Chapter 1

Aro

I don’t know how I’ll die, but God, I hope it’s with a view.

The rafters above cross over my head, ascending higher and higher and only visible by the faint light of the moon streaming through the windows.

But as I stretch my eyes, trying to see deeper into the darkness up there, it just becomes a void. Invisible. Empty space. I can’t make out what’s beyond, and I almost like that better.

Mystery. Discovery.

Hope.

I spend too much time looking up. More so than ever now.

“I sent him!” Hugo yells into his phone. “You got a problem with that?”

I wince, dropping my eyes.

“Flaco got arrested,” he explains to a customer as I look over at him at his desk. “You got a new guy now.”

Nicholas and Axel sit off to the side, cutting lines on a small round table with a girl in the middle. Her hands clasp a beer can in her lap.

Not a girl.

A kid.

She tries to look older with the blue streaks in her white hair, but she can’t be more than thirteen.

A Metallica song covered in Spanish blasts over the speakers, but I still hear Hugo as he continues to gripe into the phone. “You know what the transiency rate is on runners? You think I got a damn secretary who can call and alert you every time one is replaced? You want the shit or not?”

I’m almost amused, but only because I like to see him stressed. It’s a pain in the ass for the delivery service as well as the customer. You text, and the last thing you want is someone you don’t know showing up at your house with the drugs you ordered. Hugo’s right, though. Runners come and go. They get arrested, deported, they O.D.…

Three guys line up behind me, waiting their turn as we stand in the repurposed fire house. The bay door behind me still works too, letting cars enter from time to time. It’s like a massive garage, but despite what goes on in this building, I like it. It’s old and still smells like the tires of the old fire engines they used to keep here.

I glance up once more, my body—for just a moment—way up there and looking down at all of this. From high above. Away. Safe. In the quiet.

I murmur to myself, “Tranquila.”

Peace.

But then someone speaks. “Come on, kid,” they say.

I look over, watching Axel hand the girl a severed straw and direct her to the coke on the table.

Every muscle in my body hardens, my legs immediately moving without thinking. I close the distance in two steps, grab the straw out of her hand, and shove her in the chest, pushing her dumbass back into her seat.

Axel and Nicholas rear back, looking up at me, but I’m talking before they have a chance. “What are you wasting blow on her for?” I snap.

Axel rolls his eyes, picking up another straw. “White kids got problems too, Aro.”

He plugs one side of his nose, sticking the straw into the other, and leans down. I turn away, but I hear his snort behind me.

Hugo tosses his phone onto his desk, turns down the music, and I step back up, my hands in the pockets of my black bomber jacket.

“How are you?” he asks, picking up his half-eaten hamburger and taking a bite. He washes it down with a swig of beer and rises, digging in the file cabinet behind him.

When I don’t answer, he turns to meet my eyes, my keys for the night jingling in his hand.

I stare at him.

He laughs under his breath, shaking his shaved head and I eye the scar on his eyebrow that he got from a fight when he was eighteen. He’d stitched himself up after downing half a bottle of tequila that night, and I looked up to him as a role model.

I don’t anymore.

“So rude to me,” he teases. “You used to love me.”

I was fifteen. It’s amazing how quickly someone can wise up.

He takes a seat and writes down my schedule on a slip of paper. “How are the kids doing?” he asks.

I remain silent, watching the table to my left out of the corner of my eye and making sure they don’t task me with driving the Falls girl to the hospital tonight. She needs to stay on her side of the river.

“Your foster mom staying out of your way?” he continues, folding the paper.

I hold out my hand for it, still not answering.

He pauses, staring up at me like he’s waiting for something. Like for me to smile and hang on his every word like I did when I was younger and stuck in the same foster home with him.

I shift my gaze over to Axel and Nicholas, brothers we met back in the day when were all placed together. They’re both lanky and tall, but Axel’s black hair is styled with a pompadour and shaved on the sides, helping to amplify his neck tattoos. Nicholas’s is trimmed but messy, still looking like the same kid I grew up with in a lot of ways.

