The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

by Monty Jay

  I jerk away from him or try to when he pulls the side fabric of my underwear away from my body. He stays in place, his hand holding me painfully still. He’s so close, his smell all around me. And God, his eyes—they’re incinerating me, never wavering from my concerned gaze.

  What is he doing? What is he doing to me?

  My mind and body are at odds.

  My body, which had received nothing but pleasure from him in the past, trusts him, but my mind knows just how far he’s willing to go for revenge.

  “What are you—”

  My heart jumps to my throat as he drags the searing Zippo flame towards the material, barely touching it with the blaze before it snaps cleanly in two. I feel the heat from the fire against the sensitive skin of my hip. It’s soothed almost instantly when he pulls it away, the cool air aiding the sting.

  “If you double-cross us, if you put my friends at risk, if you jeopardize them, I will ruin you. Just like I should have a year ago. I let you get out unscathed last time. Never again.”

  I think he’s done. I want him to be done—it’s killing me having him so close. I can taste him on my tongue, and yet, I can’t touch him. But I also missed having him this close. I thought so many nights about having him this close.

  “I’m—” I choke out as he shifts his fingers to the other side of my body, dipping one finger between my body and my underwear, playing with it. “I’m not the same person I was then. I changed inside there. It was—”

  Snap.

  He lets go of the fabric, making it crack against me. I suck my bottom lip inside my mouth, biting down on it hard.

  “Save me the sob story. Poor little sweetheart Sage locked inside a looney bin—get the hell over it. Welcome to the trauma club.” His words almost pack a harder punch than his actions.

  He’s playing with me, pulling me in just so he can drop me on my face.

  I know that. I know what he’s doing.

  But I still want it.

  I want whatever he gives me because this feels good. Even when I know it would end in him leaving, still bitter towards me.

  It is so good. Too good.

  The way his angry breath splays across my lips, how his fingers return to my panties, grazing my flesh just enough to make me all hot and breathy.

  He may think he doesn’t know me, that I lied. But Rook, he knew my body.

  That was the one thing that could never lie to him, even if it wanted to.

  But I’m also not the girl who would ever lie down and take it. When it comes to him, my fight always comes out to play with his demons.

  “You have no fucking clue what I went through inside that place, Van Doren. Don’t act like I had it easy in there. While you were out, free, trying to fuck me out of your memory.”

  That Zippo comes dangerously close to my skin, so close that the burn is starting to hurt. He presses his face into my forehead aggressively, rolling his tongue across his teeth.

  “Now who’s jealous?”

  I feel the material of my panties give, and now both sides lie flaccid on the stage. My core is naked and so very close to his body. I shiver as the air brushes my extremely sensitive clit.

  “Did you cry when you were in there?” he asks. “Was it scary for you, TG? Surrounded by all those crazy people, trapped somewhere you didn’t belong? Was it awful?”

  Now he’s patronizing me.

  Being a condescending prick.

  I grind my teeth, lifting my head a little, brushing his nose with my own.

  “I bet you wanted out. Begged to escape and when you couldn’t. You’d lie inside those four white walls, staring at the ceiling, fantasizing about all those times I was nine inches deep inside your cunt, didn’t you?”

  His body moves, making contact with my center, and I try to muffle the moan, but it doesn’t work very well. A little whimper falls from my lips, my hips jerking, seeking more friction from him, needing some form of release.

  “Yeah, I know you did. I bet you even slipped those fingers between your pale thighs and made yourself come thinking of my tongue on your pussy.”

  The way he speaks is so vulgar, but coming from his mouth, it sounds like music. Caressing my body all over, wrapping me up with passion,

  Rook is an aphrodisiac. From his hard glare to his steamy scent, he is intoxicating.

  Walking sex.

  You look at him, and he doesn’t have to say it, but you know he knows just how to fuck you. How to reach that spot no one else can.

  I try to lift my hips closer, but it’s then he chooses to back up, removing himself from me completely, leaving me feeling hollow again. He plucks the blunt up from beside me, relighting it before pocketing his Zippo.

  “Good,” he says as he inhales, “I’m glad you remember. I’m glad you thought about it, because that’s all you’ll ever get from me, Sage.”

  Releasing the smoke from his lungs, he stares at me hard, retreating up the aisle.

  “Memories.”

  It’s not until he exits the doors that I breathe again.

  And I also realize, my torn panties?

  Are nowhere to be found.

  Rook

  “Come on, Silas, pick up.”

  The dial tone just keeps going and going until I get the same result—a voicemail message telling me his inbox is too full.

  “Goddammit.”

  I stare down at the multiple texts I’ve sent that have yet to be replied to.

  Dread boils inside my gut.

  When I left class and went to our dorm to find him gone, I knew something was wrong. Something wasn’t right, and although for some people it’s normal to ghost their friends every once in a while, he always lets me know where he is headed.

  He knows what it does to me when I don’t know.

  When I’m left with my own mind for too long.

  Neither Alistair nor Thatcher had heard from him all day, and with the anniversary of Rosemary’s death only a few days away, I’m convinced he’s doing something he shouldn’t.

