by Eva Ashwood
For the first time, I saw Bishop hesitate. He looked to me with an actual measure of concern.
“What?” Misael’s gaze darted between the two of us.
“I don’t think we need to have Flint around her like that…”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on. I won’t be a bother. I won’t even speak. I’ll stay out of the way.”
Bishop looked skeptical. “I don’t know…”
“Come on, just tell him to come on over.” Misael rested one hand on my knee while the other lifted his beer to his lips. “He hates being kept waiting, and it means that we’ll have to make one less trip around town tonight. Maybe it’s not even a job that needs doing tonight. Then we can par-tay.”
He waggled his eyebrows at me on the last word, and I snorted a giggle.
Bishop still looked unhappy, but nodded. He sent a message, and a few moments later, another one came in.
“Says he’ll be here in about ten minutes,” he reported. “Cora, when he comes, we’re gonna talk to him out front. Stay here. You don’t have to be quiet, but don’t make it obvious you’re around either.”
I raised a brow. “Is this Flint person a bad guy?”
Bishop deadpanned me. “What kinda question is that.”
“I know he’s a ‘bad guy’ but is he a bad guy?” I tilted my head. “You know. Do I like… worry about him being creepy, or something?”
“I dunno.” Bish ran a hand through his hair, his relaxed demeanor from earlier shifting to a sort of tense agitation. “He’s fine. I mean, I don’t trust him farther than I can throw him, but I’d say the same about a lot of people. I just don’t want him to know you’re here and tell Nathaniel or anything. So just… keep your head down, alright?”
I had so many questions, but Bishop’s tone signaled that now wasn’t the time for them. That was fine. I could see the tension blanketing over him, an uncomfortable shroud. He didn’t like whatever this situation was going to be, and instead of being a nuisance, I decided to follow orders.
Besides.
Bishop never said I couldn’t listen in.
Twenty-Six
True to my word, I stayed in the “inside” space of the warehouse when Flint showed up. Bishop, Kace, and Misael went out front. The warehouse walls had damage to them, some places where the bricks had been knocked down and others where the glass of the windows was broken. Their voices weren’t loud, but I could still hear as Bishop spoke to Misael and Kace outside.
“I don’t like this.” He spoke low. I had to strain to hear him properly, and I got up from the couch to move a little closer to the wall. I chose each of my steps carefully, not wanting to give away that I was listening, let alone that I had gotten up from the spot Bishop had commanded me to stay, deeming it a “safe space”.
“Yeah, well, it was either meet here or go somewhere else, and I didn’t want my whole night taken up with this shit,” Misael said. “The princess will be fine. You worry too much.”
I was inclined to agree with the easy-going boy on that one, though I couldn’t help the feeling of butterflies in my stomach at the fact that Bishop seemed genuinely worried, and despite his nonchalant tone and words, even Misael seemed cautious.
“Hey. He’s here.” Kace spoke up, his voice slightly louder than the other two. “Let’s go.”
But to my dismay, they moved away from the immediate front of the warehouse as they went to meet Flint. I peeked out one of the broken windows, watching as they walked over to the same black car with the tinted windows that I’d seen the first time I’d been brought around for one of their jobs. I squinted through the hole in the wall, trying to get a good look at the man named Flint, but their bodies blocked my view.
“Oh, goddamn it,” I muttered.
I huffed a frustrated breath but stayed where I was, intent on listening in. Snooping wasn’t usually my MO, but this was the first time that they had actively tried to keep me out of the things they got themselves into, and I was beyond curious. Bishop and I hadn’t revisited our conversation in his room the day I’d slapped him, but I hadn’t forgotten it. I knew Flint was higher up on the food chain in this underground hierarchy than the Lost Boys were, and he seemed to be the guy who doled out jobs to others at the behest of Nathaniel Ward.
From the way the guys talked, I got the sense they’d met Nathaniel in person at least a few times, but I’d probably never have a reason or opportunity to meet that man, which was fine by me. Bish had said he was pretty ruthless and powerful—and if he was the criminal underground equivalent of men like my father and his business associates, I was sure he was absolutely terrifying.
Everything about this world scared me a little, but it filled me with a dark, morbid curiosity too. And it was that curiosity that had me pressing myself closer to the wall, turning my head to angle my ear toward the sounds of low voices.
I picked up things here and there as they spoke to each other in hushed tones. Flint greeted them with some throwaway comment about the guys being hard to track down lately. A flare of regret burned through me; I knew they’d turned down a couple of jobs while they were staying with me after Mom’s accident. Had it caused a lot of problems for them?
“Had a little emergency,” Bishop explained smoothly. “No big deal.”
A wheezing laugh followed. “No big deal. Uh huh. Don’t tell me you’ve got your heads all wrapped up in some piece a’ pussy these days, eh?”
Silence.
There was another wheezing laugh. From where I peeked, it looked like this Flint person clapped Bishop on the shoulder—a display of playfulness and camaraderie that didn’t seem to match the tone of the situation at all.
“Hey, I’m just fuckin’ with you all. Loosen up. Now… to business.”
