Page 6 of The Golden Boys

P.S. Several new faces were spotted among the crowd, including a rather free-spirited redhead and a reserved blonde. Anyone got info on them? One thing’s for sure; if they stick around, you can count on me to report back.

P.P.S. I cannot stress enough how important it is that you use protection. If we learned anything from the a-hole who almost drowned in three-feet of water, it’s that the world isn’t quite ready for this generation to reproduce.

Later, Peeps.

—P

* * *

Chapter 2

—July, one month later—

WEST

Sterling sticks his head into the study from the hallway. He’s on lookout, and also scared shitless, which isn’t exactly helpful.

“Hurry the hell up!” he warns. “Dane just texted. They’re pulling in.”

I hear him, flip him off, then keep searching. They’d spend a couple minutes inside the parking structure, then a minute and a half riding the elevator up twenty-six floors. If I’m not done by then, we’re screwed.

“Where the hell is it?” I whisper the question to myself, wishing Dane had stayed to help me cover more ground, but having him keep watch in the lobby is better. It’s the reason we now have an ETA on our parents. Still, we might’ve planned better if the whole‘heist idea’hadn’t been drafted up about ten minutes ago.

It started with the phone call—turned screaming match—between my father and me. A neighbor at the Bellvue Hills house decided tonight was a good night to snitch, telling that we’d had parties there nearly every weekend since the start of summer. So, as he sped through the streets of downtown Cypress with Mom listening in the background, he informed my brothers and me that access to all our bank accounts had been blocked until the start of the school year.

He’s pissed, but it has nothing to do with the house. He hasn’t even been by there in nearly a year. This is about control. The almighty Vin Golden hates the idea of something like that going on under his nose without his permission.

So, instead of losing out on the deal I struck with the owner of a 1970 Chevelle, I’ll let good old Vin pick up the tab.

My phone notifications are going off like crazy, and on the other side of the threshold, Sterling’s resorted to cussing me out under his breath. The combination of both sounds only makes my nerves worse. He’s losing his shit, which makes mestart losingmyshit.

“Pandora’s starting with her updates,” Sterling pops in to say. “One of her minions reported in on Vin, said they saw him blow through a few red lights to get here.”

Which means he’ll be rushing up here double-time if he’sthatpissed. My window of escape just closed in a little more.

I move down a drawer on the desk, still holding on to hope that I’ll stumble across a very specific credit card. The black one with no limit. The one my father only brings out when he’sreallyfucked up, so bad the only remedy is to buy Mom something expensive enough to stop the tears.

Sad thing is, that’s usually no fewer than three or four times a year. Perks of being an asshole.

I won’t be using it to purchase diamonds or some exotic vacation. My splurge has a LS6 454 engine under the hood.

“Junk. Trash. Bullshit.”

Stacks and stacks of unopened envelopes only slow me down as I rifle through. I push them aside and still find nothing.

“Forget it. I’ll have to come back once they’re in bed.”

“About fuckin’ time.” Sterling barely has the words out before I hear his feet shuffling across the marble, ready to hightail it out of there. Pretty sure he’s already made it to the elevator, waiting to take it down a floor to our own place.

“When the hell did you become such a pussy?” I call out, knowing he’s probably too far away to even hear me by this point.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen him so on edge. The whole team swears off weed from July through the end of our football season every year. It just hits Sterling a little differently than the rest of us. Whereas weenjoythat shit, he damn-near needs it just to function. Dude’s wound tighter than a drum and the only thing that offsets it is getting laid more often.

Lucky for him, ass is never hard to come by.

I’m almost to the door and in the clear, but the soles of my sneakers squeak across the tile when I halt. Doubling back is about the dumbest thing I can possibly do, but … I have an idea where the card might be.

“Shit.”

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