Page 64 of Broken Pact

In one smooth movement, I reach behind my head, snag a pillow, and whip it at him. It smacks him in the face with a less-than-satisfying muted thump.

“Don’t even fucking think about it, asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hawke catches the pillow before it hits the floor, laughing. He throws it at the end of my bed and flops down in the chair in the corner, looking way too comfortable. “Look, while I have you, I’ve got some news on those two guys hanging around Carter’s bakery.”

I sit up, my attention fully on him now. “What did you find?”

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his messages. “Turns out they’re in with Tony Falcone. Falcone runs a group of wannabe gangsters in Avalon Falls. Low-level shit mostly, but with some surprising connections. And get this, he’s Joey Wright’s nephew.”

“The tailor?”

“The one and only,” he confirms with a nod. “The Wrights go way back in Avalon Falls. Pretty sure they ran some of the first speakeasies in the area back in the day. Fucked around with gambling and horse racing. But it seems like Joey kept his nose clean from all that. Instead, he owned about half the buildings in downtown Avalon Falls—including Carter’s.”

I rub my jaw, processing the information. “What else?”

“Found a report that said Joey Wright was found unresponsive at his residence a few weeks ago. They’re citing natural causes. Rumor is that he left everything to his nephew.”

“Including Carter’s building,” I murmur, my mind spinning.

Hawke nods. “Yeah, and Falcone and his little crew run shit differently. Petty theft, a few robberies, some assault charges. They’ve got a rap sheet a mile long.” He pauses, sighing and shaking his head. “I don’t know, man, I wouldn’t put it past him to use this opportunity as a springboard, try to level up, ya know?”

A muscle in my jaw ticks. There aren’t any clubs or dominant gangs in Avalon Falls, which sounds good in theory. But it leaves them open to shit like this.

“Alright, good work, man, thanks. I need another favor.”

“Damn, Jagger, already?” he teases, a sly grin hooking up the corner of his mouth.

“Install security around Coraline’s bakery for me, yeah? Same shit as her house.”

He gives me a mock salute, a smirk tugging at his lips. “So you can easily spy on your girl, you mean.”

I ignore his teasing. Also, he’s not fucking wrong. I do like the idea of being able to log into one app and check in on her. Well, outside her house and bakery, at least.

“It’s not like there are cameras inside her house.”

“Not yet,” Hawke deadpans.

“Appreciate it, Hawke,” I say, meaning it. I lean back on the bed, folding an arm behind my bed. “Now, can you get out of here? I’ve got a date with a cupcake and I’m not in the mood to share.”

Hawke laughs and pushes to stand. “Bro, when are you ever in the mood to share?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah, yeah. Now, get out.”

“Later, man,” he calls, tapping the doorframe twice on his way out.

I watch him leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The room’s quiet again, just the low hum of the TV filling the space. I pick up my phone, scrolling through my socials and navigating to her profile. No colorful ring around Coraline’s profile pic—no new stories. Damn. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of my girl today.

But she’s making me work for it, and lucky for her, I’m determined as fuck.

31

CORALINE

I come to, disoriented and aching. Everything feels fuzzy, like I’m waking up from a dream I can’t quite remember. My head throbs, and my cheek burns with a sharp, stinging pain. I blink, trying to piece together what happened. For a moment, it’s like that time I walked into Mom and Dad’s garage door as it was rising—a sudden, unexpected jolt, and then blackness. But this is worse. Much worse.

I remember Chad’s fist coming at me, and then now, sprawled on my front porch with the cool concrete pressing against my side.

My heart pounds in my chest, fear clawing at my throat as I sit up. Chad and Ernie are gone—thank god. But the terror they left behind lingers, making my skin crawl.

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