Hook (Neverland Novels Book 2)

by Gina L. Maxwell

  As much as I hate it, when it comes to my revenge, I have to play the long game with Croc. If I take him down now, the school will go under, and the kids will be split up. I won’t know where they are or what kind of homes they end up in. I won’t know what happens to Starkey. I need to keep the kids together at the school until they’re all out while keeping Croc in check at the same time.

  Sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don’t. So now that I’m about to move out, I need a way of controlling the situation at the school—one that doesn’t involve him fucking me—and I could only think of one way to do it. By blackmailing the bastard.

  It’s not the greatest leverage, but it’s all I’ve got, and so far, everything’s gone according to plan—not including Pan showing up. Earlier, I’d planted the video camera. Then, when I knew Croc’s eyes were on me, I pretended not to see him as I shook out a cigarette from my soft pack and slipped into this storeroom in the back corner of the shop. I’ve been punished for taking a smoke break in here before, which is how I knew he’d be on the warpath as soon as he saw me.

  After that, it was just a matter of putting on a good performance. Instead of mentally checking out and being physically complacent, I made sure he looked like the rapist he is. As a bonus, I got him on tape admitting this wasn’t a one-off; that he’d been at this for four years already and planned to continue with younger kids.

  Since I don’t have any smelling salts on hand, I go with the slightly more barbaric tactic of kicking Croc in the ribs to wake him up. He comes to, wheezing and curling in on himself.

  “Wakey, wakey, asshole. It’s showtime.” I light another cigarette as he attempts to drag air into his lungs.

  “I’m gonna make you wish you were never born,” he rasps.

  Blowing out a stream of smoke, I grin and stare down at him with my one good eye. “Too late. My mom already beat you to it.” I crouch down next to him, hold up the camera, and hit play. I block out the sounds coming from the tiny speaker, unwilling to relive even a second of it, and instead I watch with satisfaction as his eyes grow wider with every passing second.

  “Here’s how this is going to work,” I tell him. “We’re gonna become business associates, you and me. We can call it entering into a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  He growls and makes a grab for the camera, but I yank it away in plenty of time. “Nice try, but that concussion you probably have is making you slow as shit, so you’re better off just listening.”

  “What do you want, you little prick?”

  Now that I have his undivided attention, I give him my conditions. I tell him I’ll work for him at his shop and otherwise, doing whatever he wants. I promise not to release the video as long as he lets me run my own crew and he doesn’t lay a hand on another kid for as long as he fucking lives. He grudgingly agrees, even as he glares at me like he hopes I drop dead, but neither of us have that much luck. At least this time I’m not the one left behind to lick my wounds. It’s his turn for a fucking change.

  Just as I turn to leave, something metallic catches my eye. It’s on the ground under the edge of a shelving unit. Ignoring Croc’s groans behind me, I pick it up and study it. It’s a pewter ring in the shape of a wicked-looking skull. Finders keepers. Taking it with me, I slide it onto my right thumb and smirk. It fits me perfectly and looks just as badass as I feel walking out of the shop. Heading back to the school, power surges through me. I finally won. I bested Croc at his own game, and now I won’t have to worry about him turning his sick shit on one of the other kids after I’m gone.

  But the farther away I get from my place of victory, the sense of power starts to dissipate as the usual ones settle over me. Disgust, shame, humiliation. Their weight is suffocating. And now it’s worse because there was a witness. Someone knows. Fucking Pan.

  Back in our room, I don’t acknowledge anyone on my way to the bathroom, not even Smee or Starkey. I lock the door behind me, then strip out of my clothes on the way to the shower area, not caring where they land or if they spontaneously catch on fire. Turning the temperature knob in the corner as hot as it will go, I sink to the floor and pull my knees to my chest. I release a shuddering exhale as the scalding water sluices over my body. I imagine it burning away any flesh tainted by Croc, giving way to new skin that will never know his touch.

