A blush tints her already rosy cheeks, but her face disappears below the roof of the car as she gets into the driver’s side. I swing open the passenger’s side door and get in next to her.
“Should I pray?” I ask.
“If you thought that, you wouldn’t have asked me to drive,” she replies, sliding the key into the ignition and starting the car with a roar. With the ease of a seasoned vet, she shifts the car into reverse and backs down the driveway. Once we’re out in the street, she shifts into drive and takes off just as effortlessly.
“Told you,” I murmur. “You couldn’t be bad at this if you tried.”
A smirk glances her lips, but she lets it give way just as quickly. “Are we really going to the hardware store?”
“Are you really driving there?”
Windy gazes over at me, reaching between us to shift the car into second, and then third, as she takes off down the highway. Watching her handle the stick the way she does threatens to nearly make my dick hard.
I knew there was a reason I wanted her to drive.
“You can’t expect me to have an ulterior motive for everything,” I tell her.
“I can’t?” she counters, the smile sliding back onto her lips again. “Noting your past behavior, I think it’d be weird if I didn’t.”
“You’ve got a point,” I say. “But for now, let’s just pretend like everything is normal between us.”
“Even if they aren’t?”
“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”
“I do?” Windy says seriously, but her grin widens even further.
It’s always a pleasant surprise when she lets her guard down, and it’s especially nice when she does it with me. I know half the time we’re together, she’s so far from trusting me that it makes her want to run in the opposite direction. Only she never does, and I never let her, the unspoken pact between us too strong to break.
I had intended to give Windy the cold shoulder this morning, but as soon as I saw her, my entire plan went out the window.
It’s still annoying the power she has over me, an in-built affection towards her I can’t shake, one that constantly fucks with all my best laid plans. But for once, I don’t feel like fighting it.
I’ve got enough shit on my plate as is, including last night’s developments. Apparently, it was a busy night for everyone.
I try to toss the thought of my father inviting himself over for dinner out of my mind, but it still pisses me off, which is undoubtedly the intended effect. I can already picture the smug look he’s going to give me tomorrow when he walks into the Jacobs house, the one refuge I’ve managed to squeak out in this town.
It’s meant to show me I can’t run, not from him, not anywhere. The realization is nothing new. Part of him locking me away was to exert that much more control over my life, even from hundreds of miles away.
But I’ve got bigger fish to fry. My whole reason for being here is to lead the Snake Eyes, to make them the most powerful gang in Diablo Beach. Now, it just matters how I go about doing all of that.
The Club of Daggers is obviously somewhere at the top of this food chain. Lead by Sylas, they’ve managed to ride out attacks from every other gang in the city, including my own. Only now they’ve aligned themselves with the Black Roses, which makes things slightly more complicated. Sloan, the leader of the Roses, may be an overly aggressive den mama, but I don’t doubt her willingness to bend if the circumstances are right.
For any of the gangs, it’s always been about hitting them in their power structures, the places they do business, the little industries they’ve carved out from nothing. But if I don’t plan on being Rey 2.0 for the Snake Eyes, I’m going to have to do better than that. Without a complete obliteration of the Daggers and the Roses, we’ll always just be one of the heads of a three-headed monster, one that’s constantly biting itself, one that will draw blood until the entire thing collapses.
And I’ve come too far for collapse.
Windy pulls the car off the highway and onto the quiet streets of Old Town Diablo Beach. There’s a slew of quaint little shops, places that look like they’ve been in business since the inception of the city, all of them sheltered in old Victorian-style buildings that somehow haven’t collapsed or caught on fire.
I turn my eyes towards the shop that used to be run by Sylas’s mother, Full Moon Apothecary.
It’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s a witch, and in a city like this, that label is a slippery slope. For all the fiendish shit that happens in Diablo Beach, there’s equal factions of pearl-clutching, law-worshipping citizens. They didn’t take kindly to Mayor Redwood, the man they thought would be their savior, being taken out the way he was, poisoned, murdered in his own home. It shook the very foundations of safety and security they thought he would bring.
And now someone has to pay. Like the Valentinos, the swift hand of justice was dealt to Benita Andreas, and the ensuing murder trial has been fodder for the fodder-hungry masses of this town. They need a villain to focus on, because most of the time, the real villains are the ones they’ll never see.
The shop looks quiet and dark as we roll by. For a moment in time, Rey and the Snake Eyes had managed to take over the place, making this entire unit of the city Snake Eyes territory. Only that had lasted all of five seconds.
Now, he’s just another Valentino sitting in jail.
Jails filled by my father, the man at the top of the law. Executioners have had more merciful bones in their bodies than he does.
That’s where the real threat comes into play.
If I don’t plan on getting thrown in jail myself, I’m either going to have to stay out of trouble, or act fast when I get into it, because I know his sights are pinned straight on me the way they always have been.
I turn my attention back to Windy, who’s staring straight ahead, undoubtedly because that’s what someone driving should be doing, but also because I’m sure she wants to avoid looking at me. Her intuition is almost second to none, and I’m sure she thinks I’m planning something. Or rather, she knows.
