Steal Me (Haunted Roads Book 1)

by India R. Adams

  Our foreman, Butch, would point to an unfinished counter in the kitchen. “Delilah, I know you say you want the sink here but…”

  “Butch, I want the three-point system—only a certain amount of steps from one important point to the other in my kitchen.” She would pretend to be busy at the sink and then turn to her island. “See? Would it make sense to have to walk all the way over there, dripping water?”

  “You the boss, girl. Just wanted to make sure.”

  I was an idiot. I didn’t see then that these guys didn’t really have questions about the house; they just wanted to be near Lilah. More leaves were being caught up in Lilah’s wind.

  Her maturity was always confusing people about her true age. The same theory did not apply to Kenny and me because we lacked maturity altogether. One look at the two of us hooligans, and anyone could tell we were busy being players, troublemakers, and living life at a fast pace. Funny. I gave out pink slips, promising hell to anyone who messed with my sister, but I’d be the first to mess with someone else’s. Dick move, I guess. Luckily, most brothers weren’t as possessive or aggressive as Kenny and me, so we were in the clear to interfere.

  And interfere we did! Our school was just that: ours. So, when two new kids showed, we investigated. Twins. Kenny and I kept getting them confused. “Okay, who is Nash again?” Kenny would inquire.

  One of the identicals would point to himself.

  Kenny would throw his hands in the air. “I’m still utterly clueless which is who of these two.”

  “Maybe we can tie a bow on one of them or some shit?”

  Nelson raised a brow at me but wasn’t gutsy enough to argue.

  “Hmmm, not thinkin’ he likes that suggestion, my friend,” Kenny said.

  I shrugged, looking around ’cause I was bored with the silent green-eyed boys. “Yeah, guess a pretty pink bow would cause him to get his ass kicked.”

  Nash made a noise in his throat and grinned a dare.

  I was no longer bored.

  Kenny accepted also, stepping forward. “Got something stuck in your throat?”

  “Kenny, leave ’em alone.” Jazebelle appeared out of nowhere, stepping in between them.

  Kenny smirked. “Hey, Jaz. No worries. Just entertaining the new kids on the block.”

  “Some welcome package you got there.”

  I told her, “Just a little bored, Jazy’bell.”

  She eyed me. “Have a hang-along entertain you.”

  Hang-along was the nickname Kenny and I gave the girls who came back for seconds.

  Jaz smiled at the dark-haired, green-eyed freaks. “Hi, I’m Jazebelle—your official welcoming committee.” She squinted at me, missing Kenny gesturing behind her, explaining to the twins that Kenny and I would catch up with them later. She told them, “I volunteer in the office, and it is my job to give you two a tour.” As they walked away, Kenny whistled lightly. Nash looked over his shoulder, still grinning, awaiting our next meeting.

  “This is gonna be fun,” said an excited Kenny, ready to rumble.

  And we would’ve tried to beat their ass, ’cause we were assholes, but Jerry beat us to the punch. Good thing, too, ’cause the twins were no joke. They knew karate or some shit and absolutely whooped up on Jerry and his dumbass crew. We watched the throwdown. Kenny said, “This shit just made my day. I hate Jerry.” Jerry was an even bigger asshole than we were.

  I winced as a body hit the ground. “That’s gotta hurt.”

  Nash and Nelson were smaller guys but sure made up for their shortcomings with highly trained techniques. Of course, that impressed the shit out of Kenny and me. Once the fight was over, we calmly approached, about to congratulate the brothers, when Jazy’bell ran up. She looked at the mess on the ground. “Oh my God. What did you two do?”

  Kenny and I looked at each other, insulted. “Why are we always to blame?”

  I said, “To be fair, we usually are.”

  Kenny shrugged. “True.” He turned to the twins. “What the hell happened? You were supposed to be our entertainment.”

  Nash was still extremely hot. “That guy.” He pointed at Jerry, who was on the ground, holding his face. “Sucker pushed my brother into the locker. Not very entertaining to me.”

  I looked down to him. “Pussy move, Jerry.”

  Nash seemed pleased that I understood there are rules to being an asshole.

  Nelson had a decent gash above his left eye.

