“You will have simple chores, however, like keeping your areas picked up and organized, setting the table for meals, small things like that. But we always help you, and it’s only to teach you responsibility for when you grow up, not because we want you to do the work for us.”
I chew on my lip as I think about what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. And I saw some boys playing outside with a ball when I got here, and they seemed like they were having fun. Maybe this place isn’t going to be that bad. If it is what she says, it’ll be like heaven.
“Please, James,” she says, her eyes shimmering like she’s going to cry for some reason. “Have as many jelly doughnuts as you want. I won’t even care if it spoils your lunch this one time, okay?”
Unable to resist any longer, I snatch one from the plate and take the biggest bite I can. Powdered sugar gets everywhere—smeared on my face, spots on the table, and streaks down my shirt—but I don’t care. I’m going to eat as much as I can before she changes her mind.
When I’m halfway through my first one, my brother falls onto the blocks and starts to cry, holding his arms up for me. I drop my doughnut to the table and growl in frustration. “Why can’t you leave me alone for just five minutes?!”
Before I get a chance to move, Mrs. Anderson is there, picking him up and bouncing him on her hip as she shushes him and dries his tears. “James, honey, it’s okay. Go ahead and eat; I’ve got him.”
I look at my doughnut, then over at my brother. I want to keep eating, but I’ll have a better chance if I put him down for his nap first. The only time I don’t have to worry about him bothering me is when he’s sleeping. Sighing, I stand and hold my arms out for him. “It’s time for his nap; that’s why he’s cranky. If you show me where he’s going to be sleeping, I’ll go put him down.”
“Actually, I was thinking Mr. Anderson could get some time with him while we talk. He absolutely loves babies. Then after you’re done stuffing yourself with doughnuts, I’ll take you to see where his crib is so you can make sure he’s okay. Would that be all right with you?”
I lower my arms slowly. Part of me feels like I should say no and do what I’ve always done. But there’s another part of me, one that’s never been there before because I was never given the choice, and it wants to let Starkey be someone else’s problem for a change. Guilt for even thinking that makes me cringe. But Mama’s been dead for a week. I was taking care of him that whole time, and even before that because she wasn’t much help. And I’m just so, so tired.
“Yeah, okay,” I croak out.
She calls for her husband as I sit in the chair again. Mr. Anderson’s hair is white, but he smiles as much as his wife. When he takes Starkey, he acts like he was given the best gift ever.
“Well, hello there, little guy. Gosh, aren’t you adorable. Look, we have matching hair!” he says, laughing. Starkey giggles back at him, which makes me feel a little better about letting him go with a stranger. “Let’s get you into a clean diaper and all snuggled up in your new crib.” Then to me, he says, “You like those doughnuts? They’re my favorites.”
“Yeah, they’re good.”
He nods. And smiles more. So much smiling here. “They have at least fifty different kinds; you won’t believe your eyes. Next time I’ll take you into town with me and let you pick the flavors for you and the rest of the boys. Sound like a plan?”
My shoulders lower and something in my chest feels lighter. I’m starting to believe that these people really do love kids and want to help. I know there are people like that; I’d just never met any before. Until now, I guess. And if that’s the case, maybe I can stop being Starkey’s fill-in parent. I could just be…a kid.
“Sure,” I finally say. He winks at me, then takes Starkey out of the room, talking to him the whole way.
I get back to scarfing down the doughnuts and reassure myself that it’s not a big deal that my brother is out of my sight for the first time since he was born over a year and a half ago. I’ll see him soon. After a few minutes, Mrs. Anderson starts talking again.
“James, you’re obviously a very good big brother to Marcus.” Marcus, ha! I huff a quick laugh through my nose as I’m taking a bite, scattering powdered sugar everywhere. It’s weird to hear someone call him by his real name. Thanks to Mama’s dumb nickname, he doesn’t answer to anything but Starkey anymore. I’ve even gotten so used to it that it just feels like his name.
