Always tie up loose ends.
He taught me. And Henley is a big loose end that I would love to tie up—preferably to my bed.
“Here you go.” Matthew Hope hands me a wad of cash. “It’s all there.”
“I trust you,” I say. He knows if a dollar is missing, I’ll take it out on his face.
He walks over to the guy I knocked the fuck out. Grabbing his arms, he pulls him out of the center to the far corner so he can get ready for the next fight.
Law and I walk over to where the rest of our friends stand. Rellik has his arms crossed over his chest, looking up at the balcony. “What do you think they’re doing here?” he asks.
“Who?” Law follows his line of sight.
“The Sharks.” Dax growls. “Think they’re here to fight?”
“No.” I snort. According to Deke’s social media pages, his friend Cole likes to fight. All you have to do is type in his name, and videos pop up of him kicking other guys’ asses—house parties, parking lots. Doesn’t matter where they are, you say the wrong thing to him, and you’re fucked.
“Maybe they came to watch you,” Rellik adds.
“Doubtful.” I pull my Graveyard hoodie on. “Come on. We accomplished what we wanted.”
“You think she’s sticking with her plan?” Law asks, knowing I’m referring to Henley.
“Yeah. She’s not going to give up that easily.” I hope. Otherwise, there’s no fun in what we’re doing.
I’ve known her all my life. She wasn’t raised to be a quitter, and that’s what we’re counting on.
She may believe in God, but he cannot save her from this hell. Down here, we all worship without the need for redemption.
“How’s your dick?” Rellik jokes to Law.
“It’s okay.” He reaches down and rubs it over his jeans, and adds, “It’ll be better once I shove it down her throat.”
“I’ll meet you guys back at Westbrook,” Monroe says while staring down at his phone.
“You sure?” I ask.
He nods. “Got something to take care of.” He turns and walks off.
HENLEY
“Are you okay?” Lacey asks from the passenger seat of my car.
I nod, but my eyes shoot to the rearview mirror to make sure we’re not being followed. When I see nothing but darkness behind us, I let out a shaky breath and put my eyes back on the road.
She looks down at her cell and lets out a long sigh.
“Everything okay with you?” I ask, wondering what that phone call earlier was about.
“Yeah.” She locks her cell and drops it to her lap.
“What about that call? You said it was your foster brother?” I ask, trying to take my mind off everything that happened this evening.
“He was just calling to tell me that he was staying at a friend’s tonight.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” she wonders.
“Want to stay with me tonight?” Am I afraid to go home alone? Not sure I want to acknowledge that right now. My father has been acting weird. My brother never comes home on the weekends. I wonder if that has to do with the girl friend he was talking to. No one on my father’s payroll is my friend. And I’ve got a doll locked in a safe because I’m afraid of it.
It’d be nice to have a sleepover with someone who isn’t trying to bully me.
“Sure.” I see her smile out of the corner of my eye. “The Millers won’t mind.”
“What’s it like living with them?” My father has been friends with the Millers since I was young. The elite only associates with other elite. And the Millers are definitely in the top ten families of our city.
“They’re nice.” She gives a soft chuckle. “Always MIA but we could have been given a much worse family.”
“How many foster kids do they have?”
“There are four of us in total. I’m the oldest, and the youngest is five.”
“Wow. How do they have so many if they’re never there?” I wonder.
“Live-in nannies.”
“May I ask how you ended up with them? If that’s not too personal. I understand if you don’t …”
“No, it’s fine.” She sighs at my rambling. “I used to live with my mother and father in Kansas. He was a drunk and abusive. When I was five, my mother left my father and ran to Texas. She was born here. She wanted us to start over.” Lacey runs a hand through her hair nervously. “But he found us, and well …” She lowers her voice. “He killed my mother, then took his own life.”
“Oh my God,” I gasp in horror. “Lacey, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay,” she says softly. “You didn’t know, and I don’t talk about it.” Her eyes drop to her hands knotted in her lap. “I was taken into CPS custody when I was seven. Only went through two foster homes before the Millers took me in.” She gives me a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s been smooth sailing since then.”