Senford steps forward with his arms folded, leans over Stale’s shoulder, and skims over our conversation. “We’re not asking you to be a nark. We’re asking you to help us bring down the man responsible for one of the biggest crime mobs, to do something good for your country.”
I glance at the door. I should run. I actually tried to run from the cops once. Didn’t make it very far, though, before I was tackled.
“Relax, Ryler. No one knows you’re here,” Stale says.
I rip my attention from the door and wrap my fingers around the pen. If I agree to help you, it wouldn’t matter. As of tonight, Elderman wants my ass dead.
“Over a gambling debt?” Stale questions. “Yeah, we know it’s actually your father’s debt, not yours, and that most of what you do is because your father pushes you into it.”
I swallow the lump wedged in my throat. So, if you know all of that, then why are you even asking me?
He overlaps his fingers on top of the table then leans forward. “What if we said we could pay off that debt for you? What if we said we had a way to get you in with Elderman? That the offer he made you a few months ago to work for him—the one you turned down—will be on the table again.”
I turned him down for a reason. I’m not into drug trafficking or drugs or any type of violence. All three are Donny’s MO. It’s what he’s known for and why people fear him. I’m sure it’s also the reason you want to catch him.
Senford moves up to the table and leans over my shoulder to read what I’ve written. “We never said you had to be into those things to do this. You just need to be able to pretend you are.”
I glance between the two of them then press the tip of the pen to the paper again. And what if I say no? What are you going to do to me then?
“You’re not going to say no,” Senford states simply. He finally takes a seat at the table next to Stale. “Not after you hear our offer.”
I cock a brow as I write: And what exactly are you offering me?
“Your freedom in exchange for helping us put Donny Elderman behind bars.” Senford’s eyes are locked on me. When I knit my brows, he adds, “We know you have a record. That your time in juvenile detention has kept you in this lifestyle way longer than you wanted. If you help us with this—help bring Elderman down—we’ll erase that record.”
I study them closely underneath the florescent lighting. Are they serious? Can they actually do that?
“You’d have a fresh start.” Stale crosses his arms on the table “You could do anything you wanted to.”
A fresh start? It’s what I’ve always wanted—to have a new life, untainted by my past. Still, there are too many loopholes in their plan. As nice as it sounds to have my freedom, I’m worried I’ll get killed before I actually get it.
Say I say yes, I jot down. Then what? What’s your big plan to get me in the good grace of Donny again, because right now, he’s fucking pissed off at me and my father.
Stale wavers and glances at Senford. “Let’s just say we’re going to give Elderman an offer he can’t turn down, either.”
I wave my hand in front of me, signaling for him to explain further.
“We can’t give you all the details until you agree to do this,” Stale explains. “But let’s just say you’re going to make Elderman an offer he can’t turn down, an offer that will be great for his business and that will help you get your foot in the door.”
And what if they come after me? I write, wondering if I’m insane to even consider this. I have to be. Have to have lost my damn mind. What if they find out what I’m doing? And what if I manage to pull this off, bust Elderman, and he finds out it was me? What if his men come after me? They’ll kill me if they ever find out I was involved.
“We can offer you protection. Even after we take Elderman down, we can still protect you. You can enter the witness protection program and start over, just like we promised.” Senford leans forward, very get-down-to-business like. “Look, Ryler, we get that this is dangerous for you, but you’re not going to be in it alone. We’ll be there to help you. We’re not just going to throw you in. We’re going to prep you and be there every step of the way until we find Donny and take him down.”
Maybe I should have considered my answer longer. Betraying one of the most dangerous men should be a big, huge decision. But the words fresh start keep flashing inside my head. It’s what I’ve wanted for years, but never thought I’d get. I wouldn’t have to go to Kentucky. My record would be gone. My tainted past erased. My shitty life would be no more.
My hand shakes a little as I press the pen to the paper. Okay, tell me what I have to do.
Chapter 3
Right out the Window
Emery
6 months later…
It’s the start of summer. While most of the kids I grew up with are living with their parents back at home, I’m moving into my new apartment in a town an hour away from Ralingford, moving into my new life and following through with my plan. I just wish my mother wasn’t with me, poisoning the moment.
“I still don’t get why you couldn’t wait until the end of the summer to move out like the rest of your friends.” My mother crinkles her nose as she assesses the single bedroom apartment with plain walls and boring tan carpet that will be my new home.
Simple. Everything about this place is simple, which is why I decided to rent it—because it is everything my old home isn’t. Plus, it’s cheap and affordable.
“It would have saved you money to live and attend college at home,” she huffs, still irate ten hours after I announced that I was moving out.
She’d slapped me across the face numerous times, but I made sure not to react, blinked through the pain until she was finished. That was when I’d threatened to hitchhike to get to Laramie if she didn’t take me. Terrified someone would find her supposedly perfect daughter walking down the side of the road, she’d caved and drove me.
