Chapter 7

Dylan

I rev the engine, damn near pressing my stomach into the tank as I fly down the road. The river flows to my left, and I pass the train bridge that I jumped from on Grudge Night two months ago and spot the other one upriver that I crossed last night when I was taken as a hostage.

I kick it into higher gear, my heart swelling painfully in my chest, but I can’t stop grinning behind the helmet.

I love this. I’m thirty miles over the speed limit, but judging from the overgrowth spilling onto the street, I don’t think this road is ever used. Much of this town isn’t.

I squeeze the handlebars, the rumble of the bike coursing through my body. I wasn’t able to print off a copy of my license, but I can’t resist.

I need this.

The image of Farrow and the guys joining Hunter on the field and taking his punishment with him today keeps sitting in my head.

Kade would never have done that. No one in the Falls would’ve done that for Hunter.

I don’t think he’s ever coming back.

I race past the bridge, laying off the gas for a second. Maybe I should be tossing coins too. But I push the idea aside and speed ahead. I don’t have any coins, and besides, you toss when you cross. I’m not leaving Weston yet.

Curving to the right, I zoom up into the hills instead, past dilapidated houses, one with a porch swing hanging lopsided from a broken chain and another with years of some teenager’s stickers all over two of the upstairs windows.

All of the houses need fresh paint and new roofs, but there are lights inside and valid efforts with the occasional door wreath. One house has a lawn display full of homemade Halloween decorations. Skeletons wear Dad’s old clothes, and foam gravestones line the lawn along the sidewalk.

Climbing the hill, I lean as far forward as I can as the incline grows steeper. The houses fade away and a forest surrounds me, a dense collection of trees to my left and right.

Glancing into one of my sideview mirrors, I see headlights far behind me. Several.

Motorcycles.

I go faster, the road old and the blacktop faded, but it’s less broken than the flood-damaged streets downtown.

Reaching the top of the first hill, I screech to a halt and lift my visor, scanning the road ahead. A thick brush surrounds the path, weeds and years of fallen leaves coating the edges of the street. A Road Closed sign sits half on the pavement, moved aside to make way for people who don’t care if it is safe or not.

I put my feet on the ground, turn off the bike, and slip off my helmet. Engines rumble behind me, closing in, and I gaze ahead, knowing that the deserted, flat road in front of me—like a dark tunnel under the cover of trees—becomes one of the hardest to navigate once you go inside.

Rumor has it, anyway. I’ve never been.

Bikes stop behind me, one by one all going silent, and I look over my shoulder, seeing Constin, Calvin, and all the rest. Farrow charges straight for me.

“You thought I was running away?” I ask, a smile pulling at my mouth. “What were you going to do? Stop me?”

“Yes.”

I face forward again. “I said I wanted to ride.”

“You didn’t say where.” He stops at my side, planting his hands on my seat and handlebar. He gets in my face. “No one comes out here alone. You do it again—”

“You’ll take my keys?”

I turn and face him, my nose nearly touching his.

His eyes sparkle as his blond hair blows on the breeze. “I’ll take your clothes.”

My mouth closes, my teeth locking together of their own accord. I don’t falter otherwise, though, even though I know he’s not lying.

“Someone needs to be here to hide your body when you crash.”

He sounds like my father.

Just then, another bike enters the party, the helmeted driver rocking left and then right on his dirt bike, smooth as ice as he maneuvers through the other riders and halts just behind me.

Farrow rises up straight, eyeing the newcomer.

“I’m not alone,” I finally reply to him. “Noah Van der Berg watches me.”

Noah removes his helmet, his gear—pants, jersey, boots, armor—already dirty from a day of training with my father. But he smiles, not looking the least bit exhausted as the sweat makes hair stand in all directions and his sun-kissed skin shine.

I called him from the house and asked him to come because Farrow is right. Even I’m not reckless enough to be out here alone. At least not my first time.

