“Fuck you, boy. You don’t know who you’re messing with. If you did, you’d be quaking in your fancy car right now, pissing your pants as you left.”
“Widen your fucking vocabulary. And I have a very good idea. The Devil’s Hands are dangerous. But you’re barely a gnat on their forehead. Small, inconsequential, and most of the time they have no idea you even exist. Right?”
I couldn’t see his expression, but I imagined the taunting smirk as he leaned deeper through the doorframe, using his height to intimidate. This was going too far. If this guy was part of the group that hurt Jonah, we didn’t need to give him motivation to look our way. Wasn’t that exactly what we talked about last night? That these people would sooner slit your mother’s throat than say hello?
The man turned a ruddy, unattractive shade of red as he blustered through a series of threats. “Now you’re a known face to me. And known faces who aren’t members or bitches, don’t live very long. You’ve signed your death warrant now, boy.” He cackled and the awful sound was pitifully weak.
“Nah, I don’t think I did. What did Jonah do to get on your bad side?” Beck straightened up, smoothing his hand down his white tee as he affected a conversational tone.
The man laughed again, but this time the sound was ugly and vindictive. “He did what all the dead men have tried and failed to do. He double-crossed us. And for that, he’ll die.” This time when he slammed the door, he succeeded.
What the hell was this? The freaking idiot double-crossed a motorcycle club known for dealing death just as easily as dealing drugs? And another ugly truth slammed into me.
You might want to save someone, but sometimes, it was doomed to fail before you even got a chance to make a difference.
What was beating on my head? Little spider monkeys must have had tiny hammers, attacking my head like it held a year’s supply of bananas. Why didn’t I have enough strength to do anything about it? Damn.
I cracked an eye, and saw a small, white mouth munching on something in the corner close to its nest. Ah, my childhood home. And the pounding? That was the drumroll to the end of my life as I knew it. Otherwise known as the headache from hell. Curled up on my side, I slowly woke up, waiting for my brain to start functioning properly before I moved. And when I did, my sore muscles groaned in protest. I’d always heard things like aches and pains didn’t affect teenagers because they were young and able to sleep anytime, anywhere. That was obviously—and painfully—not true. Sleeping on a rotten wood floor did nothing for me.
Strong beams of sunlight speared through the windows. Astrid would love this place. People were her forte, but something about this abandoned house screamed both calculated neglect and dreadful beauty. Astrid would most likely find a kindred spirit in this condemned place.
I moved through the house, finding boxes and garbage bags of stuff from years ago. When a house was condemned, if the owner didn’t have the want or means to do the repairs, what was the use of clearing out the junk?
And to anyone else, this was exactly what littered the house. Junk. Ratty clothes, small knickknacks, old papers blown all over the floor. When I stopped at my bedroom, a bittersweet nostalgia rolled over me. It wasn’t so bad here was it? At least not when I was younger. Before my dad ran off when I was ten and I was left alone to be my own playmate. It might not have been the perfect childhood someone else might have had, but it was peaceful. And it was mine.
Rhys probably had a perfect childhood. Oh, I believed his dad was a bastard just like he did. But something about the man made me believe he was different when Rhys was a kid. He seemed like the kind of man that taught him how to ride a bike, and proudly rooted for his son as he learned how to play hockey. When Rhys was old enough to recognize the less than caring decisions his father made is probably when it all started to go downhill.
Down the hall was my mother’s room. The door was cracked, much like it used to be when we lived here. Until it was always shut.
Where my room was cleared of my belongings since I moved in with Jare, this room was almost untouched. I spent the next fifteen minutes sifting through her stuff. There was no reason behind it, other than I was curious and the need to avoid my own problems was strong.
Most of the stuff meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. But when I got to the bottom drawer of her nightstand, shit got interesting.
At first, I recoiled from the sight of crusty, old sex toys. Gross. I’d never really wondered about what abandoned sex toys would look like after years of disuse and cleanings. But here, these poor cracked and old rubber things looked like they still carried the remnants of their last session on them.
I almost shut the drawer until I noticed a gray tin box in the back corner. So I could avoid touching the toys in any way possible, I pulled the drawer completely off the hinges. The tin was in fairly decent condition and luckily, not locked.
With an easy snap of the metal lock, the lid popped open. Inside were a few pictures, and about a dozen letters. I picked the photos up first, flipping through the few on top.
The first was a picture of my mom and dad, with her sitting on his lap smiling at him while he smiled at the camera. She was young and beautiful, with a shine for life. How time had changed her to the hardened criminal she became after he was gone.
The next picture was of Dad by himself. He probably had no idea the picture was taken. Standing next to a grill in the backyard, he seemed to be deep in thought, like maybe the brats held the secret to the universe if only they’d share it with him.
And the last, what was that? It was dim, like it was almost dark and the lights weren’t turned on. Dad stood over the bed, tossing anything and everything into a suitcase. Black bruises dotted his arms and it looked like even the bottom of his jaw sported a decent discoloration. He looked distraught and in a hurry. Why would Mom take this picture?
