Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Freya
A nother day of the same old shit—working until my body aches.
I just need some time to chill. By the time I start heading back home, my legs protest with a dull ache. I shake my head when I arrive at my trailer to find it unlocked. No wonder I never feel safe here. Mom always leaves the screen door open so anybody can just walk on in. I shut the door behind me, flicking the lock in place.
The trailer is dark and empty as usual. I check Alec’s room, but he’s not there, and his bed’s a mess with clothes scattered around the room. Since the party three nights ago, I haven’t heard a single word from him, even though he made a promise to talk about it the following day. He hasn’t read my texts, and when I messaged Amirah yesterday, she said she hadn’t seen him. I don’t usually trust Mia’s judgment, but maybe she’s actually right this time. The urge to take matters into my own hands is growing, and I’m almost ready to storm over the tracks and start searching for myself.
I shut the bathroom door behind me, strip down, and step into the shower. The cold water blasts me, and I’m out after a minute. It seems that we forgot to pay the bill for the hot water. Damn it.
The front door swings open and forcefully shuts. Peering through the bathroom door, I catch a glimpse of Mom stumbling in, donning a short denim skirt and a crop top. She throws her bag on the ground, its contents spilling out onto the floor, and promptly collapses onto the couch, succumbing to exhaustion. Shortly after, the sound of her soft snores fills the air. I sigh in relief—at least she’s home and safe. No matter what she puts us through, I’ll always love her and have hope for her.
I spend the next couple of hours lying on the couch beside her, reading one of the romance books Alec gave me from the thrift shop and trying to get tired enough to fall asleep. With my eyes growing heavy, a loud knock on the door breaks the silence. I turn to see my mother snoozing on the couch, mouth wide open. If this is one of her dealers, I’m going to scream. She’s finally sleeping after her bender, and she doesn’t need any more temptations banging on the door.
As quietly as I can, I make my way over to the door, slowly opening it to find a large figure towering over me. Hazen’s wearing loose-fitting black cargo pants with a plain white top. The colorful tattoos on his tanned skin add a striking contrast to his clothes.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask quietly, swallowing hard.
Is Alec okay? Did something happen to him? Is that why he’s here?
Hazen runs his thumb over his plump lips. His ocean-blue eyes run over my body, and I instantly regret not putting on any pants. My old, ripped 18 Hood T-shirt hangs just above my knees .
“Where’s—?”
“Shut up! Don’t wake my mom.” I point out the door. “Wait there a second.”
He walks into the dark night. I’m torn between telling him to fuck off and slamming the door, and wanting to know why he’s here and to find out if he’s heard from Alec.
Still, I haven’t heard from or seen Alec in the last two days, and now Hazen’s shown up at my door. It can’t be a coincidence. I need answers, and hopefully, he can give them to me. A chill slides down my spine. What if Mia was right?
Shit. I can’t let anything happen to my brother.
I put on some high-waisted black skinny jeans, squeeze into them, and tie my T-shirt in a knot above my belly button. I slip on my favorite pair of Nike kicks I got at a garage sale and head out, making sure Mom’s still out cold.
When she finally sleeps after a bender, she doesn’t come out of her coma for days, and when she wakes, they are the best days. When she finally regains consciousness, we get our mom back. She makes us dinner, talks about getting out of here, and sings, laughs, and smiles. But that only lasts a day before she gets that hungry look in her eyes, then she’s out finding her hit. That special gold liquid she calls the magic serum, making all her thoughts vanish. It’s a vicious cycle that I’ve learned to deal with over the years. One that I’ll be glad to set aflame when we get out of here. If we take away the temptation, she’ll be able to get help and we can move on. Be a happy family again. Like we once were.
Shutting the door softly behind me, I find Hazen leaning back against my trailer with a joint between his lips. With a flick of his lighter, his face is bathed in a warm, flickering glow.
“What do you want?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
Hazen’s mouth twitches at the corner, revealing a fleeting hint of emotion before transforming into a stern, firm line. He falls into silence, taking several seconds to inhale from the joint before extinguishing it against the sole of his shoe.
“I want to know where your brother is. Is he in there?” he asks, pointing to the trailer, and I frown. Hasn’t Alec been with them? A sickening sensation spreads through my stomach, and I can almost taste the remnants of the dinner I had threatening to resurface.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, raising my voice and moving closer to Hazen until he’s only a step away. “I was about to knock down your door and start asking questions since the last time I saw him, he was with you.”