  I don’t even realize I’ve moved my hand until I see the blood running down the tile as I scrape the edge of my thumb on the grout. I don’t know why I do this. It’s become a compulsion, something I can’t stop myself from doing after one of my “sessions.” Maybe it’s the idea that I can focus the pain to one specific point, then watch it leak from my body in watery red rivulets until I go back to feeling numb. Maybe I like the idea of wearing a hole in this grout, making it bigger and more pronounced to match the hole eating away at what’s left of me.

  My gaze drops to the ring sitting at the base of my thumb. Sunken black eyes stare back at me over its triangular nasal cavity and toothy smile. Its expression is menacing, like it’s promising pain to anyone who dares cross it. Don’t fuck with me. You’ll regret it.

  That’s exactly how I’m going to be from now on. I won’t let this hole inside of me take everything. I’ll make sure there’s just enough to finish the job I started, to make good on my vow for revenge. It won’t happen tomorrow, or next year, or even in the next several years, but it will fucking happen.

  In the meantime, I’ll do what Croc expects of me. I’ll work for him; I’ll break the law for him. I’ll become everything he wants me to be—a criminal with no moral code, a man who forgets his past and doesn’t plan his future. Then, when he least expects it, I will turn on him. I’ll bite the hand that feeds me with the ferocity of every dark memory and every gash he ever sliced into my soul. Croc’s fate is sealed. One way or another…

  I. Will. End. Him.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hook

  Now

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, I’m pulling off Highway 421 and winding my way past the Fort Fisher Monument to the frontage road for the small stretch of Kune Beach I’ve been to at least a hundred times before. I slow my speed as the sand covers more of the pavement the farther I go. When I run out of road, I abandon my bike and take long strides to reach where the foamy surf curls over packed earth.

  Though I’m not surprised I ended up here, I didn’t have a destination in mind when I sped out of the shipyard. All I knew was that I wasn’t going back to the Jolly Roger. Even if I managed to avoid the guys in my crew, returning to the loft was out of the question. It didn’t matter if John was physically there or not, he’d invaded every square inch of my home. The fridge is stocked with his boring health food, his workout equipment is stashed all over the weight room, his toiletries litter the bathroom, and the entire place smells like him.

  Including my goddamn bed.

  I told him it was easier just to let him sleep with me so all I had to do was roll over whenever I got the urge to fuck him, but we both knew it was more than that. I’d gone soft where he was concerned. Somewhere along the line I’d let myself start thinking of us as an actual couple. Just two normal guys sharing a home, meals, workouts, and a bed. No big deal, right?

  Wrong. It’s a huge fucking deal.

  Because while John might be a normal guy, I’m the exact opposite. That scene back at the warehouse proved it. It was a dose of reality that ripped through my normal-guy-facade like a bullet at point-blank range. The moment I placed my ring in Brandy’s hand and knew I had to walk away from her—away from all of them—I left that self-made delusion on the floor to bleed out. There’s no point in keeping up with a lie like that. It can only last so long before it burns away to expose the truth.

  Despite the long drive, my body is still vibrating with the rage and anguish of what happened at the warehouse. If I have any chance of getting my shit under control, it’s on this desolate stretch of beach. During the day it’s teeming with touri
sts and locals, but at night it’s empty. Far enough removed from the rest of my life, it’s the one place I feel any sort of peace.

  But I don’t think I’m going to find any solace tonight. Not here, not anywhere. I’m too fucking consumed by everything. Rage. Anguish. Regret. Shame. It’s all swirling inside me like a hurricane of pain and it’s picking up speed, gaining more power with every memory from those four years, every reminder of what I am.

  Broken. Damaged. Tainted. Debased.

  Reaching the edge of the water, I throw my head back and roar at the slivered moon. I roar at whatever is casually deciding the fates of women and children who aren’t able to fight back. Who have done nothing to deserve such wretched, tragic chapters in their life stories and have no way of rewriting those tattered pages written with the stains on their souls.