They ran over details from a previous job, one that seemed to tie in with whatever assignment they were being given tonight. I caught bits and pieces, but most of what I heard was stuff I already knew as far as what kind of work the Lost Boys did.
It all sounded pretty straightforward—if breaking and entering could ever be considered straightforward—so I wasn’t quite sure why Bishop had seemed so on edge.
Flint finished laying out the final details of the upcoming job, and then the guys fell back into shooting the shit. I could tell Bish was trying to wrap it up, but apparently Flint was a bit of a talker. I was about to press away from the wall and return to the couch when I caught two words from raspy-voiced man that sent a chill down my spine.
“…Abraham Shaw. Nathaniel doesn’t want to…”
My back straightened. Abraham Shaw?
That man knew my father.
“What was that?” Flint’s voice came again, sharp and alert.
Oh, shit.
Quietly, I moved from my place near the warehouse wall and sat back on the couch. I didn’t hear what came after that, but it was at least ten minutes of talking back and forth between the four of them.
All I could think of while I waited for the boys to return was the name I’d heard Flint drop. Abraham Shaw. He was a business associate of my father’s. I wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he did, but he’d been instrumental in securing a lot of Dad’s deals, as well as deals for other people in my father’s circles. He was well known within the upper echelon of Baltimore’s wealthy.
So what the hell was his name doing coming out of Flint’s mouth?
I kept my questions to myself as the Lost Boys came back inside. They weren’t carrying anything with them, and none of them seemed to be in a bad mood. Misael plopped down beside me.
“See, aren’t you glad we didn’t have to drive all the way across town to talk to him? Ain’t even going anywhere tonight.” He grinned. “Which is good. Means more time with our girl.”
My smile only reached my eyes halfway.
“Good for me, huh?”
Gears turned in my head. If Flint knew Abraham, then maybe Flint knew other things—like what had happened with my father. Maybe, if I played my cards righ
t, I could find out if he had any information about Dad. About Dad’s arrest.
But the boys would never let me get close to Flint. Their reluctance to let him know about my existence or even my presence in the building told me that they’d have a serious problem with me wanting to ask him about my father. What’s more, with the way Bishop felt about my dad—hell, with the way all of them felt about him—going through them to get to Flint would be out of the question.
“Cora? You alright?” Bishop’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and when I glanced up, the bright hazel of his eyes glinted in the dim light.
“Yeah. No worries.” This time, I made sure my smile really did reach my eyes. “I’m fine.”
Twenty-Seven
We got home well past “reasonable” hours. The street was uncommonly still—not even a wayward teen from school or an obvious out-in-the-open drug deal to remind me that peace was only as constant as the people in the neighborhood allowed it to be.
“You want us to come in?” Bishop asked as his car idled on the street between our two houses.
I seriously considered it, but for the moment, I actually wanted to be alone. Besides, there was the whole issue of my mom being a lighter sleeper these days. The part of me that was still pissed at her thought it would serve her right to wake up and find not just one, but three delinquents sleeping over at her house.
But that would probably only make things worse for the guys in the long run. My mom had a good memory, and she could hold on to a grudge forever. If I secured their spot on her shit list, I was afraid she might actually take real steps to stop me from hanging out with them.
And I couldn’t let that happen.
Not just because they protected me at school, but for so many other reasons I didn’t dare dwell on them all.
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I might actually go to bed soon.”
He looked at me skeptically, and I couldn’t blame him. In all honesty, I did want them to come in. It just wasn’t a great idea right now.
I thought he might press the issue—half the time his questions or requests were really just statements and commands—but he just dipped his chin in a nod, reaching over to tuck a small strand of blond hair behind my ear.
“See you tomorrow, Coralee.”
My heart gave a little flutter at the new nickname.
I’d gotten used to all of them calling me “Princess”, but even though it’d shifted over time to sound more like a pet name and less like an insult, it’d still originated during a time when they all hated me with a vengeance.
But this new name rolled off Bish’s tongue in an entirely different way.
It sounded sweet.
Almost… tender.
I swallowed, turning my head a little to chase his touch. When he finally withdrew his hand, I reached for the door handle. “Bye.”
“’Night,” Misael called from the back seat, and Kace leaned his head out through the window to watch me, making sure I got back into the house without incident.
Despite what I’d said to Bishop though, I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep. Mom was still tucked safely away in bed when I went to go check on her to make sure everything was okay. I might still be pissed at her, but that didn’t mean I wanted her to end up back in the hospital or something.
Instead of forcing myself to lie awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I decided to make something to eat and mull over what I had learned.
It wasn’t much, really. It was just a name. I wasn’t even sure what context Flint had mentioned Abraham in, and I couldn’t really ask the guys about that either—I was too afraid those kinds of probing questions would just make it obvious I was after information about my dad.
To most people, I imagined it might not even seem worth pursuing. It was just a name. A loose connection. A shot in the dark. But Dad had always said that the smallest possibilities could lead to the biggest outcomes, and at the moment, I was a firm believer in that.
