Page 37 of Revenge At Raleigh High
“I’d have visited—”
“Exactly. And pardon me for saying so, butfuck that very much.Last thing anyone wants to do after they get out of a place like that is go back to fucking visit. And if I’d had to watch you stroll in and out of that place, footloose and fancy free, it would have made my last few months feel ten fucking times longer.”
“You do realize you could have just told me not to come back.”
Zander picks a flake of tobacco from the end of his tongue, frowning at it before he flicks it away. “We all have our own way of doing shit, don’t we? I don’t know why you’re getting so bent out of shape, anyway. Jorge didn’t even get close. You put that sack of shit in the infirmary for three weeks.”
“And if someone had ratted me out? Said it was me who broke his damn ribs? I’d still be fucking stuck there!”
“All right, all right. In hindsight, it was probably a stupid idea. But my intentions were good.” He clutches at his chest with one hand, dramatically fisting his leather jacket. “I just couldn’t bear to part as friends.”
For fuck’s sake.“Just get out of the car, Hawk.”
“Don’t you want to ask me what business I had with Montgomery?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. You shouldreallywant to know.”
“I’ve been running my ass for the past six hours and I’m too beat to be playing stupid cat and mouse games with you, okay? I only threw your ass back there so you wouldn’t catch hypothermia. You’re awake now, though. Isn’t it time you were dragging your ass back to Bellingham?”
Hawk’s laughter is too loud for someone who just had a few of their front teeth loosened. “I’m not going back to Bellingham. I’m gonna be sticking around for a while. I’ve heard the school system here in Raleigh is pretty fucking impressive.”
Oh no. Ohhellfucking no. I cut a murderous look at him over my shoulder, the muscles in my shoulders tightening to the point of discomfort. “Not fucking happening, Hawk. Raleigh’s nothing like Bellingham. This is a nice town. You can’t just stir up shit here and expect there to be no consequences.”
The guy who watched my back for me at Denney slumps back into his seat, wearing an affronted expression. “Me? Stir up shit?Dude. I’ve had enough of the Washington State judicial system to last a lifetime. I’m on the straight and narrow. I plan on graduating with flying colors and making something of myself. You’ll get no trouble from me, Scout’s honor. Now…you feel like giving me a ride? I’ve managed to score myself a pretty fucking sweet crash pad.”
My blood feels like it’s about ready to boil over. “Get out of this fucking car right now, Zander Hawkins, or I swear I’ll put you in the fucking ground.”
His cocky, shit-eating grin doesn’t falter as he clambers out of the car. I can still see it plastered across his face in the rearview as I burn off into the night, leaving him standing alone in the dark.
15
SILVER
“Hey! You said Halliday was working at the Rock. You didn’t say she wasstripping!” Tuesday morning rolls around and I’ve had all night to stew on what I saw at the Richmond’s place. Before, when I was still a Siren and still friends with the girls, we wore some pretty questionable outfits when we hit up a party. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to come up with some sort of alternative explanation for Halliday’s attire last night.
Maybe she was going to hang out at her ex’s place or something. Guy and Halliday aren’t together anymore, haven’t been for a long time from what I gather, but they still seem to be close. Guy’s on the swim team, and unlike Leon, who took his spot very seriously, refusing alcohol like it was literal poison that would claim his life with one small sip, Guy and his twin brother Davis throw more ragers than any other teenager in the history of Raleigh High. I checked Instagram, though, and there were no parties last night. People would have been posting about it if there was, and there was nothing. Tumbleweed. Which leaves me with only one logical response, being that Halliday is wrapping herself around a pole.
Alex looks tired behind the wheel of the Camaro. There are shadows under his eyes the color of the angry winter morning. He sighs heavily under his breath. “She made me promise,” he says stiffly.
“I’m your girlfriend. You’re supposed to tell me everything,” I counter.
He does look a little remorseful. He still stands by his silence, though. “My promises are watertight. Not just sometimes, for some people.Always. The only reason I’d ever break confidence with someone else is if it might hurtyouin some way. Otherwise, I don’t get to pick and choose. That’s not the kind of man I want to be. Sorry,Dolcezza.”
God, I hate that he’s right. I hate that I can’t be mad at him for not telling me this. Halliday and I aren’t friends anymore, and it’s really none of my business what she does with her free time anymore. Still, this feels big. Important. It feels like something I should have known, becauseHallidayshould have told me.
And then I realize that I’m an extra shitty person because I’m keeping secrets from him, too. Myownsecrets, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t told him about any of the text message I’ve been receiving, I’ve been deleting them just as quickly as they’ve been coming in, and it feels as though the weight of that single undisclosed piece of information is choking me to death. Even thinking about the texts makes me feel uncomfortable in my own body, like my skin’s crawling with fire ants. I quickly put all thought of them away, tossing the knowledge into a deep, dark, bottomless box in my mind, where hopefully it won’t be able to bother me again for some time. My ugly thoughts and memories have a way of crawling their way back out of my mental prisons, though.
I feel the heat of Alex’s gaze on the side of my face, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. God, I’ve been so distracted with the Halliday thing that I’ve barely said hello to him. He’s dressed in a rare white t-shirt with a Dead Kennedy’s logo on the chest. His familiar leather jacket is nowhere to be seen, replaced with a red and black flannel, the sleeves shoved up to his elbows. It’s below freezing outside this morning, but Alex obviously cranked the heat in the Camaro up to eleven before coming to meet me; he doesn’t seem at all bothered or prepared for the fact that he’s probably going to freeze once we reach school. Not as bad as Cillian Dupris must have frozen down by the dell, but still.
I still haven’t even unpacked how I feel about the knowledge that Cillian’s in the hospital right now, courtesy of Alex. I can’t decide if he broke my rules, but it’s obvious thathedoesn’t believe he has. He didn’t beat Cillian with a tire iron. He didn’t raise his fists to him. But he did put him in a situation that could have cost him his life, but…I find I’m not angry at him. I feelrelieved, in a way.
I can’t stop staring at the tattoos on the backs of Alex’s hands—the fearsome wolf and the beautiful rose. The rose represents Alex’s mother, but I’ve come to realize that it also represents his kindness, his loyalty, and his integrity. The wolf’s meaning is obvious; it's never hidden what it was from me. It’s a bannerman for Alex’ strength, his courage, his determination and ability to overcome. Now, it’s also a fierce sigil that represents his unfaltering ruthlessness.
The tendons in Alex’s forearm pull taut, the roses and vines that creep on up his arm shifting as he flexes out his hand. “See anything new?” he asks, his voice low and amused. Oh shit. I’ve been staring, and none-too-subtly.
“Sorry. I just…got lost in my own head for a second there.” It’s a piss-poor excuse, but itisthe truth. “My dad…he told me to tell you this morning that you’re expected for Thanksgiving. No excuses.”