Climbing off his bike, he does a survey of mine as he walks over. He grabs my helmet. “This isn’t yours…”

But I don’t have to answer. He knows the only brand my father uses, and this isn’t it.

He shoves it back at Farrow, handing me his own instead.

I pull the chin strap out as Noah takes an earpiece and fits it into my ear. It’s not something we normally use, but we’re out here without my father’s permission, and he doesn’t want to lose contact with me if he loses sight of me.

Farrow glares at Noah. “We got her.”

“So do I.”

Noah busies himself with connecting the Bluetooth and his own earbud.

Farrow’s lowers his voice. “You need to leave.”

But Noah just taunts back, “You know it’ll be more fun if I stay.”

He doesn’t look at Farrow, and I can feel the heat rolling off the latter.

“I need someone here I trust,” I explain to Farrow.

“Did you walk it first?” Noah asks in a low voice.

I shake my head, and he meets my eyes, silently chiding me.

“Keep it under fifty the first time,” he says. “I need to map it out.”

And with that, he presses a GoPro camera to the Velcro on the front of my (his) helmet.

“Look for the connecting stretches,” he instructs, “and throttle up.”

I nod, pulling the helmet over my head and fastening the strap under my chin.

“Elbows up, mind your weight…” he continues as I reach inside the face shield and adjust my earpiece. “And talk to yourself.” He grins at me. “No one can hear you.”

“You will,” I point out.

“And I’ll understand.”

Yeah. Normally, we wouldn’t have contact, and I could talk, sing, shout—do whatever—to push myself and keep my head zoned in on the track. It’s not something my dad did, but Noah does. He says when he thinks, he loses focus, and if he talks, he won’t think. I feel like that’s an indication of some deeper insight into his personality, but I can’t think about that now.

But one day, I took his advice about the talking, and I’ve been doing it ever since.

Finally, he lifts his gaze, meeting Farrow’s. “Anything to add?” he asks him.

“No,” he replies, the twitch of a smile on his lips. “Fifty sounds fine.”

I narrow my eyes just a hair. I don’t like how he said that.

Soft laughter resonates behind us.

Noah climbs on his bike, reaching behind him to take the spare helmet he has secured there. Fitting it onto his head, he starts his bike and crawls up to my side. He nods once, and I do too. His thumb comes up, and my thumb comes up. And then he raises his right hand just a little, counting off.

Three.

Two.

I press the button on my GoPro.

And one.

We’re off.

Noah lets me take the lead, and I rock side to side, swerving around the Road Closed sign before speeding ahead. Leaning into the wind, I scan the road, seeing cracks and potholes, and I curve quickly, avoiding them. My heart pumps hard because I don’t know what’s coming.

Coasting down the abandoned road, I dip and then hear the engine whir louder as the bike launches up a hill, the climb of Phelan’s Throat beginning now.

I break fifty, pushing it a little harder to fifty-five. I glance behind me, Noah keeping up.

Trees create a cover around us, thick trunks fencing us in as the canopies shroud us from the sun. I kick it up to sixty.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I repeat.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” I hear him in my ear.

For what? A deer? That’s about the only danger I’m anticipating right now.

The path takes a sharp curve left, and I slow just enough to brush the ground with my foot before zooming off again. A pothole races toward me, and I swerve just in time.

“We’re not racing,” he reminds me.

I ignore him because he’s only saying it, so he can say that he said it, if I get hurt. Noah is like me. We don’t go slowly.

Fast is the whole point.

We wind around bends, the road ahead opening up, and I lay on the gas, racing hard. I jerk the handlebars left and right, maneuvering around holes and pieces of broken road, feeling my heart leap into my throat, because the obstacles come so fast. I twist the bike right, almost spilling over, and I let out a laugh as the excitement rushes to my head. I drop my foot, catching myself, and then give it some more speed, barreling ahead.

I race, the wind flying at me, the cool air drifting up the gap in the helmet just above my neck, and I can smell the bark on the trees.

Faster.

But as the road whips by underneath me, climbing, climbing, climbing, something glints in the sunlight on the old pavement.

