I pick out another detail from our past—one from what feels like a lifetime ago.
“Or how about I call you…” I pause to lean forward, then dip my voice in low. “Johnathan.”
His jaw flexes and his nostrils flare as he takes a steadying breath. He's good, I'll give him that. He didn't even flinch. But I can see it there in his eyes, the memory of the first night we met. I can't tell how he feels about me bringing it up—maybe he's embarrassed, maybe he's pissed—but he's definitely something.
And that makes the corner of my mouth twist up in the closest thing I get to smiling.
“I’m going to get right to the point, Hook,” he says, flipping his file folder open and spreading out eight-by-ten glossies of me conducting business at several clubs in the London area. “We’ve had you under surveillance for the past couple of months, and we believe you’re the one heading up the distribution of the new club drug of choice, Fairy Dust.”
Any trace of humor falls from my face, and the familiar heat of betrayal burns in my gut. So much for any kind of history between us earning me a little leeway. I should've known better. That night on the beach he told me he planned on bringing Croc down. I told him to stay out of it, but I shouldn't have trusted him to listen the same way he did when he was just a scrawny little kid who worshipped the ground I walked on.
Should’ve fucking known better.
“Far as I know, the FBI—Task Force or otherwise—doesn’t make a habit of paying special visits to guys hauled in on drug charges. So cut the bullshit and tell me what the hell this is really about, Darling.”
He shoves to his feet and appears to think of how he wants to start as I try not to notice how his shirt pulls taut across his wide chest and broad shoulders. Or think about wrapping that chain around my fist and dragging him down to his knees— Shit. Knock it off or you’ll be the first guy to ever spring wood during an interrogation.
I take a slow, deep breath and release it carefully so my thready control over my starved libido isn’t noticeable. Then I arch a brow in John’s direction. “Well?”
He drags a hand over his groomed goatee, then leans forward, bracing his fists on the table. "We know your boss, Fred Croc, is behind this new drug. What we don't know is if this is the only activity he’s involved in or if there’s potentially something bigger. We also have reason to believe that this drug isn't stable. Several young women have ended up in the hospital and almost died as a result of using Fairy Dust."
I clench my teeth and try not to react. That's news to me, but then it's not like I keep up on current events. I hate selling drugs. Hate perpetuating the lifestyle that ultimately put me and my brother in that damn school. I’m only doing it for one very important reason—to get Starkey out of danger. But I still fucking hate it.
Telling myself these kids would be getting drugs from someone else, regardless, helps to ease my guilt. But I didn't know that anyone could OD on the Dust. If it's unstable, like he says, and it proves to be fatal for some of these kids, that makes me their Grim Reaper.
That'd be a whole new set of sins on my head. Ones I'm not sure I'd survive.
“I told you before, and I’ll say it again,” he continues. “We intend to bring Croc and his operations down. For good.”
The image of Croc behind bars is like a shining light at the end of the long, dark tunnel that’s been my life. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that something that sounds too good to be true, always is.
“If it’s Croc you want, what does all this have to do with me, Darling?”
John nails me with the look of a cop getting his man, his eyes lighting up like fire shining through dark amber. “From now on, my name is JD. I’m the newest member of your Pirate crew.”
My heart stops. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m going undercover to take Croc down from the inside,” he says, his lips curving up in a wolfish grin, “and you’re my way in.”
Chapter Three
John
Then
Age 11
* * *
I can hardly believe where I am. Part of me wonders if I’m dreaming this whole thing up, but I don’t think even my imagination is this good, which means it must be real.
Last week I caught my sister, Wendy, climbing onto her bedroom balcony in the middle of the night. She tried telling me some dumb story about her sleepwalking, but I’m super smart and I pay attention to details—like how her breathing changed and she wiped her sweaty palms on her pants—so I knew she was lying.
But in a million years, I never thought my goody-goody sister would be sneaking out to see a bunch of kids in Neverland of all places, the city we’re not even allowed to get close to. Our parents would flip if they ever found out. Like, grounded for life, do not pass GO, do not collect two hundred dollars kind of flip.
Except she says she’s been doing this for over a year, so I guess it’s safe to say odds are in our favor that we won’t get caught. I hope so, anyway, because the idea of breaking the rules freaks me out. Not a lot—I’m not a wimp or anything—but just a little. I like rules and laws. We have them for a reason, and I believe in following them to the letter.
Normally.
I’m bending them for this, because it’s just too cool to pass up. The eleven kids Wendy hangs out with are orphans who live at the School for Lost Boys of Neverland. Tinker Bell is a girl, though. I don’t know what she’s doing at a school for boys, and when I asked her, she just glared at me and went to bed. One of the boys my age, Silas, laughed and told me to be careful not to piss off the fairy, which I thought was weird, but I figured I should maybe not ask any more questions about her until Wendy and I are home.
We’ve been here—in the second-floor room where they all live—for about a half hour. So far I’ve learned that they used to have weird names until my sister gave some of them normal ones. Looking around the room, I try to remember who is who and commit them to memory so I don’t forget. Silas, Nick, Thomas, the twins Tobias and Tyler, Carlos, Tinker Bell, Smee, Starkey (those last three names are their original weird ones and even weirder is that Smee talks like a leprechaun), and their leader, Peter Pan.
