Chapter 23

Aro

Hawke shuts the door behind him, cutting off the obnoxious honking going on outside. Footfalls pound down the stairs, his uncle Jared descending in a rush as he tries to pull on a shirt. But then he slips on something and stumbles down a few steps.

“James!” he shouts, grabbing hold of the railing to catch himself, and I look down, spotting a pair of kid’s sneakers on one of the steps. “Your shoes!”

He barrels for the door, and we jump out of his way as he yanks it open. “Madoc, shut up!” he barks. “I’ll be there in a minute!”

He slams the door, Hawke’s other uncle starting to honk out “This Old Man” on his horn. Jared throws the door a glare.

But then someone behind me whines, “Dad…”

Jared looks up, a little breathless, and I follow his gaze over my shoulder, seeing Dylan glaring as the two girls beside her gape at her dad’s half-naked body. He cocks an eyebrow, pulling on his T-shirt.

When he finally notices us standing there, he looks between Hawke and I. “You sure this is a good idea?” he asks Hawke.

“She’ll stay in the car,” Hawke assures him, “and I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Jared looks at his nephew, thoughts going on behind his eyes that he’s not vocalizing. I don’t know why I want to shrink away. Some of this is my fault, but not all of it.

Jared turns his attention to me, looking down like he thinks even global warming is my fault.

“I’m gonna cut you a break,” he tells me, “because I got into a ton of trouble at your age, too, but if you pull any shit, we’ve got problems. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know me?” he asks.

I nod.

“Then you know I don’t fool around.”

“I’ve heard things,” I say, wanting to look away, but if I blink, then he’ll feel all superior, and I’m guessing he’s used to feeling like that with people a lot.

“Like how I don’t make threats,” he goes on. “I make promises. And if anyone messes with my family or my shit, I can be petty as hell when it comes to grudges.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” I try to hide my smile but not completely. “I heard you were sooooo petty in high school, some chick ran off to Canada or something to get away from you…”

“Oh boy…” I hear Dylan mumble.

Hawke rubs his forehead.

But I don’t stop. “And that you were so obsessed with her that you continued your stupid grudge when she got home…”

Jared’s eyes flare.

“But she was pretty sick of your shit by then,” I tell him. “So, she humiliated you and destroyed your car in front of the whole school.” I chuckle. “You cried—”

“I didn’t cry!” he shouts. “Is that what people are saying?”

His eyebrows pinch together, kind of adorably.

“I didn’t cry.” And then over my head to his daughter. “I didn’t cry!”

I fold my lips between my teeth so I don’t laugh.

“And it was France!” he spits back. “Not Canada. And she destroyed my car for no reason. It wasn’t even my fault!” He spins around. “I didn’t cry. Tate!”

And then he storms up the stairs to his wife.

Hawke laughs at my side.

I scratch the back of my neck. “Wow, that was easy.”

Hawke takes my hand, and we turn. Dylan stands there, color swatches spread on the coffee table and her friends sit around it, one of them making notes.

“You got this?” he asks her.

She gives him a salute, and he releases me, walking away, but not before I feel his hand slide up the inside of my thigh. I gasp, hearing his quiet laugh, and then he’s gone.

I look up at the girls, but no one’s watching.

Dylan jaunts over and grabs my hand. “So, you ready?”

“You have seatbelts?”

I’d feel better doing the driving, but that won’t fly tonight.

She leads me over to the table, and I notice more than just swatches. A laptop is open to pictures of dresses and girls wearing tiaras, and one of her friends has a price list going, but I can’t see of what.

“What’s all this?” I ask.

A little early for prom. Dylan will just be starting her senior year soon.

“This is Socorro.” She points to the dark-haired one, and then the redhead. “And this is Megan.”

Socorro waves. “Coco,” she clarifies.

I nod back.

“Coco’s having her quince,” Dylan tells me. “We’re picking out dresses.”

Coco looks at me. “Have you had your quinceañera?”

“No.” I drop my eyes to the A-line ballgowns with sweetheart necklines, traditionally pale pink or white, but it looks like she’s researching some blue ones. “Not in the cards for my family.”

I honestly can’t imagine going through the custom. At one time, I fantasized about it. Passed a limo on the streets, fancy people piled outside, and a girl who looked like a queen being fluffed and helped into the car. It was magical.

