Yet with all that, Pan still manages to smile and laugh and play games like he doesn’t have a care in the fucking world. Nothing that happens to us gets him down, and he always finds a way to twist the bad things into good things. To give the younger kids hope for a better future when none of us have a clue what waits for us when we get out of here.
He even figured out a way to make nights a little more bearable by telling us stories he’s been getting when he sneaks out. They’re like short vacations for our brains, letting us escape into worlds where magic exists and the good guys always win. It’s nice for the kids to hear that kind of stuff. They’ve even started using their imaginations, something they never used to do. For their sake, I hope he keeps bringing them stories. But he still pisses me off on a daily fucking basis.
Supper goes as it always does, in complete silence with the exception of the clinking of silverware, ravenous chewing, and inane complaints hurled back and forth between Croc and his bitch of a wife, Delia.
I’m not hungry, but I force myself to choke down enough stew and bread not to draw attention to myself. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work. I can feel Croc’s beady black eyes on me like lasers burning holes into my flesh. The seconds are marked with the sound of his ancient pocket watch tick, tick, ticking like claps of thunder in my head. And every one of those seconds feels like an eternity, stretching thin from one heartbeat to the next and feeding my dread until it eventually consumes me and I’m no longer Captain Hook but a vessel for fear itself.
Croc’s cell phone rings. He gets up to answer it, moving into the living room to talk. A speck of hope blooms in my chest. I just need to make it upstairs. Once I’m up there, I’m safe for the night.
The meal ends.
Tink is ordered to clean the kitchen, as usual.
The rest of us are dismissed.
I’m first in line, and I don’t even wait to see who’s behind me as I start climbing the creaking wooden stairs.
Halfway there.
My heart is thundering so loud. I swear it’s echoing off the walls of this narrow passageway, muffled by the sound of our heavy footsteps.
Almost to the top.
I don’t know if I’m paranoid as fuck or my time is running out, but I think I hear the ticking of Croc’s ancient pocket watch getting louder…
Three more steps.
…and louder…
Two more.
…tick…tick…
One—
“James.”
We all freeze.
Every muscle in my body clamps around my bones so hard I’m surprised I don’t collapse. Croc is the only one who uses my first name. It’s why those five letters make my skin crawl. The moment it left his lips to hang over me in the sticky air of his office several months ago, it ceased to be my name, instead morphing into a twisted extension of him.
But I refuse to show weakness. I refuse to let on to the kids that anything is other than what they think it is. We might not live the charmed life, but if I can prevent them from seeing the monster lurking beneath the asshole’s surface, I will. I’m already damaged goods; there’s no saving me.
And that’s where this will end.
With me.
I’ll make damn sure of it.
I turn and step down to Pan’s level. “You getting the end of the story tonight?” Last I remember, we were nearing the end of one called Cinderella.
“Thought you didn’t care about the stories.”
There’s no fucking way I’d ever give him the satisfaction of knowing I even listen to the things. Looking over at him, I deadpan, “I don’t.”
“Yeah,” he says after a few seconds, “I am.”
I nod once and continue down the stairs, the boys all shifting over to let me pass. With each step, the ticking gets louder and the world around me blurs more and more, until everything becomes fuzzy and unfocused, like crossing from the real world into a dream.
Except I’m very much awake, and this is no dream. It’s a nightmare.
When I get to the bottom, Croc palms the back of my neck, making me want to puke up what little I managed to force down earlier. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I fight the reaction and win. But I can’t help the dry mouth and cold sweat. There’s never any controlling that. I’ve tried.
“Come on, boy,” he says huskily. “I’ve got lots to teach you tonight.”
I glance over my shoulder at Pan one last time, willing him to read my mind. I’ll keep him busy. Get the story. They need it.
I stop in front of Croc’s desk and flinch when I hear the lock click over behind me, then I slip into my routine of turning off the different parts of my brain. One by one, I imagine powering them down or yanking the plugs. Doesn’t matter so long as all that’s left is a subconscious ability to follow orders and the muscle memory to carry them out.
“Time for tonight’s lesson, James.”
James? Who’s James? Not me. I’m no one. I’m nothing. You can’t hurt nothing. You can’t violate nothing. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine—
“You waitin’ for a formal invitation, boy?”
He moves in behind me.
It’s okay. Behind is better. Better than in front.
By now, I’ve managed to deaden most of myself. But there’s a tiny voice deep in the shadows still thrashing around, demanding attention. Demanding revenge, retribution. Demanding I do something—anything—other than what I’m told. I want to listen to that voice. I want to listen to it so fucking bad. But then images of the other kids flash in my mind, of what would happen if the monster is forced to find different prey. An image of Starkey. Sweet, innocent little shit that he is.
Like every other time, I slam the door on that voice.
I know it doesn’t stop his screams. But it’s better if I don’t hear him. For everybody’s sake.
Hot breath sticks to my neck as he says, “Take your pants down, James.”