It’s totally obvious that Wendy likes Peter as more than just friends. I don’t know if they’re boyfriend-girlfriend or anything, but they act like they want to be, which is gross to think about, so I’m not going to.
“Wait a minute,” I say to Wendy. “You said eleven kids, but I only count ten.”
Wendy glances at the door that leads to the first floor. “The last one is James Hook—but don’t call him by his first name—and he’s still downstairs with Croc, the man who runs the school. Sometimes Croc keeps him after supper for training on how to run his mechanic business. Since Hook is almost sixteen, he’ll be out of the school in a couple years and can work full-time there.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” I say, nodding.
Peter snorts. “Not if you know Croc, it’s not.”
I look over at Peter for an explanation, but Wendy shakes her head and Peter shrugs. Before I can tell her to stop treating me like a baby—she thinks because I’m two years younger that I shouldn’t know stuff, which is dumb because Mom always tells people I’m an old soul, so that should count for something—Thomas asks to play a game of I Spy, and they all start talking at the same time.
We’re in the middle of the first game when the door opens and an older boy enters, and everyone gets real quiet.
Hook.
My eyes widen as I take him in. Dressed all in black, he’s tall and thin, but I can tell he’s not weak. His arms look strong, like my sensei’s, and he seems like the kind of kid who would start a fight for saying the wrong thing to him. Shaggy black hair hangs in front of his eyes so I can’t see what color they are, but he doesn’t look at any of us anyway. It’s like we’re not even here as he passes.
Smee and Starkey jump up and run over to a dresser where they grab what looks like a
fresh black T-shirt and pair of sweats, then rush to meet him at the bathroom door. “Here you go, Captain,” Smee says. “Anything else you need?”
“Anything else, Captain?” Starkey echoes hopefully.
James doesn’t answer. Just grabs the clothes and disappears into the big bathroom, closing the door behind him. The boys come back to the circle, and a few seconds later I hear the sound of a shower running.
“Is he always like that?” I ask Smee when he sits next to me on the floor.
His forehead crinkles. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug, trying not to look as curious as I really am. “Rude, I guess.”
“He’s not rude. Least not to me and Starkey.”
Starkey, who’s only seven and has the coolest white hair with dark brown eyebrows, bounces on his knees and says, “Captain likes us because we do stuff for him. Everyone else likes Peter better, but we like Captain better.” His cheeks get red like he’s realized what he said out loud. “Sorry, Peter.”
Peter smiles and gives him a wink. “Don’t sweat it, kid. I know Hook’s your guy.”
Wendy adds, “I think it’s great how you boys look after Hook. Everyone needs good friends like you.”
They smile at my sister. She’s learned how to say the right things from our mom who always knows how to make us feel better. It’s nice that she’s using the mom tricks to make the Lost Boys feel good, too. It’s weird to think that none of them have any parents. I can’t imagine not having a mom or dad. I bet it makes them really sad sometimes.
I peek over at the closed bathroom door, thinking about the boy on the other side. Is he sad? Or is it annoying having to live with so many little kids? I only have Wendy and our younger brother, Michael, and sometimes I think living with them is annoying. It must be a lot worse with ten others in the same room. Or maybe he hates having to learn stuff with that Croc guy.
I’m curious to find out more about him. I like solving puzzles, and sometimes people are the biggest puzzles of all. “Well, he didn’t seem very friendly when you guys brought his stuff,” I say to Smee. “He didn’t even say thanks.”
The redheaded boy waves a hand in the air. “He’s just always tired after his training sessions with Croc. Adult stuff must be awfully hard to learn.”
The rest of the kids agree, and then we’re back to playing I Spy. I pretend to listen, but on the inside all I’m thinking about is the mystery boy in black. When he finally comes out of the bathroom, he heads straight for the farthest bed along one wall and sits on the edge with his back to the rest of us.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m up and walking until I’m standing right in front of him. His hands are folded together between his legs and his head is down, his wet hair hanging forward. I swallow hard, then open my mouth to introduce myself. But before I get anything out, I see a drop of blood fall from his right thumb. “You’re bleeding.”
He raises his head, and when I see his eyes, air gets stuck in my chest. They’re the bluest color I’ve ever seen, and his black lashes are longer than even Wendy’s. I think maybe he can see inside of me.
“Who the fuck are you?”
His mouth is twisted in a snarl like a beast in a fairytale who found me wandering in his castle. It freezes me in place, and I can’t think. Coming over here was a bad idea. I’m about to run away when I hear the plop of more blood hitting the floor and I forget to be afraid as something squeezes in my chest.
“I’ll be right back,” I say and rush over to where Wendy’s backpack is slumped under the window we snuck in through. She brought it to carry a bunch of snacks and juice boxes for everyone, but I know she also keeps a small first aid kit in the front pouch.
