Falls Boys (Hellbent 1)

I hope not. She’d better not be bringing more of them over here.

I jerk the wheel, barreling into the parking lot and hear the alarm. I slam on the brakes.

Dylan’s phone rings, and I jump out of the truck, looking for the girl.

Or Tommy.

For a light, a movement. Anything.

I spot the broken glass, one of the panels on the front of the shop shattered on the floor inside, and I peer up to the second floor, still not seeing her.

Fuck it. I step inside, not caring if she has a weapon on her.

“Hi,” I hear Dylan say behind me. “Code 9556732, last name Trent, password Madman.”

She follows me, her phone pressing over her light brown hair to her ear underneath, but Kade pulls her back. “Dylan, no.” He points to the glass and her flipflops. “Stay here.”

She nods, trying to listen to the security company on the phone. “Yeah, send the police.”

My parents and Dylan’s are out of town tonight, but they’ll still get the alert. They’ll be calling any minute.

I look around, the whole place dark and not a sound. I scan the first floor, taking inventory of my uncle Jared’s equipment, my dad’s computers, the bikes and cars—everything in the same exact state as when I left earlier today.

“I don’t see anyone,” Kade says.

“Okay,” Dylan says into her phone. “Thanks.” She hangs up, looking at us. “Cops are on their way.”

Other than the broken window, everything’s fine. There’s no sign of her or the Dietrich kid. What…? Did she really just come here to break a window? Why steal my wallet then?

“She had to know there’d be a security system,” Dylan says. “This isn’t smart.”

No, it’s not. Why—?

Then it occurs to me. I pat down my pockets again, noting both my missing wallet and my missing keys.

My chest caves. “It’s not smart,” I exhale. “It’s a decoy.”

Kade and Dylan glance at each other, but I run. “Stay here!” I shout, racing to the truck. “Handle the police.”

“Hawke!” Dylan calls.

Followed by Kade. “Hawke!”

But I’m gone. Slamming the door, I take off, flying out of the lot and speeding home. Son of a bitch.

She knew we had a security system. She’s not smart. She’s a diabolical little shithead, who knew exactly what to do to get me and the police anywhere but where she was going to be.

“Goddammit.” I lock my jaw, more disappointed in how I let this happen.

When did she get my wallet and keys? It had to be when I was carrying her. How did I not feel that? “For Christ’s sake,” I hiss, feeling stupid.

I drive down Fall Away Lane but kill the headlights and pull over to the side, a few houses down from mine. I don’t want her to know I’m coming.

She was alone—or only with the kid anyway—at the bar, and I’m not scared of Tommy Dietrich. As long as the Rebel didn’t call in backup from Weston, I’ll get her out of my house before she has the chance to fuck anything up.

Climbing out of the truck, I walk down the street and look around, but I don’t see any cars I don’t recognize. She would’ve kept her getaway car close, but not obvious.

I stop on the sidewalk, turn right, and look at my house with Dylan’s next to it on the left. My dad and uncle went to Chicago to meet with an engineer they’re looking to hire for the business. They took my mom, Tate, and James.

Which they’ve been posting pictures of all day on social media.

Fucking hell. She knew the houses were empty when she saw Dylan and me at Rivertown.

I approach the tree situated between the two homes, watching the windows for any sign of the two girls.

And then movement catches my eye, and I jerk my head left, seeing a flashlight in the second-floor hallway of Dylan’s house.

I race up the tree, the branches of the old maple spreading between Dylan’s bedroom and mine. I hop up onto the thick arm leading to the French doors of her room and see them cracked open.

Slowly, I swing my legs over the railing and then dig out my phone, texting Kade and then silencing the ringer.

“Shhh!” I hear someone say from somewhere in the house.

Everything in my body tenses.

I step inside my cousin’s room, glancing around as I make my way for the door.

A small laugh drifts in from the hallway, and I have only a second to hide as the door opens and Tommy Dietrich walks in.

I grab her.

She yelps, but I cover her mouth, wrapping my arm around the kid and holding her tight. She doesn’t fight, though. She barely breathes, like a frightened, little rabbit.

I lean down, whispering into her ear. “You’re going to go home, understand?”

She nods quickly.

“And you’re going to stop choosing losers as friends just because they’re giving you a bit of attention,” I tell her.