I keep glancing down, seeing it again.

And again.

Something copper-colored.

My face falls, déjà vu hitting me. Pennies.

There are pennies on the road.

I let off the gas, realizing too late when Noah flies by.

Oh, no.

“Noah, stop!” I shout, but I forgot about my visor. I slide it up. “Noah!” I scream again.

He revs up the hill, but then, his tires leave the ground, his bike soars through the air, and I gasp as he plummets back to the earth, his body leaving the bike just as he disappears.

“Noah!” I cry.

I ride to the top of the hill, keeping my speed low, because I have no idea what’s on the other side. I stop, seeing Noah splayed on the downslope, his head lolling back and forth. His bike lays twenty yards farther, on its side. I drive down to him, parking my bike on the side of the road, and jump off. I run over, ripping off my helmet and dropping it to the ground.

He grunts, one knee bent as he pulls off his helmet and drops his head back to the ground.

“And that’s…” He breathes heavy. “Why you walk the track first.”

I do a once-over, inventorying the scuff marks on his elbows and underneath his shoulders. I don’t see any blood, but he’s going to have a hard time sitting tonight.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

But just as he starts to answer, bike engines roar, flying closer and closer until all of a sudden, one, two, three, four, five, and six come skidding over the hill. Noah turns his head with me, and it all happens in slow motion, Farrow and the guys skidding out and then leaning to the right, almost laying on their goddamn sides, but never quite touching the ground as they drift around the immediate turn that happens right over the hill.

One by one, they all tilt back upright, not one of them a seasoned racer like Noah Van der Berg, but not a single one of them falling, either.

And that’s when I finally get the name. Phelan’s Throat. It’s what my dad keeps trying to pound into me. Racing isn’t about speed.

It’s science. You can’t beat Phelan’s Throat with guts. There’s a method to letting it swallow you down.

They all slow to a stop and turn around, heading back up to us.

“Don’t tell your dad about this,” Noah whispers as if they can hear over their engines. “He’ll tell mine.”

I laugh a little. I’ve never met Jake Van der Berg, but Noah avoids him like I avoid homework.

In a moment, the guys are strolling up to us.

“You little shit,” Noah says, glowering. “You could’ve warned us.”

Farrow just smiles, looking smug. “Who am I to teach Noah Van der Berg and the daughter of Jared Trent anything?”

Striding up, he grabs me and hauls me away from my friend. “Hey!” I yelp.

“Like I said, we got it from here,” he tells Noah. “Don’t come without an invitation again.”

And he wraps his arm around my waist, carrying me off.

He deposits me on the back of his bike, climbs in front of me, and starts the engine.

Farrow shoots off, leaving my bike behind, and I grab his waist on reflex, gazing back at Noah as we speed off.

The cool air nips at my face.

Farrow speeds way too fast back down to the river and over into the old fairgrounds. The bikes cruise down the dirt path toward a bonfire, and headlights appear ahead, people congregating in the empty field.

Everyone stops, and I yank my arms off Farrow’s waist.

“If he’s not home in one piece when I call…” I say.

He turns off the bike and climbs off. “As long as you remember, you’re not a guest. You’re a hostage.” He looks down at me. “Don’t ever go up to Phelan’s Throat without us again. Don’t go anywhere without us again.”

I may as well be at home if I’m going to have a dad here too.

“And don’t speak to anyone here tonight,” he commands. “Understood? If I see you talking…”

“Then what?”

The others leave their bikes, and I swing my leg off.

“You know what,” Farrow says. “Aren’t you ever interested in seeing what happens when you actually do what you’re told for a change?”

I lift my chin.

He leans in when I don’t answer, and I spot Hunter to my right, far behind Farrow’s shoulder. He sits on the hood of his car, part of the circle of vehicles around the bonfire. People walk and dance, the fire glimmers in his eyes as he watches me and lifts a drink to his lips.

“Come on, virgin,” Farrow murmurs. “Try a change of pace.”

