Reckless At Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels Book 3)

by Callie Hart

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention; there’s someone behind me. I sense their presence, even if they’re light on their feet and I can’t hear their footfall crunching in the snow. Terrible at keeping his cards close to his chest, Jake’s eyes flit to the right and briefly lock into something over my shoulder, confirming that my odds just took an even bigger nosedive. Four against one was pretty bad; I’m guessing it’s more like six against one now, from the smug, shit-eating smile on Jake’s face.

  I have better reflexes than most people. I was eight years hold and still living in the group home for boys when I learned how to hone my senses so I could tell whenever someone entered or exited a room. Takes me a moment, but I pinpoint the location of the guy closest to me, about four feet directly behind me. The other guy, the one hanging back, seems less sure of himself and hovers by the gymnasium wall, about ten feet away.

  I’m a proficient fighter, more than able to take down two or even three dudes who are a lot bigger than me, but six? That’ gonna be difficult. Still, no point in giving Jake the satisfaction of making this easy for him.

  “I feel so fucking sorry for you, man,” I tell him.

  “I beg your fucking pardon?”

  “You heard me. I pity you. I pity you, because just like Kacey, you’ve lost.” I say it matter-of-factly.

  Jake’s lips pulling back, exposing his teeth as he slowly walks toward me. He’d never fucking dare to approach me if his boys weren’t following his every move. “NO!” He barks out the word like a military general issuing an order. “You’re the loser, Moretti. I haven’t lost. I’m the fucking winner. I’m always gonna come out on top. Don’t you see? These are our lots in life. I was born to be great. You were born to shovel shit and fail at every turn. You don’t get to feel sorry for me!”

  Jake may have stepped off the ledge and surrendered his self-control, shouting for all the world to hear, but not me. I’m calm as can fucking be. “You hate her and you love her.”

  “What?”

  “You’re in love with Silver. And you’re so fucked up and broken that this is the only way you know how to let all of that emotion out from inside you. You love her, so you lash out at her, and you try to break her, because that’s what your father did to your mother. And that’s the only kind of love you’ve ever known your entire fucking life—the kind that really fucking hurts.”

  “Quit trying to psychoanalyze me, asshole. You’re way off base. I hate that girl. She’s the worst thing that ever fucking happened to me. She’s a lying fucking cunt who can’t keep her legs closed. End of fucking story.”

  Smirking, I begin playing out how this thing is going to go in my head. Jake’s gonna throw the first punch, because he’s going to want to demonstrate his superior strength first. Kyle, Lawrence and Nas won’t be far behind him, though. He’ll have told them to back him up as soon as the shit hits the fan. They won’t give me time to hit the guy back before they’re on me, tearing into me, trying to pull me apart.

  I can take Kyle down without too much hassle. The other boys are big and strong, and certainly pose a considerable threat, but they’re not smart. The second Kyle’s decommissioned, they’ll tuck their tails and run. Lawrence will probably have enough courage to stand his ground, but the fucker’s on steroids. He’s too big not to be. He’s slow and cumbersome, and I’ll have him on the ground in a few seconds flat. Once he's on his back in the snow, taking him out will be fairly simple. I just need to make sure he doesn’t try and lock his legs around my torso—

  “Damn, Alex. Cogs are whirring away, huh?” Jake spins his index finger in a fast circle, mimicking a spinning wheel. “I admire the optimism. You’re hoping that you’re gonna get out of this. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not. Let me break this down. I’m gonna break some of your bones. I’m gonna have these boys hold you down while I shoot you in the stomach, the way you shot me in the stomach, remember? And then you and I are gonna hang out for a while. I’m gonna take great pleasure spending a few hours with you somewhere nice and quiet, just so I really get to soak up the experience of you writhing in immense pain. And when I’m bored of that, the guys behind you? Those fine gentlemen are gonna drag your carcass out into the Walker Forest, and they’re gonna tie you to a tree. Won’t be long before the wolves scent the blood on you and come looking to feast. I hate to miss that part, I really fucking do, but it’s better if I’m here when prom ends. Gotta have an alibi, right? Not that anyone will ever find your remains. Everyone will think you simply proved them right by bailing on your girl here and skipping town. No one’s gonna look too hard for you, Alex. You’re your father’s son, after all. Bailing is what Morettis do best.”