  “Now we can tell them apart,” my buddy said, looking on the bright side. Then he nudged Jerry with the tip of his boot. “Hey, dumbass, get up.”

  Jerry, with his bloody nose, looked up from the ground. “Fuck off.”

  Jazy’bell was losing her shit. “What am I gonna do? The twins were my responsibility! And you baboons went and screwed it all up.”

  Again, Kenny and I looked at each other, insulted.

  Were we to blame?

  Eh, we did pick on the new guys first.

  Shall we make it up to her?

  “I’ll tell you what,” I said to Jaz. “How about you get the twins out of here? Put a butterfly over that eye and, and, uh—”

  “We’ll clean up the mess,” Kenny finished for me, again nudging Jerry on the ground; his friends already had abandoned him.

  Jazy’bell was scared. “What if he talks?”

  “Nah,” I said then looked at Jerry as a crowd formed. “You tripped, right Jerry?”

  Kenny chuckled. “That must’ve been a long-ass way down. You look like shit, Jer.”

  We interfered with everything, even Viola’s love life. She kept having long, quiet talks with Bryce. As soon as one of us would approach, V would zip her lip. On one occasion, Kenny and I butted in.

  “What gives?” I asked in our high school hallway.

  “Why do you have to be so nosey?” Viola asked in return.

  “Why you have to keep secrets?”

  “Mind. Your. Business.”

  I leaned down and grinned in her face. “You. Are. My. Business.”

  V smirked. “Then claim it.”

  My face winced in confusion. Claim what?

  Kenny laughed at V. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Apparently, neither response was what Viola was hoping for. She huffed, said, “See ya later, Bryce,” and left me, Kenny, and Bryce standing there, baffled. Such a dumbass was I.

  Kenny put his arm around Bryce’s neck and started walking. “Come on, V’s little bitch. Lunchtime.”

  There was a local hotdog stand that served the greasiest fries ever. Ever since I had been old enough to drive, Kenny and I had gone there once a week. Lilah was usually with us, but we had to get laid, so we took advantage one particular night when she wasn’t tagging along. She had called and said to feed ourselves because she was deep in a book and was only serving leftovers.

  While we were sitting across from each other and stuffing our faces, someone approached Kenny and me at the picnic bench. “Why are you eating this crap when you have Pretty D’s cooking waiting at home?”

  Viola. Her voice instantly soothed the hunger and tension I didn’t even know I was holding.

  Here was the thing: losing my mom made me a bit of a bitter asshole. Protecting Lilah made my asshole-ness hostile. Bitter, hostile assholes are never much fun unless you’re one, too, and you get along. Yes, Kenny and I fed each other’s aggressive ways.

  And V? I didn’t realize it at the time, but she never needed me to rescue her or protect her. Shit, that bitch would kick my ass—not to say I wouldn’t enjoy losing to her. That strength made her so appealing to me because my guard could come down. I could actually relax, and because of that, she was the only one who could cause me uncontrollable laughter. Not having to be in the supervisor role, and able to let loose, was a wonderful fucking thing.

  I grinned up at the one who literally made me feel better inside. “And you’re here because?”

  “Are you slow or just dumb?”

  And there came my lau
ghter. “Uh, didn’t think I was either, V.”

  She sat next to me and proceeded to eat my fries. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. I’m here because I don’t have a gourmet chef at home.”

  A loaded tray slid in front of her. “She’s got me,” said Diesel. “Bone el petito.”

  “Umm, brother, I think you are getting two separate languages mixed up. It’s bon appétit. That’s French. And el is Spanish.”

  “Who the hell made you the spelling bee captain? I el-o talko however I el chooso. Welcome to America.” Then Diesel sat next to Kenny. “What up, Brady Bunch?” Only a badass biker covered in scars and tats could refer to Kenny and me as the Brady Bunch. A better nickname would’ve been The Tasmanian Terrors Who Are Trying to Seduce Most of the Female Gender.

  Diesel looked at Kenny. The sun was going down, and Kenny had become his normal void self. Diesel pointed at Kenny staring off into the distance. “This getting worse?”

  I unexpectedly became irritated. “Leave him alone, Diesel.”

  “I know. I know. He’s your boy.”

  This wasn’t Diesel’s fault, and he didn’t deserve disrespect. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I was just curious.”

