DIrty Dark Deceit: A Criminal Bad Boy Standalone

by Lacey Alpha

“Bye bro.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and marches toward the shimmering Audi across the street. It's sleek, an RS sport model. But right now, it looks like a fucking hearse.

  I drop into the Corolla. He's had this shit-heap for years and it still smells of weed and Gio cologne. A lingering mark of his teenage years.

  As the Audi pulls away, I shift the Corolla into gear and follow.

  Please don't fuck this up and die. Please don't fuck this up and die. I chant in my head until a pain grows behind my eyes.

  When we near the drop-off point, Logan flashes his hazards at me and I park the car. My gut's like fire. No. Like acid, eating my fucking intestines.

  Rage makes my heart race. Worry makes my bones hurt. I smash my palm against the steering wheel as he disappears around the corner.

  The plan is basic at best. Logan's delivering the Audi. Tells them he wants out in a calm, rational manner. Hopes when Heathcote is told, he doesn't end up in a body bag. Or in several pieces spread across the dumpsters of London. Simple. Stupid. Juvenile.

  Sitting here, I feel like something I'm not: a coward. And I want more than anything to go after him. He gave me the location and it glares at me now from the iMaps on my phone.

  Why didn't he just listen to me? The second we met that guy we should have walked away. Logan should never have called that number. What use is eighty grand if you're six feet under in a dug out grave in the woods?

  Oh man.

  I reach into my back pocket, shifting in my seat to tease out the extra joint I shoved in there earlier. Just a toke. I gotta calm my nerves. I need this shit.

  Placing the blunt between my lips, I light the end, rolling - yes rolling – down the window like I'm living in the 80s.

  As soon as that first toke hits the back of my throat, I relax a fraction.

  Logan's gonna be fine. He's a grown-ass man.

  The third toke's the charm. Warmth rushes through my veins, warding off the adrenaline, the worry.

  Come on, what kind of brother sits here like a pussy?

  I should back him up.

  Fifteen minutes pass.

  I'm getting that sweet high already. Guess I'm out of practice.

  I'm not sure when exactly I make the decision, but two minutes later I'm driving toward the pick-up zone.

  No one fucks with a Chase. And I'm not gonna leave my brother to fight his own battles. We're better than that.

  I suck in another hit. A car horn blares in my ear and I swerve the Corolla, dropping my joint in the same movement.

  “Fuck!”

  I regain the wheel but the end of the blunt is burning a hole in my chinos. Eyes down, I scramble for it, hissing a stream of swear words.

  I catch it between my fingers, triumphant as I return my eyes to the road. Of which I'm on the wrong side of. Speeding toward the very Audi RS I recently watched Logan drive away in. The car swerves aside at the last second and I'm faced with something even more horrifying.

  Logan's kneeling in the road, his face battered, his arms bound behind his back.

  There's two things you can do in a moment like that, a moment you know is absolutely, impossibly unalterable.

  With my mind racing a thousand times faster than usual, I have to make a choice.

  Panic or relax.

  So which is it, sucker? 'Cause this is the end game.

  Calm washes over me – maybe it's the weed, maybe it's my decision. I guess I'll have time to mull that one over in hell. I wheel the car toward the only path I can take that isn't my brother: a brick wall.

  Love you Kira.

  Love you Mum.

  L word you Logan.

  DARCY

  Logan drives us through the winding lanes, away from the white cliffs of Dover, away from France, from Heathcote. And I don't feel scared, like I should. I feel, for the first time in my life, I'm exactly where I should be.

  That passion Daniel has for music? It's nothing compared to this. To him: Logan. Being with him is like riding a roller-coaster; it's a short, sweet thrill that you never want to end. But the closer we get to London, the closer we get to saying goodbye.

  I finally opened up to him. Well, if you can call it that. I said I didn't want to part from him. And that was my version of John Cusack holding the stereo up to the window of the woman he loves in Say Anything. And yeah, it sucked. But I'm planning on crawling before I try walking in this department.

