thirteen
Royal Dolce
I pull up behind the three cop cars in the driveway, my fingers tight around the wheel.
“What the fuck do they want now?” Duke asks.
“I don’t think they’re here for Dad,” Baron says, nodding at the house.
Duke swears and jumps out. How he missed the vandalism, I’ll never know. That dude’s mind is a strange thing. Baron and I climb out, too. There are cops standing around on their walkies, someone taking pictures, a few more filling out a report. A couple are talking to Dad and the house manager, who will lose his job for this one. He should have been here all day. To miss this, he must have been either out of the house, passed out drunk, or off fucking the cook in a closet somewhere.
That, or in the Darlings’ pocket.
Ignoring them, I start across the lawn. The rage inside me simmers quietly, coldly. I don’t need to talk to the cops. I know who did this. We may have beat back the Darling tide, but it never really ends. Not as long as a single Darling breathes air in this town.
Red paint drips down the two curving staircases on the front of the house that Crystal said look like arms. He must have stood up there and tipped over a paint can at the top of each. The paint doesn’t follow the curve all the way around, but it’s enough. It drips through the steps like blood, splattering the white gravel below.
He left the lower level alone, either because that’s where the staff was working or because he wanted to broadcast his message. Along the top floor, his words are painted eight feet high, like a billboard to every car driving into the neighborhood. Ours is only the third house down, which means everyone else in the gated community passes our house on their way home. No doubt some of them will snap pics, and this will be all over the internet by this evening.
I pull out my phone.
“It’s gotta be Preston,” Baron says quietly as he and Duke step up beside me. “Just because someone disappears, that doesn’t mean they’re gone.”
The words hang heavy in the air. Even Duke doesn’t pop out a smart-ass comeback.
“I’m checking with Gloria now,” I say, shooting her a message.
Royal: u ok?
ThatsLo: yeah why?
Royal: where r u?
ThatsLo: omw home
Royal: stop at my house 1st
ThatsLo: k
“Preston,” I say quietly, staring up at the words.
BLOOD MONEY
They’re messy, a single stroke for each line, but it still would have taken him a while to do this considering their size.
“Think about it,” Baron says. “We fucked up Colt, and a week later, they fuck up our house.”
“But any of them could do that,” Duke says.
“Would any of the adults do this?” Baron asks, gesturing. “Or key our cars like a little bitch?”
“If they want to die,” I say, thinking of what I did to the Darling men who chose to stay in Faulkner. Even my brothers don’t know about that. Only me and Dad know that dirty little secret. Well, us and the dickless Darlings walking around town. It gives me a small moment of vindication when I see one of them and know. And then the shame sets in.
Of course, some of them scattered like roaches, and like roaches, they could have returned.
Devlin’s parents, for instance. I frown at the empty house next door. I keep a close watch on it, and so far, no sign that they ever intend to come back and tear down the eyesore.
“Let’s burn down Preston’s house,” Duke says, bouncing up and down like a boy about to get his first box of matches. He must have seen where my attention was focused.