  The guys behind me are much, much closer. I can practically feel them breathing down my neck. I glance back over my shoulder, curious to see who else Jake’s managed to talk into to participating in this messy affair, and I have to say I’m shocked by who I find standing at my back.

  My money was on another couple of guys from the football team. Maybe some of the less athletic members of the Jacob Weaving fan club. I sure as shit wasn’t expecting to find Monty and Paulie creeping up on me.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I groan. “Paulie?”

  “Sorry, dude. Nothing personal. Maisy’s pregnant. I can’t afford to lose my job.” Paulie and I have been friends ever since Monty took me in and I began working at the Rock. Admittedly, not the very best of friends, but the amount of tequila this guy’s poured for me over the past year could drown a small nation. He works his mouth—looks like he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek—as he comes to stand beside Monty.

  The old man doesn’t look remorseful in the slightest; his long hair’s pulled back in a tight ponytail, which has always symbolized that he means business. His eyes flash like razor sharp steel, his quick intelligence working overtime as he looks me up and down with a disappointment on his face. “I could have gotten over the bag, kid,” he says. “Eventually. You might have lost a finger, but fuck. What’s a finger or two between friends? The way you came steamrolling into my office like King Shit, though? That kind of reckless behavior’s worrying, son. It points to more reckless behavior down the line, and I don’t operate well knowing that a threat like that exists. You could bring my whole operation down with one careless word. You gotta go. I’m just sorry it had to be like this. I coulda made it a little easier if you’d just come to me, but…”

  He is so full of shit. The way he’s talking, you’d think he was Mother fucking Theresa and he was brought here against his will. Monty’s always been a vindictive cunt, though. He’s enjoying this just fine. He’ll sleep in his bed tonight, untroubled by a guilty conscience.

  “Looks like you got over your spat with the Weavings, then?” I don’t really care who Monty has or hasn’t mended fences with. Now that he’s here, I’m not walking away from this alive. I’ve seen Monty murder indiscriminately. He’s not a seventeen-year-old high school jock with a mean streak. He’s a seasoned criminal, and he knows precisely what he’s doing. He’s not about to fuck this up, and he will not hesitate to put me down.

  “Q wouldn’t hand over Giacomo,” Monty provides. He knows perfectly well that I’ve wanted your father’s head for a long time now. He wasn’t willing to give him to me, so that was that. You know how this business goes. One week, you’re a Capulet, the next you’re a Montague. I don’t know what to tell ya, kid.”

  I overestimated the strength of Monty’s ties to the Dreadnaughts. Or I underestimated just how much Monty hates my father. Either way, I’m fucked.

  “I admit, I was a little unsure about working with your old boss,” Jake says. “But Lowell’s got him on a leash, right, Montgomery? Lowell promised to turn Giacomo over to him if he did as he was told and took care of you for us. Looks like your old man’s career as a CI is in the gutter. I gotta say, I’m surprised at how perfectly all of this is working out.”

  “You really think Silver’s really g
onna believe I just got on my bike and rode off into the night without her?”

  “I don’t care what she thinks. It won’t matter. I have plans for her. She won’t be causing trouble for me soon enough. And when she’s learned how to be a good, obedient little girl and she knows how to please me, I might just let her suck my dick from time to time. Don’t worry, she’s gonna be so fucking grateful of the attention—”

  No.

  Fucking.

  Way.

  Fire ignites in my chest, roaring to life.

  I’ve remained calm throughout all of this, but the moment Jake starts talking about Silver, I’m done for. How am I supposed to keep a clear head when the images he paints with his words are so dark, disturbing and royally fucked up? Without me here to keep her safe, Jacob will get his way. He’ll find an opening, all he needs is one, and he’ll snatch her again. He’ll secret her away to some underground bunker, and he’ll keep her there for months, abusing and raping her over and over again until she finally cracks and gives him what he’s so desperately desired all along: her submission.

