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The three boys launched into their explanation of why we were here. As he spoke, Misael reached across the bar and presented the small envelope Nathaniel had given him. Claudio cocked his head, studying Misael for a moment before taking the envelope. He ripped it open and peered inside, and his expression told me I’d been right—whatever was in there was worth a lot to him.
Finally, he looked back up at all of us, picking up his drink again and taking another sip.
“Tell Nathanial ‘thank you.’ I’m not willin’ to make any promises at this point, but I’d be open to discussing an alliance with him. I’ll need to think about it.” His gaze traveled over all of us again, then he nodded decisively. “Come back and see me again in a few weeks. We’ll talk more then.”
Nine
I couldn’t tell if “we’ll talk more then” was a good thing or a bad thing, but the boys seemed satisfied with it. They shot the shit with Claudio for several more minutes, although I noticed that after the initial conversation, everyone was careful to steer the conversation away from business. The business part would be important later, but for the moment, it was just two different factions of Baltimore’s underground getting to know each other.
The boys seemed to have relaxed a bit by the time we left, and I assumed that meant they considered their mission a success.
Reluctantly, Bishop pulled onto the freeway and cut across the city to where I’d parked my car the previous evening. I kissed each boy goodbye until we were all breathless and panting again, then finally pushed open my door and climbed out.
I didn’t know how it was possible, but every time I said goodbye to the Lost Boys, it got harder and harder. My heart ached as I watched Bish’s car pull away down the street and round the corner, and I swore I had left three pieces of it in the beat-up convertible with them.
My lips pressed together as I started the Aston Martin. The silence and emptiness inside the car seemed oppressive, so I cranked up the radio as I drove, trying to fill the space with something. When I pulled into the large garage and cut the engine, the sudden quiet seemed to echo around me, and I shook off a sudden wave of unease as I got out and walked toward the house.
It was mid-afternoon by now, and I passed several members of the house staff, who shot me cursory glances before looking away. I was sure all of them could feel the tension throbbing under the surface in this house, and they all seemed to have resolved to do everything they could to keep their heads down and ignore it.
I understood that impulse. My father could be an intimidating man, and he held their fates in his hands. They were probably worried about being in the wrong place at the wrong time and bearing the brunt of his anger, even if they weren’t the ones who deserved it.
Keeping my footsteps light, I made my way through the great room on the first floor, heading for the stairs on the other side. But before I could reach them, voices in the distance caught my attention. The low sounds were coming from the direction of Dad’s office, and I slowed my steps as I craned my head to listen.
“…shouldn’t let her stay out all night.”
That was my father’s voice. His words were clipped, and annoyance filled his tone.
“She’s finally spending time with her friends again. I thought you wanted that. After all, if she picks up her friendships with those girls, maybe their parents will finally take you back into their fold again,” Mom said sharply.
“That’s not necessary. I’ve got everything in hand. What I don’t need—what we don’t need—is to have Cordelia thinking she can go wherever she wants and do whatever she pleases. She’s been spending far too much time out of the house lately.”
“She’s still adjusting,” Mom murmured.
I would’ve been grateful for her defense of me if I didn’t think she was saying it more to defend herself. After all, she’d been the one I had texted when I’d gone out with the boys the last two times, not Dad. And I’d chosen her for a reason.
“She’s had enough time for that. She’s back home now. Things are back to normal. And it’s high time she started acting like it.”
My father’s voice was firm, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out if Mom argued back anyway. Staying on the balls of my feet, I darted across the remainder of the great room and up the stairs, not stopping until I reached my bedroom.
Fuck. I’d been right to worry about staying out so much.
My parents were beginning to get suspicious.
I didn’t see the Lost Boys at all for the next two weeks. We texted every day, and I clung to those short messages like a lifeline, but it barely felt like enough.
Dad didn’t seem to know that I’d gone to spend time with the Lost Boys when I’d stayed out all night. Like my mother, he believed I’d been at a sleepover with my old friends from Highland Park.
But it didn’t change the fact that he knew about the boys’ visit to our house, and what we’d done in the pool house.
And it didn’t change the fact that he was now watching me like a hawk.
I’d started having nightly dreams of running away, of leaving this life behind and fleeing with the Lost Boys to someplace my father would never find us. To someplace Barrett King would never find me.
But half the time, those dreams turned into nightmares, horrible scenarios where my father found us anyway—and when that happened, it never ended well.
I woke from those dreams in a cold sweat, panic beating against my ribs until they ached. Then I would flop back onto my bed and stare up at the ceiling, thoughts whirling around in my head.
Could I ever leave this life behind? Was that even an option? Or would I be putting the boys I loved at risk if I even tried?