“There’s the hardware store, don’t miss the turn,” I tell her, and she yanks the wheel over to the side, tires screeching along asphalt that’s still slick despite the blazing sun. She comes to a stop, parallel parking with ease before turning off the car and tossing me the keys from her place in the driver’s seat. “Done already?” I ask.
“I’ll drive,” she replies. “But I’m not toting your keys around.”
We get out of the car, and I follow her lead into the store. I know she’s been here probably half a million times before her father died, and she knows exactly where to go, striding towards the back of the building towards the lumber.
“The shed is made of cedar, which is a pretty solid type of wood,” she explains as I listen to her with closeted amusement. “So you’re going to want to get sturdy hardware to hold it in place.”
“I bet you have your own toolbelt at home,” I say.
She glances over at me, something sad betrayed in her eyes despite her proud expression. “I do, actually. Haven’t worn it in a while, though.”
“Well, maybe you’ll get your chance soon enough. You can help me with all the repairs.”
“Great,” she murmurs, nearly sarcastic, but with a tinge of excitement all the same. I like to imagine she’s been itching to get her hands dirty, but just needed the perfect excuse to do it. If this project can be the catalyst to her picking up some ingrained handiness she’s been keeping locked away, so be it.
She sets her hands on her hips, surveying the differently colored stacks of wood. I pick up a two-by-four, gripping it with my fingers and giving it a whirl through the air in front of me like I’m trying to hit someone.
Windy frowns at me.
“What?” I ask innocently.
She walks up to me, hands still placed on her rocking hips, and I try not to fall under her rhythmic hypnosis. The sc
ent of blooming jasmine greets my nose when she draws near, and it makes me want to grab her and hold her close, memories of what we did last night still permeating every other one of my thoughts so often it feels like an obsession, one that’s broadened, a fate I’ve sealed myself.
Instead, she makes the first move, her hands coming forward to take the wood out my grasp. “You’d want a different material for that,” she says. “This would splinter on the first person you used it on.” She reaches over and picks up a different board. “With this one you could take out multiple people without having to worry about it deteriorating at all.”
I raise an eyebrow, taking the wood from her hands and setting it back into place. She gasps as I grab hold of her and lift her into my arms. “It’s hot when you talk shop like that,” I say.
A giggle escapes her lips, even as her gaze lulls to the side at the other customers who come wandering into the aisle we’re standing in. To the outside world, we probably look like a couple, unable to keep our hands off each other even in public.
I set her down, and she reaches up for a second, her hand gripping into my bicep as she steadies herself. A blush tints her cheeks as she clears her throat and looks away. After what we did, I don’t know why she’s trying to play shy now, but second guessing her isn’t worth the mental effort.
“Here’s the cedar,” she says.
I grab the few boards we need to make the repairs, and we head into the other aisles, grabbing the subsequent hardware that the job requires. There’s something that’s been gratifying about this whole clean up job at the Jacobs’s place, making the outside space useable again. I can tell it means a lot to both Windy and her mom, and something inside me wants to earn my keep.
But more nefarious things grab my eye, and my attention, as we wind through the aisles of the hardware store.
Windy gazes over at me skeptically as I wind a length of chain around my fist. “You’re not actually thinking about attacking the Daggers, are you?”
The metal from the chain clinks back onto the roll as I abandon it. “What happened to my girl who talked shop?”
“Your girl?” she repeats. “And I was only joking.”
“Were you?” I say, calling her bluff. “Or does some part of you want a part of all the chaos?”
“Doubtful,” she says, a single word answer that’s supposed to be definitive.
“Your eyes give you away,” I say, moving close to her. “They always do.”
She shakes her head. “Have you ever just considered trying to stay out of trouble?”
“No.”
Of course I have. A million and one times. But no one can know that, not even Windy. Showing weakness, straying from the blueprint of total destruction, won’t do me any favors. I’m already on the path, have been there since I swore allegiance to the Valentino blood flowing through my veins.
These days, it just might be the only thing I have left.
Windy rolls her eyes. She can’t understand, won’t understand. But I know the deeper I drag her in, the more I put her in danger, and the more I’ll need to protect her. So far, keeping her close has been the only way I could do that.
But soon, even that might not be enough.
20
After we’re done in town, Damien and I go our separate ways. He drops me and the supplies off at the house, telling me he needs one more thing before we start the repairs to the shed and peeling away in the Falcon. One more thing is probably some sort of Snake Eyes business he doesn’t want me to know about, but I don’t question his motives.
I’m mildly glad for the space.
Things have gotten complicated, to say the least, between us lately. Everything feels like it’s been flipped on its head, and I don’t know what to think.
I’m almost considering starting the repairs in the backyard myself when my phone buzzes inside my pocket. I pull it out and stare at my notifications.
SAMAIRE: I’m in your neighborhood. Are you home?
I take a breath. I don’t know why replying to her should feel like a betrayal. It obviously isn’t, because I haven’t sworn an alliance to anyone. Not Damien, and definitely not the Snake Eyes.
