Page 5 of Gather the Storm

I tapped the pen on the desk, remembering that night.

Someone had murdered Blake, left him on the riverbank. Where had Jace, Wolf, and Otis — the three men who’d been attached to my brother at the hip — been when it happened? Why had the police arrived so fast, tipped off by an anonymous caller before I’d even had time to dial 911?

And most of all, why had Jace, Wolf, and Otis confessed to the murder when it had seemed all but certain I was the one going down for it, thanks to a hefty dose of my DNA on the murder weapon and on Blake’s body?

Had they done it to protect me (this didn’t make sense — why would three guys who barely gave me the time of day take a murder rap for me?)? Or had they really killed my brother?

I drew in a breath, letting it out slowly, the way my therapist had taught me to do when I was feeling anxious or panicky.

The questions surrounding Blake’s death had haunted me for five years, and it wasn’t like his best friends had been any help. I’d tried — more than once — to visit them in prison but they’d refused me every time, until finally, a guard with kind brown eyes had told me they’d put me on a Do Not Allow list for visitors.

And that had been that. I’d finished high school (not easy when everyone still wondered if you were a murderer) and went to a semi-local community college to study marketing (boring, I know, but I had to do something).

Then I’d waited. And waited.

Now the three men who’d occupied my thoughts — my dreams and nightmares — were getting out of prison. Tomorrow they’d finally be set free.

And I intended to get answers.

I glanced at the wax seal on the desk. It had been a stupid present from my dad for college graduation, an old-fashioned gift I’d never thought I’d use.

But here I was, ready to seal up the letters like I was some kind of Victorian literary heroine instead of a flesh-and-blood girl who wanted to know if her brother had been murdered by his best friends.

It was the only way I could think of to make sure no one else read them.

I leaned forward in the old wing chair, the room’s other furniture covered in white sheets, surrounding me like ghosts.

I’d start with the worst of my brother’s best friends, get it over with.

Dear Wolf,

I know you don’t want to hear from me. You’ve made that pretty clear.

I hope you’ll read this anyway, because I have a proposition for you…

Chapter 2

Wolf

If I never fucking saw this place again it would be too soon.

That was what I was thinking as we went through out-processing at Blackwell Correctional: putting on the street clothes we’d been wearing when we’d first surrendered, signing a fuck ton of paperwork, collecting the few things we’d had on us when we’d been locked up five years earlier, after the investigation into Blake’s death had been completed and our manslaughter pleas had been arranged with the DA.

I couldn’t lie — I’d been a bit freaked when we’d first been locked up. At eighteen, we’d been some of the youngest prisoners at BCF. I’d never been in jail and the movies didn’t make it look fun.

But it hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected, in part because I’d had my crew, Jace and Otis. We’d all been big, even then. Fucking with one of us was a gamble, but all three?

That would be a mistake for even the most hardened of criminals.

Plus there was the whole murderer thing. We’d confessed to killing Blake, and our reputation definitely preceded us thanks to the nonstop news coverage.

Fucking media with their Blackwell Beasts.

I collected my wallet — I’d only brought it when we’d surrendered in case I’d needed my ID, so there was no cash or credit cards inside — and waited until the guard pressed the button to buzz me through the first door.

It was weird, walking out. I half expected to hear Dabrowski, the mean-eyed guard who made our lives miserable, scream my name, ask me what in the fuck I thought I was doing, where in the fuck I thought I was going.

But no one said a word. I was buzzed through the second door and a second later I was stepping out into the sun, a warm breeze brushing over my skin.

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