  I rubbed at my chest. “Yeah, it’s gotten worse since high school.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  I glanced at V. She shrugged, denying nothing.

  Diesel asked, “Ever try to talk to him about it?”

  “Nah. Why?”

  “God, you’re a dumbass.”

  What the fuck does that mean?

  Diesel elbowed Kenny. “You decide on your first tat yet?”

  Kenny seemed shocked Diesel was sitting next to him. “Uh, what?”

  “Tat. You choose yet?”

  With glazed, distant eyes, Kenny said, “Yes, Jenny.”

  I raised a brow. “Who the fuck is Jenny?” I was trying our ongoing mindspeak, but when Kenny got like this, my buddy wasn’t himself anymore, and there would be no mindreading link in sight. The sudden change in Kenny gave me whiplash at times, but I never took the time to stop and ask myself why it was happening. Diesel was right yet again: I was a dumbass.

  Kenny shook his head, blinking. “Who?”

  Diesel ignored Kenny’s unusual yet expected behavior since I had asked him to. Instead, Diesel pointed across the table to V and me. “I like what I’m seeing here. Much better then dweeb boy, V.”

  V took a sip of my Coke. “Bryce is not a dweeb. He’s just… well, he needs me.”

  See? She took care of others just like I did.

  I used to feel tight with Bryce, but once he started the extra closeness with V, his very existence began to annoy me. I felt the fucker was completely out of V’s league, so I hoped he wasn’t attempting to go there, and I wasn’t sure why his possibly trying bothered me so.

  I took a bite of her hotdog, which was dripping in sauerkraut, and spoke through my mouthful. “What the fuck do you mean he needs you? I need you, V, yet I ain’t crawling up your ass over it.”

  Diesel spoke with a mouthful also. “That’s ’cause you’re not a pussy.”

  V wiped my mouth with a napkin. “You don’t need me.”

  “The fuck he don’t,” Diesel proclaimed. “Besides quiet nightwalker over here”—he elbowed Kenny again—“you’re Tuck’s goddamn best friend.”

  Those words slammed into my chest. Diesel’s a smart bastard.

  I took a sip of V’s Coke. “No need to get all emotional on me, but the man’s right. You’re my girl.”

  V made an appalled expression, making me think she was going to deny it, but then she said, “When the fuck do I get emotional?”

  Aw, more free laughter…

  “Yeah, baby, we’ll have a real good time,” I said, trying to sweet-talk a hang-along. That poor girl was about to experience another round of promises and disappointments courtesy of Tucker Ward. In the school hallway, I gave her an opened-mouth kiss to add to my lie and deception. I didn’t care who saw or who judged as long as I got some ass.

  Saying good-bye to my newest hang-along before going to class brought me pain but not for reasons one might have thought. It was because once the girl turned the corner, the view opened up and I saw Viola walking with Bryce, him holding her fucking hand. A spear shot through my chest of supposed steel.

  As they walked toward me, Bryce was beaming proudly, giving me a good old thumbs-up. V was staring at me, reading me. As they kept walking past me, she asked, “You all good?”

  I made a contorted face in an attempt to seem unfazed. “Yeah… of course I am.”

  She bowed her head. “I figured you would be.” And she disappeared into a classroom with Bryce.

  Just then, Kenny came running up. “Let’s roll! One more tardy, and Mrs. Ol’ Pain in the Ass is gonna write us up.”

  I nodded, rubbing my chest as I forced my feet to carry me to class. Kenny quizzically eyeballed me, silently asking, What the fuck is your deal?

  Still massaging a mysterious ache, I silently answered, Not a fucking clue.

  By the end of the day, Bryce and V were official, and I was officially a moron.

  Over the next year, the new house was completed and always full of teenagers. My dad loved it and said that was what the house was built for. I would have my senior friends over, along with Cole, Hu, Bryce, Nash, and Nelson. The twins became our friends and were always welcome once they earned our respect. The only thing odd about them was how they followed Jazy’bell around like lost puppies. Kenny and I asked about it, but she blew their odd behavior off, saying it wasn’t happening. To each his own, I suppose.