Besides, Samaire was one of the first friends I made after Jessa died. She was another kind spirit, one with whom I could immediately find some other sort of kinship.
I’m still amazed she managed to forgive me after what I did to her at Damien’s command, but somehow, she hasn’t written me off entirely.
ME: I’m here! Stop by
I slide my phone back into my pocket, busying myself with organizing things in the garage that we might need later. Every item I lay my hands on reminds me that I’m caught between two worlds.
There’s the old world, the one where these things belonged to my dad, a world where he was alive and well, a world with Jessa, a world where things were okay.
Then there’s the newest world, a world where Damien isn’t my mortal enemy, but one where we’re now cohabitating in some sort of a gray area, one that makes me want to organize tools for him while I mill over the things I need to keep secret and the things I can tell.
I know Samaire is going to want to know. It’s why she’s coming to check on me, to see if I’m okay. We’ve hardly spoken at school lately, but I know she’s curious.
After all, you don’t get traded for a Cadillac under ordinary circumstances.
Although, nothing is quite normal in Diablo Beach.
Soon, her little car is pulling into my driveway, for once not some old, classic behemoth, but a zippy little two-door, indicative of her cute stature, and one I can see has someone in the passenger’s seat.
My mind automatically goes into panic mode, and it’s made even worse when I realize who it is.
Carina Drago. The girlfriend of Sylas Andreas, and queen of the Daggers. Samaire is embroiled with the Daggers herself, dating their enforcer Jax even as a member of the Roses. But for some reason, Carina’s presence makes me nervous.
I know Damien means to burn the Daggers to the ground. I know he means to destroy Sylas, and even though this is my house, I suddenly feel trapped.
“I hope it’s okay I brought Carina with me,” Samaire says as they get out of the car. Carina levels a smile in my direction, a perfectly normal girl despite her boyfriend’s reputation.
She’s not the only one, I think.
Only Damien isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just someone I live with, and fuck, and periodically try to avoid.
“Of course,” I say, smiling back at her. “How are you guys?”
“Is your mom home?” Samaire asks, lifting a cigar from her jacket pocket and bringing it under her nose with a mischievous lilt of her eyebrows. “Can we smoke?”
I grin. “She’s not home, and yes, we can. Come on,” I say, leading the way to the backyard.
“Is that a gazebo?” I hear Carina ask. “I haven’t seen one of those in forever. Can we sit in it?”
“It’s under construction, but it should be okay,” I reply.
We gather on the steps, our legs kicking out into the grass as the sun streams between the leaves overhead to light them with a glowing, abstract pattern. Samaire takes a lighter from her pocket, lighting the end of the cigar and puffing away to get it burning consistently.
“Don’t get excited,” she says, handing it to me. “It’s just an ordinary cigar.”
“Aw, you mean it’s not weed?” Carina whines jokingly.
I grin as I remember last night’s events, even if I’m the only one out of the three of us that was there. The weed and beer had made me feel good before it turned into straight up paranoia, largely due to the circumstances.
I still don’t trust the Snake Eyes Crew, even with Damien at the helm, and it could be because I don’t quite trust him, either. I never know what he’s going to do next, and his behavior, the way he feels about me, not to mention the way I feel about him, has created a manic energy in my life th
at’s nearly dizzying.
I take a puff of the cigar, watching puffs of smoke ebb out into the air in front of me before I hand it over to Carina. “And where did you get a cigar?” I ask. “Is someone about to be a daddy?”
“Come on,” Samaire murmurs. “Do you really think I would be smoking if I were pregnant?”
“I mean, I didn’t say who. It could be Carina,” I note.
Carina smirks, smoke rushing from one corner of her lips. “I do like to call my man ‘daddy’.”
“Oh, yikes, you’re one of those?” Samaire says teasingly.
“What do you mean, one of those? Don’t kink shame me.”
“I’d be the last person to ever do that.”
A laugh escapes my lips as I listen to their banter. For the first time in a while, I feel normal, just a girl sharing a cigar in the backyard with her girlfriends. All the gangs, and all the drama that comes with them, fades into the background.
“And you?” Samaire says, turning her attention to me. “Where’s your daddy at? Is he being good?”
For a second, I don’t know how to respond. Then I remember she means Damien.
“He’s off….somewhere,” I murmur, taking a puff of the cigar and letting rings of smoke escape my lips. “Fuck if I know.”
“Awful quiet on the Snake Eyes front lately,” Carina notes. “Have you been keeping him busy?”
“I wish. I wish there was a way for me to exert some sort of control over what he does, but…” I shake my head, averting my eyes from Carina’s stare, brown eyes like mine, perceptive and listening.
We may not be enemies, but I still don’t know what I should and shouldn’t say.
Today at the hardware store, Damien sure seemed like he had more on his mind than fixing the gazebo. What’s worse is I encouraged it, ‘talking shop’, which only seemed to garner more of his affection.
I wanted it, of course, couldn’t handle the silence he gave me at breakfast, wanted to keep connecting with him, having things feel somewhat normal between us again. We hadn’t always been enemies. Maybe we aren’t anymore.
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