Page 59 of Revenge At Raleigh High
He nods without hesitation. “Yep. Not proud of it. Hoping we can move on without this being a thing. I have a bag, and it contains a few items that I’m choosing not to tell you about. I’m afraid that’s gonna have to be good enough, kiddo.”
“They’re not sex toys, are they? Urgh, Dad, youaregoing on a date!”
“No! No w—hey, wait. What would be so bad about me going on a date?”
I pick up my book and open it. “Well, you look like you’re about to break and enter somewhere for starters. And then there’s the matter of the weird facial hair you’re still cultivating. If you are planning on trying to romance any new prospects soon, you should probably let me take you shopping—”
I look up from my book; the doorway to my bedroom is empty. The mere mention of shopping has always had my father sprinting in the opposite direction as fast as he can humanly manage. I think all of that running with Alex this week is paying off, though. The old man’s exits have become infinitely faster.
24
ALEX
“She said I looked like I was about to go break and enter, for fuck’s sake.”
I clench my jaw, pulling up my hood against the cold. We’ve been planning for days, making contingencies in case something comes up, organizing meeting points in case we’re separated, and it seemed like we had our bases covered. Cameron hasn’t stopped freaking out since he arrived fifteen minutes ago, though, and I’m already trying to come up with a way to make him stay in the fucking car. The last thing we need is him losing his shit in the middle of this and blowing our cover.
“Just because she said that’s what you looked like doesn’t mean sheknewthat’s what you were gonna do. Everything’s fine. Look, if you want to go home—”
“No way. Not happening. Just pass me the flashlight. I’m not going anywhere. Jesus, at least if I’m here and we do get caught, we’ll havesomecredibility. Who’s going to believe that you were just passing through the neighborhood and accidentally found yourself inside Caleb Weaving’s pool house?”
“I fail to see how your presence gives us credibility,” I argue. “What brilliant excuse wouldyouhave for us being inside Caleb Weaving’s pool house?”
He grumbles under his breath. “I’m a respected member of the community. I designed the mayor’s house, for fuck’s sake. I’m on the town planning committee. I’m sure whatever I came up with would be more plausible than, ‘I got lost and the door was open.”
“All right, Poindexter. Why don’t you work on that in your head while I figure out how we’re going to get around the side of the house without setting off those perimeter lights?”
The Weaving residence is a monstrosity—a disgusting show of wealth and power presented in the gaudiest manner imaginable. Cam pretended to throw up in his mouth when I killed the engine of the Impala Monty loaned me. “Who tries to combine baroque facias with art deco window casements anyway?” he’d mumbled. I was more offended that the place was painted a pale bubblegum pink color and sticks out amongst the gathered trees like a thumb that isn’t just sore but has also had a hammer taken to it. The ugliest, most expensive home I have ever fucking seen. Leon Wickman’s place was probably almost as costly, but that building was designed with finesse, married with an understanding and appreciation for nature. The sprawling Weaving manor is just a fuckingmess.
“There’ll be a mains box somewhere near that tree over there,” Cam says, pointing. “There’s an electrical box just underneath that window, too. See it? We don’t want to cut any of the wiring. That’ll scream foul play if someone comes across it. We can just—”
I get out of the car, making sure the door doesn’t slam closed behind me. I can’t sit and listen. I can’t just fuckingsitanymore. I’ve waited long enough. When Monty said I had five days to come and cleave my pound of flesh from Jacob Weaving’s body before the cops came and carted him away, I did what I thought was right. I dismissed the suggestion out of hand. If justice was finally going to be served, then me showing up in the middle of the night to hurt the fucker would be pure, unadulterated, selfish vengeance. That decision stuck in my throat. Staying my hand felt like a missed opportunity to wreak chaos in the bastard’s life, but it had also felt, I don’t know, like I was growing up. Becoming a better man or some shit. And then he went and tried to drag her into the boy’s locker rooms, like he thought he could still do whatever the fuck he felt like and get away with it, regardless of the fact that I’m in Silver’s life now, andthat? That altered my perspective. That brazen, fucked up act changed my mind so quickly, it nearly gave me fucking whiplash. No way was I was going to be able to stay my hand when I laid eyes on those bruises around her throat. I no longer had a choice.
Juvie’s bad. Prison is worse. A strange code of honor exists between most inmates inside penitentiaries. Armed robbery; assault; theft; even fucking murder: there’s a vast litany of crimes that can land you behind the bars of a cell, and your indiscretion usually won’t matter to the guy you end up bunking with. But rape? Pedophilia? Those are two sins that’ll usually land you in the prison infirmary for a very, very long time. Repeatedly.
Jake’s not going to enjoy his time at Monroe or Cedar Creek. Whichever prison they send him to, it doesn’t matter. It’s going to be a living hell on earth for him. But it’s not enough, damn it. The moment he laid his hands on Silver again, I knew no punishment was going to suffice unless I administered it fucking personally. I’ve been fighting the urge to wait until tonight to come over here. Every night, it’s been tempting as fuck to sneak over here without Cam and leave a mark or two of my own on Jacob, but I’ve held back shown restraint.
The time for restrain is over. Now that we’re here and Jacob’s asleep in his bed less than a hundred meters away, I am officially antsy as fuck. Whatever Cameron has to say can wait.
I head toward the house.
Cam gets out of the Impala, hissing under his breath as he ducks down, hurrying after me along the perimeter of the gravel driveway. “What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss.
“Don’twalk. If you’re deadset on doing this, then the least you can do isfuckingrun.”
He sets off, sprinting like his life depends on it, Monty’s black bag, which I asked him to bring with him tonight, bouncing against his back as he darts over a small section of lawn, hitting the boundary line of the property, sticking to the shadows cast off by the forest. If someone just so happens to be looking out of a window right now, then fair enough. It’ll probably be really fucking difficult to see him. He’s just made his route around the side of the house three times longer, though. I duck and run straight for the ugly pink pile of bricks and wood, snarling with every step that brings me closer to Jacob.
I’ve considered every way this thing could possibly play out. There’s a very real chance we’re going to get caught, and if that happens then I am definitely, one hundred percent, absolutely fucked. I’ll make sure that son of bitch gets what’s coming to him before I’m carted off in handcuffs, though. I’m gonna make that motherfucker bleed.
Predictably, the security lights come on when I’m halfway around the house. Columns of brilliant white light explode into the night, cutting through the darkness like the search lights depicted in about a thousand prison break movies.
Sshhhunk. Sshhhunk. Sshhhunk.
I pause, back pressed to the wall, heart hammering in my ears, while I wait for the sound of a door or a window opening. No sound comes. Across the way, Cam’s stabbing a finger in the direction of the pool house, mouthing something furiously at me. It’s too dark over there in the shadows to see shit let alone read his fucking lips.
Goddamn it, Cameron.
I take off, shoving away from the wall, sprinting along the perimeter of the house, hoping like hell that no one catches sight of the dark blur racing over the grass.