Now, I can’t justify it. There are more important things to spend money on.

“I love the idea of it,” Dylan says. “Seems so fun. I know sweet sixteen’s and that aren’t very progressive today, but it’s a reason to party.”

“And to get presents and money,” Coco adds, smiling. “Which is why I finally agreed to have it two years later than I was supposed to. I was a little rebellious at fifteen.”

She laughs, and I stand there while Megan just smiles.

Silence falls as they all shift a little, and I’m pretty sure I was supposed to say something to continue the conversation, but I can’t imagine what.

Megan inhales and plants her hands on the table, rising. “All right, I gotta go. I’ll let you get to it.”

“Right behind you,” Coco says, gathering her things. “Mani-pedi with my mom.”

“Later, Dylan,” Megan calls out.

Coco bumps Dylan’s hip playfully. “Byeee. Good luck tonight. Nice to meet you, Aro!”

Mm-hmm.

They close the front door on the way out, and Dylan pulls me along. “Come on.”

We head through the kitchen and out to the garage, Dylan grabbing her wallet and keys on the way. She grabs a couple of waters from the fridge out there, and we climb into her car, fastening seatbelts. On the left sits a black Tesla coupe and on the right another Mustang.

The garage door opens, and Dylan hangs something on the rearview mirror before she releases the parking brake and shifts into gear.

I stare at the small thumbprint fossilized into a white piece of clay hanging from a green ribbon.

Everyone knows about that charm. Jared’s wife shared a story about it in a magazine once. It’s worthless and priceless at the same time. I hadn’t come to the house to steal it, but when I saw it…

“Sorry about that, by the way,” I tell her.

“If I didn’t get it back, you would’ve been sorry.”

I’m sure. She pulls out of the garage, pressing the button above her to close it behind us, and we drive onto the street, slowly picking up speed.

The charm swings from the mirror, and staring at it, I’m actually not sure what I would’ve done with it if I’d made it home with it that night. Maybe given it to the Rebels to barter with during Rivalry Week. Maybe I would’ve sold it.

Maybe I would’ve kept it, because I like the story behind it, and maybe it would bring me luck like it has for their family for so long.

“Hawke seems happy.”

“Don’t,” I murmur.

Whatever is between him and me isn’t like she thinks it is.

But she presses. “We got our vaginas waxed together, Aro. We can talk about this.”

“And who did you get waxed for again?”

She sighs but says nothing. I look at her and watch her do everything to avoid looking at me, and I almost smile, because she’s keeping something to herself. What is she hiding?

“Dylan?” I fight my amusement.

“No one, okay?” She draws in a breath. “I just…wanted to feel like a woman, I guess.”

“A woman?”

She twists her lips, and I can tell she’s embarrassed. “Guys don’t like me,” she says quietly. “I talk too much or drive too hard or they’re afraid of my dad, I don’t know what it is.” She continues moving her mouth, and at that moment, my amusement fades as I realize she’s trying to disguise the tremble in her chin. “I just thought it would make me feel pretty, is all.”

My gaze falls. A week ago, I would’ve mocked her. She dares to think she’s not attractive with how her big blue eyes compliment her pore-less complexion and light, brown hair? With the happiness that’s always in her smile? With how she embraces people and oozes female solidarity?

Geez, I’d love to have that problem.

But she’s not feeling good, and I never would’ve known if I hadn’t pressed her, because she keeps a fucking smile on her face. She loves Hawke to death, and she talks to me like we’ve been friends for years.

And I don’t think she’s admitted to anyone else what she just told me.

I clear my throat. “He’s my friend,” I finally tell her. “And that’s all I’m saying, okay?”

“Well, I’m his cousin,” she continues, tipping her chin back up and finding her composure again. “And I would’ve won that fight, so make sure you’re a really good friend, or else I’ll have to prove it.”

Yeah, right.

She grins over at me. “He’s a catch, isn’t he?” But then she starts mumbling under her breath. “Until he starts talking about comets and the formation of galaxies and all his astronomy bullshit.”

I jerk my eyes to her. “What?”

“Oh, just you wait.” She smiles tightly. “The bore is coming. Every hottie has a downside.”

“He’s into astronomy?”

