Chapter 13

Dylan

I skid around the Loop, taking the last left before blowing through the finish line. I grip the steering wheel, shifting back into fourth, then fifth, and feeling the car quake underneath me as my tail fans out with the next turn.

I haven’t raced the Loop in a car in over a year. I think it was the last time my dad helped me with anything. He would love it if I raced cars. It’s a little safer, especially when my name is traditionally male, and no one can see me inside. Many assume I’ll be a guy until I climb out and take off my helmet. Maybe I’d invite less scrutiny and less aggression on the track, hidden that way. And hey, I can still ride motorcycles as a—insert air quotes—hobby.

And then there’s Hunter and whatever bullshit he’s on again.

I’m going to turn off the volume tonight. I’m turning it all off—everyone else’s voices—and enjoying my birthday.

The track is still empty—the Pirates just getting out of school—and I race around the last bend, waving at the guys in the tower who work here every day, getting ready for the evening races. I should get out of here before anyone shows up.

I drop the Mustang—one of many my dad has—back in the rear parking lot of his shop and climb on the new bike Farrow gave me. It’s not new, but it’s new to me, and I’m to understand that if I put this one in the river too, he’ll put me there with it.

Running back home, I spot my dad’s car in front of the curb and make a short right, into Monika Swenson’s carport two houses down. She’s a nurse at the hospital where Mom works. Hopefully she’ll be there for a little while longer.

I climb out and jog down to my house, keeping my eyes peeled for my parents. I just need in my room for a minute.

Jumping up into the tree between mine and Hawke’s houses, I scale it until I reach my bedroom. I lean over the thigh-high fence and open my French doors, leaping into my room.

Laptop. Maybe some makeup. I go through the list in my head as I grab things.

Hesitating at my underwear drawer, I pluck out another pair of cute ones. Just in case. I don’t know if I’ll be in another situation where someone is watching me undress in a shower, but there’s nothing wrong with being ready for it.

Tossing the stuff on the bed, I grab my backpack and stuff everything inside, taking a body spray and a pair of earrings that Juliet bought me too.

I stop, remembering. Razors. I need replacement cartridges. At least one. I tiptoe to my door and peek into the hallway, spotting my little brother coming up the stairs. He has a Polar seltzer in one hand and a bag of Fritos in the other. He stuffs his face inside, grabbing chips with his mouth.

When he reaches the top, I grab him, whip him around, and he starts to shout, but I plant a hand over his mouth.

“Where’s the mark?” I growl in his ear.

“Mum muh muh mum.”

I remove my hand.

“In the kitchen,” he whispers with his mouth full of chips.

“Is he armed?” I ask.

“Always.”

We listen for our father below. A cabinet closes, then the door off the kitchen into the garage.

“I’ve exceeded my energy consumption,” I tell James.

“Energy conversion power recharge?” he suggests.

“Negative. My suit’s in the cleaners.”

“What are we going to do?” he cries.

“Radioactive spiders?”

“Too dangerous,” he gripes. “You remember what happened last time.”

“Hammer?”

“It’s mine,” my kid brother Thor snarls.

Just then, my dad passes through the foyer below, heading into the living room.

“Oh, he stalks.” I back up, taking my kid brother deeper into the hallway with me. “He might get me this time.”

“We need Bruce,” he presses.

“Banner or Wayne?”

And then both of us say in sync, “Banner.”

I release him, and he turns, smiling.

I ruffle his blond hair, exactly the color of our mom’s. “Make the call,” I tell him.

He throws me a salute. “Happy birthday,” he says before diving into his bedroom, probably to play a video game.

The one consolation in this family is that my dad finds about as much common ground with my brother as he does with me anymore. He does love us, though. And we know that.

Walking cautiously, I grab a new razor cartridge from the bathroom and sink back into my room, about to grab my vibrator and get out of here, but a gorgeous blonde is sitting on the end of my bed. I close my door, squealing as quietly as I can.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, running and throwing my arms around Quinn.

“Hey.” She squeezes me tightly, rocking me side to side.

My dad’s little sister just started her second year at Notre Dame. I thought I wouldn’t see her until the holidays.

“What are you doing home?” I ask, pressing my finger to my lips so she knows to be quiet.

“It’s fall break,” she says. “I have a long weekend. I was coming over to meet you on your way home from school, but I saw you sneaking into your bedroom, so I did the same.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to run into your brother.”

