Page 60 of Revenge At Raleigh High
Once I’m around the rear of the property, I duck down behind the poolside Tiki bar—fucking poolside Tiki bar, FUCK these assholes—and I wait for Silver’s dad. He’s seconds behind me. Cam’s blowing hard as he sinks down into a crouch, leaning his head back against the bamboo framework of the bar, closing his eyes. The guy has no common sense. He looks relieved, which means he hasn’t given any thought to the next part of our plan; the part where we bust into the pool house and beat Jacob Weaving’s teeth right out of his head with a couple of wrenches.
“That was close,” he pants.
He was so amped up the night we made pizza. So full of fire and brimstone. The steel in his eyes had impressed the shit out of me; I’d thought he would be able to handle this. Now, I’m not so sure. I don’t want him getting caught. I don’t want to this to go south, and forhimto wind up in prison. “Seriously, man. Go back to the car. Plausible deniability’s a thing. If you don’t get seen here—”
“Fuck you,” he growls. “We’ve been through this already. We donothave time to relive theI-nearly-abandoned-Silver-on-the-day-she-was-bornstory. So shut…the fuck...up.”
I respect Cam. I respect the shit out of him because he gave Silver life, and I owe him a lifetime’s happiness because of that. However, with every passing second, I’m beginning to see him as less of an authority figure and more of an annoying friend I want to throat punch. I don’t like being told to shut the fuck up by him, that’s for sure. I growl unhappily, suppressing the urge to curl my lip and show teeth.
Has he ever found himself thrown into a holding cell that reeks of piss? Does he know what it’s like to be trapped in a tiny ten-by-ten windowless room with three other men, wondering who’s going to hit you first? I doubt it. He’s not going to accept the out I’m offering to him, though. I can see it in his eyes. He’s determined to follow this plan through, irrespective of whatever it might cost him; he loves Silver just as much as I do.
“All right. Fine. Have it your way. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I get to my feet, hurrying across the patio to the rear of the house, skirting around the pool. From there, it’s a straight shot to the large single-story pool house to the left-hand side of yard. The building is twice the size of my trailer, bigger than most standard sized homes. The huge bay windows are darkened, curtains drawn within. The lights are off inside, too, no warm glow escaping through cracks in the heavy fabric.
When we reach the door of the pool house, Cam sticks a hand into Monty’s mysterious black bag and pulls out a wrench; he raises the tool and pulls it back, fingers closed around it in a fist, like he’s about to use it to punch a hole through the double-glazed glass.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss. “You’ll wake up the entire neighborhood!”
Cam looks disappointed. The guy’s been ramping himself up for the past seventy-two hours. He probably hasn’t been able to sleep for thinking about the lengths he might have to go to tonight. He’s played out the moment when we confront Jake in his head a thousand times. He’s become accustomed to the idea that he’s going to have to break, smash, cut, and hurt tonight in order to accomplish his goal, and now here I am, preventing him from following through and he doesn’t like it one bit.
“Try the door first,” I tell him, jerking my chin at the sleek, narrow length of brushed metal in front of him.
“It’ll be locked.”
I say nothing. I stand and wait for him to try the fucking door handle.
Cam places a gloved hand on the handle, huffing as he checks to see if the door’s already open. He gives me a smugI-told-you-solook when it doesn’t budge. “Should I smash it now?”
“No! Fuck. Haven’t you heard of the element of surprise? Get out of the way.”
Cam glares at me, but he steps to one side, giving me access to the door. I pull a hairpin and a slim, hooked pick from my wallet, sliding both into the door’s lock, feeling around for the moment when I hit the catch. Two seconds later, I find the point of resistance inside the barrel of the lock and I work my magic, popping it open with a deft twist of my wrist.
“I should be worried by that,” Cam mutters under his breath. “The sad truth is that I’m just impressed.”
That’s nothing. He’d be seriously fucking impressed if he saw me break into a Tesla in under five seconds flat. I keep that to myself, though.