The four of us have barely gone a day without working together or running into each other, but unlike me, they’re not still in contact with their real families and helping to support siblings. I have a family, just a mother who doesn’t want me.

Axel’s hand drops to the girl’s knee, and I narrow my eyes.

“Addresses are programmed in.” Hugo slips the paper and burner phone into my palm and then hands me the car keys. “Take the Cherokee. And as usual, you get twenty percent of whatever you come back with, and don’t…”

He grabs my wrist, and a gasp escapes from me as he squeezes it.

“Don’t come back empty-handed again,” he warns. “I can get her to do it for free.” He gestures to the kid sitting with Nicholas and Axel. “I keep you on because we’re family, but it’s getting harder to justify to Reeves that you’re not better for other work now.”

I clench my teeth together, yanking my wrist free and knowing exactly what he means by that. I’m eighteen now. If I want to keep making money, they may decide there’s only one way I can do that and collecting rent and running stolen merchandise isn’t it.

“That’s not what I want to see, Aro,” he tells me, his eyes softening, “but…” He hesitates, and I stuff the shit into my pocket, keeping the keys in my hand. “Maybe it’s better, you know? More money, a lot less risk…”

I shoot him a look.

“You’re going to get caught,” he states as if there’s no doubt. “It’s only a matter of time. And then, what happens to Matty and Bianca?”

I turn to leave, but he takes my arm, pulls off my hood, and yanks me in by the back of the neck.

I stiffen, but I don’t fight. I don’t fear him. Not him.

“He’s coming tonight,” he says.

I stare into his eyes, unfaltering, except for the tiny coil in my stomach.

“He wants an assortment of young and pretty.” His eyes don’t leave mine. “It’ll suck, and it won’t feel good, but it’ll keep you out of jail and you’ll have a wad of cash in your fist when it’s over.”

I would rather walk into oncoming traffic. I can get a wad of cash without taking off my clothes.

He lowers his voice, but I know the trio to my left is watching. “You don’t even have to smile for him. A él le gusta cuando a las chicas no les gusta.”

He likes it when the girls don’t like it.

“Let me go,” I say.

But I don’t wait for it. I whip out of his hold, pulling up the hood of the sweatshirt I wear underneath my jacket and spin around.

“Believe it or not, I do care about you,” he tells my back.

Yeah, cares about me enough to turn me out. Fuck you.

I reach over, grabbing a fistful of the girl’s purple and white tie-dye sweatshirt, and haul her ass out of her seat. Drinks topple as the table nearly falls over, saved only by Nicholas.

“Hey!” she yells, stumbling to my side.

“Aro, what the hell?” Axel barks.

But I ignore them, swinging us around and tossing Hugo a look. “I’m taking help.”

If Reeves is coming, then she’s leaving. I push her in front of me, following her out and not sure why I give a shit. I guess I wish someone had done the same for me years ago.

I push through the door, hearing Hugo shout behind me, “And stay away from those little Pirate shits!”

The steel door falls shut, and the kid spins around, but I grab her arm and pull her forward again before she has a chance to run.

“Let me go!” she yells, her white hair falling into her face, the blue chunks vibrant like she just redid them. Technically, she’s one of those little Pirate shits—a resident of Shelburne Falls, that clean, picturesque, All-American, CW lobotomy, seven miles away that loves to rub their money, cars, and Jared Trent in our faces, because he is their only bragging right, as far as I’m concerned.

But for some reason, they didn’t want this girl, so she came over here to Weston to find people who did. I shove her toward the Jeep. “Get in the goddamn car.”

I round the rear of the old navy-blue vehicle, the remnants of a My Kid Is an Honor Student at Charles A. Arthur Middle School bumper sticker hanging on for dear life on the bottom of the back windshield. Who knows how many owners ago that was, and I have no idea where Charles A. Arthur Middle School is.

I climb into the car and slam the door. “Tommy, right?” I ask. She’s only been hanging out at the garage for a few weeks, and we’ve never spoken until now.

She throws me a look but doesn’t answer.