“You mean, your father?”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “I’m the Weston prisoner for Rivalry Week, so I’ve been over there the past few days, but it’s Ditch Day, so I snuck home to get some things.”

Her brown eyes widen. “You’re the hostage? First girl since—”

“Only girl other than you know who,” I correct her.

I take in her hair, a few inches longer and parted in the middle. Different than it was this past summer. Her skin glows, the tiny mole on her cheek beautiful against her flushed cheeks.

“Well, you look unharmed,” she finally says, surveying me up and down.

I nod, putting the rest of my things in my backpack. “It’s kind of peaceful there, if you can believe it.”

“Are you heading back now?”

I nod, wiggling my eyebrows. “And you’re coming with me. It’s my day.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says. “I know.”

She pulls a box off the bed that I didn’t see sitting there.

She hands me a birthday present, and I flip the lid off the box, removing a red leather jacket with silver buckles and zippers. I hold it up, looking at the little thing. “Wow.”

“It’s a motorcycle jacket.”

I laugh, dropping the box and holding the jacket by the shoulders. The leather is really thin, and I’m not sure I’ll even be able to get it zipped up.

“Not sure this will protect me from anything,” I tease. “It looks like it might not fit.”

“It’ll fit.” She plants her hands on her waist. “No pressure to wear it. I just thought I’d take a chance.”

“Thank you.”

I give her a hug and fold it, sticking it in my backpack.

“We should get out of here,” I tell her.

I start to move, but she pulls me back and forces me to sit down at my desk. I look at her through the mirror in front of us as she stands behind me.

“He won’t say shit to you with me here,” she tells me, pulling out my ponytail.

She must see the look on my face, because everyone who’s met my father knows that my mother is the only person he watches his mouth around, and barely even then.

“Okay, he’ll say less with me here,” she jokes.

Yeah, yeah.

“Let’s get this hair sorted.”

And she picks up the hairbrush on my desk and starts working.

“So where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

Coral stuffs her hands in her pockets, leading the way down the steps of 01 Knock Hill. Quinn follows her, and I close my door.

A car door slams shut, and I look up, seeing Aro heading toward us.

“You came?” I chirp, bouncing down the steps.

“How could I not?” she tells me.

“I’m guessing Hawke doesn’t know, otherwise you’d be tied up right now.”

“I’ll tell him.” She whips out her phone, moves in beside me, and holds up her camera for a selfie of us. “Smile.” And she snaps the pic.

I laugh, knowing Hawke won’t want to find out she’s here in an Instagram post.

She starts typing. “Location: Roller Dome,” she says.

“Roller Dome?” I retort, looking at Coral.

She shrugs. After the trip into the Falls today, Farrow said they were throwing me a party. I was skeptical until Mace chimed in that I could bring friends. Roller skating wasn’t what I had in mind, though. I thought that place shut down, actually.

I stick my phone in the back pocket of my jean shorts, tempted to button up my flannel against the chill, but we won’t be outside long.

“Hawke’s going to be mad at you,” I tell Aro.

“I love him that way.”

I snort.

Aro finally notices the woman next to me. “Who are you?”

She pinches her eyebrows together, her tone accusing, and I have to stifle my amusement because she’ll scare Quinn. She scares almost everyone when they first meet her.

“Uh, hi,” Quinn stammers. “I’m Quinn.” She offers her hand to Aro. “Caruthers.”

Aro takes her hand. “Aro. Nice to meet you.”

We start for the cars. “Heard a lot about you,” Quinn tells her.

“Yeah. Love your shop, by the way.”

Quinn cocks her head, confused, but Aro just keeps walking. I shake my head. Since the bakery is only open during the summers when Quinn isn’t at school, she’s probably wondering when she missed seeing Aro in as a customer. I think it’s time to tell her that Hawke and Aro—and a few more of us—use her bakery when we get hungry while hanging out in the secret clubhouse buried in her walls.

A motorbike pulls up, and Farrow lifts his visor, tipping his chin in greeting. “Aro.”

“Piss off,” she replies and heads to her car.

His deep laugh rumbles to my right. “Take the blonde,” he calls out to whoever is listening. “I’ve got Dylan.”

Quinn meets my eyes, and I gesture for her to go with Aro. “Meet you there.”

She nods, jogging around the Mustang to the passenger’s side, and within a few seconds, Aro peels away.

I climb on behind Farrow.

