Page 25 of Intrepid

In truth, I’d expected her to be another spoiled rich bitch—an easy target, for the most part. In a few brief encounters with her, she’d proven otherwise—a fact that was eating away at my resolve, making me question shit that I didn’t need to question.

She wasn’t as perfect as she appeared from a distance.

She had quirks and fears, evident in the pens she’d chewed to shit, and the way she twirled the blue highlights of her mermaid blonde hair around her finger, mindlessly, as if completely oblivious to it. I’d discovered two of her little phobias that first night at the Savarine, yet even they didn’t smother the fiery determination in her, her refusal to give in, even when pushed to her limits.

A quality that could eventually prove useful.

Far from the uptight princess I’d envisioned, she didn’t paint her trimmed nails or primp her long, wavy hair that hung precariously over her full, perfect breasts. And she sure as hell didn’t dress like her haughty prep school peers in her ripped up jeans and flannel shirts. She looked like a fucking blue fairy, all dainty and small. Yet, those pale amber eyes, warm and inviting, did a fine job of hiding the secrets behind them. Secrets I intended to drag to the surface and expose. Ones I’d have to coax out with a little charisma and trust, because the girl seemed to have a shitty history with men.

I could do charming when I had to. In fact, I’d worn that mask for nearly a decade, and after a while it got to be exhausting. Fake. Yet, it seemed almost effortless with Sera. Like I was catching a glimpse of the guy I might’ve been, buried beneath layers of all that fucked-upedness that’d somehow wound itself into my DNA and strangled the good.

Being around her made me feel normal in some ways, like a regular guy chasing after a pretty girl, but I’d tried normal for years, and it didn’t work for me. It’d always come down to the same thing—the nightmares, hallucinations, the sharp slivers of pain beating against my skull, reminding me of the promise I’d made.

A promise I vowed to keep.

Sera put on a damn good show with that sweet girl shit, but I knew what lived below the surface, the sludge that blackened her conscience. She had demons, too—evident in the scar they’d left on her face. Only difference between hers and mine was our willingness to acknowledge them. While I had to give her some credit for not flaunting her rich bitch lifestyle, slumming it up in sub-par housing and attending a public university, it didn’t change who she was under all that veneer. Didn’t change the reason I’d taken an interest in someone like her.

The driving force behind every painful memory of my past.

I set the rod off to the side and lifted my hood, admiring the smooth bead, giving the alloy a couple minutes to cool. The burnt metal fumes on the air took me back to the days when my dad would come home from work wearing that same scent on his clothes and skin. I screwed my eyes shut to the mental image of him standing engulfed in flames, and snapped them open again, teeth grinding away the fury that smarted my jaw.

Hand gripping the metal, I tugged the handle I’d welded onto the large slab of steel and smiled.

Everything was coming together perfectly.

7

Jameson

Nine years ago …

Doesn’t feel right.” With my deck planted against my hip, I stared up at the sketchy house sitting on the corner of a street that looked like it’d been evacuated during a war. Weeds had grown up around all the surrounding houses. Across from them was an open field, where an old building had long been abandoned, with its cracked concrete parking lot and busted out windows. “Let’s go.”

“Relax.” Eli’s elbow thumping into my ribs drew my attention away from the shady surroundings. “You saw how slow this motherfucker walked? If it looks shady, we’ll leave him behind in the dust.”

“There might be others inside.”

As if some logic had penetrated his brain, Eli glanced around and shook his head. “I don’t see any cars, do you?”

“They obviously don’t have money. I doubt they have an entourage of cars.”

“Don’t be chicken shit, bro.” Eli leaned into me, while I kept my eyes on where the other kid stood kicking a rock, waiting for us to decide if we were really going inside the shack he called home. “Whatever we find, we split. Fifty-fifty.”

“I’m not about to explain to my dad how I scored a bunch a cash. He’d kill me even if he thought I went scrapping with you.”

“Then I’ll have my mom pick up a fifth of Jameson for your old man. Look, we’re here. We might as well go in. See what’s up. Might even get to sample the goods.” Brows winged up, Eli smiled and swung his attention back toward the kid. “So, this is where you live, Stuttering Stan?”

“M-m-my name’s not Stan, it’s—”

“Nobody cares what your name is.” Eli jerked his head toward the hellhole in front of him. “This is where you stay?”

“Y-y-y-yes.”

“And I thought my house was bad.” Shaking his head, Eli waved me to follow after him. “Let’s see the goods.”

“Go ahead.” I hated backing out, possibly putting Eli in a bad place, but my gut burned with a bad feeling. Something told me the kid had a different agenda. “I’m staying out here.”

“Fine. No smoky treats for you, asshole.” Eli toed his board toward me and followed after the kid, up the rickety staircase, without so much as a glance back. Every step marked another second I’d have to wait, and when he finally disappeared inside the house, my pulse kicked up to high alert.