“Mmm.” She nods. “He interns at the university. Helps run their planetarium.”

Of course. That’s why he’d have keys. I didn’t even think to ask. Just assumed the whole town was his playground like it usually is for rich kids.

“Hawke loves mystery,” Dylan muses. “Wants to spend his life in a tower under a telescope aimed at the celestial sky.”

I drop my eyes and shake my head. And he sat there, listening to me educate him like I knew more.

But I’m not mad. He likes astronomy. I have a friend who likes what I like.

I smile. Oh, I’ll let him have it next time. I’m not holding back. Nebulae, astrophysics, cosmology, evolution…let’s go. My education may only be from Google and YouTube, but I bet I know just as much as he does.

By the time I’ve organized my ‘for’ and ‘against’ arguments for the theory of dark matter—depending on which stance he takes, so I can take the exact opposite—we’re at the track. Cheers go off, and I snap back to reality, seeing all the people.

“Whoo!” Two guys pound Dylan’s hood as she maneuvers the car into its pit.

“Hey!” she yells at them. “Assholes.”

I look around, the bleachers filled and tons of girls everywhere. What the hell?

“Why are there so many people?” I ask.

“It’s my last race.”

I look at her.

“I want to ride bikes,” she says, putting the car into Neutral and pulling up the E-brake. “My dad doesn’t know, so if you could keep it quiet…”

“Well, if they all know, he knows…” I gesture to the crowd gathered.

“He will soon enough,” she replies, unfastening her seatbelt. “Just not tonight.”

“But he was a bike racer,” I say. “Is he scared you’ll get injured or something?”

She shrugs. “It’s a boys’ club. He doesn’t want me to deal with all that.”

I know what that’s like.

“But I really love it.” She sighs. “And I want to get there on my own. Not because of my name.”

Great. Do all rich kids have this much character? I hate being wrong about people.

“To the line!” someone yells.

Dylan looks out, seeing some young guy flagging her down, and she nods. Pulling out onto the track, she stops at the starting line and idles.

“And these people aren’t all here to see me,” she admits. “Most of them are here to see Noah. My father’s new protégé.”

But she says protégé with some attitude.

I’ve never met Noah Van der Berg, but I know who he is and I’ve seen him and Dylan together. They seem to get along. Maybe friends, even.

But there’s something else. Maybe she thinks she should be her father’s protégé. He doesn’t want to train her, though. I guess that would piss me off, too.

“I gotta talk to people,” she chirps. “Sit tight.”

She leaves the car, the engine still running, and I turn up the music as I peer out her tinted windows. People loiter on the sides, and I can smell the hot dogs and funnel cakes from the food trucks off to the left. Leaning down, I check out the control booth, a cross between a small air control tower and a fire watch tower. Where the windows would be is open air, and it’s no more than three stories high. Just enough to see all of Fallstown.

Motorbikes roar in the distance, and a tall figure looms front and center inside the tower.

Jaxon Trent.

I’m only guessing, I can’t tell for sure. It just looks like Hawke, but I know it’s not Hawke.

They look the same, though. Alone. Far back from everyone else, because they both like to keep apprised of everything in their domain.

If Hawke’s mom feared her love for him, then Hawke is his father’s son, because it’s hard to not let him get to me.

I take out my phone, remembering my sister hasn’t gotten back to me yet.

Text me back, I type out to her.

I haven’t talked to her since the day before yesterday. Something feels wrong.

I tap out a message to my mother, but then I stop and delete it. I can’t trust her not to give my number to Reeves or Hugo, and then they can find me anytime.

Instead, I text Hawke. He’s here somewhere, but I just need to make sure, since Bianca won’t reply.

My stepdad is still in lockup, right?

I need to make sure Bianca doesn’t have to deal with him, at least.

His reply is almost immediate. Yeah, why?

Just checking. Thx.

And I breathe out a sigh of relief.

But then I look up. I spot a distressed, brown leather jacket off on the sidelines that’s all too familiar.

I slouch down, bowing my head. Shit. I should get in the back seat.

Fuck.

Reeves moves in my peripheral vision, and while I don’t have to worry about my stepdad, Reeves is still a threat. What the hell is he doing here?

But of course, he’s here. If Hawke and I show our faces, this is where we’ll do it.

