Page 153 of Evil Boys

He closes the door behind me. “My bedroom.”

I swallow and look around, but it’s hard to take everything in with him breathing down my neck. “Now you know why I did what I did.”

“To protect your sister.”

“Do you hate me?”

The question catches me off guard, and when I open my mouth, I don’t know what to say.

Do I hate him? Or do I just hate his attempt at wringing money from me solely to save his family? Could I even stay mad knowing the truth?

When I don’t answer, he circles me and stops in front of my face. “You can tell me the truth. I know you do.”

“You had no right,” I say, shaking my head.

“You would’ve done the same for your family.”

I swallow. I could lie and deny that, but we both know he’s right.

“Why did you bring me here?” I ask.

He sighs out loud and sits down on the bed behind him, hands splayed behind him.

“I just … wanted to talk with you.”

I fold my arms. “Okay then, talk.”

He looks at me, and the pain in his eyes almost makes me waver. But I have to remember he will always be a Phantom first. An evil boy dead set on making my life miserable just because he knows about my vigilante side job.

He pats the bed. “Come. Sit with me.”

After a while, I cave. And I don’t know whether it’s because I feel forced due to the nature of our arrangement, or because of the way he asks.

“Milo told you about my family,” he says. “Didn’t he?”

I nod. “They’re in jail because of fraud. Something to do with a bad gamble with dangerous people.”

He lowers his head between his shoulders. “My parents only cared about making more and more money, no matter what it cost them.” He looks around at all the expensive furniture and the paintings on the wall. “But all the money in the world couldn’t buy us the safety we need now.”

“They’re still after you?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. After my parents were ratted out to the cops, the collectors came for their remaining debts, but they left me with nothing. We scrambled together every bill by stealing …”

“And killing the people so they wouldn’t talk,” I fill in.

He nods.

“And I got in your way.”

His silence speaks volumes. “I did what I had to.” He looks at me, the pain in his eyes so sincere it moves me. “Forher.”

“You should’ve asked me,” I say.

“And say what? Please give me money, but I can’t tell you why?” He scoffs. “You think you would’ve given it to me?”

“You didn’t even try.”

“I know your family,” he grits. “You don’t help; you destroy.”

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