, and it makes something ache deep in my chest. It's not how things got fucked up—it's how they were ever anything but fucked up.
It’s just that she's caught in it too now.
The guilt sits heavy in my throat, bitter and choking. I can't stand the distance between us anymore, the careful space she's keeping.
I move closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Close enough to see the way her pulse jumps at her throat when I step into her space.
She doesn't hesitate.
Her arms come up around my neck, and when she kisses me, it's soft, delicate.
Her lips taste like mint and something sweet, and I can feel the tremor in her hands where they grip the back of my neck.
She kisses me like I'm air and she's drowning, and fuck, maybe we both are.
Maybe we're both going under, and this is just us clinging to each other while we sink.
Like she's trying to drown out whatever she saw in Jake's face with the taste of my mouth.
But I can feel the desperation in it, the way she's holding on too tight.
I search her expression when she pulls away, looking for whatever's lurking beneath the surface. Her breathing is uneven, her cheeks flushed, and I want to kiss that worried line between her eyebrows until it disappears.
"We haven't really told anyone about..." She gestures between us, her cheeks flushing pink.
That pulls a real laugh out of me.
“Ollie’s caught me sneaking out of your room twice. Pretty sure the secret’s dead.”
Her hands fly to her face, covering her embarrassment, and something warm spreads through my chest. But then she peeks at me through her fingers, and there's this shy smile hiding there—soft and genuine and completely fucking devastating.
For a second, everything else fades away.
Because when she smiles at me like that, I can actually let myself believe that maybe the world isn't completely fucked. Maybe there's something pure left in it, something good and untainted, and it's right here in front of me with messy hair and oil smudges on her shirt from where I touched her.
She's this perfect contradiction—tough enough to handle my family's bullshit but soft enough to blush when I catch her sneaking glances at me.
Beautiful in a way that’s fucking blinding, like looking directly at the sun.
I pull her hands away from her face, holding them against my chest where my heart's beating too fast. Her fingers are small and warm, and I can feel her pulse fluttering against my thumbs where I'm stroking her wrists.
"If you don't want people to know we—"
She cuts me off with another kiss, this one softer but no less urgent.
I can taste the desperation on her tongue, feel the way she melts against me like she's trying to crawl inside my skin.
My hands find her waist, and suddenly I'm lifting her up, her legs wrapping around me as I press her back against the Mustang's warm metal.
The metal is sun-heated against my palms where I brace her, and she gasps at the contact, the sound shooting straight through me like lightning.
My fucking heart stammers in my chest.
This, her, it's addicting.
Every kiss, every touch, every breath she takes against my neck—it's all rewiring something fundamental in my brain. Making me forget about corrupt cops and missing files and the fact that my family's at war with itself.
There's only this: her fingers in my hair, her mouth on mine, the way she makes these small sounds that drive me completely insane. The way she arches into me, the soft catch in her breathing, the heat of her skin through her shirt—it's overwhelming and not nearly enough all at once.
But reality creeps back in. I'm covered in grease and motor oil, and this garage—with its concrete floors and tool-stained workbenches—isn't where I want this to happen.
I pull back, breathing hard.
"I'm dirty. And this isn't the place where I want to do this with you."
She looks at me with this expression I've never seen before—bold and knowing and a little bit dangerous. Her pupils are dilated, her lips swollen from my mouth, and there's something fierce and wild in her eyes that makes my blood run hot.
"I don't mind getting a little dirty."
I stare at her, genuinely confused. "Where is Leni and what have you done with her?"
She laughs, but there's steel underneath it.
"I'm not a kid anymore, Nate. You don't have to be so delicate with me." Her chin tilts up, defiant. "I'm tough."
"I know you are," I say, and I mean it. "Believe me, I know."
"Besides," she says, her voice dropping to something that makes the heat pool low in my stomach, her fingers trailing down my chest, leaving trails of fire through my shirt, "I kinda really like you dirty."
She bites her lower lip, and I watch, transfixed, as her tongue darts out to soothe the spot.
When she leans in, her breath hot against my ear, I can smell her shampoo mixed with the faint scent of her skin, and it's intoxicating.
"You, covered in motor oil and grease. It’s annoyingly hot."
When she kisses my jaw, then moves to my neck, I feel whatever control I had left start to slip away. Her mouth is warm and soft and fuck, the things she's doing with her tongue—
"Upstairs," I manage, my voice coming out rough. "Now."
I grab her hand and pull her toward the house, my heart hammering against my ribs. Her fingers are small and warm in mine, and she's practically vibrating with nervous energy.
Every few steps, she tugs me back, pressing quick kisses to my jaw, my neck, anywhere she can reach, and by the time we hit the stairs, I'm ready to lose my fucking mind.
I lead her the rest of the way upstairs, our footsteps soft on the wooden floor. She's breathing hard behind me, and I can hear the little catch in each exhale that tells me she wants this as much as I do.
When I turn to look at her at the top of the stairs, her eyes are dark with want.
Guess I’m really fucked now then, huh?
Because the most dangerous drug I know has green eyes and a heartbeat.
And I'm completely, utterly fucking addicted.