“Okay, pull over.”
“Sir—”
“My dad is the sir, not me. I’m just the asshole standing between you and your next paycheck.”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second. Probably wondering who the bigger dick is—me or Dad. It’s Dad, but he doesn’t have to know that. This little interaction can stay between us, for all I care.
Once the car is stopped, I toss a fifty onto the passenger seat and hop out.
The tattoo shop is brightly lit. There’s a ton of hand-drawn art taped over the dark-blue walls, giving it a sort of retro teenager’s bedroom vibe.
Whatever.
The girl at the counter smiles. “Hi. Can I help you?”
I grin. “I was hoping to get a tattoo.”
“We only have one tattoo artist here today,” she says. “If it’s small, he might be able to squeeze you in this afternoon. Otherwise, we can make an appointment.”
I shrug. “I just wanted a name.”
“One sec.” She disappears into the back and reappears with the tattoo artist.
Riley’s brother doesn’t do more than glance at me, and recognition does not fly across his face as anticipated.
“I was thinking script,” I say conversationally, leaning on the counter. “Right over my heart in bold letters. R-I-L-E-Y.”
Noah Appleton’s head snaps around.
“You,” he growls.
I feign confusion. “You don’t think that’s a good idea? Maybe I should get an arrow piercing—”
He jumps at me, swinging.
His fist glides through the air millimeters from my nose. That was a close one. Imagine a broken nose on this face? Wouldn’t be a good look.
Arms bind around Noah’s chest, hauling him back. The girl who greeted me is stronger than she appears, apparently.
“Leave,” she barks.
I raise my hands in surrender.
I was hoping for a solid punch, but this will do. The way he’s glaring at me means he knows what happened—Riley’s side of the story, anyway.
I can’t decide if that’s a good or a bad thing. If he knew the real truth, he wouldn’t be glaring at me like I stabbed his kitten.
“Maybe I should put her name on my ass,” I muse. “Because she’ll be kissing it—”
He lunges, escaping the girl’s grip. This time he does make contact.
Pain explodes across my jaw. Blood fills my mouth.
I stagger back, but he stops. Cocks his head.
For a split second, I admire his self-control.
“Leave,” he orders.
I smirk, touching my lip. It’s already hot to the touch. I spit blood onto the floor and cross to the counter where my phone waits. I tap a few keys, then show them the instant replay: talking, Noah’s first lunge. My confused expression, and then the final blow.
I could’ve been an actor in another life.
Noah glowers at me, and the girl gasps.
Blackmail. I don’t have to spell it out for him: he could go to jail for this. Lose more than just this cushy job.
I’d take everything from him.
“I’ll be in touch.” I stride out the door and cross the street.
My truck is right where I left it this morning, parked inconspicuously two blocks down.
My face is already throbbing. I slide into the driver’s seat and pat the steering wheel. I flip the visor and examine my jaw.
Well, then. It’s already a mottled blue, getting angrier by the second. I prod the inside of my cheek with my tongue, finding where my teeth sliced the skin open.
Seeing him through the window the other night, I had assumed most of the muscle he’d packed on in high school had been lost. I’ll cheerfully admit that I was wrong.
Oh, this is going to be a brilliant shiner.
The truck roars to life, and I grin.
It’s finally happening. Six months of planning, and the scales are tipping back in my direction. It wasn’t just Riley—it was her whole goddamn family. They’re all going to pay, one at a time. They’re all going to be under my thumb by the time I’m done with them.
One down, three to go.
5
Riley
I hover by the door. Noah should be home soon—his shift at the tattoo parlor was supposed to end twenty minutes ago.
Dad is working late again.
Mom is locked in her room.
Finally, it swings open, and I jump forward.
Noah throws his hands up, yelling.
I scream at the sudden noise, my heart rate skyrocketing.
“What are you doing?” he hollers.
“I was waiting for you.” I press my hand over my chest and try to catch my breath. “Why are you so jumpy?”
“Because you’re lurking.” He tosses his keys on the mail table and kicks off his shoes. “Why were you waiting?”
I glance outside. I’ve been working up the courage to go search for my water bottle, but I’ve only made it so far as putting on running gear. My left shoe has a spot of blood on it that I haven’t been able to scrub out, and my knees… I could say I rubbed them with a cheese grater and it would be believable.
Noah gestures to the stairs.
He’s got a point—a wordless, silent point.
In the old days, a scream would’ve brought Mom running.
This house creaks in the wind, but right now it’s deathly silent.
“Is she okay?” he asks me.
“I’m sure she’s fine. I need your help.”
His eyebrow tics.
“I had a weird sort of accidental thing happen on the trail to the state park this morning,” I blurt out. “And I lost my water bottle. Will you come with me to look for it?”
His attention focuses back on me. “Accidental thing?”
When he spots the scrapes, he lets out a hiss of breath.
“I know, I know,” I say. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just freaked out, and you used to like running.”
What I don’t add is that he never much liked running with me. My pace was always too slow for him—but I was a cross-country runner, working on marathon speeds, while he enjoyed the quicker sprints. A mile or two as fast as he could go.
I just wanted something sustainable.
He grimaces, but the longer I stare at him, the more I feel it: he’s going to crack.
He.
He already cracked four months ago. But this new wall he’s put up? The ice he’s managed to form around his heart?
Yeah, that’s thawing.
“Fine,” he says, sighing. “Give me a minute to change.”
I clap.
He comes back downstairs in shorts and an old t-shirt. It used to be fitted. I remember it from his senior year, because one of his girlfriends almost didn’t give it back.
It hangs on him now.
“Ready?” He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “How far is this, exactly?”
I wink. “You should’ve asked that before agreeing.”
It’s easier to take the first few steps out of the house with Noah behind me. The back of my neck prickles, but I shove the sensation away. Now I’m being paranoid.
We get to the end of the street, then pick up a slow jog. I don’t want to kill my brother—especially when he finds out that it’s about a five-mile round trip.