Chapter 19 Miles
Miles
I slide the duffel bag across the table. The heavy thud it makes against the wood echoes through the garage like a heartbeat I can’t shut up. Victor doesn’t even flinch. He just leans back in his chair, cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke coiling upward into the naked bulb light.
“From today’s run,” I say.
He doesn’t move to count it. Just nods once. “Good. Sales are holding?”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “With exams coming up, the Adderall’s moving fast. Kids don’t even blink at the price.”
Victor grins, the kind of grin that makes my skin crawl. “See? You’ve got a good head for business. Just like your old man.”
I hate when he says that.
He taps ash into an empty beer can, squints at me. “Why the rush, huh? You look like you’re about to sprint outta here.”
I shove my hands in my jacket pockets. “It’s… today. Jamie’s mom. The anniversary. They’re doing something at The Crest.”
For a second, Victor’s face softens. It’s rare. “Ah. Right. I forgot it was around this time.” He takes a long drag, exhales slow. “She was a good woman. Too good for that family.”
I nod. I don’t trust myself to speak.
The Crest always closes early on this day. They put out candles, her favorite song list plays low through the speakers, and everyone pretends it’s not a wake disguised as a celebration. Jamie drinks too much whiskey and laughs too loud, and I stay close enough to make sure he doesn’t start a fight.
Victor reaches for another beer, pops the cap with the edge of his ring. “Before you run off, I might need you to do a little job for me.”
My stomach curls tight. “What kind of job?”
He smirks. “Babysitting.”
That word again. Babysitting never means what it sounds like.
I force a laugh. “Who am I supposed to babysit?”
“You remember Marano?”
I blink, then shake my head automatically until the memory slams into me like a punch. Vince Marano. The accountant. The hammer. The blood. Rico’s laughter echoing off the walls.
Yeah, I remember.
I swallow down the bile. “What about him?”
Victor takes a lazy sip of his beer. “You remember I said he was skimming off me? Well, I found out who he was working with. Took a bit of digging, but rats always leave trails.”
My mouth feels dry. “And?”
Victor’s eyes glint like glass under the light. “Turns out, the bastard had someone helping him on the outside. Matthew Ashford.”
My spine goes cold.
“Beat Matthew up in the pen to loosen his tongue,” Victor continues. “So the coward pulled some strings to get himself transferred to another prison. Figures, right? But that doesn’t mean I’m done. I want leverage. You remember the daughter, yeah?”
For a second, everything in me stops.
I shouldn’t ask. I already know, but the words slip out anyway. “Who are we talking about?”
Victor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, spits onto the floor. “The girl you kidnapped. The red car.”
The room tilts. I see her face again—blindfolded, shaking, whispering prayers she thought we couldn’t hear.
Chloe.
He keeps talking, oblivious. “Seems Ashford only responds to fear. So we’re going to remind him what that feels like. Word is the girl is at your university now. You’re going to keep tabs on her. Patterns, classes, friends, all of it. Bring me something useful.”
I nod automatically, every muscle locked. “Yeah. I’ll find out what I can.”
“Good man.” He claps my shoulder, heavy and final. “You always come through, Miles. Don’t make me regret trusting you.”
I mumble something, turn, and leave before I lose the ability to walk straight.
Outside, the air’s cold enough to sting. I slide into the driver’s seat and just sit there, gripping the wheel until my knuckles ache.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
The world’s spinning, and I can’t tell if it’s from panic or guilt.
Chloe.
Of all the people—
I start the car, slam my foot on the gas. The tires shriek against the pavement.
The drive to The Crest is a blur of headlights and static. I keep seeing her face. Her laugh. I shouldn’t have gone near her. Should’ve left her the hell alone.
By the time I pull up behind the bar, it’s almost empty except for a few of the regulars standing out back, smoking. The lights inside are dimmer than usual. The kind of night where grief hangs thick, but nobody talks about it.
I spot Jamie near the bar, sleeves rolled up, hands dusted with glass polish. He looks up when he hears me come in.
“Miles.” His tone’s clipped. Not cold, just guarded. “Didn’t think you’d show.”
“Yeah, well. Tradition, right?”
He grunts. “You drinking?”
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
He shrugs, pours himself another shot, downs it. “Suit yourself.”
For a few minutes, neither of us says anything. Just the low hum of the jukebox and the sound of ice clinking in glasses.
Finally, I say, “We need to talk.”
Jamie looks at me. “About what?”
I hesitate. For days, we’ve both danced around the same ghost. Chloe.
And there’s no avoiding it now.
“It’s about Chloe,” I say.
His expression tightens instantly. “What about her?”
