Reckless At Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels Book 3)

by Callie Hart

  My heart jackrabbits in my chest as I reach for my phone and pull up Alex’s number. By the sixth ring, I realize that he isn’t going to pick up. Shaking all over, I call Dad instead.

  “Hey, kiddo. What’s up? Thought you were teaching the Coombes boys?”

  God, he’s only just calmed down after he found out Jake had been released. This is gonna send him flying off the handle again. “I’m being followed, Dad. I think it’s Jake.”

  Dad’s voice is as icy as the seventh level of hell. “Where are you?”

  “On Court Avenue, about to cross, uh…Lederman.”

  “You’re close to the hospital. Go straight there, Silver. Run every red light if you have to. I’m leaving the house right now. I’ll meet you there. Stay on the phone, kiddo.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m still trying to tell myself that I might be overreacting as I take a left and gun the Nova’s engine, speeding in the direction of the hospital. The truck takes the same left, speeding up, inching dangerously close, though, bursting that idea like a bubble.

  He's going to run you off the road. He couldn’t break you when he fucked you. He didn’t break you when he tried to hang you. Now he’s gonna force you into a ditch in the rain, and Alex is going to lose you in the exact same way he lost Ben, and…

  God, stop! Just fucking stop!

  I silence the panicked voice in my head, forcing it to be silent. I need to think. The hospital’s still three or four miles away. Between here and there, there isn’t much of anything, just one long, winding stretch of road bracketed by tall trees. The occasional house, set back from the road. There’s nowhere for me to go but straight. Behind me, the truck’s engine roars and the vehicle surges forward like a leashed dog, pulling at its chain.

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  Where the hell is Alex? Where the hell is he?

  The skies are clear now, but it rained all morning. The temperature plummeted at some point this afternoon, and now the roads are slick with ice. I come heartstoppingly close to skidding off the road when I take a corner a little too quickly. The car coasts, swinging wildly through the turn, and for one horrible moment the brakes do absolutely nothing.

  This is it.

  This is it.

  This is when I fucking die.

  The truck’s horn blares out like some sort of warped victory cry. Only…the Nova’s wheels gain traction, biting into the blacktop, finding purchase, and suddenly I’m tearing forward again.

  Focus. Drive. Just fucking drive. You’ve got this. You can do it.

  It takes forever to get to the hospital. I pull into the parking lot, drenched in a cold sweat, the Nova’s wheels screeching as I burn toward the familiar sight of Dad’s silver van. The truck follows after me, right on my tail.

  I come to a jarring halt next to the van and Dad climbs out, brandishing a gleaming black weapon in his hands.

  “Holy fuck! DAD!” I scream, but he doesn’t hear me. He’s fixed on the menacing black monster that’s barreling right for us.

  CRACK!

  CRACK!

  The sound of the gunshots splinter the air apart. My mouth hanging open, I twist, watching as the truck tears past us, two massive bullet holes blistering the paintwork of the rear passenger door. I’m fear personified as I wait for the truck to come to a stop…

  But it keeps on going.

  Rocking wildly as it performs a wide turn, the truck narrowly misses a parked Prius as it peels out of the hospital parking lot, back the way it came.

  Holy…fucking…shit.

  I lean forward, pressing my chest up against the steering wheel, suddenly incapable of holding myself upright.

  “Silver. Hey, open the door, kiddo. It’s okay, he’s gone.” Dad raps on the window, peering anxiously in at me. It takes a second to wrangle my limbs into some sort of order. They don’t seem to want to do as they’re told. The moment I’ve unlocked the door, Dad’s there, helping me out of the Nova, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.

  “You shot at him,” I say breathlessly. “You, like, really shot at him.”

  “I know. I know. Come on, come here and sit for a second. You’re trembling.” He’s still holding the gun in his hand. I feel the coolness of the weapon’s unforgiving steel against the back of my neck as Dad guides me to the back of the van, opening up the back door so I can sit on the trunk’s ledge.

  “That motherfucker’s pulled his final stunt,” Dad seethes, flustering over me, tucking my hair behind my ears, out of my face. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

  “Sorry to interrupt, friends.”