Mrs. Anderson doesn’t even blink at the mess I made. “Even though my husband and I are here to take care of both of you, the same as we do for all the boys here, you can still take care of your brother as much as you want.”
I freeze, then swallow the chunk in my mouth as my free hand curls into a fist again. “But I’m sick of always having to take care of him. It’s all I ever do.” The more I think about it, the madder I get. I’m finally in a place where I might not have to worry about whether he’s getting enough to eat or if his diaper needs to be changed or how long it’s been since he’s had a bath. “I don’t want to take care of him anymore. I don’t even want anyone to know he’s my brother!”
I expect her to get mad at me for saying something so horrible—I’m halfway mad at myself for saying it, except I can’t stop this anger bubbling inside me—but she stays calm and speaks gently, like I did whenever I put Starkey down to sleep. “Okay, James, that’s of course entirely up to you. May I ask why?”
“Because,” I say through clenched teeth, “if the other kids know, then he’ll still be my responsibility. I don’t want it. If they don’t have to take care of him, then I don’t want to either. He has you now, anyway, right? So he doesn’t need me anymore.”
“Ah, I understand.” She’s still smiling at me, but it looks kinda sad. “That had to have been very difficult. You’ve been forced to act like an adult, and that wasn’t fair to you. You’re right, he has us now. We’ll take good care of him, and we won’t tell anyone he’s your brother until you’re ready. I bet after a while you won’t mind them knowing. You just need a chance to get used to things and find your place here.”
Maybe she’s right. I think of Starkey’s pudgy cheeks, his white hair that sticks up in the middle like a Mohawk, and his big blue eyes that always get soft when he sees me. Then I remember all the things I had to do for him when Mama couldn’t even get out of bed. I even made a wish that there was someone else who could worry about the baby so I didn’t have—
Oh no. My stomach squeezes, and I have to take a deep breath so I don’t puke everywhere. She’d done that needle stuff for years and always woke up eventually. But that day I’d made the wish—I wished really hard—and then she died.
“Do you want another jelly doughnut, sweetheart?”
I shake my head. I probably shouldn’t talk in case I say something bad again. Mama always said I was no good. It doesn’t matter what I do or don’t want; I shouldn’t be around Starkey. I’m not good for him.
I’m not good for anyone.
Chapter Twenty
John
I almost don’t hear the knocks over the sound of my gloved fists hitting the heavy bag in the loft. When I pause my workout to see if I was imagining things, I hear, “Hey, boyo! Open the feckin’ door already!”
Hoping he’s heard from James, I tug the gloves off and drop them on my way to the door that leads to the deck. I open it and automatically scan behind him to check for anyone who might be watching, but don’t see anything. My eyes return to Smee, and I realize he’s in the middle of giving me a slow once-over, his gaze heated as it slides back up my bare torso.
“Feck me, Johnny-boy, you filled out nicely, didn’t ye?”
Teeth clenched, I fist the front of his wifebeater and yank him inside before slamming the door shut. “Are you fucking stupid? What if someone heard you?”
“Relax,” he says, moving farther into the room. “Your undercover name is John, too, or did ye forget? Besides, it’d be more suspicious if I didn’t say somethin’ when gree
ted by a half-naked fine thing glistenin’ with sweat.”
I roll my eyes and head over to where I left my water bottle in the kitchen. “Then I guess I should thank you for playing the part of the thirsty pirate.” I take a long drink, then almost bump into him when I turn around.
“Oh, it’s not a part I’m playing at, boyo.” A smirk plays on his mouth as he steps in close, his chest only a couple inches from mine. “In fact, I’m giving you an open invitation to frisk me. You know, whenever you might be feelin’ frisky.”
Unlike Starkey’s leaner frame, Smee is built like a brick shit house. He looks like one of those bare-knuckled brawlers who fight for giggles and cash in dive bar basements. His size alone would make anyone wary about getting on his bad side, but he uses his playboy charm and roguish attractiveness to disarm people. If I was into fun-loving redheads with green eyes and easy smiles, I’d be all over Smee. But I’ve had a thing for broody, tortured bad boys since I was a tween, so Smee’s SOL.