I rub a hand over my face. “My uncle’s planning something. He wants me to… keep tabs on her.”
Jamie freezes, shot glass halfway to his lips. “You’re shitting me.”
“I wish I was.”
He slams the glass down hard. “Does he know who she is to us?”
“No. And he can’t. If he finds out—”
“—then she’s dead.”
I nod, throat tight.
Jamie starts pacing. “So what’s your plan, huh? You gonna spy on her and pretend it’s nothing? You think that’s gonna end well?”
“I don’t know what else to do,” I snap. “If I tell her, she’ll find out everything. About me. About the kidnapping. About what I do for Victor.”
“Yeah,” he grumbles.
I take a breath, stare down at my hands. “I can stall. Buy time. Figure something out before Victor gets too close.”
Jamie drags a hand through his hair. “You’re playing with fire, man.”
“Yeah.” I look up at him. “But what choice do we have?”
He doesn’t respond right away. Just looks at me like he’s trying to see if I’m the same guy he grew up with or if I’ve finally crossed some invisible line neither of us can come back from.
Finally, he says, “You better be damn sure you can control this.”
“I’ll handle it.”
He snorts. “You always say that.”
The air between us crackles with everything we’re not saying—the fights, the girls, the blood, the things we can’t ever tell anyone else.
Jamie turns away, pouring himself another drink. “For what it’s worth,” he mutters, “I think you actually care about her.”
“I do,” I admit quietly. “That’s the problem.”
He nods, jaw set. “Then you’d better find a way to protect her.”
The Crest’s lights blur in my rearview mirror as I pull out of the lot. I can still hear the echo of the laughter, the toast to Jamie’s mom, the clink of glasses. That kind of warmth doesn’t belong to me anymore. Not after what my uncle just dropped in my lap.
Chloe.
Her name’s been clawing at the inside of my skull since I left Victor’s. My hands shake on the steering wheel. The idea that he wants to use her again—no. I can’t let that happen. But I also can’t tip my hand, not without him realizing where my loyalties actually lie.
So I drive to the only place I think I can get answers.
By the time I park at the sorority house, it’s late enough that most lights are off. My heart’s a drumline in my chest. I knock. Hard. A second later, Maggie opens the door in a hoodie, chewing gum like she’s bored out of her mind. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
“Miles Thatcher,” she says, voice sharp enough to cut. “Didn’t think you’d dare show your face here.”
“I need to talk to Chloe.”
She leans against the doorframe, folding her arms. “The nerve you have.”
“I’m serious, Maggie.”
“You’re too late. She doesn’t live here anymore.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean she doesn’t live here anymore?”
“Exactly what I said.” She grins like she’s enjoying this. “You can try Bella if you want the full sob story. She’s upstairs.”
I step inside without waiting for an invitation. Maggie mutters something behind me, but I don’t care. The place smells like cheap perfume, coffee, and like a hundred secrets jammed into four walls.
Bella’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone. When she looks up, she freezes, then smirks.
“Well, if it isn’t Miles Thatcher,” she says. “What the hell do you want?”
“I need to talk to you. About Chloe.”
Her expression tightens. “Why the hell do you care so much about her?”
Because she’s in danger, I want to say. Because the people circling her now make every mistake I’ve ever made look like child’s play. But I can’t say any of that. So I do what I’m good at. I lie through my teeth.
“Because I don’t want her to wreck the team dynamic,” I say evenly. “She’s skipping practice. She’s tanking morale. You don’t need that. Neither do I.”
Bella’s eyes narrow. “Funny. Really funny. Sounds like bullshit, Miles.”
I take a step closer. “Listen, Bella. She was just a fling. I got bored.” The words burn coming out, but I keep my tone flat. “You know how it goes.”
Her gaze flicks to my mouth. “Do I?”
I take advantage of the silence, closing the space between us. My voice drops low, conspiratorial. “Be easy on her. Keep her close. It’s better that way. You don’t want her out there starting rumors about the team.”
Bella studies me for a long beat, suspicion warring with vanity. “You think I’m that easy to convince?”
I let a crooked smile lift one corner of my mouth. “No. I think you’re smart enough to see what’s good for both of us.”
Her phone slips from her hand. The tension between us thickens—part challenge, part invitation. I lean in, letting my breath ghost her ear.
“Trust me, Bella,” I whisper. “You’ll want to play nice.”
She laughs under her breath, low and breathless, her eyes gleaming with that mix of challenge and heat I know too well. It’s the same look she gave me the first time, back when everything felt like a game we could both win. But tonight, it’s different. Tonight, I’m playing her—for Chloe’s sake.