  Dad and I both jump, startled at the voice that speaks behind us. I’m teetering on the brink of a heart attack when I look around, and there, leaning up against the Nova in the bruised purple dusk, is the guy who gave me his business card, Dr. Romera’s boyfriend, the guy Alex named Zeth.

  Oh…fuck.

  He might not be wearing a suit and a tie, but he looks every inch the mafia kingpin as he coolly assesses us with dark, intelligent, albeit emotionless eyes. “I’m in the market for a weapon,” he says airily. “That one looks pretty average but I’m not picky.”

  Dad stiffens, glancing down at the gun in his hand. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not giving you my g—”

  Zeth pushes away from the car, taking a casual step toward us. “Registered, is it?”

  Dad’s face pales. Oh lord, he never registered his gun? Is that thing even his? It looks like the one he used to keep in a shoebox in his closet, but then again I only really saw it in stolen peeks through the cracked lid of a shoe box.

  “You just shoot that thing at a moving vehicle in a public parking lot,” Zeth muses, running his tongue over his teeth. “The powers that be don’t tend to like that kind of shit. An’ I’m betting they’re on their way here as we speak. I suspect I might be doing you a favor by taking it off your hands, Cameron.”

  Dad narrows his eyes suspiciously at the guy. “How do you know my name?”

  Zeth huffs in a bored manner, staring off into the dark stretch of forest on the other side of the parking lot. “Better for you if you just hand it over, friend. I’d hate to have to take it from you.”

  A knot of worry tightens in my stomach. “Give it to him.”

  “Silver—”

  “Just give him the gun, Dad. Please. Let’s get rid of it and get the hell out of here.”

  Dad looks at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind, but he gingerly steps forward and hands over the weapon, placing it in Zeth’s outstretched hand. “Good man. Now get your daughter home before five-oh shows up.”

  Dad stabs his finger after the truck. “That bastard was trying to hurt her. We need to report that to the police.”

  A terrifying smile spreads across Zeth’s face. “I think you’re better off leaving that matter in my hands, too. Don’t you think, Silver?”

  I say nothing. But as we drive away, Dad following closely behind me, chattering incessantly on the phone to keep me occupied, I think it to myself:

  Yeah. Maybe the whole Jacob situation would be better off being dealt with by a man like Zeth.

  31

  ALEX

  The sound of shattering glass fills the air.

  On the other side of the altar, the name given to the bar by the Rock’s most loyal patrons, Paulie the bartender blanches at the very sight of me, the glass he just dropped lying in pieces on the polished mahogany in front of him. “Alex,” he says nervously. “Where’ve you been, man? Monty was planning on sending out a search party soon.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet he was.” It really was only a matter of time before Monty came looking for me. I’ve relied on his arrogance up until now, knowing that the bastard expects me to come crawling to him for forgiveness, but that plan had a shelf life. At some point, he would have gotten tired of waiting and sent someone out to drag me back here by the scruff of my neck like the misbehaving stray dog that I am.

  “He know you were plannin
g on swinging by?” Paulie’s voice is abnormally high-pitched. He’s freaking the hell out because he likes me, he’s a friend, and he knows I’ve just strolled on into the lion’s den without a thought as to what was going to happen once the door swung shut behind me.

  But I have given it thought. Plenty. I know exactly what I’m gonna do, and how, and Monty’s gonna sit there like a good little boy and listen to me while I speak. “Don’t worry, dude,” I tell Paulie. “I got this covered.”

  I head for the door through to the back, but Paulie calls out after me. “Hey, hold up. You’re probably gonna need this.” He moves quickly, sloshing some amber liquid into a glass, which he slides down the bar toward me. The shot glass comes to a stop a foot away. I down the raw tequila—the puts-hairs-on-your-chest kind—wincing at the heat that burns all the way down my throat. I then place the glass back down on the bar, upside down.

  “Thanks, man.”