And as I do, I have one final thought: I hope the prince finds Cinderella tonight.
Chapter Six
Hook
Now
* * *
As the crew shuffles into the Crow’s Nest—the name we gave our clubhouse meeting room—I study each member and make mental notes. I watch for any signs that one or more of them might not be happy, either with me or each other. I pay attention to body language and whether they’re avoiding my gaze or giving each other meaningful looks.
Because even though they’re loyal to me as their captain, I never assume that their loyalty is blind. All it would take is for one of them to think they could do better in my position, and I’d have mutiny on my hands. I don’t think it would ever happen, but a complacent leader is easy to stick a knife into. Metaphorically or otherwise.
After I turned eighteen and had to leave the school, I told Croc I’d stay on as his employee for whatever he needed if he put me up somewhere and let me run my own crew. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t take off and start a new life. I still had Smee and Starkey to think about—okay, yeah, and maybe the others, too—and the only way to make sure Croc didn’t fuck with them was to stick around.
So I made a deal with the Devil.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
My last year at the school, I told him me and the kids would need a new place to live as they all started coming of age, so if he wanted us to stick around for the cheap labor, he’d better do something to fix it. In reality, I had no illusions of any of them following me except for Smee and Starkey—I don’t even think I would’ve let the others if they tried—but Croc didn’t need to know that at the time.
He bought an abandoned bar called the Jolly Roger on the outskirts of Neverland. The old highway sign is still out front, and the stupid name just kind of stuck, but we usually just refer to it as “the clubhouse” like any respectable gang does. What made the property perfect are the four rental cabins out back. They all have two bedrooms, a full bathroom, and small living room.
Originally, I’d planned on Starkey taking the other bedroom, but it would’ve looked suspicious to single him out. I couldn’t treat him different from the other Pirates. Besides, he might still have a hero worship thing where I’m concerned, but him and Smee are more like brothers than we’ll ever be. It only made sense to keep them together once Starkey moved in.
For four years I’d been working for Croc and living at the clubhouse while keeping a discreet eye on things back at the school. By then I was twenty-two, and Pan, Silas, Nick, and Carlos were all out, and they definitely weren’t joining me at the Jolly Roger. Croc was pissed that my “plan wasn’t panning out” like I’d promised. But I’d been prepared for that conversation and had already scouted out some morally bankrupt individuals to bring on instead. It wasn’t hard to convince him that guys with reps for breaking the law would be infinitely better than inexperienced and soft-in-the-hearts Lost Boys.
I played to his ego, while also satisfying mine. I knew Croc was looking to expand his operations, which meant dirtier jobs for me. I wanted guys who I could pass as much of that shit onto as possible. Plus, there’s always strength in numbers, and when the shit hits the fan, I need guys who will ultimately stand by my side.
As everyone takes their seats around the massive wooden table, I look around the room and do a mental roll call: Smee, Cecco, Cookson, Noodler, Skylights, Bill Jukes, and Robert Mullins. Starkey’s empty spot at the other end is a sharp reminder of why I’m about to send my crew into a fucking upheaval that could very well cause one of those mutiny situations I was talking about.
But even if it doesn’t—even if John manages to pull this operation off—the deal I made with the FBI is going to put everyone sitting at this table behind bars, including me. Smee and I will supposedly get somewhere around six months for helping with the investigation and as part of our cover. If we’re the only ones without consequences, word would get around that we worked with the feds and everyone knows what happens to snitches. Fuck the stitches, because in our world, snitches get dead.
Guilt over what I’m doing has been gnawing away at me since I left the LPD that day. The others stand to do a minimum of several years depending on their records, outstanding warrants, and whether they make plea deals. When it comes down to it, it’s not like we don’t deserve to do the time. I just hate the fucking idea of selling out my guys. But I hate the idea of Starkey’s life being in danger even more. So I’ll go through with this charade and hold up my end of the bargain. Then Starkey will be free, and I’ll send him to stay with the Lost Boys while I’m on the inside. After that…well, I haven’t gotten that far, but there’s a good chance Neverland won’t be part of my long-term plans.
I glance at my watch’s digital face (nothing around here is allowed to tick) and realize I only have about ten minutes before John arrives. I told him to walk in around a quarter after seven. That gives me enough time to get the guys settled and in meeting mode—where I’m doing the talking and they’re doing the listening.
The only one who knows what’s coming is Smee. I had to read him in on the mission because he knows John. As soon as I told Smee about our new objective, he was all in. He didn’t even balk at working with the feds. He wants Starkey free just as much as I do, maybe even more. When I wanted to raze Croc’s world, Smee was right there with me. It was the other Pirates who held us back until we calmed down enough to realize fighting him would get us nowhere. We had to play his game to win, which is still true today. But now I’m changing the rules.
