Falls Boys (Hellbent 1)

“I know what to do,” she cuts him off.

Before we can say another word, she climbs out of the car, and Hawke spins back around in his seat, shifting like he’s debating if we should be doing this.

“Don’t do anything until you’re relaxed,” I call out just loud enough for her to hear.

We watch her head down the empty street, toward the garage, and I look around me—around the car and neighborhood—making sure no one is watching. With any luck, most of Hugo’s lackeys will be sleeping well into the afternoon. Very little happens in the daylight—the occasional runner dropping off and picking up—but this could take a while. Less people in there means it’ll be harder to blend in.

I slide my hands into my pockets, trying to crack my neck as if that’ll get rid of this uneasy feeling in my stomach. Hugo wouldn’t hurt her, would he? He’d never been violent with me, but then I’d never done anything that could send him upstate for life. Like plant a camera in the middle of his operation.

We shouldn’t have involved her. This web will get out of control, and who’s to say she’s not using her phone to call the cops and let them know where we are right now? I don’t really know her that well.

I watch her get farther away, her long white hair with blue streaks easy to see before she disappears inside. “This is a mistake,” I say.

“Wasn’t my idea.”

I look over at Trent, seeing him stare at his phone. I drop my eyes to the screen, recognizing the girl in the guy’s lap. “Is that the blonde I kicked last night?”

God, that seems like a year ago.

“She did a nice editing job on that fat lip.” I smile and prop my foot up on the glove box. “You can barely notice it.”

“She could’ve lost teeth, Aro.”

I laugh, tipping my head back on the headrest and closing my eyes. That would’ve been awesome.

But he loses his temper. “It’s not funny,” he tells me. “I mean, what’s the matter with you? None of this is funny.”

None of this. My life, he means?

I tighten my fists inside my jacket. “Oh, I realize that nothing about me will be funny in five years, Rich Boy.” I almost say it through clenched teeth. “You really don’t have to remind me as much as you do.”

In his head, it’s a series of mistakes that got us here, and he knows very well it’s not a habit for him.

“Nothing escapes me about my reality, Hawke.” I turn my eyes out the window. “Her lip will heal.”

He falls silent, and I think about her five years from now. His cousin Dylan in ten. Him in twenty. They can allow me my brief entertainment.

“There’s ibuprofen in the glove box if you need it for your arm,” he says.

He shuffles in the back seat and hands me a bottle of water to wash it down, and I take it, pressing the button to roll down the window, and fling the bottle outside before rolling it up again. He can take care of her, if he’s so worried about someone.

We sit in silence, me forcing my eyes closed when I really just want to watch the door of the garage. He taps away on his phone before turning on the music.

But after a few, he’s antsy. “This doesn’t feel right,” he murmurs.

“It’s only been three minutes.”

“We shouldn’t have sent her in there,” he tells me. “Another fucking mistake. All I’m doing is making mistakes.”

I open my eyes, staring ahead at the garage down the street. “I’m going to remind you one last time before I beat it into you,” I grit out and then look at him. “No one needs you. Reaction is still action, and you broke the law too. Don’t put this all on me. I’ll use you like you’re using me, but make no mistake, I’d get it done without you.”

“You’d be in jail already or dead if I didn’t show up last night,” he says, looking down at me.

I just snicker. “This isn’t my first adventure, Pirate. I got along before you, and I’d still be kicking the shit out of your cousin and your girl right now if you hadn’t come along and stuck your goddamn nose into everyone else’s business, like I’m quite sure you have a habit of doing because you’re a control freak who needs to insert himself to feel superior.”

He just laughs, shaking his head. “This conversation is tedious.”

I tip my head back, staring up through the sunroof as I mock back. “This conversation is tedious.”

“Stop acting like a child,” he growls. “And I’m not a control freak.”

I turn my head, gazing over at him. “You watch everyone in town. Like God.”

He can’t argue that, can he?