She was never like Astrid. Never one to care about art or beauty, or even big on creating family memories through photos. I could imagine here that she would have been pleading with him, throwing anything she could grab at his head. Asking what he was doing? Was he really leaving? She was as dramatic as they came when she wanted to be.
Setting the pictures aside, I pulled out the letters. Each was addressed to Dad. Each had a return stamp on them. Flipping through the unopened letters, each had a different address. It was like she was trying to track him down by sending letters to different places she thought he might be.
After he left, I remember asking where he was. Instead of comforting me as what I imagined a normal mother would have done, she’d flown into a rage, breaking whatever item was closest to her at the time. Mug, plate, picture frame, it didn’t matter. Almost like the breaking of something that wasn’t her own heart gave her a little power back over her life. Only that hadn’t worked for me. I used other ways to get through life, although I hadn’t had to turn to it in awhile.
Each letter was the same variation of last one.
Why did you leave us? Prez won’t leave me alone. He said you skipped out on your debt to follow some skank whore. Tell me it isn’t true. Come back. If you ever loved us at all, please come back. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to take your spot. If you can’t come back for me, come back to save Jonah. He doesn’t deserve this life.
The only difference was the very last one. It read more like a love letter. She wrote of all the things she missed of him. All the things she wished they had time to do. Then her very last line.
I understand now. If you’d shared with me, I could have helped. We could have run away. But now, our life will never be together. And I doubt I’ll be in Jonah’s for much longer.
What the fuck?
I lost my balance and my ass thudded hard against the floor. The letters crinkled in my grip, then I opened my hand and they fluttered on top of the pictures.
Think Jonah, think.
Events flickered through my head as I remembered them. None of this made any sense. I powered my phone on and waited for i
t to open. Several chimes and dings went off, bringing back last night in bright and vivid detail.
Rhys: Dude, where are you? We’re worried.
Rhys: Seriously, not cool ghosting us.
Astrid: Call me when you get this.
Astrid: I’m not kidding, Jonah. Friends don’t just run away. We want to help. Please call me.
Astrid: Don’t make me hunt you down! As soon as I find out where you live, I’m coming to get you!!
Fuck. All kinds of messed up things could happen if they went to Jare’s. Especially if Reaper was there. And he hardly ever left.
They were right. I was being a bad friend. But I wasn’t the kind of friend they needed in their life right now. Especially not Astrid. I was no friend at all if I brought this shit into their life.
Rolling the phone around in my hand, I weighed my options. I could ignore them, and let them forget about me completely. The thought stung more than I believed it could. The other option was to be honest with them. Tell them what was going on, and be very clear that they couldn’t help. But would they ignore my wishes?
Astrid had been a firecracker last night. Of course she’d go against my wishes.
Choice made, I shoved the phone back in my pocket and winced as I knowingly turned myself into an asshole.
After I left the house, there was something I needed to do first. I stopped at a drug store and bought a travel bag with toothpaste, toothbrush, and deodorant, to attempt to keep up my hygiene while I figured out where I was going to sleep at night. Once I felt human again, I filled my tank up and started a mini-road trip I’d never thought I’d make.
It was time to find answers to things I used to believe were better left in the past. But the ugly truth was, your past never stayed in the past, and no matter how much you despised it, it was part of you. And no matter how hard you tried to keep it buried, it always came back to bite you in the ass.
“Beck, we need to be somewhere private and fast. I—we—need to know what the hell that was.” I braced my weight on the back of Rhys’ headrest as I poked my head in between Beck and Rhys.
His jaw was grinding so hard it was hurting my ears. Dang, he was going to need dentures if he didn’t get his anger and frustration under control.
“We’ll go back to Thatch’s. Thatch, your sister isn’t due back for a while, is she?” Beck glanced at Thatcher in the rearview over my head, studiously avoiding making eye contact.
Thatcher leaned beside me, his cheek touching mine as his hand slid across my lower back. “She might stop by later today but probably not. She’s been staying home more lately.” An odd note in his voice tinged his words. That bothered him.
“Good.” Beck sped up, forcing me back into the back seat. It was a quiet ride, but I used the time to build a list of all my questions. Oh, I used the time very wisely.
Energy, curiosity, and worry was the cocktail vibrating through my body. We arranged ourselves in a perfect square to have this conversation. I had one end of the couch while Thatcher had the other. Rhys claimed the loveseat, and Beck pulled the coffee table over to the side and took a seat on top of it.
“I think I can speak for the three of us, that your show back there was out of character. Especially since you’ve made your dislike of Jonah clear.” Thatcher planted his elbows on his knees as he leaned toward Beck. “What was that?”
Beck nodded, he had to have known we would start with that.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said Jonah was in big trouble, and we have almost no way of helping him. For the record, I still stand by that. But the guy that answered the door was part of the Devil’s Hands, if you hadn’t figured that out. And if we’re going to try and help Jonah…” He shot me a look that said how pointless he thought the exercise would be. “—then we needed to know what happened. He wasn’t going to answer Mr. Rogers.” I pointed at Thatch. “The only way was to be ugly about it. And that’s what I did. And he told us. We don’t know specifics, or any information really, only that Jonah did something he wasn’t supposed to do. To them. That means he has to pay.”