Muffled laughter and music go off outside, and I pretend to play on my phone, like a sitting duck.

I stare at the screen, but he moves, farther to my left, and farther and farther until he’s moving around the front of the car, and I close my eyes, feeling sick.

Son of a bitch. Dylan’s door opens, and he slides into her seat, the commotion from the crowd pouring inside the vehicle, but everyone’s too distracted to notice us here. He slams the door shut, cutting off the noise, and I squeeze my fists, itching to pull the handle on my door and run.

He turns down the music. “Hi, Aro.”

I start to text Hawke, but Reeves grabs my phone.

“I don’t get to see you like this much,” he taunts.

I glance over, seeing him looking me up and down, the short jean shorts and hoodie, my hair in two French braids. Different from the jacket, jeans, and hats that I wore before. I didn’t want attention at Green Street, especially his.

He gazes at my legs. “I knew it was there all along, though.”

He tosses something into my lap, and I look down, picking up the tiny camera. Like the one Tommy planted at the garage.

My heart feels like it doubles in size, trying to push through my sternum.

“I’m guessing you put that at Green Street?” he asks.

Me, he says. So, he doesn’t know about Tommy’s role. I exhale a little.

“And since I was in on Wednesday, collecting, he has me on video, then.” He stares out the front windshield, his hand on the wheel like we’re going somewhere. “Right?”

I look over at him. What is he talking about?

He was in on Wednesday? Hawke has the leverage we need?

“He hasn’t gone to my superiors with it,” Reeves says, “so he wants something. What does he want?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He’s lying. Hawke would’ve told me. It’s been days. Why would he sit on that footage if he had it?

But Reeves shakes his head. “I have two choices here, Aro. Haul your ass to jail and let you disappear from there. You’d rot the rest of your life away in a concrete cage with filthy women and face tattoos…” He looks over at me. “And Bianca all to myself.”

Fuck you.

“Or you can come home,” he tells me. “I won’t kill you. I make nothing with a dead body.”

“If you think I will ever let you slave me out…”

“Oh, Aro.” He looks at me like I’m a child. “What tales have the boys been spinning? I’m not that evil.”

Then what? If Hawke has him, then why isn’t he going after Hawke?

“You’re going to run Green Street,” Reeves informs me.

I go still, and he smiles in a soft way I’ve never seen before. “I’ve always liked you,” he tells me. “Hugo won’t take it well, though, and while I know there’s no love lost, you don’t want him dead. So come home. You can protect him from me. Move back to your mother’s house. You’ll have the muscle to keep your stepdad away and the money to keep your mother happy.”

“For what?” I blurt out. “What do you want?”

I don’t want to run drugs anymore. I never did. And I certainly don’t want Hugo’s place. My life expectancy will decrease by half, and it’s already not high.

He simply looks at me. “You just have to pay me back.”

With what?

And that’s when it occurs to me. He’s not dealing with Hawke for a reason. Hawke can’t know.

“I’m not stealing anything from JT Racing,” I state.

But he simply shakes his head. “The mayor’s house,” he replies instead. “Grudge Night. You’re simply going to get Kade to unlock the doors. Madoc Caruthers has some things I need.”

“Money?”

“There are so many things more valuable than money.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but I can imagine, since Hawke’s uncle Madoc is the mayor and a powerful lawyer with national political ambitions. Reeves hopes to find something that will put a politician in his pocket. If he gets Caruthers by the balls, no footage Hawke has will see the light of day. Reeves controls the mayor and me, and I control Hawke. Reeves will be safe. That’s how he sees it.

“Do that, and you can come home,” he tells me.

Home? What’s home?

But then it starts to sink in. Matty and Bianca. My mother’s house, with her off my back and my stepdad out of the picture. I’d have a little money. Influence. Matty would have all the drawing pencils he wanted. I could have all of that…or Hawke?

Grudge Night is in two days. And what if I don’t agree?

“In a year, your life will be very different,” he nearly whispers. “Power will intoxicate you.” He slips a hand between my thighs, squeezing the inside. “And then you’ll want to fuck me.”

I bare my teeth, trying to tear his hand away from where Hawke’s brushed less than twenty minutes ago.

But he pulls away before I can. “Grudge Night,” he reminds me.

And he opens the door, music flooding in from outside as he climbs out of the car and slams it shut again.