I start the car. “So, what’s up, Tommy? You got a family to support? Drughead parents? Are you starving?”

“No.”

I shift the car into Drive and glance at her. “Are you abused at home?”

She turns her scowl on me, her eyebrows pinched together.

Yeah, didn’t think so. “Then you should keep your ass there,” I tell her. “It’s so easy to slum when you have the security of knowing you don’t really have to be here, isn’t it? You get to leave anytime. You’ll never be us.”

She grabs the handle, about to throw her shoulder into the door to scurry out, but I click the locks just in time.

She glares at me. “You want me to go, but you won’t let me leave!”

“Just shut up.”

I take off, speeding out of the deserted parking lot, overgrown weeds spilling through the chain-link fence that separates the property from the field behind it. The August humidity makes the heat worse, and I jack up the A/C, desperate to remove my coat and hoodie, but a night of crime is kind of like riding a motorcycle. It’s best to cover as much of you as possible.

“I get fifty percent of your twenty,” she points out.

I turn left, watching the road. “Or you can get a hundred percent of a fat lip. How about that?”

Little punk actually thinks I want her tagging along tonight. No clue that I just saved her ass, and I’m damn-well not sharing my take on top of it.

I pull up in front of Lafferty’s Liquor, park on the curb across the street, and leave the engine running. The old man who runs the place—Ted—moves past the windows from his position behind the counter.

I look over at Tommy. “Stay here,” I tell her. “Keep the engine running. If a cop comes by—or an adult—you tell them you’re waiting for your sister. Play on your phone while you say it, so they can’t see how nervous your eyes look right now.”

She furrows her brow.

I continue. “Don’t stutter when you talk to anyone. And if you leave with this car, I will prank call 911 and tell them your dad is beating on me at your house. I think they know the address, Dietrich.”

Her face falls, realizing I know exactly who she is. I know all the Pirates. She purses her lips, but she keeps her damn mouth shut. She’s smarter than she looks, I guess.

Opening the door, I climb out of the SUV, resisting the urge to adjust the baton digging into my back as it sits just inside the waist of my jeans and hidden underneath my jacket.

Walking across the street, I ignore the Sentra honking as it speeds by and pull open the door to the liquor store. I see the top of a customer’s head as they dig into the beer cooler at the far back, but tip my chin back down, avoiding the two cameras, one at the far right and one behind the counter.

I cast my gaze up, meeting the owner’s eyes. I can just see the exhale as he realizes what day it is. As if he didn’t know.

I come up to the counter but position myself a little off to the side to allow his customer to step up. I hold Ted’s eyes until he finally tears his away from mine.

He rings up the beer, the guy pays and he takes his shit, walking out the door. As soon as the door closes, I grab the plastic display case of cigars on the counter, his worried eyes flashing to his goods as he sucks in a breath.

But I don’t do it. I pluck a package of gum out of the box next to it and set it down, pushing it toward him. He only waits two seconds, because that’s all it takes to realize what it took eighteen broken bottles of Dewar’s to learn last time.

Reaching into the register, he counts out rent and pushes it with the gum toward me. I swipe it off the counter and walk for the door, spotting a rack of Hostess treats and snatch a package of powdered donuts, leaving the shop.

I tense as I cross the street, feeling it every time that I do this. The reminder that every action justifies a reaction, and this might be the day. He could come barreling out the door after me. A cop could be watching, waiting to catch me in the act.

Maybe I’ll feel something hit my back, and it’s the last thing I’ll ever feel.

I don’t turn around. I keep my head up, each step bringing me closer to safety.

I open the door, hold my breath, and slide into my seat, locking the doors like I do every time.

Sweat trickles down my back.

“Did it go okay?” the kid asks.

I toss the donuts into her lap, strap on my seatbelt, and pull away from the curb, keeping my eyes on the rearview mirror and still waiting.

I drive, feet turning into yards that turn into a mile, and I finally relax a little. I know the day is coming. Hugo is right. It’s just waiting for it that’s hard.