“But no,” she continues ranting. “You had to spring this moving plan on me without a single hour of notice. Jesus, Emery, I still can’t believe you packed all of your stuff up then announced you were leaving Ralingford. No notice. No nothing. I haven’t even been able to get ahold of your father to tell him yet. Do you know how infuriated he’s going to be when he finds out? You’re lucky he was out of town; otherwise, this”—she waves a finger around the room—“would never have happened.”
She’s telling me stuff I already know. It’s why I planned on leaving today while my father is away on one of his business trips. I made sure there were no loopholes in my plan, like my father locking me in my bedroom.
I set down the box I’m holding and wipe my damp forehead with the back of my hand. “I had to move out today. I’m taking summer classes, which start in just over a week. You wanted me to take summer classes, remember? We’ve talked about it since I was sixteen and began making plans for college.”
She walks into the small kitchen that’s attached to the living room and opens a cupboard, shaking her head. “Yes, but at Ralingford Community College. Not at a college an hour away from home, living on your own.”
“I didn’t want to go to Ralingford Community College.” I rub my sweaty palms on the front of my pants. Even now that I’m free, her presence still unsettles me. “I want to attend a university where I can get a bachelor’s degree.”
She slams the cupboard shut, brushes her long, black hair off her shoulder, and faces me. “Ralingford is less than an hour drive to Laramie. You could have easily lived at home and commuted. You could have done that for fall semester, too. It’s what some people from town do. At least, the ones stupid enough to believe they’re getting a better education outside of Ralingford.”
My graduating class consisted of two-hundred students. Three of those students, including me, are going to the University of Wyoming. Only one, other than me, moved out of town, as well. I’m not sure if they suffered the same drama, but I envy them if they didn’t.
I honestly didn’t want
to move to Laramie. It’s too close to home. I wanted to go far away from Ralingford and my home, across the country, across the planet. The University of Wyoming was the only place I could afford the tuition, though, without my parents’ help. If I’d been valedictorian, I might have been offered more scholarships, but I ruined that chance the night I snuck out of my house. The scar on my back took time to heal and kept me out of school for a while, causing me to fall behind. I don’t care, though. If I hadn't snuck out, I would have never discovered the truth, and I’d still be naively living in Ralingford.
“You should be more grateful.” My mother restlessly taps her shoe on the tiled floor. “But no, you have to pay us back for the life we’ve given you by moving out of the house and into this repulsive place.”
Sometimes, I feel sorry for her. More than likely, my father will punish her for driving me here. Unlike my father, my mother has a drop of humanity left in her.
“I am grateful,” I lie through my teeth. “But I also need to learn to start taking care of myself and get the education I want.” I sit down on a stack of boxes. “And this apartment you call repulsive is the main reason I worked at the pharmacy for the last two years. It works for me.”
Shaking her head, she joins me in the living room. The curtains are open and sunlight glitters in the room, highlighting her hardened features.
“I still can’t believe you played me like that and used the job I so generously gave you to save up money to ruin your life as well as your father’s and mine.”
“I didn’t play you, just like I didn’t ruin your lives or mine.”
“You really think that?” She pats my cheek with disdain in her eyes. “Just wait and see, Emery. You’ve lived a very sheltered life. You’re in for a rude awakening.”
“Good,” I dare say, leaning away from her touch. “That was part of the reason I moved out.”
Her surgery-enhanced lips thin as she frowns. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you over the last couple of weeks, but this little backtalk habit you’ve developed needs to stop now.”
I don’t know what my problem is, either. Maybe it’s the taste of freedom in the air, but I feel different, lighter, as if I can finally breathe for the first time. No more obeying my parents’ rules all the time. No more scheduling with my parents when I want to leave the house. No more falling asleep to the crying and screaming I heard every night. No more getting told when and how I need to go to bed.
“Sorry,” I utter an apology. When she raises her brows, I add, “Ma’am.”
“Good girl.” She pats my head. “And just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean when this all falls apart I won’t be there to pick up the mess. You’ll be welcomed at home again, at least by me. You’ll have to work extra hard to get on your father’s good side. You know how he is, and don’t be surprised if he shows up here to drag you home.”
Of course I know how he is: unforgiving, violent, controlling, perhaps a bit crazy. It all really depends on what exactly causes those screams in the basement. I once tried to go peek, but to no avail.
“I’m eighteen-years-old, Mother. He can’t just drag me home against my will.”
“You really believe that?” she asks condescendingly. When I don’t say anything, she grins, like my silence is me agreeing with her. She taps her finger to her cheek. “Now give me a kiss so I can get home before I miss curfew.”
