The veins on the back of my hand popped as I held my phone tight and typed.
Me: Yeah, I still want the turbo. Tell me when and where and I’ll drop the Charger off.
I paused, swallowing back the anxiety.
Me: And I want to know everything there is to know about this Tank fucker.
I pushed my phone into my jeans as I stood up, giving the vanity one last look, and walked out of my parents’ bedroom like nothing had ever happened.
That was what I did.
I shoved all the secrets down and went about my day like they didn’t even matter.
And maybe they didn’t.
The next day at school, Eric and I pulled up and hopped out of his car with Christian staring at us from across the parking lot. He was clearly confused.
“Where’s your car?” he asked the second I walked up to him, leaning back on his own Charger. A few guys were standing around, shooting the shit, discussing what parties they were going to this weekend, which was pointless because we all knew they’d be at Eric’s, like always.
I shrugged, fixing my navy tie. “Wanted to get some work done. It’s in the shop.”
“What kind of work?”
This was the thing with Christian. We were eleven months apart, but he had this underlying need to act like he owned me. Granted, I’d acted more recklessly than he ever had, partied harder than he had, and had been late more times than I could count, but for the last few months, I’d fixed my shit. Instead of burying myself between English Prep’s finest legs and drowning in booze, I’d started channeling my need for release into something else that allowed me to fly under the radar. I wasn’t as heedless as he liked to think anymore.
Instead of not being interested in anything but partying and having fun and escaping all the pent-up shit inside, I was now calculated in where I threw my aggression.
Christian could back off, and I could still do my own thing without him breathing down my neck.
“Just some tuning, brother. Chill.” I continued fixing my tie so Headmaster Walton wouldn’t have an aneurysm when he saw me walk into school as Christian continued to lean on his Charger and stare at me.
“Why didn’t you ask me to take you to school?”
I sliced my eyes to his. “Why the fifth degree? And you weren’t home when I got up. Still sneakin’ into Hay’s room at night?” I grinned, and he looked away.
“Speak of the devil.” Hayley pulled up in her Charger that Christian and I talked her into getting after she got the money from her father’s will. She refused at first, saying it was too cutesy to get a matching car like her boyfriend, but the Powell brothers could be quite convincing. Plus, after she went 0-60 in three seconds flat, she was a goner. Hayley would love the races.
I chuckled silently. Christian would have a fucking heart attack if Hayley popped up at the races with me. Not because he’d think I liked her like that—Hayley was like a sister to me—but more so
because he was overly protective of her, and the races weren’t exactly the safest place to be. Hayley didn’t need much protection, though, unlike Piper.
My gaze caught her pulling into her spot, and it seemed like everything else faded away. I didn’t hear Hayley as she walked up, talking to Christian before wrapping her arms around his torso. I didn’t hear what Eric had mumbled before he stormed off after locking eyes on Madeline. I had tunnel vision when it came to Piper climbing out of her BMW. She looked tired—her hair thrown in a ponytail on the top of her head, swaying as she walked up to our group. Her arms were wrapped around her tiny frame, and the dark circles under her eyes were a deep purple against her pale, creamy skin.
It had me forgetting that she blackmailed me as an achy feeling settled in my bones.
I continued to watch her as she briefly talked to Hayley and Christian, pretending everything was okay—as if she weren’t living a double life. I hated that I wanted to dig further into it. Not only did I want to know who Jason was, but I wanted to know how the hell it was all related to Tank.
He was a bad guy. A scumbag. He was one-parking-ticket-away-from-going-to-jail bad. After Brandon had met me at the shop to drop off my Charger yesterday, he gave me the rundown.
Tank got kicked out of Oak Hill—the high school that most of the middle class and poor attended—a few years ago, in the middle of his senior year. Since then, he’d been to jail three times for possession of drugs, assault, and petty theft. He had a lengthy record and was—according to Brandon—completely fucking crazy. Brandon reiterated that making a deal with Tank was a lot like making a deal with the devil—he’ll fuck you over if you even blink wrong. He ran with a bad crowd, and if people weren’t afraid of him, that meant they were just as shady.
So, I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out how Piper got mixed in with him. Almost every Friday, she was at Eric’s, unless her parents were in town for what seemed like their monthly check-in. And then on Saturdays, she usually hung out with Hayley or occasionally went to her cousin Andrew’s.
Andrew went to Wellington Prep, and even though he was a fuck-boy like Cole, who went to Wellington Prep, too, I didn’t see those guys getting mixed in with Tank’s crowd, but I wasn’t sure.
Regardless, as I stood back and observed Piper, it completely took me by surprise that she’d somehow be roped into a mess like this. Then again, she did tell me she did something bad a year ago—not that we went into many details before smashing, but I couldn’t help but wonder if the two situations were related.
There were too many unanswered questions and variables for it to make sense to me.