“Please tell me he was joking when he said he had to die, like some knockoff medieval wizard.” If he was really as low down on the totem pole as Beck made him out to be, then maybe he was talking out of his ass. If not, no, I couldn’t go down that path.
Beck paused as if to weigh his words. When he looked up, pity was so strong I almost wailed my frustration. I didn’t. But it was a close call.
“There’s really no telling, Astrid. I’m sorry. This is one of those situations where I’d say hope for the best and prepare for the worst. That guy truly doesn’t mean anything to Devil’s Hands. He’s basically a glorified lackey, if that. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t heard talk about what they plan to do. Or that he hasn’t been given orders. I’d lean against the last since he told us to let Jonah know he wasn’t welcome back there, but I don’t have an absolute answer.”
“Then we have to go to the police.” Rhys chimed in. For the first time since last night, he really started to look worried. Hell, he could have been worried earlier, but I wasn’t in the right headspace to notice.
“No police. We can’t guarantee they don’t have anyone on their payroll there, and if your names were passed over, there’s no way they wouldn’t retaliate. Silver Ranch is fairly small town, and even if it isn’t true, the Devil’s Hands think they own it.”
I expelled a heavy breath. “Okay. We don’t go to the cops. And Jonah somehow turned against them. What are our options, Beck?”
Come on, Beck. Don’t leave us with nothing. If anyone knows how to help, it’s you.
“Let me think it over. Right now, I’m drawing a fucking blank. Actually, if we really stand a chance to help him, then we need to know what happened.”
“Only we have no idea where he would have gone.” Thatcher commented drily.
“I’ve seen some of the people he hangs out with at school. I can catch them and ask them.” Rhys volunteered.
As much as I hated to kill his willingness to help find Jonah, catching those kids wouldn’t help. “He doesn’t talk to them like that. It’s like he’s a fake Jonah with them. You know who we need to find, is that Mike guy.” I snapped my fingers. That was it. From the conversations I overheard, Mike knew exactly what Jonah was into, and was most likely involved too. “Wait. I think Mike is a part of the same gang. We shouldn’t approach him, should we?” I looked to Beck.
“Not if he’s in with the Devil’s Hands, it could do more harm than good. Jonah wouldn’t miss school tomorrow. We could try and corner him before class.”
That was a whole day away. Anything could happen in that time, but I wasn’t seeing many other options.
“That’s the quickest way we will catch him.” Rhys nodded. “But for now, we need to figure out what to do with Astrid. She can’t go back there.” Steel glinted in his eyes.
Thatcher propped a bent leg on the couch as he turned toward me. “You can stay here. That’s not a problem and I’ve wanted to introduce you to Trinity anyway. But you need to call your dad. You need to know how bad things are at home.”
Everyone nodded in agreement. I saw the benefit and practicality of doing just that, but it held no appeal to me. Still, I wasn’t a coward, and while I cowered away from stressful social situations, I couldn’t stick my head in the sand and pretend nothing happened. Not when I was so close to getting out for good.
“Speaker?” I asked.
“Try it. If he notices anything, tell him it’s your Bluetooth in your car.” Beck said.
Thatcher held his hand up. “That won’t work. She didn’t take her car this morning.”
“Shit, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think he’ll notice. Here goes nothing.” The ringing blared through the speaker of my phone as each guy scooted closer. Beck sat by my feet and leaned back into the couch, while Rhys only moved to the edge of the loveseat.
“Astrid. Where are you
?” Dad’s voice wasn’t really alarmed, more mildly curious.
“Hi Dad. I’m with Rhys. Did you talk to Mom?” My words were measured, even.
A pause. “I did. She’s very upset right now.” He was trying to lead me into giving up information. But that wasn’t going to work for me. He already knew the bulk of it anyway. No way would Mother Dearest keep the information of me having boys in my room to herself. Not when she needed to justify her actions.
“Why was she home at six this morning? Did something happen?”
He sighed like the Bible he carried around was getting too heavy for him to carry. “It wasn’t a good weekend. The Bennets went with us, and she walked in at a very unfortunate time.”
So she caught him cheating. On a church retreat.
“You cheated on her at a church retreat? Are you kidding me?” Why didn’t he sound more upset? His world was crumbling around his head and he was calm as you please.
“She was supposed to be with the ladies for a late-night study.” He sniffed like that should have made it perfectly all right to have sex while his wife was feet away in another building.
I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought of his actions, but I stopped. I couldn’t change him, and yelling at him would only be for my benefit. And really, he wasn’t worth that type of energy. Neither of my parentals were.
“What does that mean for your marriage?”
“What do you mean? Your mother isn’t going anywhere. We had a long chat when I got home. She understands the way it’s going to be.” Meaning she would be expected to turn a blind eye. Thoughts of karma flashed in my mind, but I wouldn’t wish this type of arrangement on anyone. If she really cared about herself, she would divorce him. But knowing Mother Dearest, public opinion was everything. She wouldn’t upset her reputation to find someone who treated her well. And honestly, she was such a vile person, they deserved each other.
Ugly Truths: A Contemporary YA Romance (Astrid Scott Series Book 2) Page 12