She eats the donuts, sitting lookout as we do this three more times. I hop out, collect payments, and get us out of there as quickly as possible, tackling the easy customers first, in case I run into trouble that takes the rest of the night on the harder ones.

Heading out onto the highway, I take the next exit and a couple of turns, driving into Wicked’s parking lot. The club is technically in Shelburne Falls, but they like to pretend it’s not within the limits of their nice town.

This is one of the harder ones. I put the car in Park and look over at Tommy. “Same as before.”

I leave the car running, pull off my hood but leave my ski cap on and reach out, opening the door.

“But I want to come in,” she argues.

“Stay.”

And I slam the door, looking around me as I head through the cars crowding the parking lot.

Music vibrates against the walls of the club, and I pause a moment.

The smell already hits me. The scent of cheap body lotion mixed with heavily worn six-inch heels caked in sweat, spilled beer, and Coke syrup.

Sometimes there’s a hint of piss or puke, depending on the time of year. Bachelor parties and frat boys home for summer vacation make June my least favorite month to step foot in this place.

But it’s August now. The traffic coming in and out has finally died down, but the summer heat has baked the desperation and despair into a foul stench I can’t imagine ever getting used to.

I pull the baton out of my jeans and slide it up my long sleeve, holding the cuff so it doesn’t fall out. Walking for the club, I pull open the door and give Angel Acosta a nod as he mans the entrance.

“Hey, babe,” he says.

I keep walking, the bass hitting hard, making the floor shake under me as I make my way past the bar and glance at the girls on stage.

Lights glow across their skin, hair flipping and barely any real dancing going on. Just slinking up against a pole and crawling all over the stage.

I give them credit, though. I can’t imagine a harder job. Maybe there’s no math involved or as much risk, like there is being a cop or a soldier or a doctor, but I’d rather do anything else than fake it like they have to.

“Aro!” someone calls.

I see Silver waving from one of the platforms, nearly naked, and muster a wave when I really just want to break something. We were in middle school together.

I head down the hallway, the dull thrum of the music fading a little more, but then I hear Skarsman shout as I approach. “Do you know how easily you can be replaced? Girls are aging up every year, and they don’t have kids who constantly get sick!”

I sigh, slowing as the door to his office sits open.

I’m sure my mother would’ve gotten the same lecture years ago if she hadn’t had me to worry about her kids when they were ill. She never missed work. Built-in babysitter here and all.

I round the corner into his office, leaning on the door frame and see his eyes flash to me. Short-cropped salt and pepper hair and clean shaven, he’s as well-dressed as he is groomed. Black suit with a dark purple shirt underneath, he does a good job of hiding how fucking nasty he is on the inside.

He blows out smoke and snuffs out his cigarette in the tray. Some girl sits in front of me with her shoulders slumped. She’s dressed in a black sequin bikini top.

“Great,” he bites out, glaring at me. “Just go fucking sit down out there. I don’t want to deal with you right now.”

I clutch the end of the club in my hand, keeping it hidden behind me.

When I don’t move, he jerks his chin at the dancer, telling her to scram instead. She pops up from her chair, her red hair curly and pulled out of her face with a barrette. She’s gorgeous, which is why he hasn’t fired her yet.

“Insulting that they send a kid to collect from me.” He snickers, moving around his desk.

The girl brushes past, and I stay there, staring at him.

He approaches me and takes the handle of his office door, waving his hand. “Come in,” he says.

I relax my hand, the baton sliding out of my sleeve, and muster every muscle, swinging it back and then forward. My heart jumps into my throat as the attack lands on his shoulder, making his knees buckle, and sending him to the ground.

“Ah!” he growls.

Fuck.

Holding the baton in one hand and his hair in the other, I bring his head down hard on my knee for good measure, a sharp pain spreading through my leg.

I hate this part.

I squeeze his hair in my fist, holding his face up as I get close. “They don’t send me to handle you,” I tell him. “They send me to handle everyone.”

He wanted to close the door, and it wasn’t for a single good reason. I grew up being underestimated, because I’m not a man, and sometimes it worked, but it doesn’t anymore.

“Get the money.” I throw him off.