Tilting his head to the side, Hazen’s dark-blue eyes bore into mine, filled with intensity. Something passes between us—my body responds, wanting to be closer to him, and I don’t understand. “Are you sure?” he asks, and I nod, licking my dry lips. “Well, your brother owes us a fucking lot of money. So you better find him.”
Where the fuck are you, Alec? I knew working for them was a bad idea. Fucking hell. I need to see him. If he isn’t with them, then he has to be somewhere here.
I turn around, the gravel crunching beneath my feet as I start walking through the trailer park. The dirt path leading to the quiet main road is illuminated by the lights from the trailers.
“Hey, wait!” Hazen calls from behind me, but I ignore him and keep going.
Old man Ronald from down the street storms out of his home, beer in one hand and a knife in the other. He raises his head toward me, and I nod in response. I quickly look back and see him watching Hazen with a mix of fear and anger. He doesn’t budge until we’re out of sight.
Hazen reaches me, the sound of his shoes scuffing the dirt.
“What are you doing?” I scowl.
“Stalking you. Trying to take you on a date,” he replies dryly, and I roll my eyes.
“Hilarious. Look, you can either help me find him or you can fuck off. Your call,” I say, darting my eyes around the park and taking in every detail. Hoping Alec just pops out of one of the trailers or out of the bushes.
Hazen laughs but doesn’t leave. He’s my shadow, following my every move. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a lot riding on your brother, so lead the way.”
The unsettling sensation in my stomach intensifies, threatening to overpower my every thought. Alec is fine. He is okay. He’ll be back soon. I repeat those words over and over until I start to believe them.
I’ll find him at one of the guys’ places or at a party. Then Alec and I can leave this fucking town with our mom, but without a “see you later.”
“When did you see Alec last?” I ask, climbing through the fence and out onto the road.
“That night at the masquerade party,” Hazen replies, falling into step beside me once again.
The wind whips my hair behind my back, and I try not to freak out. That was three nights ago, and I haven’t seen him since then either. Even though my brother prefers to be away from home when Mom is there, he never forgets to send me messages to let me know he’s doing okay. I’m sure he’s fine. He has to be. We are so close to getting out. He could have already skipped town and gone to college to settle in, but again, why wouldn’t he tell me?
I swallow hard, running my fingers through my hair. “He’s probably at one of the gatherings at Junction Street,” I say confidently. “You sure you want to come? I mean, it’s not really your scene. So you can run back over the tracks to your little safety net, and I’ll let you know when I find him,” I say with a smug look, and Hazen scoffs.
“Those little hood rats don’t scare me. They know their place. I’ve got a job to do, and I won’t be going home until it’s done.” He punctuates his statement with a grunt, pulling out another joint from his pants pocket. He offers it to me, but I shake my head.
We walk through the streets, the only sound being the soft shuffle of our footsteps. It’s quiet except for a few people walking by, giving Hazen suspicious looks like they always do when the elite are on our turf. It’s a sure sign of trouble. Guys like Hazen only come over here for business, to clean up, or to sort shit out. Never socially. They prefer to stick to their own, just like we do. It’s easier that way. Less complicated. We have the divide for a reason: to keep everyone in line, which keeps the peace.
I used to feel at home over in Daringville with them, but now I know this is where I belong. This is home. They abandoned us. Threw us over the tracks and never looked back. I’ll never forget what they did to us.
Turning down the familiar suburban street, the sight of abandoned houses, their windows covered in boards and graffiti, paints a picture of neglect and decay. There are still people squatting here because they had nowhere else to go when the rent got raised and they got evicted. The Brotherhood holds all the power. The divide was initially intended to grant us autonomy and our own set of rules, but as the years passed, the lines began to fade, resulting in their complete domination. We have the freedom to do whatever we want, but there is always a cost attached.
“Your precious Brotherhood did this,” I say, pointing at the empty buildings, and Hazen freezes in front of a red-brick home.
Before I can intervene, he defiantly pushes through the broken wire fence and ascends the steps.
“I did this,” he whispers, his voice barely reaching my ears.
I follow him through the fence, the rough metal scraping against my fingertips. He halts suddenly, and his eyes remain fixed on the house, a mix of guilt and shame etched across his features. His face turns pale as all color drains from it, and he shoves his hands into his pockets.
What did he do?