Page 22 of Psycho Boys

“So that was all just a fucking bust?” Ash growls, ripping off his mask to light a cigarette.

“She could’ve gotten away,” Dom tries to murmur, clinging to a flicker of hope, but the expression on his face betrays him.

“If she did, someone would’ve fucking seen her,” Killian mutters, his eyes glued to the road, his mask still obscuring his features.

The ride back to the apartment wraps us in silence, a heavy fog of failure enveloping us as our minds race with questionsabout where we went wrong. We had planned every detail—the pipe bombs, the surveillance, the layout of the entire building. Yet somehow, we failed, and the thought of failing to bring Cali home gnaws at our insides.

Entering their apartment, the atmosphere feels somber and oppressive. The guys slouch into chairs, lighting up as they try to numb their feelings with whatever they can find. I pluck a joint from my cigarette pack and remain standing, knowing that I need to return to my place, even if it’s just to grab a change of clothes. I need space to think—just a moment of clarity to devise a new plan.

“I’m heading home to grab some things, but I’ll be back,” I announce, my nerves frayed, bracing myself for their impending protest. Surprisingly, they don’t react.

“Bring back some liquor; we’re almost out,” Ash says, taking a swig from the Fireball bottle he clutches tightly.

“Anything else?” I ask, glancing at the three of them, preparing to commit their requests to memory.

“Bring me some of that bud you’re smoking too,” Dom says, reaching for a backscratcher to stick into his cast to soothe the itch on his leg.

“Will do. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. If you hear anything, call me." I nod and turn to leave, an unsettling sensation coiling in the pit of my stomach. As I glance back, a chill runs down my spine. “You might want to find somewhere else to stay for a while. They’re going to come after us for what happened tonight, and here, you’re all sitting ducks.”

“Then find us a fucking place, smartass,” Killian snaps, snorting a thick line of heroin in one swift motion. “Somewhere our fathers can’t track us down.”

“I’ll work on that too, but be careful in the meantime, especially your crippled ass, Dom.” I attempt to lift the moodwith a laugh, but all I receive is a middle finger from Dom, who’s tightly gripping a loaded needle.

The brief walkhome feels fraught with tension. Before tonight, the most dangerous thing I’d ever done was a petty robbery at a trap house down the street—years ago. I don’t usually break the rules; I try to keep my life clean and avoid trouble. Tonight shattered that illusion, potentially altering the course of my life forever. I’ve never harmed anyone; I just street race now and then. But now I find myself tangled in high-stakes chaos, uncertain of what it all means. Yet if it concerns Cali, I’m willing to risk everything to bring her back, even if it costs me my life. It's funny how love can do that, how it can make you not even question doing unspeakable things. But for the right person, for that one that you can't live without, you're willing to risk anything and everything just for them. And that's what Cali means to me, even in just the short time I've known her.

Instead of heading straight home, I circle back a few times, wary of anyone watching and waiting for my return. Only when I’m certain it’s safe do I finally step inside and ascend the winding stairs, letting tears stream down my face now that I’m truly alone.

As I unlock my front door, a familiar scent halts me, and I struggle to remember where I’ve encountered it before. Carefully, I glance around before stepping through the front door, locking it quickly behind me. As soon as my back presses against it, I close my eyes and begin to slide down toward the floor. But the feeling of cold metal pressed against my templefreezes me in place, and I clench my eyes shut tighter. The scent is even closer now—musty and sugary—an unusual combination, but one I recognize from the basement of Gunnar's house.

"Are you alone?" A whisper comes from my left, too low to identify who it is just yet.

“Fuck. Yeah, I’m alone,” I mutter, still too frightened to open my eyes.

The muzzle of the gun presses deeper into my temple for a brief moment before being withdrawn completely, and finally, I open my eyes when I hear the gun being set down.

Before me stands a masked figure, cloaked in black from head to toe. The same red ‘X’ eyes stare back at me—just like the ones on the mask I’d been wearing before.

"What the fuck do you want?" I seethe, not in the mood for any games after the night I’ve had.

"You,” they reply, and in one swift motion, they lift their mask, and my heart plummets to the floor.

“Cali? Fuck, how did... why are... Shit, you’re here,” I stammer as I wrap my arms around her, spinning her around and refusing to let go.

She shivers in my embrace, her body delicate against the tightness of my grasp. A few sniffles escape her before she musters a small smile, pain flickering in her broken eyes.

"It was you guys, wasn't it?" She asks, finally relaxing somewhat as we sink onto the floor together, still entwined.

"What was us?"

“The explosion—the reason I was able to get out of there.” Her wide, wild eyes search mine, seeking the truth that my mouth struggles to articulate.

Shock still consumes me as I hold her, hoping this is real and not merely a delusion I’ve stumbled into. The silence between us stretches on, thick and charged with everything unspoken.Her warmth is a balm against the cold reality of our lives, yet it sizzles with the tension of too many questions left unanswered.

“Cali,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to look into her face again. “What happened? Were you hurt?” Panic creeps back into my voice, slicing through the temporary spring of joy that came with finding her.

She shakes her head, but I catch a slight tremor in her hands. “No," she says flatly, making me believe she's lying. "I barely slipped away. I... I thought they’d catch me for sure.”

My heart aches for her, the fear and pain she must’ve endured clawing at me. “I’m so fucking sorry,” I say, feeling the weight of the world crash down on my shoulders. “We were supposed to get you out, but we didn’t plan it right. It was a fucking chaotic mess. We thought?—”

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