Fury overtakes me, and I’m not sure if I know what the fuck just happened. I kick the car, punching underneath the dash with my feet. “Ah!” I growl.

Hawke has him. He’s had him for days! Why give Reeves a chance to find the camera and come after us? Why would Hawke do that?

A knock lands on the window, and I jerk my head, seeing Hawke’s jacket.

I roll down the window.

“You okay?” He leans down. “What the fuck? What was that?” He rises, twists around, and then comes back down, looking past me and through Dylan’s window. “Where’s he going? Did he hurt you? I just saw him get out of the car…”

But I just glare at him. “You have the footage we need on him?”

His face softens, and he falls silent.

And that’s answer enough. I throw open the door and step out, looking up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He avoids my eyes, looking off to the side, and exhales hard. I study him.

I can’t believe this. Reeves wasn’t lying. Hawke has him. He could’ve had him in custody days ago.

“What are you playing at?” I yell, and I don’t care who hears me. “What do you want? Are you trying to make this worse?”

“It was just yesterday morning,” he explains. “I…”

He drifts off though, not finishing. So, he noticed yesterday when he studied the footage. Thirty-six hours. What is he waiting for?

But he doesn’t say more.

“What?” I shout.

“Aro, I… I just…”

“You lied to me.” I sharpen my gaze, hurt. “My sister needs me. She’s all alone with my mother and her bullshit. What are you doing? You got your own agenda here?”

He shakes his head, but still, he can’t form the words. For Christ’s sake.

“Ready?” Dylan calls out, leaping back up to the car.

I wait for Hawke for another second, but when he doesn’t say more, I dive back into the car and slam the door, rolling up the window. “God, just drive,” I breathe out. “Fast.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

Dylan presses the clutch, and shifts into first, pulling up level with the other driver. The announcer’s voice booms over the sound system. “Miss Dylan Trent versus Sammy Phuong!” The crowd cheers. “You know the drill. Ten laps, no rubbing, and—”

“Oh!” Dylan blurts out, turning to look at me. “We forgot to have you sign a waiver.”

A waiver?

But she waves me off. “We’ll make a verbal agreement. I hurt you, and you can’t sue me, okay?”

I side-eye her. “You hurt me, I hurt you.”

She turns, facing the track again. “That’s fair.”

But seriously…she’s never been injured, right? Has anyone died here?

The red lights on both sides of the track start blinking, and Dylan fastens her seatbelt, looks over and checks mine, and then shifts into gear again. One hand on the wheel, she jacks up the music, “Problem”by Natalie Kills blasting, and I see Hawke off at the sidelines out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t look.

The light changes to yellow, Dylan’s hand on the stick shift tightens, and my stomach somersaults.

I look over, seeing the other driver in a helmet, and I… Wait, are you supposed to have helmets? Do we need—?

But the green light glows bright, Dylan hits the gas, and I shoot out my hands, grabbing the console and the door as she charges off.

“Whoo!” she cries, the music filling the car so loud I can’t think.

Racing around the bend, I hold the handle above the door, the car tilting as she dips to the inside of the track, and we speed head-to-head with the GTO on my right.

Dylan kicks it into third and then fourth, punches the gas, and I hit the back of the seat, my heart leaping into my throat.

I break into a laugh, the argument with Hawke forgotten. “Shit.”

She flashes me a smile, winds around the next bend, and keeps going, maxing it out in fifth.

A few raindrops hit the windshield, and I glance over at her to see if she’s going to stop.

But she doesn’t seem to notice, arm out in front of her, steel-rod straight as she holds the wheel, with the other hand gripping the stick. Her eyes zone in on the track like a laser.

“Hold on!” she shouts.

Huh?

I tighten my fingers around the handle, the next turn approaching, but instead of slowing her speed, she swerves down to the edge of the bowl as close to the inside as she can and surges forward.

My insides flip, my skin tingles, and everything feels like it did last night in the tunnel when I felt Hawke behind me.

“Dylan…” I gasp, but then I start laughing.

Rain starts pounding the car in heavy drops, the car next to us swerves behind, and Dylan smiles.

“I’m going to drift,” she laughs. “Watch this.”

“What?”

“When I tell you, rip the e-brake, okay?”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“Ready?”