“So you wanted girls, right?” he asks over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

I thought I paid for the girls’ prank earlier with the fireworks and stealing the locker.

But he just tells me, “You’ll see.” And he flips his visor back down.

We speed the short distance to the edge of town, down to the mill district, through the warehouses and decaying office buildings, and under the streetlights bobbing overhead in the wind. I hold him tightly, shivering a little in the cold.

We pull off the highway, cruise down a short, broken road lined with trees and overrun by weeds. They fill the air with the same scent I smell when we go to the pumpkin patch in the Falls. Hay and cornstalks, but with a little something sweet that’s dulled by the chill in the air.

The trees end, dozens of cars surround us, and I look ahead at an old cinderblock building painted in blue and purple. The colors are weathered, parts dusty and blocks chipped, revealing the gray concrete underneath. But the neon sign shines bright, the only letters not lit are the double LLs in Roller, so it reads Ro er Dome, which reads as Roar Dome in my head, which has its own poetry.

Music thunders against the walls from inside.

Grabbing my hand, Farrow walks me in, bypassing the ticket counter and opening one of the heavy steel doors. He pulls me through, and all at once, a thousand moving parts flash in front of my eyes.

A disco ball twirls above the center of the rink. Spotlights of blue, pink, and green sweep up, down, and around as people on skates and rollerblades coast around the oval track, or through the tables on their way to the bathroom or concession stand. Fifty pairs of wheels hit the floor, and the scent of cheap slices of pizza fill the air.

I spot Aro and Quinn already getting their skates, and I lock my gaze on one woman rolling around the bend of the rink. She pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it over the wall, skating in her bra.

I go still. Searching the room, I don’t see any kids in here. Like little kids. It’s all teenagers. Young adults. Some of them look a little older, though. Some of the women especially. Short skirts. Revealing shorts. Lingerie tops.

I look at Farrow, wide-eyed. “Where did you find these people?”

“Strip club.”

Holy shit.I knew all that money didn’t go to fireworks. When I said I wanted girls, he just went for it, didn’t he?

“I feel overdressed,” I mumble.

“Oh, they’re about to not be dressed at all.”

My face falls. “Farrow.”

He just laughs and pulls me along. He lifts me under my arms and plops me down on the high counter, and I stare down at him as he removes my sneakers.

An older man in a faded, blue polo approaches, racks of skates rising behind him, but he doesn’t have a chance to speak before Farrow orders, “Size eight.”

The guy nods once and shoots off, searching for my size.

I lean back on my hands a little, looking down at Farrow Kelly on one knee at my feet. I could make a joke.

But I won’t. He’s the only Rebel who’s been consistently kind to me today, and that includes Hunter.

I sit still, keeping my eyes lowered and trying not to look for him as Farrow turns in my sneakers and takes the skates that appear on the counter.

Is Hunter here?

I feel him.

But I feel like they’re all watching me, and maybe my senses are just hyperaware.

I bend my knee, slipping my foot into the skate that sits on Farrow’s thigh, and he gets busy, lacing me up.

Unable to stop myself, I look up and scan the room. Aro and Quinn step onto the rink. Mace, Coral, Arlet, and a few others talk closely at a table, Mace’s eyes darting up to me.

No Hunter.

Pulling up my camera, I snap a picture of Farrow putting on my skates. I type up my post.

A Pirate’s Life for Me.

But then I delete the caption and just say Ditch Day B-day.

I don’t post the location. It won’t be hard for the Pirates to figure it out.

Farrow puts on my other skate. “Will the Pirates come?”

I shrug. “I don’t care.”

“They’d be stupid to.”

Yes, but the Pirates have let enough slide this week. Maybe they were waiting until after their game against St. Matthew’s tomorrow night. I don’t know, but…

“I think they’ll engage in some way,” I warn him.

He finishes lacing me up and gives my skate a little slap. “Good.”

I look down at him, and he looks up at me, and I don’t know what it is about him, but he always feels familiar. He has a bad reputation, and I don’t know if he’s just playing the long game with me, but so far, he hasn’t lived up to it. I’m happy about that.

“Why do you care about this rivalry?” I ask him, staying on the counter. “What do you get out of all of this?”

“Practice.”

“For what?”

He falls silent but holds my gaze.

I grin. “Come on, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“A last resort.”

A smile taunts the corner of his mouth, and I laugh quietly.

