Chapter 9

Aro

I grab the helmet his cousin wore and fit it onto my head as he slips on a leather jacket. I try to look away, but I keep glancing back, watching him zip it up.

Funny. I don’t know what I meant by that. He’s not funny. He’s…

A hypocrite. It’s fine to break the law as long as it serves his purpose. Crime isn’t a choice when he does it. Then…it’s justified.

Yeah, he’s funny all right. Funny how he thinks his rules apply to everyone but him. That makes him no different than any other privileged Falls kid I’ve ever met.

But there is a little something different. He’s harder to anticipate than I thought he’d be. With people like Dylan Trent and Kade Caruthers, they’re easier to read. They want people to know them.

Hawke is purposely cold. Rigid. And not just with me. He keeps his guard up. I noticed it last night when his cousins and friends showed up. He takes the lead with everyone.

He climbs on the bike, pulls on his helmet, and starts the engine, not even bothering to look over his shoulder to signal that I’m invited before hitting the remote and opening the garage door. I swing my leg over the bike, climbing on behind him.

“Won’t people recognize the motorcycle?” I ask, reaching behind me to grab hold of the safety bar.

But it isn’t there.

He kicks the bike into gear, it jumps, and I grapple for his jacket just as he speeds out of the garage. Asshole.

We turn right, and for a moment it feels like I’m going to fall as I press my boots into the rests. I grip the leather at the back of his jacket in my fists, leaning forward but not too much. I don’t like that I have to touch him, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like it either.

We ride, the town still not fully awake on a Saturday morning, and I kind of like it. Obviously, we don’t want to be seen, but I like early mornings. You feel like you have the world to yourself in a way you don’t at night. It’s different when the day is starting rather than ending. As if something is about to happen.

He skids to a halt, putting his feet down on the ground to steady us as the light turns red above. We wait at the stoplight, the cool rain welcome on my hands and neck because it’s hot already.

Plus it washes away the dirt. I pull the collar of my hoodie away from my body and dip my nose inside, sniffing.

Then I drop my hands from his jacket, scooting back as far as I can go as if he still won’t smell me. I don’t stink that bad. Maybe I can sneak into my foster mom’s and get some clean clothes today.

“Hold on to me,” he calls out.

He revs the gas, speeds off, and I squeeze the bike with my thighs as tightly as I can, but the motorcycle kicks into the next gear and lurches. I grab onto him, leaning into his back. “Slow down!” I growl.

But then I see the cop.

Oh, shit.

He switches gears, and I wrap my arms around his waist and tuck myself into his back as he swoops right again, down a side street, and then left down the next block.

I hold my breath like we all do when we’re driving and see the speed trap too late. You’re sure you’re caught, and you’re just waiting to see their fruit basket light up in your rearview mirror.

I grit my teeth together, my arms tightening around him like I don’t have control of it.

I wait to hear the siren behind me.

But I can’t take it. I glance over my shoulder.

They’re not there. The street is empty.

I tap him in the shoulder, yelling, “Go!”

Let’s get out of here before they change their minds.

He cuts right, speeds down a couple of blocks, and then takes a left and then another left, kicking it into gear and letting loose. We race down the highway, the rain splattering my helmet, and I relax my hold on him, just gripping his jacket.

But I stay tucked behind him, the drops cutting like darts when they hit.

This is kind of fun, to be honest. I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before. And for a moment, I let myself pretend. For a moment, I have parents and a house and a manicure, and we’re not on the run. I have a guy who makes love to me, and we’re free.

But the thing is, when that little animal in my arms looks up at me and I look back at her… It’s never you I see.

I’m paraphrasing, because I can’t recall his exact words, but I’d smiled when I’d overheard him earlier. I followed to get my phone back, but then I’d stopped just before the door to the surveillance room when he told whoever he was talking with to pull up her shirt. I peeked in and saw the blonde I’d kicked last night on the screen in some video. Is she his girlfriend? He’d called her Schuyler.

I’d heard rumors about him—that he never has sex—but it surprised me, how he talked. It was kind of hot.