  The salty breeze whips my screams away before they get anywhere near the heavens. There’s to be no cathartic railing at the gods. I’m denied even that small retaliation.

  “James.”

  It comes from several feet behind me, and every muscle in my body clamps on my bones like one huge vise. The last time he called me by my name—the night on the beach after Pan proposed to Wendy—triggered nasty flashbacks. I threw him against a wall and almost choked him out until his scent snapped me out of it and I realized he wasn’t Croc.

  This time, I don’t have to smell John to know he’s not my nightmare. The deep baritone of his voice is imprinted in my brain. I know it as intimately as I know every inch of his body. But it doesn’t matter. I still don’t want to hear that name. It’s wrapped up in too much hatred and resentment. I ceased being James the first time it was uttered from the shuddering lips of a monster taking his pleasure from my pain.

  “I told you to never fucking call me that,” I growl, staring out at the inky water.

  I feel him step closer. “Why? Why do you hate your name so much?”

  Clenching my fists, I spin around and glare at him. I hate how fucking beautiful he is right now. The wind moves through his hair like a lover’s fingers, the barely-there moonlight highlights the hard set of his stubbled jaw, and his leather jacket pulls tight across strong shoulders. Ones that look solid enough to hold the weight of my world without strain.

  It’s so tempting. The thought of unburdening myself, of feeling this crushing pressure lift so I can finally breathe is almost more than I can bear. But nothing could be more selfish. Because unloading that weight means putting it on the man who, against all odds, I’ve come to care for, and that’s not something I can ever take back. Once it’s out there, it’s out for good. And I can’t—I won’t—do that to him. Not to Johnathan.

  Gathering all my strength, I do what I do best. Deflect. “Here’s a better question. How the hell did you find me? No one knows I come here. It’s the only place I’ve ever had to myself. It’s like you take perverse pleasure in invading every aspect of my life.”

  He sighs, the frustration in my subject change evident. “I was worried about you, okay? And you’re not the only one tracking people. I stuck one on your bike and car as soon as the operation started.”

  “That’s bullshit, Darling. You had no right to do that without my permission. And speaking of bullshit,” I snarl, “you lied to me. You looked me dead in the eyes and lied right to my fucking face.”

  At least he has the decency to flinch and drop his gaze. “I know, I’m sorry. It made me physically ill, if that’s any consolation.”

  I cross my arms. “It’s a bonus.”

  Looking back up at me, Johnathan squares his shoulders and morphs from my repentant lover into the FBI’s authoritative Officer John. “I’m sorry I lied, but ultimately, I have a job to do. We were tipped off that Croc is running more than just drugs, but we needed proof. I was tasked with acquiring evidence. To do that, I needed Croc to think I was going behind your back to meet with him about doing more than just pedaling Fairy Dust.”

  “Then you should’ve told me what you were doing.” I hadn’t had a lot of time to think about John’s dishonesty before. I’d been too worried about what he was doing that he needed to keep secrets from me. But now that I know he’s not in danger and not in the arms of another man—the two things I’d feared the most—I feel the disappointment spreading through me like syrup, slow and thick, filling in the cracks he’d made in my walls. “I trusted you—something I don’t do with anyone—because I thought you were different. I won’t be making that mistake again.”

  “Fuck that.” In three giant strides, John is toe to toe with me and breathing fire. “You know damn well that you can trust me. That I would never do anything to hurt you. You think I didn’t want to tell you what I was doing? The lie was like a goddamn thorn in my heart.”

  The frayed thread on my control snaps. “Then you shouldn’t have done it!”

  “I didn’t have a choice! Can you honestly tell me that you would’ve been okay with me going to meet Croc by myself on his turf? Even with all my training, even though I can hold my own against men ten times worse than him, I knew you would’ve never allowed it.”

  We’re mirror images of each other, standing at the edge of the surf. Fists bunched, jaws clenched, bodies coiled. The ocean breeze picks up, whipping into a frenzy around us like its feeding off our tension. “You’re wrong. You’re a big boy; you can do whatever the hell you want.”