  Logan's taking me god knows where and I'm curiouser than hell. Whatever he's going to show me, terrifies me. But I already know that whatever it is, won't make me run. After last night, things have changed. I woke up this morning happier than I've ever been, snuggled in the back of a stolen car in the arms of a criminal. God, if that's not material for the latest Netfllix series, I don't know what is. But I found my passion in his arms, against his lips, in the deepness of his laugh. And something is clawing at my insides, demanding I never, ever let it go.

  We arrive somewhere I never imagined. And I imagined everything from Logan being the head of an east-end gang, to him driving me into the woods where Ralph had buried his family.

  But where we are is completely unexpected: a hospital. A private hospital, no less. In a rural town in the heart of Kent.

  Logan pulls up outside, killing the engine and releasing a long sigh. I can't miss the pain in his eyes and instinctively reach for his hand. He squeezes my fingers before stepping out of the car. He drapes an arm over my shoulders as I join him, guiding me toward the glass doors.

  Inside, a pink-haired receptionist glances up, meeting Logan's eye and giving him a sorrowful nod before returning to her work. Not a word passes between them, but there's a mutual understanding hanging in the air. Logan guides me to an elevator and we remain silent even when we step off on the third level reserved for long-stay patients.

  I throw him a curious glance but his expression is taut and he's evidently deep in thought. I'd give anything to reach into his mind and untangle the webs of pain I sense there.

  We head down the quiet hall, my flip-flops the only sound as they smack against the pristine white floor.

  Whatever awaits us beyond that door is Logan's most guarded secret. I'm certain of that. This is his walls coming down, this is him saying he cares about me. Because I wouldn't be standing here beside him if he didn't.

  It gives me a surge of confidence, knowing how much he's about to confide in me. I tug his arm, turning him to me. “I love you,” I blurt it. Had to say it fast. There was no other way to get those words out. And I'm as surprised as he looks that they actually left my lips.

  His eyes refocus as he mentally rejoins me in the hallway, pinning me with his lapis lazuli gaze. “Oh fuck, Darcy. Did that hurt?”

  “Yeah,” I laugh, ducking my head into his chest. “But less than I thought it would.”

  His hand clamps down on the back of my neck, crushing me to him so all I can smell is his musk, his pain, his love.

  He doesn't say it back, just clutches me tighter. And it doesn't matter that he doesn't say it because all I feel is the release of chains around my heart. Letting go. Letting him in. Asking him to love me too, but knowing he might not. And knowing the pain of that rejection could break me into a million pieces. But unlike the loss of Daniel, losing Logan would be World War Three, the apocalypse, the three bloody horseman coming to seek their wrath on me. But I don't care. Because if I never put myself on the line right then, I'd regret it forever.

  “Come on,” he says softly, nearly a whisper. “It's time you knew the truth.”

  He pushes through the door and what greets me isn't a sickly patient as I expect. It's a young man, laid out in a bed, his arms slack, his nose hooked up to a breathing tube. He's asleep or unconscious, I'm not sure. The slow, persistent sound of a ventilator works his lungs. The sucking noise is punctuated by rhythmic beeps. The man's heart, I realise.

  Logan presses his hand into my spine, encouraging me forward. I approach the bed, gazing down at the man who can onl
y be Logan's brother from the curve of his jaw, his hollowed out cheeks and thick brows. But he's dark where Logan is fair. His nose skewed ever-so-slightly to the right like someone once took their fist to it. He's beautiful, like Logan, but there's something innocent about him too. Even in sleep, his expression is peaceful, like he's dreaming of something that makes him happy. Faint scars line his cheeks, but mainly his forehead. Nothing enough to take away from his handsome face, if anything, it adds to it.

  I glance over my shoulder at Logan standing by the door, his arms folded across his chest.

  “What happened to him?” I ask, breaking the silence between us.

  Logan's shoulders rise and fall heavily. This room is pain to him. It radiates from his strong form, cutting him down to nothing but a man. A man with deep, dark feelings punctuated with the cut of loss.

  He pushes off of the door, joining my side, gazing down at the man who seems more of a boy as Logan takes his hand. Logan runs his thumb across it, his fingers visibly digging into his skin like he's silently trying to wake him up.