Has he really never slept with anyone? I try not to notice the feel of his body flush with mine. My thighs hugging his. He’s tall and broad, trim and strong. It’s a shame he only ever sweats in the gym.

I glance over his shoulder, noticing his grip on the handlebar, the veins bulging through the back of his hand. What does he feel like when he touches someone?

Heat pools in my stomach, and I blink a few times, looking away.

He was right to be cruel with that girl, though.

It was the kindest thing, and I’m glad he’s incapable of pretending. How many men in her life will tell her they love her to get what they want? How many will say they’re single when they’re not? I don’t think he’d ever take something he wasn’t willing to give. She’s luckier than she realizes, because in that respect, he’s rare.

He pulls into a lot, parks the bike, and I don’t ask questions as I follow him to a car parked on the side of a warehouse. I glance behind me a couple of times, finally relaxing and letting out a smile.

I’m used to evading police. Not sure if he is, but he’s not bad at it. I’m not going to tell him that, though.

He yanks open the driver’s side door and climbs in, and I follow on the passenger side, both of us tossing our helmets into the back seat.

I look around, the smell of leather and cologne surrounding me, from the black seats to the polished dash, but that’s not how he smells. He smells like the air in October, cool and clean but there’s still a hint of something left over from summer. Very subtle. Is this his car?

It’s an old Pontiac GTO—silver—and it kind of looks familiar, but I can’t think right now enough to place it. I thought he had an Audi or something. I thought I’d seen him in it. Maybe it belongs to someone in his family.

He starts it up, and I stuff my hands in my coat pockets, slouching down in the seat. We head out, bouncing over the curb before turning onto the highway.

I stare at the wet road ahead, some System of a Down song playing as the weight of the situation sinking in. His motorcycle, his car, his gear, his hideout, his food, his friends, his town…

Everything relies on him. I feel like luggage.

“I need my phone,” I say.

“No.”

I jerk my eyes over to him. “I need a phone.” Any phone. I really don’t care. “Give me one, or I’ll find one.”

Is he that afraid I’ll screw up? Or does he need to control where I go and who I talk to like he apparently does with every woman in his life?

I watch him, his eyes zoned in on the road, his face expressionless. “What if I need you?” I ask in a soft tone.

Who else am I going to call? He knows I don’t have anyone.

He presses his lips together, gazing at the road like he’s about to take a math test.

Finally, he sighs, reaches over and opens the glove box, and I see at least three smartphones inside. Digging one out, he dumps it into my lap.

“Charge it,” he says, pulling out a cord between his seat and the console.

I plug it in. In a moment it beeps, signaling it’s powering up.

“You can’t contact anyone,” he instructs.

“I need to make sure my family is okay.”

I have no idea if my stepfather’s been treated, and not that I really care, but I do want to know if he’s been discharged and is back at home.

But Hawke just says, “They’re fine.”

“How do you know?”

“I issued a warrant for your stepfather’s arrest.”

“What?” I blurt out, snapping up in my seat. “How…? What…?” I shake my head, not sure I’m understanding. “You can’t do that!”

How the hell did he pull that off? Jesus.

“I don’t know what my mom will do if she can’t pay the bills,” I bite out. Goddammit.

I don’t want the motherfucker there either, but she can’t keep a roof over their heads without him. Without me.

Hawke keeps his gaze on the road. “The devil you know versus the one you don’t, I get it,” he says, “but he was forcing himself on you. I got that much from his body language when I showed up last night. I can’t let him stay in a house with kids.”

You can’t let him? “I had it under control.”

He just laughs.

“I had him under control,” I say more clearly.

Finally, he looks over at me. “You’re funny.”

What the hell does that mean? Flinging my own words back at me with his condescending, little smirk…

I open my mouth to retort, but he jerks the wheel right, and I grab the door to steady myself as the road under the tires switches from pavement to gravel, and the trees overhead provide a canopy.

We drive down a long road, but I can make out a clearing at the end. Is this where Tommy Dietrich lives?

He turns down one of the adjoining paths, parking off to the side, and we get out, me pulling up my hood as we jog through the woods toward her house. I’m not really quite sure why we don’t just drive up and knock on the door, but if he explains, then I have to listen to it, and I have a headache from him already.

