Page 79 of The Devils They Are

I spend most of the new week pleading my case to loan officers and emailing off job applications, but to my disappointment, no one is interested in hiring or loaning to an inexperienced full-time schooler. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but with each day that passes, I realize I'm out of options. Which only means one thing.

Wind whips my hair around, the cool gentle breeze making my skin tingle as I lean against my truck. This has to be the single lowest point of my existence. And if he doesn't turn up soon, I might just consider a run along the canyon since it would be less torturous.

But to my utter surprise and relief, headlights turn into the warehouse parking lot, the familiar sound of wheels flicking up gravel and roar of an engine sizzling my nerves.

Rylan pulls up next to my truck, wasting no time to disembark. The driver's door slams shut a bit too harshly behind him, and I know he hasn't forgotten our last conversation.

"Well, I'm here," he proclaims with a huff, leaning against his pickup, facing me.

That stoic, expressionless look is back, his mental walls up as he scans my frame. But despite being in the one place we come to spar, I'm not here to fight. It's ironic, really, but I didn't choose this place because of its significance to our feud, or because it's neutral territory—I choose it because it's where we found a truce in a savage world.

I'm hoping to dig deep; to find the courage and strength I normally have in the cage, to step outside my comfort zone. And if that fails, Arch is on standby if I need rescuing.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, asking Arch for help and letting him see my broken-down mind. This next conversation will be even harder. But I've quickly realized if I don't do this—don't ask for help—the only place I'll end up in is Failure-Ville.

"Thanks for coming," I murmur, wrapping my arms around my frame.

Rylan nods sharply, the lights from the eternal warehouse bulbs reflecting off his silver rings. "What's this about?" he asks coldly.

Sighing, it takes every ounce of strength not to automatically snap back at his tone, but I remind myself that he has every right to be mad at me. I did break into his house and cause him to trash his room after all.

"I'm sorry," I start, voice shaking. I swallow, clearing my throat as I attempt to strengthen my words. "For the other day. You were right—I shouldn't have done that. Any of it."

He doesn't answer, but his eyes soften slightly, silently gesturing to continue.

"My mom died," I admit, even though he already knows that. "It wasn't expected. She passed while we were here that night…"

The words cut off, grief gripping my insides like steel vines. I hate talking about this—to him—but he needs to know. He needs to know the extent of my pain, why this is so hard for me. Especially if I need to do what is required.

A deal with the Devil.

I'm still not entirely sure I can even trust him. But so far, I'm the only one who's given any reason for distrust. Except of course for the whole Tai being a know-it-all asshole. But that's an issue for another day. And when I'm finished having thisminorcrisis, I fully intend on interrogating Rylan to ask how he ended up with Mom's belongings.

"I'm sorry," he finally says. "That must be hard."

I nod. "It is." My eyes meet the ground, no longer able to face looking at him. "But you already knew that."

There's an intense need to know more. It's been painstaking, driving me insane trying to figure out how he found out when my own found family didn't even see the signs.

A gruff sigh breaks the silence. "I'm sorry for sticking my nose into your business."

I laugh quietly, shaking my head. "I tried so hard to figure shit out on my own. But I can't."

His eyes focus on me. "What do you mean?"

"I can't get the money for the funeral. Turns out I might be the queen of Cedar Heights, but in the real world… I'm a nobody."

The admission out loud sends a sharp stab through my chest. His feet come into view, hand tipping my chin up. The movement forces me to face him straight-on.

"You're not a nobody. You're Bexley fucking Spencer."

Our eyes lock together. For some bizarre reason, the words ricochet through my body, and for the first time in a while, I feel that old fire again. It's small, insurmountable, but there's a flicker of something.

"Come on," he says, dropping his hand. "I want to show you something."

Nodding, I follow him. Rylan heads straight to the warehouse doors, pulling out a key identical to the one on my keyring. He opens the side door to the building, slipping inside into the darkness. We both know the path well despite being shrouded in complete darkness. Little scraps of moonlight trail over the concrete floor of the main arena, the windows lining the tall tops of the walls letting in the faintest of light.

I reach the power switches first, yanking down the lever. The room explodes in a furious array of fluorescent light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, blinking rapidly until the room fully comes into focus.

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