I like that. A last resort is scary. It’s the path no one wants to take, but it is a path you can count on when everything else has failed you.

Hunter always gave weird answers to that question too.

“I can see why you and Hunter get along,” I muse but then add. “You can’t hurt Kade, though, okay?”

This rivalry is fun, but it almost always turns bad. And if the legend is true, at least one person has died because of it. I eye the tattoo on Farrow’s neck, and he wouldn’t have gotten that without earning it.

“I won’t kill him,” he retorts, his tone nonchalant. “I might make him cry a little, but…I would never hurt him.”

I’m glad to hear it, but he worded that strangely.

He sighs and rises to his feet. “Quinn is fucking hot.” He looks over his shoulder, toward the rink. “You think she’ll sit on me?”

I burst out in a laugh. Idiot.

Jumping off the counter, I roll away, wobbly and throwing out my arms to keep my balance.

Grabbing onto the wall next to the entrance to the rink, I lean in, hanging on.

“Come on!” Quinn calls with Aro at her side.

I yell after them. “I actually haven’t skated since I was ten!”

“You’re good on wheels.” Quinn assures me.

They both circle around, coming back to me against the traffic. Taking my hand, Quinn pulls me, and I clutch both of their arms as I skate onto the rink.

I push off with my toe stopper, finding my balance, and soon let go before we’ve even circled once.

“Who paid for all this?” Aro asks.

“I think Hawke did.”

She looks at me, her eyes wide. “Uh-oh.”

I know. He’s going to be pissed, and I’ll deserve it. Luckily, I can pay him back, but of course, I’ll get the “it’s the principle of the matter” talk.

It’ll be worth it, though. I’m already having fun.

“Farrow is looking at her,” Aro tells me.

I glance at Farrow, seeing him hang back at the counter, watching us. Watching Quinn.

And then I spot someone else leaning on the other side of the rink wall with his back to us, drinking a beer. His eyes are turned on Quinn too.

“Noah Van der Berg is also watching her,” I say.

I throw Noah a wave, wondering how he ended up here. He tips his chin at me and then turns back around. I follow his gaze, suddenly seeing one long dare stretching like a rope between his eyes and Farrow’s.

“That’s a lot of blond in one bed,” Aro teases.

And I throw my head back, laughing. Farrow, Quinn, and Noah…yeah, a lot of blond.

“Who are you guys talking about?” Quinn gripes.

“You’ve been gone too long,” I coo. “There are new men on the scene.”

“And I’m still as disinterested as I ever was.”

I circle around in front of them, seeing if I remember how to skate backward. I wobble but manage to stay upright.

“Her heart is taken,” I inform Aro.

“Shush,” Quinn growls a little.

But I don’t. “Have you heard anything from him?” I ask Quinn.

“From who?” Aro asks.

“Lucas Morrow,” I tell her, throwing Quinn a glance. “Another blond.”

Quinn is twenty. Lucas must be more than thirty by now. But she knew him when he was a teenager and she was a kid, and she followed him everywhere.

Quinn just cocks an eyebrow at me. “I’m not ten anymore. I left crushes behind.”

“Have you gone out with anyone at school?”

“Have you?” She smiles, challenging me.

Hunter showering with me comes to the front of my mind, and I know I’m blushing as images of his body flood my head.

Quinn gasps, seeing my face. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Nothing I can tell her anyway. She’s his family, too, and I doubt she wants to hear the details any more than I want to hear about all the places Aro and Hawke have done it.

God, I wanted to touch Hunter, though. I almost asked if I could watch him touch himself that night. I can’t believe I almost said the words. They nearly popped out, and I don’t know why he would think that was going too far after we’d already gotten naked together, but I stopped myself before I asked.

“Will there be anything to tell?” she inquires.

Butterflies swarm as we fly faster and faster around the rink.

“Is he nice?” she asks about my mystery guy.

I think about it. He used to be nice. I always felt good and safe with Hunter.

Now…

“He makes me mad all the time,” I reply. “And excited all the time.”

“Sounds about right,” Aro chimes in.

Quinn touches my arm, but we don’t slow down. “You’ll be careful?”

I want to laugh, because if anyone asks me what I want to be when I grow up, the answer is, above all else, ‘not-careful,’

“I’ll be myself.” I meet her eyes. “And I’m prepared that nothing will ever be easy because of it.”

That’s all I can do.

“Let’s go,” I say, jetting off faster.