  I chance a look at Logan's eyes, hopeful. Wanting to meet the man that Logan so clearly cares about.

  “He's my brother,” Logan supplies, though he doesn't need to. “Adam.”

  His name rings in the room like a prayer, like Logan's saying it to him not to me.

  “Adam,” I breathe, repeating it. “What happened to him?”

  Logan inhales a rattling breath. “Adam came with me to drop off a car to Heathcote's men. I planned on getting out that day, I didn't want to steal anymore. Heathcote had had me beaten to shit a few weeks before. And I wanted out.”

  My mouth falls silently open and I lay a hand on his back, trying to give him strength.

  “I told Adam to wait nearby. I didn't want him getting caught up in it all. But I needed a getaway car if things went south.” He lets out a humourless, bitter laugh. “My stupid fucking mistake. Adam was loyal as hell. Came running after me, of course. When I went to drop off the car, two of Heatcote's men were waiting for me. The drop-off point was some guy's garage on the outskirts of Brixton. I gave them the Audi I was delivering then told them it would be my last job. That Heathcote needed to know I was done stealing cars.”

  I grip his shirt in my hand, wanting to wrap my whole body around him and halt the pain in his voice.

  He continues, “One of the guys took the Audi and pulled out of the garage, taking it fuck knows where, and I walked away. It was over. Or so I thought. Except two minutes later I was being bound and beaten to shit, dragged into the road.”

  My heart reaches for my throat. Tears burn my eyes but I don't let them fall, desperate to be strong for Logan's sake.

  He sighs, his head dropping down. “Adam had come after me. And Heathcote knew it. His men said they'd had me tracked for weeks. One of them, I can't remember which, told me my death was now in the hands of my brother. But Adam swerved the car before he hit me, driving my shitty Corolla into a brick wall. The airbag didn't deploy – the shit heap that it was.” Logan shakes his head, his eyes faraway as he kneels in that road again in his mind, seeing his brother in the mangled wreck of his car.

  “I'm not sure if Heathcote wanted either of us to actually die, but he was certainly sending me a fucking message.” His fist curls around the bed sheet and he drops to his knees, leaving me shocked and desperate to help him.

  “After the ambulance took Adam away, Heathcote rang me.” Logan's voice turns cold. “He said my brother would receive the best care so long as I cooperated, kept stealing cars, kept bringing in the money. That if I didn't cooperate, I was dead and he'd finish off the job on Adam.”

  He sucks in a rattling breath, pressing his forehead to his brother's arm. “Every penny I get off those cars goes here now. The NHS won't fund someone in a coma forever. It's too expensive. And a year after the accident I was given a very serious conversation from his doctor, telling me I needed to let him go.”

  Logan punches the metal bar surrounding the bed, making a loud twanging sound. I drop my hand to his shoulder. “Logan...”

  “I moved him here, to a private hospital, funding it with every car I stole for Heathcote. Adam's been here six years, Darce. And he won't wake up. He won't fucking wake up!” He aims his fury at his brother, at himself, at the room itself.

  I drop to my knees, throwing my arms around his body, clutching him as the tears flow from my eyes. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

  Logan groans his pain, going slack against the bed. “Wake up, wake up, Adam,” he grits out.

  The door opens and I swing around, taking in the slim Asian girl standing there in black leggings and a blue cropped tee with a cat on it.

  Logan whirls around, standing at the sight of her. “Kira-”

  She raises a hand, halting him, her eyes spewing acid. “I didn't know you'd be here. I'll come back later.”

  “Kira, please, listen to me.”

  She sprints from the room like an alley cat and Logan marches after her. “Kira!”

  I stand on shaky legs, my head reeling. I'm not sure why, but I mutter an apology to Adam, squeezing his wrist before darting out of the room after his brother.

  Logan's marching down the hall as Kira scampers into the lift.

  “Stay away, Logan,” she snaps. “I don't want to talk to you. It's your fault he's here.”

  My heart aches for Logan. Whoever this girl is, she loves Adam too. And much as I can see why she's angry, it kills me to know her blame is directed at Logan. When he already beats himself up over it, probably every day of his life.