I follow him but race ahead, veering toward the side of the house and taking the lead. But he grabs the collar of my hoodie and yanks me back.

I whip around and punch his hand away. “Stop that!”

That’s the second time today.

“Shhh,” he whispers hard, and I know to close my mouth immediately.

He pulls me down, and we hunch behind a bush, watching a man with short-cropped brown hair carry a lunchbox to his truck, his white T-shirt advertising some bar and stained with grease. Tommy has his eyes.

“I thought he was gone,” I ask Hawke.

“He’s leaving now.”

I hope no one else lives there besides her and her father.

“Ugh, you do smell like the pond,” Hawke grumbles. “And wet potato chips.”

Wet potato chips? What the fuck? I was caught in some rain last night.

The rusty, blue Ford coasts out of the driveway, and I move to stand up, but Hawke stops me.

I glare at him.

“No one knows about the hideout, outside of that little group last night,” he warns. “And now you. Don’t tell Tommy.”

“Why?” I ask.

But of course, he doesn’t answer.

“It’s not yours, is it?” I ask.

He doesn’t own it. He confiscated it.

“It’s not about keeping it to myself,” he tells me. “No one else can know about it. Just not yet. Okay?”

“Why? What is that place?”

His brow arches, and I can tell he’s losing patience with me, but oh well.

Instead, he leans in, and I smell his breath, still minty from brushing his teeth.

Which I haven’t done in almost forty-eight hours. I clamp my mouth shut as he gets closer.

“The only thing we have going for us right now,” he says, “is that no one knows where we are. It’s in your best interest to delay your inevitable twenty-five-to-life for as long as possible, isn’t it?”

What a goddamn douche. “Eat shit,” I say.

He smiles. “Let’s go.”

We approach the house, watching the windows for movement, and I dip down, slipping around the side toward the back.

“There could be other family here,” I tell Hawke. “Does the dad have a girlfriend?”

“A new one every week,” he deadpans. “Stay with me.”

But I don’t. I jet around the back porch, crouch down near a basement window, and peer inside, trying to see past the crud and mud caked all over the glass. I try to pull it open, but it doesn’t give. Whipping off my jacket, I press it against the window and punch, hearing the slight shatter of glass crashing onto the cement floor inside.

I reach in and unlock the window. It’s best to enter this way. Out of view of the road with only a forest to our backs. We are wanted by the cops, after all.

“That’s how you break into houses?” Hawke teases. “The skill…”

I lift up the window and slide my body in, feet first. I jump down into the basement, him following right behind.

I look around, double-checking no else is down here.

He closes the window, and I silence my phone.

“The skill level changes based on the income bracket of whose house you’re robbing, okay?” I reply. “Did you see his yard? He has the type of job that pays daily.”

Hawke snorts, surprising me. Did he actually just express genuine amusement, and not at my expense?

I go on. “And nine times out of ten, people don’t investigate strange noises because they’re lazy. They don’t want to find something because then they’ll have to deal with it.”

It’s true. And sometimes smart. Don’t go looking for trouble unless you have to. The people who die in horror movies are always the nosy ones. I mean, if you live alone and you hear footsteps in the attic, do you think for a second that you’re gonna like what you find? Stay in your room.

We creep up the stairs, Hawke taking the lead and I let him. He inches the door open, and it creaks too loud. I wince. Dude…

I shove him out of the way. Holding the handle, I lean my ear in, hearing the TV somewhere. I open it another inch and listen. Satisfied that I don’t detect any movement, I open the door, quickly scan, and pull him through, closing the door behind us.

She’s probably in her bedroom, which I’m guessing is upstairs.

Looking behind me, I signal for him to follow. I step toward the banister, seeing light from the TV in the living room reflecting on the wall, just making out the top of the back of a head in the recliner.

“She has a couple of uncles,” Hawke murmurs.

Good to know. Lightly, we jog up the stairs and spot a baby blue door with hot pink birds spray-painted on the surface.

I open it, exhaling when I see her pop off the bed. We hurry inside. “Get dressed,” I tell her.