He lands on all fours, sitting there.

“I mean now!” I yell, kicking him.

He scrambles over to his desk, pulls himself up and digs in a drawer, taking out his container of petty cash. He opens it, but I grab everything, not even counting it.

“Fuck you, Aro!” he gasps.

But I take the baton and swipe it across his desk, knocking over his lamp and other shit. I crumple the bills in my fist and hold it up. “Don’t make me come down to this shithole again for this. Send Angel with it to the garage. You know the drill.”

But he always flakes on delivering it, because he’s hoping Hugo will just forget.

I stalk out, refusing to turn around but feeling the threat there like I did at all the other places tonight. Every step takes me closer to away.

I pass the girls onstage, stopping at Silver and stuff a few bills in her hand. “Share it, okay?” I whisper in her ear.

She gapes at the hundreds, a well-deserved bonus for the pennies he pays them, and nods. “Thanks. Are you okay?”

She must see I’m upset.

But I nod. “I’m fine.”

I keep walking, trusting her to share it with the others. She knows I’ll hear about it if she doesn’t.

I slip behind the curtain, entering the back room, and seeing some counting their cash, while others talk, text, and primp.

I see Violet Leon and come up behind her. She smiles and turns in her seat. “Aro.”

I bend down, kissing her cheek and feeling her mouth press against my face. Probably leaving a huge purple lipstick print.

I pass her a little cash. “Get him those dirt bike lessons for his birthday,” I tell her quietly.

Her son is nine. I’ve babysat him here and there over the years, like she did me when I was growing up. At forty-eight, she thought she was done raising kids, but her little surprise package is more work than his three older siblings.

But he’s a good kid. And he’s dying to take classes at JT Racing.

She gapes at the money. “Are you serious?”

I stuff the rest of the cash in my pocket.

“Aro, I can’t…” She shakes her head.

But I stand up again. “You better.”

It will make Luis’s year, and everyone has it hard enough. Let him have some fun.

She smiles, tears filling her eyes, but that’s about all I can take. Spinning around, I walk toward the back door, pushing it open.

But for a moment, I hesitate and look back over my shoulder to the two kids playing on the floor. Blocks surround them as their mom probably takes the stage, and I look outside to the motel across the lot. Cora Craig comes out of a room followed by a trucker who makes his way for his rig. She heads toward the club, fixing her clothes and with money in her fist.

I look away as she brushes past and then watch her rub her daughter’s head as she passes by.

And all of a sudden, I’m five again, except it wasn’t blocks. It was crayons and a mermaid coloring book.

I open my mouth, feeling the bile rise up my throat. I dash outside, letting the steel door slam behind me as I lean back on a stack of pallets. I drop the club and bow my head as I inhale and exhale.

My body shakes, and I can’t draw in a breath without feeling the sob crawling up my throat. Tears fill my eyes.

I hate her. I hate this.

I hate everything I see.

I turn around and fall into the wall, sweat dampening my body, and I close my eyes, trying to let the nausea pass.

But instead, I open my eyes and look up.

The night sky, black and wide, spreads with stars above, and I see Mars, the brightest object tonight. I like Mars. More than all the planets, because it has the most possibilities. People will go there someday. Maybe someone who’s my age now, and I’ll see it online.

I breathe in and out, imagining the sky looking back at me and wanting to be something worth seeing.

My blood cools a little, my shoulders square, and I stand up again, calm.

It always helps—looking up. There’s only possibility. The view is never worse.

I turn to head to the parking lot, but someone appears.

I halt, seeing a male and female police officer approach, an amused look in their eyes like they found exactly what they were looking for.

Fuck.

“You have weapons on you?” the male asks.

Slowly I raise my hands, showing they’re empty as the baton still lays on the ground somewhere behind me.

“No, sir,” I tell him.

“Empty your pockets.”

I drop my eyes to the weapons on his holster, the female closing in behind him. I soften my voice, even though my pulse is racing. “I don’t feel comfortable with that, sir.”