  “Now who’s lying?” he sneers.

  I try for a casual shrug, but with my shoulders holding the full weight of my demons since speeding away from the warehouse, I don’t think they move. “Think what you want, Darling. I don’t give a shit.”

  Liar.

  He lied first. I’m just following his lead.

  Real mature.

  Fuck off.

  “Good,” he says, “because I’m going back to Croc and telling him I’m prepared to do whatever he needs.”

  He turns and walks away from me, his boots eating up the distance with ease like he’s not susceptible to the struggles of walking in sand like the rest of us mortals. My throat starts to close, threatening to cut off my air supply, and my heart beats so fast and hard I swear I’m going into cardiac arrest. The thought of him…and Croc…

  Christ, not Johnathan. “NO!”

  John stops in his tracks. His shoulders rise and fall for several seconds. I hold my breath, waiting to see if he’ll ignore me and keep going. I almost fall to my knees with relief when he spins on his heel and stalks back to me.

  “Why not? You want honesty? Then practice what you preach. Tell me why you don’t want me anywhere near Croc. Tell me why you hate him so much. Tell me why you hate your name. Fuck, tell me anything.”

  “Why?” I shout back. “So you can look at me with disgust? Pity me? Fix me?”

  “No, goddamn it, so I can understand you. I have given you everything I am and everything I have. Things I never even knew I had to give until I met you. But it all means nothing if you won’t do the same for me. Let. Me. In.”

  Each one of his words are like his hands shoving me in the chest, trying to provoke me, to push me until I fall off the edge of my resistance. But if I go over, I’ll be dragging him into the darkness with me, and I don’t know if I can handle that.

  “You act like we can talk it all out then just ride off into the sunset, but that’s not how this works for someone like me. The bad guy doesn’t get a goddamn happily ever after!”

  “Why do you insist that that’s what you are? Who you work for and getting dealt a really shitty hand in life doesn’t make you a villain. When will you realize that you’re the fucking hero of this story?”

  Damn it! How can be so blind to all my faults? Plowing my hands into my hair, I tug until the pain in my scalp makes spots dance behind my squeezed-shut eyes. I’ve always kept my secrets to protect myself and my reputation and, by extension, my brother. Now, for the first time in my life, I want to keep my secrets to protect someone else. To protect him. The last thing I fucking want is for any of this to
taint John. He’s too good, too pure. I need him to stay that way. I can’t be the one responsible for ruining him. Not when it comes to this.

  I feel his big hand splay over my chest where my heart is still pounding faster than the hooves of a doped-up racehorse. But his touch acts like a physical form of Xanax, slowly calming me to a manageable level. Releasing my hair, I cover his hand with both of mine and release a heavy breath.

  But just when I think he’s finally backed off, he says, “You are the hero, and you deserve a happily ever after. I want to be the one to give it to you, to share it with you. But if you can’t let me in, then you’re dooming us before we even have a fighting chance.”

  He’s got it all wrong. Not using him as a shrink isn’t what’s dooming us. It’s the shit in my past. There’s no such thing as a normal relationship for me because my demons aren’t going anywhere. They’ll lurk in the shadows and wait for any opportunity to drive a wedge further between us.

  I knew getting involved with John was a bad idea, and yet I wasn’t strong enough to stay away. The temptation of tasting the smallest bit of happiness, however fleeting, proved too great. I gave in, knowing our tragic end was inevitable, but I didn’t think it would come so soon.

  Turning away, I pace along the shoreline as I growl so loud and long that it ravages my vocal cords. End this before it goes any further. Before he gets hurt. Just fucking do it. Changing direction, I charge back over to him and stab my finger in his chest. “You already know what I’m gonna fucking say, don’t you? Don’t you?”

  He shakes his head once. “I only have an idea, nothing concrete. And if you decide not to tell me, I promise I won’t look into it, or even beat it out of Croc once we have him in custody.”