He takes my hand and leads me toward the party, Hunter’s eyes still on us as I take my hand back.

We stop in a crowd of people, the heat of the bonfire surrounding me but not quite hitting my face. Farrow and Calvin stand in front of me, looming several inches over my line of sight as music plays and whistles go off.

Something is happening by the bonfire, but I can’t see over the guys to tell what.

“Whoo!” T.C. howls, but I don’t know at what.

Followed by someone behind me. “Hell yeah!”

I try to peer around everyone, but a drink appears over my shoulder, something brown with ice. I glance up at Constin, the flesh of his Green Street scar raised and bumpy. It must’ve hurt.

“It’s not roofied,” he says, still holding it out to me.

Farrow stands next to me, taking a drink out of a beer that’s now magically in his hand. “You’re surrounded by six guys who all have sixty pounds of muscle on you,” he points out. “We wouldn’t need you drugged to get what we want.”

“And you only belong to one of us, anyway,” Calvin adds. “He’ll see you soon. I doubt he wants to waste any of his twelve nights left with you.”

What? Who?

Farrow chuckles as the crowd cheers, but no one says more.

I take the drink without thinking. I want to ask what they mean. Who do I belong to?

But it’s probably no one. It’s clearly a threat, and I’m not going to grace it with my attention. They just want to mess with my head.

I sniff the drink, smelling rum and Coke. And I actually don’t think they’d use drugs to get me into bed, but I have no doubt they’d use them to make me act stupid on video. My parents taught me early. Cameras are everywhere, and people are shitty.

“Besides,” Calvin says in a low voice. “There’s prettier stuff here anyway. Ever hear of fucking lipstick?”

I take a sip of the drink. “I’m sorry you’re not attracted to me. That sucks.”

Someone breathes out a laugh, and Farrow tips back his beer, downing the rest of the bottle. He hands it off to Calvin and then walks to the bonfire, and I’m finally able to see what’s happening.

A naked girl is pressed against a car, a dark-haired guy in black pants grinding against her.

They’re doing that thing I saw last night.

The couple is different, though.

I can’t tell if she’s completely naked, but I spot naked arms, shoulders, and a sliver of bare skin. Way below her hips.

How old is she?

Hunter takes a sip of his drink, his feet propped up on the bumper of his car as the people around him catcall and whistle. He lifts his eyes, watching the show, and I watch him.

Not the show. Him.

He sits there as Farrow pulls off his shirt, taps the other guy on the shoulder, and waits for him to step away, as if he’s being relieved of duty. Moving in, Farrow wraps his body around hers, both of them moving slowly into each other, Hunter’s eyes on them the whole time.

I can’t see her face clearly, but her head falls back, her breath fanning the hair in her face. Hunter watches his friend hold her, and I almost can’t breathe.

He likes it.

I don’t know why it surprises me. He’s not a priest, and I’m always shocked when I realize that. When it hits me that he’s going to be alone with girls. He already has been, I’m sure.

He’s just very private about everything. Not like Kade, who wants everyone to know he just got laid.

I head over to Hunter, leaving Farrow’s crew behind as I traipse across the cold grass. Hunter meets my eyes, seeing me approach, but turns back to the show as he takes another drink.

I stop next to his car, but I face the bonfire, watching Farrow not-quite fuck the girl.

“So,” I mumble. “Pennies?”

“What?”

I draw in a deep breath. “You put the pennies on the road.”

I turn my head, looking at him. It was a signal we used—he, Kade, and me—when we were little, before we had phones. It was a way to alert the others of danger. Like to sneak in the back door to avoid our parents if we were late. To tell the others not to come in at all if we were in trouble for mischief. Hell, sometimes we even dropped a penny to signal the others to get us out of a boring conversation.

I don’t know when he did it, but he knew I’d be up there eventually.

He starts to take another drink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re such a fucking liar.”

His eyes dart to me, and I look to Farrow again, then the other guys. They told me not to talk to anyone. Not sure if Hunter counts.