She shoots up, her joggers and T-shirt wrinkled from sleep, and she looks at us both, frozen. “What are you doing here?” she whispers. “I…”

“No time.” I grab some jeans laying across her desk chair and toss them to her. “We need you. Now.”

She holds the pants, her eyes flitting between me and Hawke before looking behind us as if she expected someone else with us.

She hesitates a moment longer and then nods. “Turn around,” she tells Hawke.

“Take your time.” I peer at Tommy through the rearview mirror. “Sit down, talk, relax, and then…say you’re going to the bathroom or something.”

I’ve repeated the process to her four times already, which isn’t like me. But Hawke’s reluctance to use a kid for this makes more sense than it did earlier this morning. I still get nervous going on a job, and I’ve been doing it longer.

Eighty percent of it is just going off a feeling. Is it too noisy? Too quiet? Everyone’s looking at me. They know. Do I create a distraction? Do I just act normal? Is this normal? Is that normal? Am I doing it right? Maybe I should wait.

I learned that whenever possible, blend in. Be there. Talk. Laugh. Drink. Take the time to get out of your damn head. She could be in there for two hours, waiting for the opportunity. There’s no rush.

“Text me every five minutes,” Hawke tells her. “You don’t text, I’m coming in after you.”

I look over at him as he hands her something. “It has to be metal,” he says.

I look down, seeing a small object with a lens. He points to the magnet on the back. “Make sure it sticks and—”

“I know what to do,” she cuts him off.

Before we can say another word, she climbs out of the car, and Hawke spins back around in his seat, shifting like he’s debating if we should be doing this.

“Don’t do anything until you’re relaxed,” I call out just loud enough for her to hear.

We watch her head down the empty street, toward the garage, and I look around me—around the car and neighborhood—making sure no one is watching. With any luck, most of Hugo’s lackeys will be sleeping well into the afternoon. Very little happens in the daylight—the occasional runner dropping off and picking up—but this could take a while. Less people in there means it’ll be harder to blend in.

I slide my hands into my pockets, trying to crack my neck as if that’ll get rid of this uneasy feeling in my stomach. Hugo wouldn’t hurt her, would he? He’d never been violent with me, but then I’d never done anything that could send him upstate for life. Like plant a camera in the middle of his operation.

We shouldn’t have involved her. This web will get out of control, and who’s to say she’s not using her phone to call the cops and let them know where we are right now? I don’t really know her that well.

I watch her get farther away, her long white hair with blue streaks easy to see before she disappears inside. “This is a mistake,” I say.

“Wasn’t my idea.”

I look over at Trent, seeing him stare at his phone. I drop my eyes to the screen, recognizing the girl in the guy’s lap. “Is that the blonde I kicked last night?”

God, that seems like a year ago.

“She did a nice editing job on that fat lip.” I smile and prop my foot up on the glove box. “You can barely notice it.”

“She could’ve lost teeth, Aro.”

I laugh, tipping my head back on the headrest and closing my eyes. That would’ve been awesome.

But he loses his temper. “It’s not funny,” he tells me. “I mean, what’s the matter with you? None of this is funny.”

None of this. My life, he means?

I tighten my fists inside my jacket. “Oh, I realize that nothing about me will be funny in five years, Rich Boy.” I almost say it through clenched teeth. “You really don’t have to remind me as much as you do.”

In his head, it’s a series of mistakes that got us here, and he knows very well it’s not a habit for him.

“Nothing escapes me about my reality, Hawke.” I turn my eyes out the window. “Her lip will heal.”

He falls silent, and I think about her five years from now. His cousin Dylan in ten. Him in twenty. They can allow me my brief entertainment.

“There’s ibuprofen in the glove box if you need it for your arm,” he says.

He shuffles in the back seat and hands me a bottle of water to wash it down, and I take it, pressing the button to roll down the window, and fling the bottle outside before rolling it up again. He can take care of her, if he’s so worried about someone.

We sit in silence, me forcing my eyes closed when I really just want to watch the door of the garage. He taps away on his phone before turning on the music.

But after a few, he’s antsy. “This doesn’t feel right,” he murmurs.

“It’s only been three minutes.”