He just laughs. Leaning in, he whispers, “I can detain you without a charge for up to forty-eight hours. I can also frisk you.”

I know. But still, I try. “I don’t feel comfortable and I do not consent, sir.” The money on me feels like a soccer ball in my pocket, and it won’t go unnoticed. It has to be a few thousand bucks. “Am I free to go?” I ask.

“No.”

Of course not. It was worth a try.

But I can’t spend forty-eight hours in lockup. I clear my throat. “I consent to a search, sir.”

The woman steps forward and pushes me around, my hands slamming into the brick wall. She pats me down, my torso, my legs, my arms, emptying everything out of my pockets. I close my eyes, a sick feeling rolling through my stomach as the weight of the cash on me disappears, and I hold my breath.

Don’t come back empty-handed.

They toss everything on top of the dumpster and back away. “No weapons,” she announces. “She was telling the truth.”

“Aw, sorry about that, kid.” The male cop leans in. “Have a good night, okay?”

My chin trembles. Motherfucker.

I wait for them to leave, but I don’t have to turn around and look to know all the money is gone.

My white and black polka dot wallet, my house key, and my cell phone all sit on top of the lid. No cash.

I kick the dumpster, the hollow clang echoing in the silence. “Son of a bitch!”

I scream, my hands shooting to my head, and I look up at the sky again, finding Mars.

But I can’t see straight. Goddammit.

Don’t come back empty-handed. I can’t go back with nothing. Not again. Hugo won’t give me work.

Or he’ll make me pay it off another way.

It’s always like this. It can go either way, and it always goes wrong.

Grabbing my baton off the ground, I storm off toward the parking lot, the taillights of the cop car leaving the lot. I find Tommy standing outside the Cherokee, sipping something from a flask she must’ve had on her.

I take it, downing a gulp of tequila.

My hands ache, I’m squeezing my fists so hard, and I don’t care if I go back with ten thousand bucks or a black eye, but I’m going back with something.

“Where would the Pirates be hanging out tonight?” I ask her. “Rivertown?”

She nods. “Yeah. Probably.”

I hand her back the flask and walk around the car. “Get in.”

“But I’m not allowed there, Aro,” she argues.

Not allowed? I arch a brow, the chip on my shoulder getting heavier. Screw that.

I climb in and so does she, both of us buckling our seatbelts before I speed off out of the parking lot.

I jack up the radio, too loud for the kid to talk me out of this.

Back in the day, when I still attended school, Weston’s rivalry with Shelburne Falls lit up the nights.

Well, a few anyway. When I didn’t have to babysit or work or worry about something, I’d pile into a friend’s car, and we’d cruise into their territory, only a few miles away, but a whole different world.

They have a swim team. A skate park. Charming shops and parks, and the parents and cops look the other way when the kids race Mommy’s and Daddy’s cars.

Or when they demolish their boyfriend’s car with a crowbar. I’m not entirely sure that story is true, but it’s fun to think about.

Of course, the Falls has their dumps. Their bad parts and poor people, but they also have mansions, parties, and local celebrities. Jared Trent—a former racer who’s on TV a lot and his sister-in-law, Juliet, whose novels were on my high school reading list.

The Falls were always better than us, and they knew it.

There are some things we know how to do, though.

I cruise into town, winding through the neighborhoods that I remember wishing I could live in when I was a kid. Green lawns, porch lights, the scent of Dad cooking burgers on the grill in the backyard.

But when I grew up, I realized there was a vast difference between the appearance and the reality. Inside all of these beautiful bullshit houses were liars just like everywhere else. Fuck the Falls.

I turn onto High Street and slide into a spot on the curb, gazing around at all the businesses, some open but most closed for the night. The bakery, Frosted, is probably closed for the season already. The owner, I hear, is still a college student who’s probably back at school by now. The sign for Rivertown glows above, the bulbs illuminating one after another down the letters and back up, and I see the place lit up inside, all the Pirates hanging out, filling the place.

“Aro, they won’t let me in,” Tommy says again.

Two women run past, moms jogging their kids in strollers, and I breathe out a laugh. This place… “Let’s go.”

