Page 23 of Feed Your Fiends

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he asks, tossing back the last of his drink and eyeing my bandaged feet.

“My mum won ten grand with a scratcher,” I blurt. “She lost it within a month. You probably floss your teeth with more than twenty-seven grand under normal circumstances, but this may be the most money I ever touch in one day, and I don’t want to waste it like she did. I can be comfortable years from now if you let me invest with you.”

“What?” Hale cocks his head. “You think a small stake now could set you up financially later to improve your social standing? Do you think it’ll help you with the Auclairs if you aren’t just little miss no one?”

I nearly choke on my saliva. “Fuck Gant, his circles and his family’s acceptance. I don’t care about where I’m standing. That’s you. I just care that I’m standing strong. On my own.”

Hale cracks an ice cube between his teeth and crunches on it.

“Make me a partner. I’m worthy because I’m here. Where are your horsemen that you’re fighting to stay loyal to? Because I don’t see Gant anywhere.”

He picks up another roll of cash. “Where did you get this money?”

“I robbed a bank,” I deadpan.

“I did that once,” Rie Rie says, her signature six-inch pleather thigh-highs gouging into the hardwood. She’s carrying a tray with two drinks that thankfully look clean, thanks to Stassi’s help. “But there was no money, just rows and rows of cans. So many cans you could feed an entire army.”

“Was it a food bank, Rie?” Hale asks, accepting his drink with scepticism.

“I don’t know,” she says, looking contemplative through her Coke-bottle glasses. “I never got a can opened in time before the coppers came.”

As she clomps off and Hale sighs into his glass, I say, “Who have you got besides Rie Rie?”

He presses the power button on his phone, and his face is bathed in a soft blue glow that vanishes a second later because no one’s messaged him back. “You, apparently,” he says begrudgingly, and my hope swells. “We start first thing tomorrow.

“Great,” I say, trying to keep my tone measured and not desperate as overwhelming relief courses through my veins. “Is there a spare bedroom, or will Rie Rie mind me bunking with her?”

It’s Hale’s turn to choke. “Who said you could stay here?”

My expression falters. “It’d make the most sense. We only have nine days. We’ll be working into the early hours just to catch up.”

“Is that the only reason? Or is it that you have nowhere else to go? Why not by Stassi?”

“Maybe the same reason why you won’t accept her money. Pride. I need to prove something to myself. If I’m here, it’s for the club’s benefit. I’m not just mooching. That’s what I’ll be doing to Stassi, and I think you can understand the desperate desire of not wanting to be a mooch.”

Hale shakes his head slowly.“Gant will kill me.”

“He’s already tried to kill me, and I’m still here.”

Hale looks…remorseful…

“It’s just ten days before we return to Beaulieu. I can keep a secret for ten days, can’t you? You’ve been keeping one for as long as you’ve known Stas.”

Hale grabs my untouched drink on the tray, his eyes trained on Stassi, who’s pulling down the glasses Rie’s just replaced.

“Ten days only,” he says finally. “But I’m not hiding you. When Gant finds you, he keeps you.”

Gant

“It isn’t a Rolls-Royce, Gant,” Bae says, crushing the hope that swelled in my chest as I walked into his flat. “I’m sure of it.”

I look over the paperwork he’s pushed in front of me. There are photos of similar models that killed my mother, but none are dark green. All are black, according to their registrations. Bae had printed them in case I’d been wrong, but both Elle and I couldn’t be.

I skim the pictures of the owners, their spouses, adult children and chauffeurs in case someone else was behind the wheel, but no one matches Elle’s description, a middle-aged white man with grey eyes. One so tall that his hat touched the ceiling of the car. An impressive feat given the height of the vaulted roof. He must be no less than one hundred and eighty-three centimetres, and of the men, none appeared particularly tall, even if I could let the eye colour go. Eyes can change and look different from afar. Well, if they’re light-coloured, that is. Mine can never be mistaken for anything other than black.

Springs.

Like pools of spring…

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