  “I’d say yell if you need me, but…”

  I smile tightly, nodding. Yeah, I’m on my own with this one. There’s nothing Paulie can do for me without getting his ass fired or shot. “No worries. Like I said. I’ve got this covered.”

  Unusually, the door to Monty’s office is yawning wide open, throwing light out into the dark corridor. I stop in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, watching with mild interest as Monty scrambles around on his hands and knees inside, looking for something on the floor. He goes rigid when he sees my Stan Smiths in the doorway. Without hinging back, he laughs gruffly, letting his head hang down between his shoulders. “Wondering when you were gonna develop some balls,” he says. His voice is light but also edged with acid. When he sits back, he’s brandishing a dagger-sharp smile that makes me wish I’d brought a knife with me, too. He gets to his feet, whatever he was looking for on the floor forgotten about. “Come on in, kid. We’ve got some stuff to talk about, you and me.”

  I hate that my heartrate kicks up a notch. Thankfully it doesn’t show on my face or the way I hold myself. I developed the ability to hide my thoughts and feelings a long time ago, when I was just another unwilling participant in the foster care system. I sink down on the chair I always sit in, opposite Monty’s. The old man watches me like a hawk as he takes a seat himself. So fucking stupid. I could have caved in the back of his fucking skull while he was scrabbling around on the floor just now if I’d come here for that.

  “I gotta say, I’m a little hurt, Alex.” He leans an elbow against his desk, propping his chin up on a fist. He looks like a bored student, only half paying attention in class. “You and me…I thought we were friends.”

  I slouch back into the chair, shoving my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket. “That makes two of us. Looks like we were both wrong, huh?”

  Monty pulls a sour face. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? You forget…I helped you, kid. I made sure you weren’t dumped in another foster home. I gave you a place to live, didn’t I?”

  “Sure. But you didn’t do it out of the kindness of your heart. You saw an opportunity and you took it.” I rub a hand at the back of my neck. “That first day, when I asked you why you were helping me, you said you owed my father a debt and helping me was how you were gonna settle it. I guess you were telling the truth, but when you said debt, you really meant revenge, didn’t you?”

  Monty’s eyes narrow to slits.

  “Giacomo fucked you over. He left you to rot in prison while he disappeared off to Mexico or wherever and got fat on good food, booze and women. So, when you saw his son was close by, within reach, and you could just reach out and take him…” I cant my head to one side, arching an eyebrow. “Feel free to stop me if I’m getting any of this wrong.”

  Monty flashes me his teeth. “Costa Rica.”

  “What?”

  “Costa Rica. While I was rotting in prison, your dickless father was living it up in Costa Rica. Did he tell you he got married again? I’m not a hundred percent on the dates, but I’m pretty sure your mother was still alive then. I s’pose Jack figured if he was in a different country then getting a divorce wasn’t really important.”

  My hatred for Giacomo was a bottomless well before. I didn’t think it could get any deeper. Turns out I was wrong. He married another woman, while my mother was still alive? Fuck’s sake. Marshalling my expression, I make sure Monty doesn’t know that this little piece of information has affected me as much as it has. “So, Jack was a thousand miles away, getting laid in the sun. When you got out of prison, he was still in the wind. And then I show up out of the blue, like some sort of gift-wrapped godsend, just begging for you to swoop in and manipulate me, getting me on side. What was the plan, Monty? Were you gonna steal me? Was I supposed to worship you like the father I never had? Or was I supposed trust you implicitly, think you only have my best interests at heart, and then you were gonna drag me in front of Giacomo and plaster my brains all over his living room wall, just to spite him?”

  Monty laughs, shrugging carelessly. “Honestly, I didn’t really give it that much thought. I suppose I would have done whatever hurt your father the most. Trouble is, Giacomo found out you were working for me pretty quick. And…I’m gonna let you in on a little secret now. Just between you and me, okay?” He cups his hand around his mouth, leaning closer to me, whispering like we’re co-conspirators. “He didn’t really care.”