“We shouldn’t have sent her in there,” he tells me. “Another fucking mistake. All I’m doing is making mistakes.”

I open my eyes, staring ahead at the garage down the street. “I’m going to remind you one last time before I beat it into you,” I grit out and then look at him. “No one needs you. Reaction is still action, and you broke the law too. Don’t put this all on me. I’ll use you like you’re using me, but make no mistake, I’d get it done without you.”

“You’d be in jail already or dead if I didn’t show up last night,” he says, looking down at me.

I just snicker. “This isn’t my first adventure, Pirate. I got along before you, and I’d still be kicking the shit out of your cousin and your girl right now if you hadn’t come along and stuck your goddamn nose into everyone else’s business, like I’m quite sure you have a habit of doing because you’re a control freak who needs to insert himself to feel superior.”

He just laughs, shaking his head. “This conversation is tedious.”

I tip my head back, staring up through the sunroof as I mock back. “This conversation is tedious.”

“Stop acting like a child,” he growls. “And I’m not a control freak.”

I turn my head, gazing over at him. “You watch everyone in town. Like God.”

He can’t argue that, can he?

“Do you get hard when you do it?” I ask.

He goes still.

“Knowing where everyone is at any moment?” I go on. “Who’s skipping classes? Which spouses are cheating? Who stopped off at a liquor store, three sheets to the wind, before climbing behind the wheel of a car? Having the power to ruin a life whenever you want?”

He’s clearly smart if he knows how to gain access to that surveillance, but it’s still not clear what he’s doing with it. Or with that place. I searched the rooms. There’s only one bedroom with clothes, personal items, and a bed that looks like it’s been slept in. He’s not sharing it. He stays there alone.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” I admit. “It would feel good to have some power like that. But don’t worry. I know it doesn’t turn you on.” I lay my head back again and close my eyes. “That’s not why you do it.”

It takes him a few moments, but eventually he speaks. “Why do I do it?” His voice is soft, like it was last night when he patched me up.

I smile, not sure I’m ready to play that card yet. Or that he’s ready to hear it.

When I don’t answer, he exhales hard and then I hear him open his door. “She hasn’t texted,” he says. “She’s supposed to text every five minutes.”

I open my eyes, immediately spotting something ahead.

“I’m going in there.” He starts to climb out of the car.

I grab his arm. “Wait.”

He looks back at me, but I’m looking out the front windshield. “There she is,” I tell him, sitting up.

She taps away on her phone, looking at ease like I told her to, and then she passes Hawke and climbs into the back seat.

“What’s the matter?” I ask her.

“Are you okay?” Hawke slams the door and turns in his seat, looking back at her.

She just nods, pulling on her seatbelt. “Yeah. It’s done.”

He and I exchange a look.

“Already?” I blurt out. “I told you to take your time. To relax. To blend in.”

“Are you sure no one saw you?” he questions.

She just laughs under her breath. “Most people don’t.”

We both stare at her, but I glance behind me to make sure no one’s following her. Hawke turns and loads the camera onto his laptop.

“Don’t worry,” she tells me, relaxed. “We’re good.”

But I’m still on the fence, looking behind me once again for any sign that she was followed. Just walking in and out like that is suspicious.

But then Hawke just laughs. “Well, shit.”

I follow his gaze, seeing the workroom appear on his screen, the camera positioned just like we told her. Two guys play pool, but the flood of activity that usually happens at night has quieted. It’s a pretty clear picture. I look up at Hawke. Where else does he have his own hidden cameras posted? I would post them everywhere. This is kind of fun.

Tommy clears her throat. “You’re welcome,” she sing-songs.

I smile, and Hawke flashes her a warm look in the rearview mirror. “Thanks, Dietrich.”

If that was this easy, we might use her again. One camera might not be enough.

“So, what do I get?” she chirps, doing an excited little bounce in her seat.

Hawke meets her eyes again, like he hadn’t expected her to demand anything other than the pleasure of hanging out with him today.

She looks at me. “I mean, I should get paid, right?”

“Yep.” I cast a look at Hawke.

Like the Joker said, if you’re good at something, never do it for free.

She grins, gazing at Hawke again. “I want to go to the Loop.”