People surround us, the dancers go wild, and the air fills with heat that blankets my skin. A brunette unzips her leather jacket, revealing a black lace bra underneath, and two women whirl around us, skating backward, one in a bikini.

It must be ’70s night because Olivia Newton-John comes on, and I just realized that every song has been old.

Aro shoots me a look, and I shrug. “Let’s just go with it.”

We laugh, and I’m a little baffled we all know the words. The chorus kicks off, we bob our heads, dancing as we roll, and I let my shirt slip down my arms. I don’t drop it, though. My hair flies behind me, sweat coats my neck, and we all tip our heads back, belting out the lyrics.

But when I open my eyes, I see a black T-shirt lingering in the background of my line of sight. I almost freeze as we cruise past, and then he’s gone, and I can’t see him.

Swallowing my heart back down my throat, I keep going, but he’s all I feel now. Rolling my head back and forth, I sing with Quinn and Aro, my hair tickling the parts of my back that are bare in my tank top and feeling his eyes on my every move.

I tip my head back, running my fingers through my hair, and when I bring it level again, I lock eyes with him.

Hunter stands just inside the steel doors, leaning slightly on the frame with his hands in his pockets, and my lungs empty at just the sight of him.

I think if he asked me for a sleepover, I’d go right now.

His hair sits messily across both sides of his head, never coiffed like Kade, because he’s like his mom and doesn’t like attention. If he didn’t look so much like Madoc, I’d wonder if he’d gotten any of his dad’s genes.

My stomach sinks, nerves setting in. He’s so unpredictable anymore, and I’m scared he’ll leave. Why am I afraid? Let him go.

I pull Aro and Quinn’s arms, smiling again, but just then, everything goes dark.

Screams slide through the air, and I halt in my skates, trying to avoid a collision. Big mistake. Someone crashes into my back, and before I know it, we’re all on the floor. Grunts and cries go off, others yelling, and I can’t help but laugh. I dig in my pocket for my phone to bring up the flashlight, but fingers clutch my arms, hauling me off the ground.

“Ow,” I say. It feels like more than one person grabbing me.

“They’re here!” a voice growls. “We have to hide!”

That’s not Quinn or Aro’s voice.

They grab my hand, and I stumble in my skates, looking around me. I can’t see anything.

“What?” I blurt out, struggling to keep up as I slide my phone back into my pocket. “Who?”

“The Pirates!”

They rush me outside, and I call out behind me. “Aro! Quinn!”

I’m shoved against a car, my wrists pinned behind my back, and I fight as I try to blow the hair from my eyes.

“Guys, what the hell?” I bark.

In seconds, my wrists are tied behind my back, tape is over my mouth, and a blindfold covers my eyes.

Is this a game? It has to be.

They shove me in a car, my legs getting pushed out of the way as someone sits down next to me and starts tying my laces together. I pull against the bindings behind my back, but I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of having a tantrum. They’re probably filming this.

Plus, I’m still wearing my skates. I won’t get far if I try to escape.

The car takes off, music blasting so loud it hurts my ears, and I work myself into a sitting position. Who has me? Rebels? Pirates?

We drive for a minute, then two, as the wind sweeps through an open window, blowing my hair.

But when the song breaks, I hear something.

Tapping.

I listen.

It’s the person next to me. They’re texting.

Then an alert goes off on a phone up front. A short pause. And then the phone of the person next to me dings again.

They’re texting each other.

And playing loud music so I can’t recognize any sounds? Voices?

Fear grips me now. Why are they disguising everything possible for me to detect my location or abductors?

I strain to breathe.

Winslet comes to mind, and I quietly struggle against my restraints again. Am I coming back from this?

The air turns wetter, thicker, and in a minute, I feel drops of rain on my arm from the open window. I try to spread my lips and pry off the tape, but it stings too much, and I stop.

The air smells of dirt as the car swerves and then makes a sharp left. I brush my hand against my phone in my back pocket. Should I take it out?

No.I won’t be able to see what I’m doing, and I’ll risk them seeing the light from the screen. They may not care that I have it, but I can’t risk them taking it.

But a thought occurs to me. What if they’re dumping me straight into the river? I should try to call for help now, right? No time to waste.

Before I can decide, the car skids to a halt and everyone is exiting the vehicle. I’m pulled out, my feet rolling underneath me in my skates, and I have to grab on to whoever has me in order to stand up again.

“Help me,” they whisper to someone.

