Page 2 of The Lies We Steal

I didn’t need or want that money. He could do fuck all with it, I didn’t fight for cash. I fought because if I didn’t, I’d kill someone.

I quickly scoop up my leather jacket, shrugging it easily over my shoulders. My t-shirt was somewhere in the muddy grass and I didn’t feel the need to search for it.

My breathing begins to regulate as I make my way to my car. Even if the fight was bland, releasing even just a little of my fury would mean I could sleep tonight. With everything going on, sleep was not something I could afford to lose.

Music poured from my speakers as soon as I turned the key over. The sound heavy and exhilarating. My left-hand grips the wheel tightly, I can faintly see the white beneath my blood-soaked knuckles. They throb so hard that it almost feels good.

I quickly throw it into gear, ready to make the drive to my parents’ home. Twenty-eight thousand square feet, nine main bedrooms, ten spares, seven bathrooms, twenty-six acres, and there still isn't enough space between myself and my family. My grip tightens, I was supposed to be on a flight to the East Coast next month. Putting an entire country between them and me.

Instead, I’m trapped here for another year at least, chasing a ghost.

Making a hard right I turn into our driveway. One that’s covered by towering trees, the paved road stopped momentarily by the large steal gate blocking the entrance. I click the button on my remote to automatically open them, pulling past them and into my family’s estate.

Pulling around the tacky marble fountain in front, I slide into my parking spot easily. None of the usual cars are here, meaning no one’s home. It wouldn’t matter anyway, even when they are here, I’m invisible to them.

I always have been.

Lightning cracks across the sky behind the house, lighting up the fog for a split second before thunder rattles the ground beneath my feet as I walk towards the door. The keypad glows under my touch, entering my passcode and stepping inside.

When my parents and brother are here, this house is shining with light. Its glow can be seen through the trees on the road. Extravagant parties, celebrating a clipped toenail, family dinners that I’m never invited to. But when they are gone, it’s just me and the dark.

My boots echo off the floor, step by step until I’m in the kitchen turning the faucet on. I run my swollen hands beneath the lukewarm water. The blood begins to flow down the drain, some of it anyway. There is some stuck between my fingers, already dried.

There shouldn’t be noise inside the house. It should be how it always is when I’m here.

Dead silence.

Except there isn’t. My ears twitch, picking up on the familiar click, followed by a whoosh at the lighting of the flint.

“Trying to scare me?” I say out loud, drying my hands slowly before I turn around.

I peer into the dark of the parlor room, Rook’s face illuminated by the single flame of his zippo as he flips it across his knuckles and through his fingers. I spot the single diamond strike match resting in his mouth, the scarlet tip peeping out of the side.

He’s leaning back in the leather beveled chair, arms resting on the sides as he stares at me through the dark.

“If I was, you wouldn’t have heard me.” He retorts.

I navigate myself into the chair across from him. Pulling the lamp string, illuminating the room in an amber glow. Just as I sink into the stale material, resting my arms on my knees, I hear footsteps approach behind me. I don’t bother looking over my shoulder.

“Thatch.” I greet, as I see his shadow walk past me, taking the seat to our left.

At six-four, Thatcher is the tallest one of the group. Not like he needs his size to scare anyone.

He slings one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee, “Get your rocks off battering some poor kid’s head in, Ali?”

I grind my teeth, the pompous asshole knew I hated being called that. Known that as long as we’ve been friends, but it wouldn’t be him if he wasn’t trying to get underneathsomeone’sskin.

You see, Thatcher’s veins were constantly pumping with ice water and mine were always boiling.

“You really wanna talk about what gets people off, Thatcher?” I raise one eyebrow at him, taking in his Armani suit. I’d learned to stop questioning his extravagant wardrobe a long time ago.

“I wouldn’t wanna give you nightmares.” He smirks, and I can’t help the matching one that appears on mine.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wanted to rip each of their heads off at some point. We knew how to push each others’ buttons. However, right now, I was reminded of how I’d kill anyone who’d try to do the same.

It’s why I’m willing to stay in this godforsaken town because one of our own had been scorned.

“Where is Silas?” I ask.

---