I press a kiss to her cheek and bid her farewell, but instead of heading to the doorway, she starts down the hallway. When she reaches the middle of it, she retrieves a hammer, a nail, and a small wooden circle from her purse. In the center of the wooden circle is a pattern of angled shapes that curve around. The same shapes cover the walls of our living room. I once asked my mother what exactly they represent, and she’d slapped me and told me never to ask such questions again.
“Keep this up to remind you of our home,” she says as she pounds the nail into the wall, securing the circle in position. “To help you never forget who you are, to follow the rules and behave properly, and that your father and I will always keep an eye on you, no matter where you are.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I smash my lips together as she drops the hammer back into her purse.
I desperately want to march up to the circle and yank it down, right in front of her, but I’m too afraid of what she might do to me. Tantrums aren’t allowed with the Iverysons; otherwise, I’ll be punished. And punishments with the Iverysons aren’t normal forms of punishment. Never physically of course—that would ruin appearances. Mentally—always mentally.
“Remember what we’ve taught you.” She unfastens a silver bracelet from her wrist. “Families stick together, no matter what. We’re bonded for life, even when one moves away.” She grabs my arm with her free hand and links the bracelet around my wrist. The clamp is a silver butterfly that sparkles when it catches in the sunlight. “You won’t take that off. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She releases my wrist and hands me two bottles of pills she fishes out of her bag. “And don’t forget to take your pills. One pink one every day, and the reds are for the bad days, when you can’t breathe and you know you’ve messed up and need to make amends. I’ll be checking up on you to make sure you’re taking them. When you run out, you’re going to have to call me to refill the prescription. A normal pharmacy won’t do it for you.” When I remain silent, she adds, “Emery, this is important. If you don’t take your pills, you will end up suffering for your sins. Got it?”
I nod. “I understand.”
She spins on her heels. “None of this really matters anyway. Like I said, I highly doubt your father is going to allow this, so don’t be surprised when he shows up here.” She strides for the door and examines the locks—one deadbolt and one twist lock on the doorknob. “Make sure you lock up at all times, even when you’re in the house. This living situation needs to be just like at home.” She waits for me to nod then whisks out of my apartment, slamming the door shut behind her.
I breathe in deep gulps of air, as if her absence has instilled an abundance of oxygen into the room. There was a brief time when I was about six where I actually believed she had the superpower of sucking away all the air from a room so no one could breathe. When I grew up, I became painfully aware that I just had an anxiety attack every time I was near her.
But I’m not near her anymore.
I’m free.
Sort of.
I stare at the bracelet on my wrist. I used to have one just like it, but my father took it away from me when I spoke during dinnertime, something that’s not allowed. He also revoked my privilege to leave the house unless I was with Evan.
I momentarily consider removing the bracelet just to see what’ll happen, but I don’t want to risk anything ruining my moment, so I tear my attention off the bracelet and focus on the room.
I left a lot of stuff behind in Ralingford, in that home that slowly fed off my soul. Remnants of my old life still exist in every box, though. Not just the contents, but in the perfectly stacked, even rows of boxes. Neatly taped, neatly labeled. Neatly. Neatly. Neatly. Like my shoes near the wall. Just how I was taught.
No. No more. I didn’t move out so I could continue down my parents’ road.
Biting my lip hard, I kick my sandals onto the carpet and toss the pills onto the countertop. Then I cross the room and start rearranging the boxes into uneven rows of chaos. It’s a painful process, considering how neat and orderly my life has been for the last eighteen years, but I manage to make a mess.
In the middle of my mess making, I receive a text message from my boyfriend, Evan.
Evan: Wow, I never knew you were a traitor, Emery. Thanks for shaming me and your family.
Our story is pretty simple. We met in high school during sophomore year after he ran into me in the hallway. His smile won me over. He was the star quarterback, and I was the head cheerleader, so according to everyone, we were the perfect match. Our parents pushed us together
, encouraged us to grow closer, which we did. We were nominated the cutest couple. Homecoming king and queen. We wore plastic crowns on our heads that shined perfectly with our smiles. Together, we looked like plastic figures on top of a wedding cake, surrounded by fondant, flowers, and ribbon. So pretty.
I’ve never been with anyone else, but have often wondered what it would be like to look at someone and want to kiss them.
Me: I’m not a traitor. I just moved out, Evan.
Evan: Considering who our families are, moving out makes you a traitor.
I frown and move my fingers to text back, but then stop and delete the message, deciding to just ignore him for now; otherwise, he’ll put a damper on my move.
***
After I finish unpacking, I’m sweaty and gasping for air. The sun has gone down and darkness blankets the tiny apartment. I flip the light on and look at what I’ve done. The way the boxes are strewn about creates madness in my body. If my mother were here, she’d more than likely punish me for what I’ve done.