“Sorry, man, but you’re not really my type.” I give him a mock apologetic smile, because I’m not really sorry. “No offense.”
I’m not even convinced Smee knows I’m gay. I think he’s just helpless not to hit on anyone within spitting distance, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation.
He gives a careless shrug. “Can’t blame me for tryin’.” Then, just like that, Smee’s humor is replaced by placid concern. “You hear from the boss? Thought he’d be back by now with news about Starkey.”
Lines of worry crease around his eyes. I know he’s hurting for his friend, and I wish I could give him better news. Blowing out a breath, I busy myself with unraveling the ten feet of cotton wraps from each of my hands. “No. I’ve been texting and calling, but he’s not picking up.”
“Don’t you have a man on the inside? He can tell you if Hook’s still there.”
“That’s not how undercover works. You can’t just pick up a phone and call them for updates. If that was an option, I would’ve done it by now, believe me.”
The door bursts open. Hook charges inside, a raging cyclone that seems to lose its steam as soon as he’s secured inside the loft. Raven-black hair sticks out in ten different directions like he’s been yanking on it, and his knuckles are bloody on both hands. Either he punished something unyielding, or someone was missing a mouthful of teeth.
“Captain, what happened?” Smee asks anxiously. “How’s our boy?”
“He’s beat to shit, is what he is,” he grates out as he drops onto the couch, now completely deflated.
Smee’s entire demeanor changes so suddenly a chill runs down my spine. Gone is the playboy, revealing the true man lurking underneath: a man who will kill you as soon as look at you if he finds you deserving, and he’ll enjoy every fucking second of it. His voice is low and even. Deadly. “Who’s doin’ the beatin’? Who’s hurtin’ him?”
“Everyone. The guards are fucking him up, and the inmates are—” He breaks off like his throat is thick with emotion. Raising his head, he glances up at us. “They’re just plain fucking him. They spread it around that he’s in there for molesting kids.”
“I’ll fuckin’ kill him,” Smee whispers, then heads for the door. Before I can spring into action to stop him, Hook sparks to life.
“Stand down, Smee. You won’t even sneeze in Croc’s direction, do you hear me?”
Spinning on his heel, he stalks back to stand in front of his leader and roars, “Why the bloody hell not? I’ve never understood your loyalty to that fucker, but it didn’t matter to me because my loyalty is to you. But how can you turn your back on one of our own for him?”
“Hey, no one is turning their backs on anyone. Let’s stay calm and talk about this rationally,” I say, but I might as well not even be in the room.
“Are ye scared, is that it, Hook?” Smee lowered his voice, but it’s even more menacing with less volume. It’s also the first time I’ve ever heard Smee address James by name and not his title. “Because I’m not. I’ll rip his spinal cord out through his belly and not think twice about it. And if you won’t do what it takes to fuckin’ protect Starkey, then I will.”
Lightning fast, Hook springs to his feet and grabs the huge knife holstered on Smee’s hip in the process. In the span of a heartbeat, Smee’s head is yanked back, his own knife poised millimeters away from his exposed throat in Hook’s shaking hand. Smee and I both freeze in place, neither of us breathing for fear we’ll do or say something that might make that hand slip.
“I don’t give a shit about Croc,” he growls. “I want him dead more than I want my next breath. But what I want more than that is my little brother’s safety. From the day he was born, it’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted.”
Holy shit, did he say brother? Smee’s eyes widen, mirroring the shock that’s likely written all over my face. Apparently, I’m not the only one who was in the dark about this, but Hook continues like he didn’t just drop a goddamn bomb in the middle of the loft.
“If we go after Croc right now, Starkey dies.” Hook swallows hard and tightens his grip on the hilt of the knife. “I failed him once already. I will not let it happen again. Which means no one makes a move on Croc until I fucking say so. Are we clear?”
“Aye, Captain,” Smee rasps. “Clear.”