I couldn’t rely on the boys to lead me to Flint.
That just meant I had to lead myself to him.
The man with the raspy voice was still on my mind as the weekend came and went and a new school week started.
On the plus side, concerns about my dad and whether he’d been set up were the most pressing things I had to worry about. With mom out of the hospital, the rest of my life had settled into relative calm.
I never would’ve seen it coming, but school had actually become a place I was excited to go to. That had largely to do with my deal with the Lost Boys. Their claim over me and protection of me were still in place, and once people stopped trying to come after me for what they thought my father had done, they actually treated me… decently.
In fact, some people even went so far as to start sucking up to me, probably trying to use me to get in good with the Lost Boys. My association and clear connection with the three of them gave me what Jessica laughingly referred to as “a fuckton of social clout”.
It was weird to feel comfortable at Slateview, but that was the point I was reaching.
I liked being able to walk the halls and have people say hello to me without vitriol behind their words. Even Serena didn’t bother me anymore, though I couldn’t say she went out of her way to be friends with me either. We were comfortably out of each other’s hair, and that was good enough for me.
The only person at school who seemed to have an issue with me hanging out with Lost Boys was the last one I would’ve expected: Mr. Tyson.
Over the course of the semester, Mr. Tyson had solidified his standing as my favorite teacher. He had this air about him—a little overworked and tired, but focused on ensuring that whatever he was teaching was quality, even if what he taught ultimately ended up falling on deaf ears. Mr. Tyson had never spoken to me directly outside of class, although he called on me all the time in History.
After class one day in the middle of the week, he caught my eye before I could leave the classroom at the end of sixth period.
“Cordelia. Can you stay behind for a minute?”
I was surprised by the request, but he was a teacher, so who was I to refuse? I nodded, gathering up my books and putting them away in my bag before I walked to the front of the classroom. A few gossip-hungry kids lingered, looking back with the hope of catching the conversation. Mr. Tyson very obviously walked over and closed the door, making sure people wouldn’t be able to eavesdrop. I watched him curiously.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, sure my confusion was obvious in my expression. “I’m caught up on all my homework assignments, right?”
It was virtually unheard of, having a teacher hold a student back after class. That kind of thing had happened all the time at Highland Park, but most of the teachers at Slateview just didn’t care enough to bother meeting with students one-on-one.
Mr. Tyson shook his head. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing with school, at least.”
Well, then. That’s not cryptic at all.
“Oh. Okay. What’s up?”
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the Lost Boys,” he said, the words coming out more like a statement than a question. I had gotten used to even the teachers referring to the trio as the “Lost Boys”. Even in classes, they ended up being a package deal in everything that they did. This was no different.
But why Mr. Tyson cared, and why he cared about my ties to the boys themselves, made me a little apprehensive.
“Um. Yes.” I rocked on the balls of my feet. “They’ve helped me adjust here well.”
He squinted slightly. “Is that what they’re doing? Helping you adjust?”
His keen interest was unnerving. I shifted where I stood, uncomfortable with the way he’d worded it. As if he knew every detail of our arrangement—maybe even that what existed between us had spiraled far beyond the original agreement.
“Yup. That’s what they’re doing,” I insisted, keeping my voice firm. “They’re my friends. Mr. Tyson, w
hat is the point of these questions—”
“You shouldn’t be associating with them.”
My jaw dropped open slightly. His previous comment about them helping me “adjust” had given me the distinct impression that he disapproved, but I hadn’t expected him to just come right out and say it so bluntly.
“You’re a smart girl, Cordelia,” he continued, gazing at me from across his desk. He had ash-brown hair and a slightly long face; he was probably in his early or mid-thirties, although it looked like this job had aged him a little quicker than maybe another career would have. “I don’t need to explain to you why those boys aren’t the kind of people a girl like you needs to be hanging out with.”
My cheeks heated with a sudden flash of anger. “A girl like me?”
He gave me an indulgent look, tipping his head to one side.
“Yes. A bright girl who has a future ahead of her. The Lost Boys run Slateview; I’m sure you know that already. But it doesn’t mean they’re on their way to doing anything good with the rest of their lives. Just promise me you’ll think about it, and please be smart. I know you know what’s truly best for you, and I know you know that their interest in you hardly started out with pure intentions.”
I couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say to that. How much did he know? How did he know?
With a small, satisfied nod, Mr. Tyson dismissed me, leaving our conversation at that. I still couldn’t speak to protest, and even if I did, what was I supposed to say to a declaration like that?
I didn’t tell the guys about my conversation with Mr. Tyson, though it stayed with me the whole day.
Why would he pull me aside to tell me to stay away from the boys when the most he’d ever spoken to me before was to tell me I had done well on a test?
Whatever the reason, it had left me feeling off-balance. I trusted the Lost Boys, but Mr. Tyson’s warning had been a reminder that, no matter how hard I kept treading water, I was in over my head. But between dealing with Mom, Dad, and figuring out what I needed to do about Flint, I didn’t have time to mull over his strange proclamation too much.