I wet my lips, covering my mouth with my cup. “You should’ve warned me,” I whisper.

“I warned you to go home, didn’t I?”

I shake my head. On the one hand, I’m grateful. I should’ve walked the track. I didn’t, and I know better. If I hadn’t seen the pennies, I might’ve not been able to avoid injury as skillfully as Noah.

But what if I hadn’t seen the pennies?

I guess I didn’t expect Hunter to be in Weston anyway, so I should be grateful for any kind of warning.

Still, though. He should’ve come and stopped me. I would’ve done that for him.

“You know,” I say, watching Farrow and the girl. “Farrow and his friends crashed a party at your parents’ house on Grudge Night a couple of months ago. One of them was in a mask. Only one. He handcuffed Kade and me together.”

I didn’t even question it at the time. Why was only one of them in a mask? Now it makes sense. That was just before school started. Hunter was with the Rebels by then.

“Maybe he wanted Kade to know what it was like to sleep next to someone who loved him.” He meets my gaze. “For a change.”

My eye twitches a little. Someone who loves him…

Should I tell him where I really slept that night?

I turn my attention back to the show.

“What are they doing?” I ask, changing the subject.

Farrow takes her head in his hand, their lips almost touching as he pants with her.

“Teasing each other,” Hunter explains. “Trying to come without hands or mouths. It’s just a game they play.”

The engine rumbles against her body that I see now is completely naked, making them both tremble. Their hands roam, his chest pressed against hers, but they don’t kiss and they don’t finger. Just grind, the car helping with the vibration.

Finally, she leans back a little, exposing her body for him as howls go off loud and deep through the crowd. The tremble of the car makes her breasts shake, and he holds her hips, dry-fucking her.

“Why are they doing it in front of everyone?” I ask.

“Because it’s exciting.” He answers without hesitation. “To be watched and to watch.”

“You like to watch this?”

He’s quiet, and when I look over, he’s watching me. “Something like that.”

His green eyes study me, but then he clears his throat, turning back to the crowd.

“People don’t explain themselves here, Dylan.” He chews the inside of his lip for a moment. “It’s like they don’t do things, because they feel good. They do them, because they know they’re doomed.”

As if everyone doesn’t know that. Do we?

He continues. “The storm that destroyed this town more than twenty years ago taught them that almost everything is out of our control, and time is all we really have. We have a limited supply of it, and we can’t buy more of it. Today is the best day of Farrow’s life, Dylan.”

I don’t look to Farrow, though. I stare at Hunter.

“If he wakes up tomorrow,” his voice falls to a whisper, “it’ll be the best day of his life again.”

My heart pounds in my chest, and I barely breathe. Hunter’s lips continue to move, and I think I hear what he’s telling me, but I don’t process it as I just stare at him.

I let my eyes roam over his hair. It falls in every direction, the blond looking a little darker—maybe wet—as it hangs over his temples and forehead, nearly in his eyes. Arched eyebrows, straight nose, strong lips... His cheekbones are sharper, making his face look oval, until he flexes his jaw, and then he goes from looking like a…

Like a Roman senator to a Roman soldier.

I love how he watches them. I love how he looks at the world. I remember sitting in his car, out at the lake, in the rain, talking. That’s all we needed. Us, a view, and a couple of sodas.

I blink, turning back to the bonfire. Farrow’s thrusts grow slower, deeper, more intense, and her moans get louder. Sweat glistens on his back. She’s coming.

My voice is smaller than I like. “Do you think you’d like to be watched like this?”

I wait for him to respond, and I almost don’t think he will when he finally says. “I would never do something like this.”

“Yeah, you would.”

I feel his eyes on me, and I meet them. “People are capable of almost anything, given the right circumstances or motivation,” I say.

“Would you do this?”

I almost smile. Not because my answer embarrasses me, but because I haven’t had a conversation this stimulating with a guy in a long time.

I missed Hunter.

“Given the right circumstances or motivation…” I finally reply.