Hook releases the Irishman, flips the knife to catch it by the blade, then hands it back, before resuming his position on the couch. Smee returns the knife to its sheath on his hip, glancing at me with questions in his green eyes. Did you know? he seems to be asking. I give a subtle shake of my head.
Dots start to connect all over the place in my mind. Things that didn’t quite add up before now make perfect sense. Starkey isn’t just another random Lost Boy turned Pirate. He’s Hook’s baby brother. That’s why he’s been so turned inside out about Starkey’s arrest.
Smee starts to pace the room while James hangs his head and flexes his hands dangling between his knees, testing the wounds on his knuckles. I’m beginning to realize he uses pain as a distraction or some kind of penance, and it drives me crazy. I want to wrap the man in cotton and prevent him from getting anything so much as a scratch ever again. Since that’s impossible, I’ll settle for the next best thing. I wet the kitchen towel with cold water, then cross the room and kneel in front of him.
“Always on your knees for me, Darling,” he murmurs softly, not lifting his gaze from the floor. “It’s becoming a habit of yours.”
He’s so in his own head right now, he doesn’t realize Smee has stopped in his tracks behind the couch. The expression on his face tells me he’s seeing us with new eyes, and his mind is a little blown from yet another revelation about the man he thought he knew inside and out.
Smee opens his mouth, but I shut him down with a look that promises pain if he so much as breathes in Hook’s direction about this. Holding the Irishman’s gaze, I answer James honestly.
“It’s where I belong.”
Smee gives me the barest of nods—a sign of his approval, I suppose, not that either of us need it—then gets back to pacing. James doesn’t acknowledge my response, but I didn’t expect him to. Hell, he may not have even heard me over the noise buzzing between his ears. Doesn’t matter. In time he’ll realize I’m right. For now, I’ll take whatever allowances he’ll give me.
I gather one of his hands in mine and begin to clean the blood with gentle swipes. I consider it a win that he doesn’t pull away or tell me to fuck off.
“Captain,” Smee says, his voice thick with emotion. “We have to get him out of there. I can’t stand knowing…fuck!”
James finally raises his head, his eyes hardening at the reminder of what his brother is going through. “I know, Smee. We will. But to do that we need to play by Croc’s rules. He doesn’t know it’s intentional, but he knows our sales have been shit lately. Today’s visit with Starkey was a warning. We need to step up our distribution of Dust, there’s no way around it.”
I mentally cringe at the idea of sel
ling more of that dangerous drug. I know it’s part of the game we’re playing, but I want to keep it to a minimum as much as I can. “Or,” I say, an idea coming to me, “we can make him think he’s expanding across state lines and hitting a much bigger market with more profit and better growth potential.”
They both look at me. “What’re ye thinkin’, Johnny-boy? You got a plan?”
“Yeah, I do. In the meantime, we keep doing what we’ve been doing to keep up appearances—scouting for new locations and testing new markets with small doses. I’ll get the ball rolling on the rest. It shouldn’t take long.”
Smee’s gaze cuts to James because even though I’m in charge of this operation, he’ll always defer to his captain. I’m good with that. After a few seconds, James nods. “Do it. But don’t share anything about Starkey with the others. It’s nobody’s fucking business. I won’t have anyone looking at him different when he gets out, you hear me?”
“Aye, Captain.” Smee glances at me. “I’m good at keepin’ secrets.”
I dip my head in silent appreciation, then wait for him to leave before turning my attention back to the man who needs me for so much more than just tending to his busted knuckles.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hook
My world has been filled with noise as far back as I can remember. The obnoxious laughter or exaggerated shouting from my mother and random “friends” as they drank and got high. Incessant chattering of Peter, Tink, and the Lost Boys at the school. The high-pitched whines of power tools and hydraulic lifts at the shop with the clattering of car parts dropping to the cement floor.
Even at night, when I’m finally surrounded by silence, the memories of a man grunting in my ear reverberate in my mind like the echoes of a banging gong. The only thing I’ve found that muffles them is losing myself in a book, which probably makes me the most well-read criminal in all of Neverland. But nothing has ever silenced the noise completely.
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