The door to the pool house swings silently open and I creep inside first, eyes sharp, squinting into the darkness. We’ve walked straight into the living area. A huge sectional couch monopolizes most of the space, arranged around the biggest flat screen T.V. I’ve ever fucking seen. It’s obscenely big, really. Cam arches a derisive eyebrow in the television’s direction as he follows behind me, silent, taking note of his surroundings. It’s great that he’s on the look-out, but he won’t be looking for the same thingsI’mlooking for. Cam’s looking for people. Jake, to be precise. I’m scanning the bookcases and the shelves. The ceilings at the corners of the room. The Weavings are bound to have a camera system set up inside the main house, but inside the pool house? That’s a tricky one. This is Jake’s domain. He’s unlikely to want Big Brother spying on him in his private sanctuary. The shit he gets up to in here would probably even turn his father’s stomach.
My instincts prove to be correct. I see no blinking red lights as I cast my eyes around. I hear no faint electronic whirring that would spell disaster for us and our mission.
There are two rooms leading off from the main living space of the pool house. I head toward the door on the left first since it’s closer. The blinds are drawn inside the room, but a faint blue glow from the lit pool outside works its way between the gaps, casting enough light to illuminate our surroundings. Not a bedroom, it would seem. Mirrors line the far wall. In the very center of the room, a bench press takes up most of the space, the bar still loaded with weight. By the window, a treadmill and an exercise bike loom out of the shadows. Obviously, Jake uses this as his private home gym, though God knows why he would ever need to use it. Coach Quentin drills the football team to breaking point every single day after school. Those training sessions are fucking exhausting. Jake’s definitely taking steroids if he comes home and hits this place up after taking such a beating for the Roughnecks.
I'm backing out of the room when Cameron turns, catching sight of himself in the mirror next to us. Fuck knows how he didn't notice the mirrored wall before. He jumps when he sees the dark shape moving next to him and immediately thinks he's under attack. The wrench he tried to smash the front door with almost goes flying as he lashes out with it.
I catch him by the wrist in the nick of time. A split second later and he would have sent the tool crashing into the glass. “JesusfuckingChrist,” I hiss. “Give that to me.” I rip the wrench out of his hand, confiscating it in a swift move that should honestly have taken place before we even entered the pool house. “You are a fucking liability, Parisi,” I tell him under my breath. “Just be cool man. Take a deep breath. Get your shit together. Chill. Don't you dare get another weapon out of that bag until I tell you to. Stay behind me and don't move a muscle until I tell you to.”
Cam’s expression says it all: like me, he doesn’t appreciate being told what to do, but he's gonna land us in hot fucking water if I don't rein him in once and for all.
My pulse should be racing. My adrenaline’s high, pumping urgently around my body, making me hum with energy, but my heart rate is a slow, steady thump in my chest. I've always been like this in dangerous, high-stakes situations that would leave others anxious, bouncing on the balls of their feet, ready to explode into action. I’m galvanized, sharper, focused, my synapses firing so rapidly that I jump from one thought to the next in a flurry of mental activity. Shame Cameron wasn't wired the same way. This would be going a lot smoother if he was.
We cross the living room, heading for the other door, and once we reach it, I open it without hesitation. We've already wasted too much time. Also, we’ve made enough fucking noise since we walked into the pool house, and the last thing I want to do is give Jake an opportunity to bail out of a window and disappear off into the night before we’ve had a chance to spend any quality time with him.
This time, we hit pay dirt.
The door swings open, and voila. Definitely a bedroom. There are clothes strewn all over the floor, along with discarded shoes, books, plates, cutlery, and empty fast food wrappers. Unlike the rest of the pool house, this room is a fucking dump. It looks like a bunch of vagrants have been squatting in here for weeks. It's a miracle we didn'tsmellthe damn bedroom the moment I picked the lock and we entered the pool house,
Gross doesn't even cover it. The place is a health and safety hazard. I don't know if Cam's up to date on his shots but I, for one, am glad that I had a tetanus booster last year.
In the corner, the king-sized bed shoved up against the wall contains a body. A hand pokes out from underneath the welter of blankets. A foot. Tufts of dark hair are visible against white, fluffy pillows. A loud, juddering sound splinters the silence. The motherfucker is snoring like a goddamn chainsaw. Doesn't look like Jake knows we've broken into his home and are planning on causing him serious harm. From the sounds of things, the bastard could sleep through an air raid and be none the fucking wiser.