  Something that he might not regret but would be the end of me.

  And maybe that makes me a selfish fucking friend, knowing he wants to die but not letting him. I just…I can’t do it.

  I can’t let him go like that.

  I shove my hat on backwards, tucking my helmet beneath my arm as I jog towards my bike. I notice right away there are two people standing near it, inspecting it, and they shouldn’t be. I hate when people touch my bike.

  “Can I fucking help you?” I bite out, irritated with the world.

  Worried about Silas.

  Pissed about Sage.

  These assholes are going to get the blunt end of my frustration.

  They both turn to face me. One is distinctly older than the other, sporting a gray porn stash and a dull gray suit that doesn’t fit him properly. Government wages—they’re a bitch.

  He looks hardened, like he won’t be too keen on the attitude I plan on giving him. Which, of course, makes me want to up the ante.

  The other one looks about my father’s age, maybe a little younger, wearing a gun around his waist. A grown-up frat boy with a weapon—how charming. Although, I would be more afraid of a hungry toddler than him.

  “Just admiring your wheels,” the younger one says. “I’m Detective McKay, and this is my partner, Detective Breck.”

  He reaches into his jacket, retrieving a flashy badge, “FBI” written in large letters at the top.

  There could be a multitude of reasons as to why they’re here waiting for me. I’d done a lot of illegal things in the last few years,

  but if I have to guess, it’s because Easton didn’t keep his mouth shut.

  After I’d burned the side of his cheek off, he’d cried and screamed about telling his father. How we were all going to rot in prison. But Alistair informed him that if he told anyone, the entire town would find out that Easton’s mom still pays visits to Alistair’s dad.

  A Sinclair family secret that they h
ad no clue we knew about, and if that got out? It would ruin the dean’s reputation for good. They couldn’t have a man who barely kept his wife in check being in charge of the great minds of the future, could they?

  He’d lose his position. The money. Their name.

  It would all melt away just like Easton’s flesh, and that was the last thing he wanted.

  But apparently, it hadn’t been enough to scare him.

  “So a badge means you can search my property without a warrant?” I arch my eyebrow.

  Having a lawyer as a father has its perks. I would be the first to admit it.

  Were those perks worth what happened behind closed doors with my old man? Absolutely fucking not.

  “Didn’t know you were taking up law, following in the old man’s footsteps?”

  My jaw ticks as I eye McKay carefully. Was that a dig? It’s not like he would know about my relationship with my father, but the way he’s staring at me tells me it was more than a random comment.

  I’m not in the mood to play this good cop/bad cop bullshit. I don’t have the time for it. If they’re going to arrest me, they need to get on with it.

  “If you have something to ask me, I suggest you ask it.”

  “You like fire, Rook?” The older guy, Detective Breck, addresses me for the first time. I can feel his eyes searing into my skull, so I turn my attention to him. I meet his gaze, unmoving, giving him what he wants—a challenge.

  If he thinks he’s intimidating me, he can think again.

  I arch my eyebrow, rolling the match in my mouth to the left side. “Fire is one of the most life-changing discoveries. I recognize when something needs a certain…appreciation.”

  “I think you do a little more than appreciate it.” He reaches into the inside of his suit, pulling out a small Ziplock baggie. “You want to tell me why we found this at St. Gabriel’s church?”

  I look at the contents, containing what used to be my favorite Zippo. The fire had turned the shiny metal into a charcoal stain. The wheel had melted completely off, and the top is detached. But I can still faintly see RVD carved into the front.

  “So that’s where it went,” I say sarcastically. “I mean, I’ve regularly attended that place since I was a kid. Must’ve fallen from my pocket.”

  I stare at the engraving a little harder.

  RVD.

  I would do just about anything to hear Rose call me that again. Even if it was just one time.

  I’d burnt down that church after her death. After her funeral, where it was held. Where they refused to abide by Rosie’s wishes. She never wanted to be buried; she wanted to be cremated and given to the people who loved her.

  But her parents were convinced by St. Gabriel’s that it was an eternal sin. So her piece-of-shit hypocrite of a father, who’d been the reason she died, buried her in the ground. All of those people crowded inside the cathedral, holding tissues, crying bogus-ass tears.

  They didn’t even fucking know her. They didn’t even like her.

  All of those people inside that church had no clue just how special Rosie was because half of them hadn’t spoken a word to her. Yet, her friends, the ones who knew her fears and her dreams, they weren’t allowed to come inside.

  We had been banned from her funeral, from her burial. The man who loved her more than life wasn’t able to say goodbye.

  My thumb twitches.

  That hurt, that bitterness, it starts to fill me up again, and if given the chance, I would torch that place all over again. I just wish they all would’ve gone down in flames with it.

  I can feel my toes curling. I can smell the fabric inside melting. Watching as the foundation fell apart piece by piece underneath the heat of the fire. I felt like a child standing in front of a campfire, letting it warm me.

  Every memory I had with Rose danced in the smoke like a hologram. And when the smoke cleared, so did she.

  When the fire hit its peak, I tossed the lighter in with it, because I didn’t want another reminder that I’d never hear “RVD” ever again.

