Page 32 of Fatal Collision
“What’s up with him?” Noah asks, the phone held to his ear while he waits for the person on the other end to pick up.
“Dinner with our father,” I reply drily.
No other explanation is required. We all have complicated relationships with our families.
Especially our fathers.
We had barely turned ten when we were sent away to learn survival skills for the first time.
Unimaginable horrors no child should be subjected to.
I was eleven the first time I took a man’s life as part of some sick initiation ritual.
By that point, I had watched countless men be tortured for information, and I’d witnessed grown men scream as their limbs were severed. I’d witnessed men gag and throw up while they were force-fed their own body parts.
The reality is that we were desensitized to violence by design. All thanks to our fathers, and it was all to prepare us to take their place one day as founding members.
A legacy handed down from generation to generation for centuries.
A legacy none of us can escape.
An hour later, we’re walking down the main street in Bleakmoor Falls, when I notice a certain blonde through the shop window.
I draw to a halt.
Well, hello, little rabbit.
Jessica looks carefree, nursing her coffee while smiling at her purple-haired friend. The blonde next toher is a younger, pastel version of her… with the same blonde hair, albeit curly, button nose, and plump lips. Younger. Innocent.
That must be her sister. They look a lot alike, yet also not.
Noah stops first, turning halfway. “Ravencourt?”
The others still haven’t noticed. They have their heads bowed together in conversation as they continue down the street. Noah whistles sharply, and they turn.
I enter the cafe, the bell above the door announcing my arrival. Warm air rushes over me, thick with the smell of roasted coffee, cinnamon buns, and something buttery from the oven.
It’s almost comical the way Jessica’s eyes bulge when I sit down beside her. I’m the last person she expects to see in the Falls, because we have no reason to visit this part of town unless we are taking care ofbusiness.
I fling my arm around the back of her chair and relax into my seat. Her friends blink at me before turning their curious expressions back on Jessica, and a blush crawls up her neck, either from embarrassment or anger.
Possibly both.
She opens her mouth to speak, to explain why someone from Bleakmoor Heights has pulled out a seat beside her, but Cash’s too-wide smile interrupts the moment when he slams down a chair that he drags overfrom a different table. As he turns it backward and plops down, Noah and Maverick join us, too.
I fight a smirk. Jessica and her friends resemble deer caught in headlights.
“You haven’t responded to my latest texts,” I say, toying with the ends of Jessica’s hair.
Days have passed since she followed me on social media. I’ve been texting her every morning and evening, but she always leaves me on Read.
The little thief is ignoring me.
Unlike other women, she’s not falling all over herself for my attention, which is strangely intriguing, yet frustrating at the same time. Chasing someone is a new concept to me, and I think that’s why I’m doing it. Because she doesn’t want my attention.
Everyone wants it. She just doesn’t know it yet.
But she will.