Another pair of arms take me, but when they force me to move forward, I start fighting. More hands grab me, and soon I’m off my feet altogether, being carried into the brush. I hear them shuffle through fallen leaves and tall grass.

Crows caw, and I suddenly smell metal and rust. Like a junkyard.

Oh, no. A car. Just like her.

I flail, growling behind the tape, “Ah!”

I hear the creak of heavy hinges, and I’m shoved onto my back, landing against broken leather. The tears in the seat pinch the skin of my back, and I kick, my foot landing against something hard.

“Fuck!” they grunt, but I can’t tell who it is. A woman, I think, but her voice is too low to recognize.

“Lock her inside,” someone else says.

I squirm. No!

They slam the door shut, and I kick it with my skates again and again before I stop and try to rub my face against the seat. I need to get this blindfold off.

“And throw away the key,” I hear someone say.

Laughter fades away, and I sit up, rubbing my head against the seat back. The whole time, though, I’m waiting for it. I breathe hard, sure that it’s coming. The emergency brake to be released and the car to be pushed. That freefall feeling as I plummet into the river.

The blindfold slips free, and I shake my head, throwing it off. I blink, twisting my head back and forth, taking in my surroundings.

It takes a few seconds to blink away the blur, but I see trees. A forest.

I exhale. I’m not at the river.

And they’re gone. I jerk my head around, checking for people.

No one is here, at least that I can see yet, and I’m the only one in the car.

It’s an old one, too, sitting in a sea of old cars, all jam-packed together in the middle of the woods. What the hell is this? Trees sit on both sides, although I can spot the road to my right that we must’ve come in on.

Why are all of these vehicles abandoned here?

One of my windows is cracked, a light rain flying in, and I look over the front seat, taking in the four-door Pontiac Grand Prix. The dark red interior is all leather, and I spot the CD player and dated knobs and shifter. Gross carpet covers the floors, and the lining on the roof is peeling. This thing is from the ’90s. I look around, not seeing a single car from this century. The moon peeks through the clouds, and there must be fifty more cars stretched out in front of me and fifty more behind me.

Where the hell am I?

Fog crawls in from each side, and I spot movement far ahead. At least, I think I do. I quickly dart back down, hiding.

“Dylan!” a guy sings. “Are you here?”

Dirk? Kade’s friend.

Inching up, I peek over the seat, seeing three figures moving through the fog. They carry flashlights, peering in cars and pounding on roofs.

“Come out, come out!” he chants. “We’ve missed you.”

I duck back down. His tone isn’t inviting.

They know I’m here, but they don’t know where. Which means it was the Rebels who delivered me. They left me here for the Pirates.

Was Farrow in on this?

I need to get out of here, but I won’t make it far in skates.

I dig my phone out of my back pocket, contorting my shoulders as much as possible and looking behind me as best I can to see the screen. Pressing Power, I hit the Phone icon, about to dial Hunter.

Would he even care, though? He’d come for me, if he’s not in on it, too, but I hold back.

Hawke is too far away, and I’d rather not call my parents.

Kade would kill for a chance to rescue me from Weston, though.

I call him, but the phone barely rings once before I hear a tolling pierce the air outside.

I go still.

The other end of my call rings, quickly followed by one mimicking it outside again. I stop breathing.

He’s here. That’s his phone out there.

“Shit.” I end the call.

Fuck.

I don’t think he’d hurt me, but he’s not here to help.

“Did you think it was smart to gamble on their loyalty?” someone shouts, and it sounds like Stoli. “That’s the thing about this ghost town, Dylan. They’re loyal to nothing but getting paid.”

Tears pool in my eyes, and if I weren’t so scared, I might let them fall. I thought the girls and I had fun today, but no one really fucking likes me, do they? I’ll walk into Weston High School tomorrow as alone as when I came, and no one misses me in the Falls. Except maybe Aro.

“We don’t want you back,” Dirk calls out. “But we are owed payback.”

I shiver, my shirt still hanging down my arms, bunched up at the bindings around my wrists.

The door on my left clicks, and I lift my head, looking over.

It opens gently, and a form appears, crouched down as he turns his baseball cap backward and starts to climb in.

I blink in the darkness, through my tears. “Kade?”

He stops as I turn onto my back to try to see better.

“Is that you?” I ask.

He crawls to me, softly shutting the door behind him.

He comes down on top of me, planting a hand over my mouth.