  Logan misses the lift by a second and instead charges into the stairwell. I patter after him, unsure if I should follow but wanting to be there for him all the same.

  Downstairs, I step into the lobby, two steps behind him.

  Kira joins an older woman with long blonde hair the same colour as mine. Her dark blue eyes narrow on Logan, filled with loathing. Those eyes are the exact same shade as his.

  Logan stops dead in his tracks and I bump into his back, feeling like I've hit a brick wall. He doesn't turn around, just stands there, his body rigid. “Mum...”

  I'm hit with the feeling I've walked into the family reunion from hell and instinctively slide my hand into Logan's. After a beat, his fingers tighten on mine and I'm eternally grateful that he isn't shutting me out.

  His mum's eyes slide to me and back to her son, her expression unchanging. She presses back her shoulders, drawing up to her full height which isn't very tall, and says, “I won't ask you again, Logan. Give your brother peace. Let my poor baby rest.”

  LOGAN

  I watch Adam outside the front of the house smoking pot with his friends. He's exactly what my mum didn't want him to be. Like me.

  I stub out the blunt in my hand. Better start acting like the kid he should be, I guess. Maybe then he'd have someone half-decent to look up to.

  Coming face to face with my brother's girlfriend shortly followed by my mother, was not how I planned on this day going down. But in true Chase style, I'd royally fucked things up again. And now Darcy was laying witness to the shit show that was my life.

  “I cant do that, Mum,” I sigh.

  “Don't call me that,” she hisses. “You're no son of mine.” She turns on her heel, snatching Kira's arm when she doesn't move and guiding her out of the hospital.

  My heart hurts. Fuck it, all of me hurts. But I can't do what she says. I can't let the doctors turn off the life support. And if I have to shoulder the blame from her and Kira for the rest of my life, that's what I'll do. Because Adam is going to wake up, he has to.

  And then they'll see, they'll see I was right for keeping him going. Right for paying his hospital bills, forking out hundreds, thousands and thousands of pounds just to make sure that ventilator keeps pumping oxygen into his lungs, keeps his heart beating. Because all the while that happens, there's a chance. A fucking small chance, but a chance all the same, that he is going to wake up. That he will come b
ack to me and fix our broken family. It could all be right again. If only he'd just...wake up.

  “Logan,” Darcy's soft voice brings me back to the room, sucking me out of the vortex in my body.

  “I'm sorry,” I mumble. “Sorry.” Don't know what else I can offer really. Sorrys aren't much good for anything when it comes to this situation. Yeah, I'm sorry I ruined my brother's life. Kira's future. Sorry I broke my mother's heart. Sorry I was greedy and took Heathcote's offer all those years ago. Sorry sorry sorry.

  Sorry didn't bring him back. Sorry didn't make them hate me any less. And sorry didn't change what Darcy had just witnessed.

  “Don't be,” she breathes - the most twisted joke of all. The girl I adore, no fuck it, love, telling me not to be sorry. When that's all I am. For all of it. Everything.

  “It wasn't your fault,” she presses but how wrong she is. Maybe the accident wasn't my fault directly, but indirectly, yeah? It didn't skip the doctor's attention that Adam was high as a kite when he drove into the wall, either. Reason number one for my mother to hate me. I got Adam into that shit. Placed his very first joint into his hand. Good brother, huh?

  All my bullshit, my acting out because I couldn't stand the fact that my mother valued my little brother over me. All of it led him right to that hospital bed. Because I was a selfish little prick who couldn't accept the fact that he was better. He was the only chance our mother had at producing something good. And I was the virus that infected our family and caused my brother to end up like he did. Like me.

  “We should go,” I grunt, guiding Darcy to the door. She says nothing more but clings to my hand like it's life itself.

  My next life decision solidifies in my mind.

  I drive Darcy back to her house in silence, climbing out of the car and opening the door for her when she doesn't move.

  She remains rooted in the car.

  “Out,” I command.

  She shakes her head, her eyes staring straight forward.

  “Out, Darcy. Now.” This is the end and she knows it. No more dragging people through the shit trail that stains the ground I walk on.