I get out of the car, dumping the baton in the back seat, and look back to make sure she follows. I don’t know what she’s afraid of, but tonight, she’s with me.

We stroll across the street, and I pull up my hood. I open the door and step inside, music filling the place like a bar, someone’s vape smoke hovering around the ceiling lamps in the dim light.

Rivertown is controlled chaos, and the kids are too stupid to see it. Their parents built a nice place for them to get together that looks like a bar, with booths and private seating in the adjoining tunnels in the back, a great menu, pool tables, and loud music, but it’s right in the center of town in full view of traffic cams and a block from the police station.

They run around like they own the whole world, but I guess wolves born on a leash never know they shouldn’t be wearing one.

I look around, seeing a few eyes turn my way like they do to see who’s entered the chat, and hold back my amusement. I bet they all have names like Hudson and Harper.

Walking to the bar, I feel the room shift a little, the chat faltering and whispers rising above the jukebox. I don’t belong here.

They know who I am. Now let’s see what happens.

I turn, resting my back against the brass railing and survey the room as Tommy sets up position next to me.

“You want to park, you have to order,” a voice says.

I turn my head, eyeing the bartender and seeing realization cross his face. “Never mind,” he says, backing off.

I think we sell him weed.

I gaze at the tables filled along the wall, spotting Trent and staring until she looks up and stops acting like she doesn’t know I’m here.

It’s kind of fun knowing that Jared Trent’s daughter owes me money.

But someone is at her side, watching us, and I feel his disdain from here.

He’s not looking at me, though. His hard eyes stare motionless and filled with intolerance at the kid next to me, and I glance between her and him, seeing her eyes drop to the floor like she’s trying to disappear.

They won’t let me in there.

“This is your town,” I tell her. “Why do they hate you?”

She just shakes her head, though, and I look back at the table, my anger rising. She’s thirteen. What the fuck is their problem?

“Are you holding?” some guy asks from my side.

“No.”

He walks off, and I shake my head. It’s funny how they like me here more than Tommy. I guess I’m more useful.

Trent rises from the table, walking straight for me. She stops at my side, like she’s ordering from the server. “I’ll have it tomorrow,” she says in a quiet voice. She grabs a straw and reaches over the bar, making herself a soda.

“Dylan,” the bartender scolds.

But I reply, “Now.”

“I don’t have it,” she says.

“Now.” I glare at Blue Eyes, relishing this and hoping I have a reason to hit her. “Or the next time you see me, it’ll be in front of your parents or at school.”

“Screw yourself.” She sips her drink, batting her eyelashes. “I shouldn’t have to pay for bad merchandise. Keep coming at me, and you won’t have a customer to speak of.”

I can’t stop myself. I slam the drink out of her hand and yank her down by the hair.

“Ah!” she growls. “Get off me!”

The crowd howls, people gathering around, and she grabs my legs, throwing her shoulder into my stomach. She rams me into the bar, and I crash into the stools, the wood digging into my back.

“Ugh,” I growl, dragging her to the floor with me.

Scrambling, I grip her collar, holding her away as I flip her over and climb on top.

“Get off her!” someone shouts, a dozen legs moving around us.

Someone grabs at my coat, but they’re gone before I have a chance to throw them off.

“You make everything worse,” a man’s voice says.

Trent hits my face, and I rear my fist back, so happy she doesn’t have my money. This is more fun.

But before I can bring the punch down, someone grabs the back of my jacket with both hands and hauls me off of her. They shove me back and dive down, taking her by the arms and pulling her to her feet.

Dressed in long black shorts, a white T-shirt, and running shoes, he checks her face, but she pushes his hands away, looking around him to scowl at me like I’m dirt.

Brat. I push past him, going after her again, but he takes me by the collar and walks my ass backward, setting me away from her. “Back off!” he shouts.

He starts to turn away, but then I see him do a double-take. His blue eyes drop, his dark brow furrows, and he moves my hair away to look at my neck.

I shove his hand away, baring my teeth, but he’s already seen what he needs to see.