  He'll be careful. He’ll be protected. He’ll make sure he’s never caught, and no one will find her body, either. They’ll think she ran away to find me. Fuck!

  It’s futile, but I run. I charge at Jake with such a furious rage in my belly that all I can taste is copper and acid and pain. My ears are muffled, like they’re stuffed up with cotton wool. My heart’s seized—I can’t tell if it’s beating too fast or not beating at all. All I know is that it hurts, a crippling, sharp agony spreading across the front of my ribcage.

  I drop my shoulder, planting it right into Jake’s stomach, and I crash into him with the force of a battering ram, tackling him to the ground. Dead men don’t usually charge the living. Jacob likely thought I was going to drop to my knees, piss my pants, and start begging for mercy. I am, if nothing else, a constant source of disappointment, though.

  Jake’s kicking and throwing his fists before he even hits the ground. He ufffffffs out a hard exhale when his back hits the compacted snow but manages to land a jab to my ribcage. I don’t feel any pain. I feel nothing but rage. It sweeps through me like fire across a lake of gasoline, and I become a crazed, burning thing that cannot be stopped.

  Jake screams, shouting out sounds that might be people’s names. I have his head in my hands, and my thumbs are digging into his eyelids, gouging, and gouging.

  I fall sideways, hitting the deck so hard that my vision splinters for a second. Everything’s black and red, and the light from the moon blazes too, too bright. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.

  I’ve got to get back inside the gym.

  I’ve got to get back to Silver.

  Someone’s got an arm around my throat.

  It’s Paulie.

  His boots kick and scramble against the snow as he struggles to subdue me, but I’ll be fucking dead before I stop fighting.

  “Alex, man! Alex!” he cries. “Go easy, for fuck’s sake.”

  I won’t be going easy. I won’t be going at all. I have to fucking get out of here. The stars in the night sky overhead flare, turning to blazing torches, blistering the dark mantle of the heavens, and my pulse begins to throb urgently in my ears.

  Relief rushes me—Paulie’s grip around my windpipe momentarily loosens—and I seize the opportunity, pushing up with my legs and slamming all of my body weight back against the bartender’s body. He cries out, a single weak howl of pain, and then Jake’s standing over me, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

  He’s breathing hard, his blond hair stuck up in every direction, and there’s snow on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Fucker ripped my blazer,” he complains. “Get out of the way, asshole. Let me take care of him. You’re making it worse.”

  “For heaven’s sake, just get the job done already. Take the gun,” Monty says somewhere off to the left.

  Find Silver.

  Get the hell up, Alex.

  Get off your ass, get inside, and find Silver.

  The voice is insistent, but I can’t obey. Naseem and Lawrence have finally entered the fray; they pin me down against the ground, leaning all of their weight against my chest as I kick and lash out like a deranged animal. They flinch away from me as I land blow after blow on them, which makes it hard for them to hold me in place, but then Paulie’s back, grabbing hold of me from behind, cursing angrily into my ear.

  “Broke my nose, A. Not cool. Really not cool.”

  How the fuck does he expect me to behave? He wants me to lie still and docile as a lamb while Jacob and his dickhead buddies execute me? I almost laugh at the absurdity of the hurt in his voice. Paulie yelps again when I drive my elbow back hard, right into his stomach.

  “Fucking idiots,” Monty snaps. The toes of his scuffed boots come into view. Then: the sound of something metal spinning, something clicking, something snapping into place. It's the sound of the chamber of a gun being checked and flicked closed. “Take the fucking thing before I shoot the bastard myself. Kids were way tougher in my day, I swear. There are four of them and one of him, for crying out loud. Shouldn’t be this hard.”

  Above me, Jacob’s face shutters in and out of view as I wrestle for freedom. His mouth pulls down, his hatred pouring out of him so viscerally that it looks like it’s choking him. “Gotta show him a little love first,” he sneers.