“What?!” I dart my eyes down to the parking brake. What the hell? What is she doing?

“Do it!” she shouts.

I shake, panicking, but then I grab the brake with both hands and yank it up. She powers over to the left, the rear of her car spinning and we go gliding around the turn, kicking up the rain that has collected so far.

She screams, and something between a grunt of pain and a whimper escapes me, but I refuse to shut my eyes.

The other car speeds past, and I watch. “Dylan!”

“Oh, I don’t give a shit about winning,” she chuckles. “That was fun, and it’ll piss off my dad.”

She zooms ahead, picking up speed again, but headlights flash in front of us.

A car flies toward us, and I suck in a breath, Dylan pumping the brakes, skidding in the rain.

The headlights are coming right for us. What the hell is that?

Our car fishtails, I grab the dash, and we slide sideways, just stopping in front of the Mercedes blocking the track.

“What the hell?” Dylan gasps.

Sammy Phoung in her blue GTO are far past the obstruction, the tower and crowd far in the distance. We jump out of the Mustang, rain hitting my head, and get clear in case they try to ram us.

But then I recognize the vehicle. Mercedes. This one’s white, but I know whose it is. His black one was totaled at the park that night.

Hugo steps out, grinning, but then the other three doors open. I watch Nicholas, Axel, and two of Hugo’s other henchmen, Jonathan and Alejandro spill out.

“Shit,” I murmur. Hugo’s wearing the leather jacket he stole when he was seventeen. It has three interior pockets. Knife and brass knuckles, for sure.

A crowd runs toward us, and I take Dylan’s wrist, pushing her behind me.

Hawke stops at my side, and I’m sure Kade, and all of their friends are with them.

“Don’t call anyone yet,” Hawke says into a radio.

“Are you sure?” some guy asks.

Hawke ignores him, handing the radio off to someone.

We all stand there, Hugo and his crew coming to stand in front of his car while we inch in close to each other in front of Dylan’s.

“Hey, baby.” Hugo’s eyes gleam at me. “You hanging with Pirates now?”

I’m definitely not hanging with Pirates, but I feel all the eyes of Green Street on me like they’ve been betrayed as I stand surrounded by two Trents and a Caruthers.

“The girl I raised doesn’t need anyone to protect her,” he says, “and she doesn’t hide behind rich boys.”

Rain spills down my face, and I feel Hawke try to take my hand, but I pull it away.

Yeah, Green Street fed me. Weston is my home.

And not one neighbor protected me growing up. Once I was old enough, Hugo tried to turn me out. What makes them any better? They think they’re owed my loyalty?

Axel and Jonathan inch forward, pulling their hands out of their pockets, and I stop breathing for a moment before I realize they didn’t take out any weapons. Not yet.

But they do ball their fists, Axel eyeing Kade and Jonathan eyeing Hawke. They widen their stances, readying.

“They don’t want you.” Hugo steps closer to me, and Hawke tenses. “And where are you going to go when he forgets about you?”

He glances at Hawke and then back to me.

I know he’s right. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he’s right. I’ve not forgotten the alignment of stars it would take for my life to be okay. My family, my debt, my record, the warrants that are undoubtedly out for my arrest right now, my lack of education…

I’ll embarrass Hawke. I know it’s not a relationship.

We hid together out of necessity and bonded. I could never stomach him trying to save me.

“Your mom hasn’t been home in three days,” Hugo tells me.

I cast my gaze up to him.

His voice softens. “You need to come home.”

Hawke takes my wrist. “Don’t you fucking move.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep CPS from showing up,” Hugo threatens.

That’s why Bianca wasn’t answering the phone. She was afraid I’d come home if I found out. Goddammit.

Axel tips back a flask, emptying it down his throat, and Alejandro blows out smoke before he flicks his cigarette at one of the Pirates on my left.

“Shit.” The kid wipes the embers off his shirt.

Green Street closes in, the air changes, and the hair on my arms rises as the rain cools my neck.

“Hawke, seriously,” one of the Pirates says. “They will tear this town apart. Give her back.”

But Hawke doesn’t move. Hugo grins.

I look over my shoulder for the first time, Hawke’s friends staring at me, some of them like I’m the cause of all this. They can fight, but they don’t want to fight for me.

