Page 20 of Reckless At Raleigh High
ALEX
“Let….me…OUT, you fuck!”
I know how to drivemyCamaro, but Zeth puts me to shame. His car—a mirror of my own in nearly every way—is like an extension of his body as he drifts it around the bend, sliding perfectly in the snow, forcing the contents of the trunk to slam and loudly roll around. The hammering from the back gets louder as he jumps on the breaks at a red light so abruptly that I have to brace myself against the dash.
This whole thing, Zeth purposefully tormenting Monty, and Monty losing his shit so badly, would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that, best case scenario, my boss is going to fire me, worst case scenario murder me, and my little brother was lowered into the ice-cold earth twenty-four hours ago. Every time the fucker in the driver’s seat next to me coasts through the snow a little too recklessly, all I can see is Jackie’s supposedly extra-safe people carrier hurtling off the road and smashing into a tree, killing Ben in the process.
“Little tense?” Zeth asks, the suggestion of a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Kind of surprising; I wouldn’t have thought the guy capable of such a thing.
I brush off his comment, pulling my pack of smokes out of my pocket. “What’s the big deal with this bag, anyway? I’ve seen everything inside it. Nothing irreplaceable.”
“I’m sentimental about my tools,” he replies. “Had some of them for well over a decade. And besides…” He drifts across the double yellow line, crossing onto the wrong side of the road as we hurtle through yet another bend. “It doesn’t matter what the bag contains, what it’s worth, or if it can be replaced. It’smine. It belongs to me. I don’t let two-bit con artists from the middle of fucking nowhere steal my shit, kid. You let one person take something small one day, they’re trying to take that which you hold dearest the next. Bad for business.”
“Didn’t think you were a businessman.”
“I’m whatever the fuck I wanna be when the moment takes me, shithead. And you light that cigarette in my car without asking, you’re gonna wind up with a broken hand, you feel me?”
I’ve already sparked the lighter; the flame hovers two centimeters away from the end of the smoke that I’ve already put in my mouth. I consider holding the wavering yellow flame against the cigarette and pulling on it hard, just to defy him, but I meet his dark, flat stare and think better of it. “You mind?”I ask, laying the attitude on thick.
Zeth turns to look straight ahead out of the windshield again. “Be my guest.”
The smoke burns at the back of my throat, making me feel sick, but I pull on it hard again and again until I hit the filter. Shame I don’t have any Jack on me. I could really use a drink. Across Raleigh, Silver’s waiting for me to come over for dinner. Cam’s in the middle of making lasagna or some shit. There’s a girl who loves me, ready to hold me, and kiss me, and make all of this godforsaken shit feel a teeny, tiny bit better…but I’m happy to be headed in the opposite direction. I don’twantto feel better. I want to feel worse, because that’s what I fucking deserve, isn’t it? If I’d gotten my shit together a little sooner and not been such a fuck-up for so long, then perhaps I could have convinced CPS to give me custody of Ben early. If I hadn’t been so damn fixated on teaching Gary Quincy a lesson for treating me like garbage, then I might have been able to devote my energy towards the things that really mattered. Ben could have been living with me a goddamn year ago. Then he would never have been in that car with Jackie, driving through the night…
To see you. Because you’d landed your ass in prison, Alex. They could have been safe and sound, enjoying Hawaii, but no…
“You alright there, princess?” Zeth rumbles. “You’re looking a little peaky.”
Taking another cigarette out of the pack, I light it, scowling deeply. “I’m giving you what you came here for. That’s all you need to worry about. My general wellbeing’s none of your concern.”
He laughs under his breath. “So much drama. I forgot what seventeen was like.”
“Fuck you, prick. What, you think you’re gonna Doctor Fucking Phil me now? You kill people for money, old man. Let’s not forget that. And I’m a teenager. So what? I’ve had to deal with far more shit than most adults do in their entire lifetimes. I stood over my Mom when they buried her. I stood over my little brother when they buried him yesterday. My girlfriend thinks I’m an unfeeling piece of shit because I can’t mourn properly. And, oh, she’s recovering from being attacked and nearly fucking murdered as well, just to really ice that cake nice and good. Now I’m here dealing with your hostile ass. So…I get to be a little shitty, yeah? The past month has been fucking brutal.”
The cherry on the cigarette flares as I pull on it angrily. Bracing myself, I wait for the pain to arrive. A guy like Zeth doesn’t let people talk to him like he’s something they scraped off their shoe just because they’re having a hard time. There’s always retribution for that level of disrespect.
But the pain never comes.
I shoot him a casual glance out of the corner of my eye. He’s focusing on the road, his brow furrowed, but other than that he doesn’t look like he’s about to smash my face into the console. “I know what it’s like to lose a sibling,” he says softly. As softly as his gravelly voice allows, anyway. “I had a sister…” He trails off, the front of the car filling with an unspoken tension. The mention of his sister’s brought back painful memories, by the looks of things.
Not my problem, though. Just because he can put himself in my shoes and comprehend what’s going on in my head doesn’t mean we’re gonna be best fucking friends. “Just drive,” I grumble, flicking the smoke out of the open window. “No point in dredging up pointless shit anyway.”
* * *
Zeth follows closer than my shadow as I run up the fire escape to the apartment. The fucker should have waited down by the Camaro—I’m hardly gonna try and bolt, what with Monty locked in the trunk of his vehicle—but I keep a civil tongue in my head. Better to refrain from antagonizing the bastard at this stage in the proceedings. Once I’ve handed over the bag, he’ll disappear from my life and I’ll never have to see him again. From everything Monty told me about the owner of his precious duffel bag, Zeth’s a big fucking deal in Seattle. Unlikely that he’ll need to come out this way again any time soon.
“Nice place,” he comments, following me down the hallway. Admittedly, I’ve let things slide ever since Maeve showed up to deliver her life-shattering news; the apartment’s a mess, clothes lying in crumpled piles all over the place. No dirty dishes or take-out cartons, though. I haven’t eaten properly in days so that’s a bonus, I guess. I intend on heading straight for the bedroom, but Zeth has other ideas. He sidles past me into the kitchen, his sharp eyes taking everything in.
Leaning against the door jamb, I watch as he opens up the utility closet and stares intently at the bucket of cleaning products on the shelf inside. “What? You think I got someone lying in wait for you?” I ask.
“Who fucking knows.” Satisfied that there’s no one in the cleaning closet, waiting to jump out and spritz him with Windex, Zeth kicks the door closed and turns to face me. He sees my shattered cell phone sitting on the counter and quirks an eyebrow at me. “You run that thing over or what?”
“Sure.” I don’t need to explainshitto him.
“Cool. Where’s the bag, kid?”
It’s still sitting in the bottom of the walk-in closet in the bedroom, right where I dumped it the night I moved in. “This way.”
He follows on my heels again as I enter the bedroom. I head straight for the closet and grab the bag for him, thrusting it into his chest. “It’s all there. Apart from the gun, of course.”