He shoots the girl behind him a glare. The long green line inked through the word RIVER vertically down the side of my neck means Green Street.

And now he knows she asked for this.

She looks away from his stare, like she’s in trouble. Like…

He’s going to scold her.

Then it hits me. It’s not her boyfriend. This is Hawken Trent. Her cousin.

Well, well, well, Mr. Class President. Just graduated. Now I remember. He’s taller than he looks in the sports section of the local newspaper.

“Get her out of here,” the blond, whom I realize is Kade Caruthers, calls out.

Both of them are football players. Or Hawke was anyway.

Someone advances on me, but Hawke rubs a hand through his short, black hair. “Wait,” he grits out.

I watch him take out his wallet, seeing the muscles in his jaw flex.

He takes out some cash. “How much?” he asks, not looking at me.

But Dylan Trent bursts out, “Hawke, don’t pay her a cent! She sold me a broken phone!”

“You lying little shit,” I growl, peering around her cousin to her, my skin hot.

But Tommy answers him. “Four hundred,” she pipes up.

I hear him counting out the cash, but I stare at Dylan, watching her pout.

She damn well hides behind him, though, doesn’t she? Her friends crowd around her, some blonde girl shaking her head at me.

Hawke holds out his hand to Kade. “Give me your cash.”

The kid’s mouth hangs open, and Hawke arches a brow.

Finally, he sighs and digs out his money, handing it to Hawke.

He counts it out, Dylan flips me off, and I smile like I’m about to have some fun. I’m going to cut you up so bad.

Hawke shoves the money into my hand, and I look down at it in my fist, the dirt under my nails visible through the chipped, three-week-old red polish on my fingers.

“You got any more problems with anyone in the Falls,” he says, “you go through me. I don’t want to see your drugs, your shitty stolen merchandise, or your Weston Rebel bullshit in our nice town. Got it?”

The room is quiet except for the speakers still playing music, everyone staring at Tommy and me. But then…someone laughs quietly, and I raise my eyes, seeing the blonde next to Dylan covering her shit-eating smile with her hand.

The walls close in.

I’ll give her something to smile about.

I fling the money back at him, and before anyone knows what’s happening, I ball my fists and shoot out my leg, the toe of my boot landing right in her fucking mouth.

Screams erupt, I lunge, but Hawken Trent grabs me, lifting me off of my feet before I can reach his cousin next. He flips me over his shoulder, and I flail, trying to get free.

But I see her all right. On the floor. Blood spilling between her fingers as she holds them over her mouth and screams like a baby. People crowd around, trying to help her, but he carries me away, out to the sidewalk.

“Jesus Christ,” he says through his teeth, dumping me on my feet and backing away. I tongue the coppery taste on the inside of my lip. His cousin landed one good one on me during that fight.

He stares down at me, and my stomach drops a little at the color of his eyes. “You know what percentage of people in jail are repeat offenders?” he asks me. “Is that the life you want?”

Please…

Tommy comes to stand at my side, and I pull my hood back up. “You won’t be there to protect your girls this fall, Mr. Class President.”

“I won’t be far.” He looks like he’s holding back a smile as he backs up toward the club again. “I don’t want to see your ass back here. Leave!”

Pulling open the glass door, he enters the club again, and I can’t help it. I smile.

So arrogant. All of them.

I got her good, though. I got them both.

I grab Tommy and push her toward the car, both of us climbing in.

“Gotta be honest,” she says, buckling her seatbelt. “I’m a little unimpressed. So far we have no money, and two men have succeeded in shaking you down tonight. Maybe you should let me try.”

I smile, pulling out the wallet I grabbed from his back pocket when he carried me out of the bar. I hold it up, peel it open, and find exactly what I’m looking for. The key card to JT Racing headquarters.

I know all the Pirates. And what they’re good for.

“You can help.” I hold up the card to her. “Interested?”

Her eyes go big, she grabs the key, and she laughs. “Hell yes.”

I start the car and drive off, dialing my old foster brothers. Nicholas picks up.

“I need you,” I tell him.