  Now, this? This isn’t a surprise to me. I don’t need to master my emotions this time, because it’s no less than I expected. Yes, Giacomo wants to steal me back from Monty now. Whatever half-baked plan he’s cooking up to start his own chapter of the Dreadnaughts involves me in some way, but it isn’t because my father cares about me. It’s because he needs something from me. I haven’t figured out what that could be yet, but I’m sure it’ll become obvious sooner or later. He’s probably got a cerotic liver and he needs half of mine, for Christ’s sake. If that’s the case, then he’s gonna be sorely out of luck. I wouldn’t piss on that man if he was on fire. “If you’re expecting me to burst into tears, then I’m gonna have to disappoint you,” I say, rocking back on my chair. “Don’t you know me by now? I couldn’t give two shits if Giacomo didn’t break his neck in his race to Raleigh to come save me from you.”

  Monty thinks about this. He scratches at his chin, worrying at his stubble. “Let me ask you something, Alex. You think that girlfriend of yours would look pretty sliding up and down a pole out there? I prefer my girls to be a little curvier, but your Silver’s got that doe-eyed innocent look about her.” He pauses, waiting for my reaction. I’m willing to bet he’s already getting ready to yank open the top drawer of his desk so he can grab the gun that he keeps there. I’d be a fool to explode on him, even if his question has got my blood simmering. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I meet his gaze, adamant that I won’t be the first to look away. “You have a lot of stupid people working for you, Monty. Like…a lot of stupid people.”

  Bemused, he taps his index finger against his desk. “Is that so?”

  “I think you like ’em that way, to be honest. Stupid people don’t think for themselves. They don’t ask questions, because they’re too dumb to think of them. They don’t plan ahead, either. Me, though…I’m not stupid. I have plenty of questions, but I’m smart enough not to ask them. I compile them, one after the other after the other, and I spend a considerable amount of time hunting down the answers on my own time. And yeah, I plan ahead. Way, way, way ahead.”

  My hand is already closed around the thumb drive in my jacket pocket. Slowly, I take it out, laying it down on the desk in front of me, keeping my hand pressed down on top of it.

  Monty waves his hand in a derisive gesture. “What’s that supposed to be?”

  “This is a record of every time you’ve ever asked me to do something for you. Dates. Times. The amount you paid me. The people you asked me to hurt. It’s a pretty damning dossier, really. Or it would be, if it fell into the wrong hands.”

  “Ho ho ho, kid. You have no idea how bad fire burn
s, do you? You play with shit like this and you’re bound to get hurt.” Monty shakes his head, a broad smile taking over his face, his eyes bowed into crescents. He looks at me askance, drilling into me with his faded blue irises, and I can see just how badly I’ve irritated him. “That doesn’t prove anything. You realize that, right? Anyone can make up a list of names and dates.”

  “But when those names and dates lead down dark alleyways, to bags filled with blow and smack, things begin to get interesting, don’t they?” I counter. “I’m not sure which department to take this to first. The DEA seem to have taken leave of their minds, but maybe the ATF would be interested in the contents of this thumb drive. Could be the regular cops would like to know this stuff. How many times has the Sheriff come sniffing around this place, looking for something to hang you over?”

  “You’re not very smart at all if you can’t see that that information hangs you as well as me, boy.”

  I roll my eyes, groaning loudly. “I’m a fucking minor, asshole. And you are technically still my legal guardian. Coercion’s a real thing. What judge is gonna prosecute a kid that some wannabe crime lord snatched out of the hands of CPS to use as his own personal whipping boy?”

  Monty does the math on this. I watch as he runs the numbers and weighs in his head how likely it’ll be that I will walk away from all of this unscathed. With my record and the fact that I recently fucking shot someone, the odds aren’t exactly in my favor. There’s a chance that I’m right, though. Either way, even if I do go down or I don’t, Monty knows that my testimony and the information on this thumb drive pretty much guarantees that he’ll be looking at some hardcore jailtime. “You wanna go back inside because of another Moretti, Montgomery?” I ask, tapping the end of the thumb drive against his desk.

  If looks could start fires and bring about the end of the world, then I would be facing down the apocalypse as Monty scowls at me from across his precious fucking desk. “What the hell do you want, kid?” he hisses.