  Kenny—the always-hungry male teenager—was usually always present at dinnertime, even on weeknights. That was why my dad was shocked not to see Kenny at our dining-room table, devouring Lilah’s creations, when he came in late one evening. “Where’s the third wheel?”

  Chomping on Lilah’s baked chicken, which had some herbed amazing creamy shit all over it, I answered, “Haven’t heard from him. I’ll call.” I licked my fingers, said, “Damn, Lilah; that shit is out of this world,” and pulled out my cell. My dad preferred no phone calls at the dinner table, but Kenny’s needs were always high on my dad’s list, for some reason.

  My jaw dropped with what I heard on the receiving end of my phone.

  Instead of asking me what was causing blood to drain from my face, my dad took my cell phone from me and listened. Then he stood up and ran to our home line and dialed in haste. “Yes, I need a sheriff at 925 Bakers Street.”

  I took off for the front door, getting my dad’s keys. Delilah was following me, trying to put on her shoes while urgently asking, “Tucker! What did you hear?”

  I opened the door. “I’m not sure, Lilah.”

  In the truck, my father raced to Kenny’s house. “You both know that Kenny is like my own kid to me, yeah?” Lilah and I both nodded, afraid. “Then know what I’m asking of you has been on my mind for some time. I need to get that kid out of his home.”

  “Dad! You knew this was happening?” I was mad. Hurt.

  My dad sounded apologetic. “I suspected, son. There were signs everywhere. I also knew he wouldn’t open up, so I’ve had to wait patiently until I could do something. I want to know how you guys feel about moving Kenny into a spare bedroom.”

  “Yes! Whatever he needs,” I yelled.

  “Lilah?” My dad looked at her through his rearview mirror.

  She sat in the backseat, swallowing hard. “Of course. Whatever Kenny needs.”

  Sheriff cruisers were already at Kenny’s dilapidated home, which showed his lack of funds. Seeing paramedics as we arrived, Lilah covered her mouth. “Oh God.”

  My dad slammed the truck into park. “He’s in the cruiser.” Kenny’s mom’s boyfriend was in the backseat, yelling like a madman and struggling with his handcuffs. My dad’s voice was stern. “Lilah, stay here, and lock the doors. Tuck, move.”

  We rushed into the house to
see what looked like a war zone. Sheriffs talking to Kenny’s mom knew us and waved with tired expressions on their faces. Kenny’s mom had smeared makeup running down her swollen face. Worn furniture was on its side, showing the struggle that had taken place. When my dad and I made our way down the hallway toward Kenny’s bedroom, I noticed a picture of a little girl hanging on the wall; she had green eyes like Kenny’s. Who is she?

  All thoughts left me when I saw my best friend sitting on the floor next to his bed, leaning against the wall as he refused medical attention. My dad moved a knocked-over—now broken—lamp and went on a bent knee in front of Kenny. “Son, I need you to let this paramedic work on you…” The ears on my head stopped receiving sound while I watched blood drip down Kenny’s battered face. We had fought so many times together but had never ended up looking like that. How his mom’s boyfriend was even able to win was shocking because of Kenny’s power in a fight. He wasn’t as big as me but, as the twins so diligently proved, size wasn’t always a factor, and Kenny was a mighty contender regardless. Then I thought of Diesel calling Kenny a “quiet nightwalker” and knew Kenny must have been in one of his night moods and easy for the pickings.

  When the paramedic had finished bandaging Kenny’s busted lip and the gash above his left eye, I was still traumatized along with my dear friend. He sat on the floor, staring up at me with an expression I couldn’t digest or understand. I wanted to approach him, but my stunned legs wouldn’t cooperate. Before I could comprehend that my unwanted hesitation was based on painstaking sympathy, my dad was suddenly in view, handing me a big black garbage bag he had found in the kitchen. “Tucker. Focus. We need to pack his clothes.” I hadn’t even realized he had left the room.

  My father was showing me the way to push my own feelings aside for the needs of a loved one in a dire state. He was always courageous in the midst of a tragedy. Following his lead, I opened dresser drawers and shoved clothes into the bag as fast as I could. My friend sat silently in the same spot. Dad glanced over his shoulder as he opened Kenny’s closet. “Hang in there, son. I’m getting you out of here.” When he turned back to the exposed closet, he froze.