As soon as I get back, I kneel in front of him and get out the antibiotic ointment and a Band-Aid that’s shaped like an H that goes on fingertips. I’m a Boy Scout, and I had to learn first aid skills for one of my badges. I’m so focused on wanting to help him that I almost forget to ask permission first, which is a rule when the person isn’t unconscious.
Looking up at him, I ask, “Will you let me help you?”
He glares at me for a long time without saying a word. Almost like he’s daring me to get scared again and go back by the others. But I don’t budge. Finally, he moves his hand closer. That answer works for me.
I take a closer look at his thumb and realize the tip by his nail is really messed up. It looks like he dragged it over a cheese grater again and again. I raise my eyes to his. I want to ask him what happened, but then he arches an eyebrow at me. I can practically hear him challenging me in his head, daring me to run away and leave him alone.
Well, he doesn’t know a thing about John Napoleon Darling. Pushing my glasses up on my nose, I get to work cleaning the blood as best I can, then adding antibiotic ointment so it doesn’t get infected, and finally securing the bandage.
“That’s waterproof, so you can probably leave it on for a day or two and let that skin heal up good before taking it off,” I say as I close up the first aid kit.
“Again,” he says, “who the fuck are you?”
My cheeks get warm. I completely forgot to introduce myself once I saw the blood. “I’m John Darling, Wendy’s brother.” I hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you…um…” I start to say Hook, but something stops me. I remember what Smee and Starkey called him, a title only used by the two kids who followed him. “Can I call you…Captain?”
He looks at me like he’s trying to figure something out, but then he rolls his eyes and sits back. “Whatever, kid.”
“Yessss,” I hiss in victory. “That’s so cool because it’s like a special name that only some people get to use, right? And now I’m one of them. It’s like a club or something.”
“What are you talk—”
“But now I should have a special name, too, like Smee and Starkey. I mean, those are super cool. Oh,” I say, excited, “my middle name is Napoleon. That’s pretty cool, right?”
Hook looks at me like he’s bored. “I’m not calling you Napoleon.”
“Okay, yeah, I guess it is kind of dumb. Especially since Napoleon was a general and then an emperor, which is a lot higher than a captain.”
“Kid—”
My mind races as I try to come up with something, because I feel like he’s about to send me away, and I don’t want to leave without having a special name like the other boys. I don’t know why, but I want Hook to have something to call me that no one else does. Like that’s what I need to make sure I’m part of his group. Maybe I shouldn’t think too hard about it. I should make it something simple, but different… Then it hits me.
“Captain,” I say, squaring my shoulders, “I would like it very much if you called me Johnathan.”
He raises that one eyebrow again, and I hold my breath as I wait for his answer. “Johnathan?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Your own name.”
“It’s my full name, Captain, but no one has ever used it. Not even my parents. That means it would be special only to you. So…will you?” My hands are getting sweaty around the first aid kit. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous about him not liking me. He’s like the cool kid I want to sit with at lunch, only we’re nowhere near my school cafeteria and Hook is like ten million times cooler than the most popular boy in my class.
He sighs and lays back on his bed. “Whatever.”
Yessssss. This time I manage to keep my excitement on the inside, although I pop up to my feet with extra energy. “I’ll let you get some sleep. I think we have to leave soon, anyway.”
I get to the end of his bed when he says, “Hey.”
I turn back to look at him. Man, his eyes are really blue. “Captain?”
“Thanks for patching me up…Johnathan.”
My chest puffs out with pride. He said that whole sentence with a clenched jaw like it hurt worse than his thumb does, but I don’t care. If I had to guess, Hook probably isn’t the kind of person to throw
around thank-yous or special names just because someone wants them. So I’m counting those six words as a win. And who knows, maybe over time, I can even get him to say my name without snarling.
Hoping I’ll get the chance to help him again in the future, I give him a serious nod and say, “Always, Captain.”
Chapter Four
John
Now
* * *
“You’re out of your goddamn mind.”
Well, that’s better than the outright no fucking way I was expecting. I knew James wasn’t going to immediately go along with the plan. That’s why I was the one chosen to speak to him. I told my Supervisory Special Agent I had a history with the leader of the Pirates and would be our best bet to get him to cooperate. I didn’t honestly believe the bullshit I fed them, but I figured it was worth a shot.
Now I’m in this small interrogation room with him that feels even smaller with the enormous chip on his shoulder taking up so much space. And while he’s doing his best to glare me into the ground, I’m trying not to notice how hot he is. Seriously, he’s like the poster child for bad boys everywhere. Over-long black hair that’s constantly falling in his face, a scruffy beard, and his perpetual I don’t give a fuck attitude, combined with all-black attire that molds to his body in all the right places.
And then, of course, his tattoos… Christ, his black-and-gray sleeves are sexy. All pirate-themed and incredibly artistic, one arm has a half-skeletal Blackbeard steering a ship’s wheel with a metal hook instead of a hand, and below that is a writhing octopus that wraps around his forearm with a ribbon banner that declares Dead Men Tell No Tales. The other arm has a huge skull in a pirate hat with pistols crossed behind it, a treasure map, and a large compass, all filled in with decaying roses.
Hook (Neverland Novels Book 2) Page 3