Hugo gazes at me, and I turn my head, whispering to Hawke. “These aren’t my people.”

He squeezes me. “Hugo is using you as an excuse. They’ve wanted this for a long time.”

“Your friends won’t see it like that.”

I don’t want to leave him, but I can’t live like this. I can’t follow him everywhere. I need to be in control of my life and make my own way. A friend should make his life better, not worse, and Bianca needs me.

I pull myself free and walk for Hugo.

But Hawke pulls me back. “Aro…”

“I’m not worth all this trouble,” I tell him, yanking free again. “I need to go home.”

His eyes sharpen, but he lets me leave. I walk over to Hugo and turn, facing the Pirates.

Hugo laughs. “Someone likes Chicana girls,” he says to Hawke. “Never boring, are they? I’ll get you another one.”

“I want that one.”

I dart my gaze up to Hawke, the sudden hardness to his voice not like him. He looked worried and sad before. Now he doesn’t.

His glower is all for me.

“Well, you can’t have this one,” Hugo retorts. “Not unless, you know what.”

Huh? I look between Hawke and Hugo, realizing they’ve had another conversation without me at some point.

But Hawke’s focus is all on me. “Come here,” he says.

I don’t.

His jaw flexes. “I asked you once before when all this shit started,” he grits out. “And I’m telling you now. Come here.”

I steel my spine, remembering the last time we were all together like this. That first night in front of his house.

He never saw me as equal, always less. The one who needed to be paid for, protected, guided…

A pet. A project.

I square my shoulders. “You don’t get to save me, Rich Boy.”

Hawke’s face changes, his eyebrows relaxing, his chin lifting, and the heat that was all over him last night and while painting my toes this morning has now gone so cold.

Hugo just laughs. “Don’t feel bad—”

But Hawke doesn’t give him a chance to gloat. He launches out and throws a fist right across my foster brother’s face.

I rear back, howls erupt, and Nicholas flies in to pull Hawke off, but it’s too late. Hugo is already hitting back, and Kade runs in, everyone losing their fucking minds.

“Kill ’em!” Axel bellows at the top of his lungs, and before I even see who it is, some girl in pink Chucks is grabbing one of my braids and yanking my face down into her knee. She slams it into my cheek, and it takes a second, pain spreading through my face.

But it’s like riding a bike. Every muscle fires like an engine, and I spring into action. I throw my shoulder into her stomach, she loses her grip, and I shove her back, sending her onto her ass.

I whip around, finding Hawke getting punched by Hugo as Axel holds him, and I start to run for him, but he shoots out his leg, kicking Hugo and then elbowing Axel in the side.

Throwing him off, Hawke twists back around, his eyes sparkling like fireworks as he glares at me. But then a punch lands across his face, and he spins, plummeting to the ground. He lands on the hard concrete, and then flips over with a cut on his cheek dripping blood. He eyes Hugo, and I rush over, dropping down on him.

“Stop!” I tell him. “Just go home.”

But he pushes me off and launches toward Hugo again. The rain pours down on us, and I wipe the water off my face, hearing a scream. I turn my head, seeing Dylan straddle Eva Kissinger, Eva’s massive fake diamond ring turned to the inside of her hand. She rears her palm back, ready to give Dylan a nice fat scar for the rest of her life, and I run over, grab Dylan under the arms, and yank her off. Eva misses her by an inch.

Lightning cuts through the sky, thunder cracking over my head, and everyone is punching and kicking.

“Cops!” someone screams.

A few of the fights slow, people looking up, and I search the entrance to Fallstown, seeing lights flashing.

Everyone scatters. People take off, running back to their cars, and Axel pulls Hugo off Hawke, Hawke wiping the blood off his mouth.

They stare at each other, and I look between them.

“I’ll meet you at Aura’s shop in ten minutes,” Hawke growls, looking between Hugo and me. “I don’t want her anymore, but I’m gonna take her just to make her pay for wasting my time!”

I clench my teeth, but my heart won’t calm down.

Hawke walks back toward the bleachers and the lot, where his car is parked.

“Hawke!” Kade yells, chasing after him.

Dylan passes me, murmuring, “Oh my God.”

Aura’s shop? That tattoo artist?

I look to Hugo. “What the fuck did you do?”