I’m in the middle of handing out club assignments for this weekend when I hear a knock on the door frame and catch John out of the corner of my eye. He’s ten minutes late. I lean back and swivel my chair to the right, ready to fire off a reprimand, but the words get stuck in my throat. I’ve seen Cop John, Civilian John, and Task Force Officer John. But I don’t think my imagination ever bothered to picture what he’d look like as Badass John.
Worn jeans that stretch around his muscular thighs are bunched above a pair of black motorcycle boots that match the leather Harley jacket over a faded Metallica T-shirt. His short, chestnut-brown hair isn’t in its usual combed style but mussed like someone’s been running their fingers through it. Gone is his goatee and clean-shaven jawline, replaced by a couple days’ worth of sexy scruff. And if that isn’t enough, the top of a tattoo is peeking out from his jacket collar on the side of his neck.
I’m simultaneously turned on and pissed off. There’s looking the part, and then there’s taking dumb risks. What happens when that temporary tattoo flakes off at the wrong time? Because I’d bet my left nut—hell, both my nuts—that it’s a fake, and if any of these guys realize he’s a fraud, there’ll be hell to pay.
“It’s about time,” I droll. “What’s the matter, McRae, get stuck in Neverland’s nonexistent traffic?”
John smiles wide like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Good. At least he’s off to a decent start. I wouldn’t bother bringing on anyone who’d be easily intimidated. “Nah,” he says. “I only have my bike right now, so I had to borrow a truck to bring all my stuff. Took a little longer than I expected.”
“Borrow?” I say, a single brow raised. “Or steal?”
He shrugs. “Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other.”
“What is it?”
“1996 Silverado.”
I scoff. “Junk. Croc can’t use that for anything but scrap metal, and it’s not worth the extra heat right now. Get your stuff into the loft, then get rid of it.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Captain,” I bite out.
“Sorry, right. Captain. I’ll take care of it right away.” For the first time since arriving, John appears properly, if not mildly, contrite. Under different circumstances, I’d love for him to do something to earn my wrath and watch him beg for my apology, offer to make it right however I wanted. Fuck, the filthy things I would make him do…
My cock stirs to life in my jeans, shocking me back to the present. If I don’t stop fantasizing about Darling, he won’t be the one to blow our cover. I will.
Punctuating the matter with a nod, I spin back to the table to address my crew. When I sense John still standing there, I add, “Why are you still here?”
“Don’t I get to sit in on the meeting? Meet the guys?”
“No, you fucking don’t,” I say, nailing him with a cutting glare. “You get to do what I told you to do and sit up in the loft and not touch anything until I get there. And if you manage to piss me off any further, introductions won’t be necessary because your ass will be out before it was ever in. Are we clear?”
John glances at the rest of the guys, who are staring at us curiously, before clenching his jaw and replying stiffly. “Crystal, Captain,” he bites out, then turns on his heel and disappears.
Thank fuck he put some heat behind his words. I need a delicate balance of obedience and an aversion to authority. Maybe I didn’t give him enough credit, because so far his acting skills are on point. I shouldn’t get too excited, though. Just because he passed the first five minutes doesn’t mean jack shit. Jesus, worrying about this whole thing blowing up in our faces is gonna give me an ulcer.
“What’s going on, Captain? Who the hell was that?”
I turn to Cecco, a handsome Italian guy with small hoop earrings. If I need someone to look the part of an upstanding citizen, he’s the man for the job. He can pull off a suit like he was born into it, but underneath he’s still just a thug who’s done a lot of prison time with the shitty tats to match.
> “His name’s JD McRae. Heard about him through some of my contacts, and we’re down a guy, so I’m bringing him on board. Probationary, obviously; he’s not a Pirate yet. He has to earn that right like all of you did.”
“Why’s he staying with you in the loft? Why not take Starkey’s room?” Bill Jukes asks in his impossibly deep voice. Dude is huge and black and the scariest motherfucker I have, but he has pipes like Barry White. If he sang while dismembering you, you’d thank him for it.
“Because while I think he’ll be an asset to us, I don’t fully trust him yet. Half his old crew in Atlanta went down for drug trafficking and the rest disbanded when no one stepped up to lead. When I offered to give him a trial run with the Pirates, he accepted.”
Cookson narrows his eyes in a challenge. “Who was his old crew?”
“The Scavengers,” I say and hold my breath as I study their reactions. This was a risk, naming a crew only a couple of states away. It’s not likely that any of my guys will have old associates from that area, but it’s not impossible either. The Scavengers were a well-known club, and news of the bust last year has made the rounds. We’re counting on the fact that it had a couple hundred members to make it much harder for someone to get a straight answer just by flashing a picture or asking about a name.
The guys all seem to relax and even mildly approve. I release my breath. It goes a long way to claim that John was with a respected criminal club, but that doesn’t mean any of them will trust him right off the bat. John’s got his work cut out for him, so I hope he knows what he’s doing.
“All right, you have your assignments for this weekend. Smee, since he’s standing in for Starkey, I want JD with you. Anything suspicious gets reported to me immediately.”
Hook (Neverland Novels Book 2) Page 5