  “So you just dropped it? It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fire that happened there a year ago?”

  “The FBI is investigating fires now?”

  So they aren’t here about Easton, but I highly doubt they’re here to just talk to me about a fire.

  They’re baiting me.

  “Most people like you would have used gasoline.” Breck chooses his words carefully. Everything he says is methodical, and I’m hyperaware that he wants to get me riled up.

  He wants me to be impulsive, push me past the point of caring. Because as much as I hate it, pyromaniacs are predictable in their unpredictability.

  “People like me?” I bite into the bait, like a fish on a hook, giving him what he wants from me.

  “Little boys with mommy issues who think the world is to blame for all their problems and deal with it by setting fires. How old were you when your mom died? Six or seven? Did the urges start before or after?”

  There is something I respect about a man willing to speak how he feels without fear of repercussion. I smirk, enjoying the way he stands there thinking he has me all figured out.

  My fascination with fire is something I’ve always had—always standing too close to the fireplace, playing with matches. I was born with that desire; my mother’s death was only confirmation of it.

  But what he doesn’t take into consideration is there is no one who does pyromania quite like me.

  “Whoa, did you come up with that all by yourself?”

  Breck scolds me with his eyes, probably annoyed with my lack of reaction, with my attitude.

  “Arson is three years in prison, smartass, you know that?”

  I sigh, grabbing my helmet from beneath my shoulder and tugging it onto my head. I walk closer towards my bike, towards them.

  The longer I stand here pussyfooting with them, the more time Silas is out there alone.

  “Good thing I didn’t do anything, then.”

  “Listen.” McKay puts his hand on my shoulder as I sling my leg over my bike, straddling the seat. “We don’t care if you did it or not. We don’t want you. You’re a good kid with a bright future, straight A’s your first semester. That a tough thing to do at Hollow Heights.”

  I look down at his hand, rolling my tongue on the inside of my cheek as I look back up at him.

  “We don’t care about you. We want to know about Thatcher Pierson.”

  The match in my mouth snaps clean in two, the abrupt grind of my jaw too much force on the weak twig.

  Thatcher?

  If they want to come after me, fine. I can take this kind of heat, especially when I know they don’t have a leg to stand on. But coming for them isn’t going to happen.

  I would take the blame for it all before something happened to any of them.

  “Don’t we all,” I say, shrugging his hand off my body. “How about this. You and your ancient-ass partner go to hell, yeah?”

  I turn the key over on my bike, but it only runs for a few seconds before Breck leans over and hits the kill switch, making my jaw tighten.

  “Cut the shit, punk. You want to go to prison for arson, I’m fine with that. We’re giving you an out here. A witness has come forward, saying Thatcher was involved in Greg West’s murder, and all we wanna know is if there is any truth to that.”

  A witness?

  To a crime that was committed in the middle of nowhere?

  Bull-fucking-shit.

  If that were true, they would have seen all of us there. They wouldn’t just want to know about Thatch. Which leads me to believe they’re playing a guessing game.

  They found a body all cut up and went with the guy whose father was known for the same kind of crimes, trying to see if the apple fell close to the tree.

  Wait. Wait a minute.

  Realization hits me like a bus.

  It took me longer than I would have liked, but I know these two. They’re the same men I saw Sage talking to outsi
de of the theatre the other day.

  Witness? You mean a dirty, fucking snitch.

  Once a liar, always a liar.

  “You want the truth?” I offer, nodding my head. “If you touch me or my bike again, I’ll break your fucking hands. You don’t have shit on me or anyone else. You got me on arson, then here.” I hold my hands out. “Arrest me.”

  You could hear a pin drop as both of them stand there staring at me, hard as statues as they try to figure out another way to get me to talk.

  “That’s what I thought. I’m done here. The next time you want to talk, do it with my lawyer.”

  I turn the key, revving the engine loudly and pulling my wrist back to warmup the engine before pulling out of the parking lot, leaving them behind me.

  My mind is racing, anger throbbing in my veins.

  I knew we shouldn’t have trusted her. I knew it didn’t feel right, that she was lying. I tried to convince Silas not to let her be a part of anything, but he was insistent.

  I pull the throttle hard when I drive from the gates of Hollow Heights.

  I need to make sure Silas is okay right now, that he’s alright.

  And then I’ll deal with Sage.

  I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell.

  Which is an odd revelation for the guy everyone believes is the product of worshiping Satan.

  I believe when we die, we die. That’s it.

  We cease to exist, and we begin to decay until we are nothing but another piece of the Earth.

  There is no eternal damnation or heavenly gates.

  Just darkness.

  That’s what I believe.

  However, my mom didn’t think that.

  She would drag me to the cemetery every holiday, every birthday, to pay my respects to the grandparents I’d never even met. Because she believed that visiting graves was a way to let the dead know we hadn’t forgotten about them in the land of the living.

  By making me go, it was her way of passing on their memory, in hopes that I would one day do the same with my children, so that even though they were long gone, their memory stayed breathing.

  She’d be sad to know that I don’t visit my grandparents anymore. I stopped when she died, but I do visit her, and I visit Rosie.