  The first time he kicks me, I still don’t feel anything. He drives the toe of his shoe into my ribs, and suddenly it’s daylight and my ears are ringing. The blinding brightness fades, just in time for the second blow. Lawrence and Naseem release me, scrambling back out of Jake’s way, but then he’s barking orders at them, his voice cracking as he hollers at the top of his lungs.

  “Do something! Kick him. Hurt him. Fuck him up, you pussy fucks. Jesus, you want me to hold your fucking hand or something?”

  The pain begins to seep in as the more feet drive into my body. I slowly begin to feel each sharp, crushing impact, until, out of nowhere, I’m hurting so badly I can’t even think around the lightning firing up and down my body.

  Oh…

  …shit.

  Through the blur of black pants and Italian leather shoes, I see something that makes me fall still in the churned up snow.

  It’s…

  It can’t be.

  It’s Ben.

  The little boy sits down on the edge of the clearing, crossing his legs underneath him. His dark eyes, so similar to our father’s, bore into me, filled with confusion. “Why don’t you make it stop?” he whispers. His lips don’t move, but I hear his voice as clear as a struck bell inside my head. A tear streaks his cheek, and then another, and then another. “What are you doing, Alex? Make it stop.”

  “I…can’t…”

  “You’re not even trying.”

  I am trying, though. I’ve fought so hard, I’m exhausted. My limbs are unresponsive now, heavy as lead weights. They remain thrown out over my head, no matter how hard I will them back to my sides.

  “You didn’t save me,” Ben whispers, slowly laying down in the snow. He settles himself on his side, so that he’s mirroring my prone position on the ground. It looks like he’s curling up to die. “You have to save yourself. For me. For Silver.”

  He opens his mouth and blood pours over his lips, thick, and black, and frightening. Panic wells up inside me, my body convulsing…

  And still the blows keep on raining down.

  They’re never ending.

  Jacob crows, bringing his foot down on my shoulder, and an explosion of pain detonates down my arm and across my back. I try to hold the pain at bay, but it’s impossible, and I roar through my teeth.

  “All right! ENOUGH!” Monty bellows. “Any more of this and someone’s gonna come out and find us. You’ve had your fun, kid. Pull the trigger and let’s get the fuck out of here, or you’re on your fucking own. You hear me?”

  I pull and pull and pull, trying to suck some oxygen down int
o my lungs, but my diaphragm is frozen, spasming with pain.

  The edges of my vision fade to black, and everything narrows to a point.

  This…this is really fucking bad.

  I always knew I was going to die a violent death. I’m not surprised. I just wish I’d had a little more time to turn shit around is all. With a little more time, I might have been able to distance myself from this kind of world. I could have moved out of Raleigh and taken Silver with me. We could have made a life for ourselves. Most importantly, even if she’d cast me aside and left me ruined in the dirt, I could have at least gotten her somewhere safe…

  I look back to the spot on the snow where my brother was a moment ago…and he’s still lying there, his eyes closed, his lips tinged blue…

  God, I failed him. And now I’m about to fail Silver.

  What a stupid, pointless, unforgiveable sin.

  “Ready, Moretti?”

  Somehow, I muster enough energy to look up at Jacob. The gun in his hand, the one Monty must have just given him, gleams black and menacing in the moonlight. It looks every inch an instrument of death. It’s with some sense of irony that I realize it’s the same gun Monty used to give to me to take out on my midnight runs.

  “You really should have minded your own business, Moretti,” Jacob says blankly. “I really did think we were going to be friends.”

  He places his finger on the trigger.

  He pulls.

  41

  SILVER

  I think my toes are broken.

  “Checkmate in five moves. Such a fucking amateur.” Gareth shakes his head, wrinkling his nose in an attempt to wriggle his glasses back up the bridge of his nose without using his hands. “I mean, what kind of competition is that? Michael Kilroy was Bellingham’s best player. He was their team captain, and I beat him in less than three minutes. I’m not one to brag, but seriously, I really showed him who was boss.”