I don’t look at him again as I leave and head back the way I came. I can’t go back to the house because I don’t have the bike. They left it up on Phelan’s Throat, probably as my punishment for running off.

But I don’t want to watch Farrow ejac in his jeans, either, even though her cries carry on behind me like she’s going for an Oscar.

I head back to the bikes, somewhere quiet to call Aro and tell her how the Pirates’ hostage did today. First, I shoot a text to Noah, making sure he’s okay.

I’m cool, he says. Hit me up next time. I’ll be there.

I grin. Noah won’t wait for any invitations from Farrow Kelly.

I start to call Aro, but I look up and see Thomasin Dietrich. Everyone calls her Tommy, for short. A guy with shoulder-length dark hair holds her up against a tree and kisses her hard.

I slow my steps, all at once taking notice of his hands all over her, in places they shouldn’t be. She kisses him back, her hair completely white, the blue tips recently touched up, but her hands are pressed to his chest, like she’s deciding if she wants to push him away.

So far, she’s not.

My phone rings, and she opens her eyes, hearing it and meeting my eyes over his shoulder as his tongue burrows in her mouth.

I look down, seeing Kade’s name on my screen.

But just then, that pedophile kissing Tommy starts to slide a hand up her shirt. I don’t know if he’s older than me, but he’s definitely not as young as her.

She gives me the finger, and I ignore Kade’s call, charging toward her.

She pushes him away, bracing for me, but instead, I grab his shoulder and jam a knee right between his legs. He growls, and I glare at him. “She’s fourteen years old. What’s your name?”

His eyes water, and he holds his crotch, and even though he doesn’t answer, he doesn’t look surprised. He knows who she is. Everyone knows who she is. He heaves breath after breath, and barrels around me, stumbling away from both of us.

Tommy balls her fists, fury in her blue eyes.

“What’s his name?” I ask.

“Screw you.”

And she whips around, running away.

I would laugh because she’s a Pirate Girl. We’re tough.

But she’s not tough because she was raised to be. She’s tough because she’s bitter, and it’s the direct result of how she has to come here to feel any acceptance when she doesn’t back home.

The phone rings again, and I see Kade’s name.

He’s going to tell me to come home. He’s not going to be nice.

Inhaling a deep breath, I swipe the screen and hold the phone to my ear. “Hey.”

“You want a ride home?”

I smile a little. “No, I’m okay.”

He sounds soft. Normally, he wouldn’t ask. He’d just tell me what he’s going to do.

“I’ll come and get you right now,” he says.

I wander in slow steps. “I’m okay.”

My voice is raspy, and I swallow the lump.

“You’re mad at me.”

I shake my head, looking up and around. Hunter still sits on his car, but his eyes are completely on me now. He’s watching me.

“Not everything is about you,” I tell Kade.

“Why?” he retorts. “You love him more?”

Love him more? What is he talking about?

“Not everything is about you,” I whisper.

“Yeah, it is.” His tone is resolute. “You left because I ignored you.”

I pinch my brows together, facing the fire. But I can’t look up from the ground.

“It’s all about me,” he growls. “You never fucking noticed Hunter when I was around.”

“That’s not true.”

“He didn’t even exist when I was around, did he?”

I shake my head.

“You wanted to be where I was,” he goes on and tears fill my eyes. Is that what Hunter thinks? “Always where I was. All you saw was me.”

I…

That’s not true.

Shoes appear, then legs, and I look up, seeing Hunter standing in front of me.

“You know why?” Kade asks as I stare up at his brother. “Because you and I are alike, Dylan. We race into trouble, and I wouldn’t have you any other way. He would put a leash on you. He always tried to control you. To calm you down and restrain you.”

Hunter holds my eyes, unblinking.

“It’s our senior year,” Kade tells me. “I need you here, Dylan. You know he bores you.”

Hunter takes the phone out of my hand, looks at the screen, and swipes, hanging up on his twin.

He slides it into the pocket of my hoodie and then takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “Let’s go.”