Page 1 of Rear View
Prologue
Xavier
Eight Years Earlier
I stared through the blinds in my dad’s study, out to the dark road of our street. Surer than shit, he was comin’ for me. His security app would’ve notified him the front porch camera was out, and he monitored that thing because control was his MO. It wouldn’t be pretty when he got there, but it’d be worth it.
Footsteps approached me from behind and I eyed the room’s door.
Alec crossed over, his body coiled. “Everything’s good to go.”
Dragging a hand through my short, dark-brown hair, I gave a tight nod. The guy’d been my best friend since we were six, from climbing trees and chasing girls, to back-alley brawls. For ten years, he’d been there. If he said stuff was ready, it was ready.
“How’s it goin’, Sean?” I asked, voice level, heart beating like a kick drum in my chest.
He wheeled the leather office chair closer to my father’smahogany desk. “The encryption on these files is decent.”
“What’s that mean for our time?” Alec asked.
Sean pulled his long black locs back from his face, his attention fixed on the computer screen—pulling up the documents my father was about to go down for. “I should be through in less than a minute if you shut the fuck up and let me work.”
Alec’s hand fisted, tendons straining beneath his deep-brown skin like he wanted to introduce it to the back of his older brother’s head. The two got along…kinda. The Hawkins boys didn’t hate each other. But they had fuck all in common.
Not like me and Fallon. My brother’d been my damn idol. Whatever he liked, I liked. Whatever he did, I wanted in. We’d been tight. Until he’d died and we weren’t.
Rolling his neck, Alec chucked his chin my way. “How ya doing, X?”
My eyes grazed the diplomas and all the other bullshit accolades lining the bookshelf across from me—my father’s shrine to himself. None of it would mean a damn thing soon.
An eager grin tugged my lips. “I’m good.” Real good. ’Cause what was fixing to happen had been a long time coming.
I pulled the keys I’d snatched to my dad’s candy-apple-red 1970 Chevelle SS454 from the pocket of my jeans. His car, not the family’s. The asshole’d made that clear. They clanked when I flipped them around a finger, the room’s piss-yellow walls reflecting off their metal.
Sean’s hands clacked over my dad’s keyboard, doing…whatever the hell he did, when he said, “I’m in!”
My chest tightened.Let it still be there. Let it still be there!
“Jesus, man,” Sean cut in. “Your dad was up to some shit.” He half-turned to look at me over his shoulder. “What’d he do to piss you off anyway?”
Sean knew what Sean needed to know, which was pretty much nothing. But Alec had been there, seen the aftermath. He’d kept his mouth shut and helped me work my plan—every part of it. I trusted him with my life. And Sean? Only reason I’d pulled him in was his talent for hacking. With him, I had two things I could count on: his thirst for cash, and his need to not get his ass caught. Both of which worked for me. He was predictable, and predictable was good.
I cleared my throat. “He did enough.”
He clicked something that set the printer off and sheet after sheet came out. The stack got deeper, and my adrenaline spiked, ’cause my father’s fall was inbound. And I couldn’t wait to bring him down.
“The files are up, and ready. Everything you need is here. Your dad’s good as screwed.” Sean swiveled his chair to face me. “What about the rest of my money?”
Alec shoved his brother’s shoulder. “The job’s not done yet, dickhead.”
I tugged the hood of my navy sweatshirt up and eyed Sean. “Alec’s got the rest of your cash at home.”
Sean flipped his brother off and Alec smirked, but it was tight, ’cause the hardest part was yet to come.
“How long before the security cameras reengage?” I asked.
Flipping his wrist, Sean checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”
Good. “Are the emails sent?” The ones to dad’s clients—the clients he’d stolen a hell of a lot from.
