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Because money gives you everything. It opens any door. Nature doesn’t get to say no to money.
My mouth twists in bitter contempt as my nails dig into the bark of a tree trunk beside me. I stand and keep to the shadows.
Adrenaline tingles in my fingertips with the first step I’ve taken in over an hour, the sharp pricks jumping along my awareness and contorting my stomach.
No one is around. Devlin’s house is spread far from the neighbors, the most remote property I’ve seen here. Still, I don’t let my guard drop.
A flash of light makes my heart trip over itself—headlights! Security patrol?—and I duck behind a cluster of boulders. It moves off into the tree line, turning away from Devlin’s house. I breathe out a relieved sigh and creep closer to the house.
Funny how a private community for the most elite of Ridgeview doesn’t expect unwelcome intruders to walk right in, assuming guests and residents only pass through the security kiosk at the gate. Dusk settled as I hiked from the road, slipping between the homes unseen, tracing the path I mapped out to get to Devlin’s house on Google Maps at the library.
A bitten-off snort leaves me. I peek around to check if the coast is clear and dart by a skinny sapling. A little farther and I’ll be past the point of no return.
If the sport schedule bulletin on the school website was right, Devlin should be at soccer practice until 8pm. That gives me at least forty-five minutes to work under the cover of night. His Range Rover was in the student lot today, three spaces down from the rust bucket 2001 Corolla that gets me from point A to B.
The plan races through my head on repeat: get in unnoticed, disable the GPS tracking system according to the YouTube tutorial, drive off like a fucking boss, watch that dick’s fury from afar in school…
I move my hand over my hips, checking the pouch hooked through my belt loops. Inside is everything I’ll need for this plan.
The sense of preparedness, calculating every move, is born out of faking it until I make it. It’s not like I’ve ever committed a crime this serious before.
My wheelhouse is petty theft—earning the stupid sticky fingers name the devil of Silver Lake High taunts me with by shoplifting what I can’t afford and picking pockets when necessary.
The corners of my mouth tighten. Devlin Murphy has no idea what it’s like to constantly stress about money.
Robin Hood steals from the rich, right? Well, the wealthy snobs of this town are the ones teaching me brutal lessons in survival, so I’m returning the favor.
I’ve long since let go of any moral guilt hanging over my head for being a survivor.
Pausing my approach to the house, I bite my lip. The undeniable consequences of what I’m here to do scroll through my head like a marquee. Devlin has more than enough money to bury me and then go after Mom. Hell, he could probably kill me for touching his cars and get away with it.
That crazy look that haunts his eyes when they’re on me…
A shudder shakes my body. Yeah, he’s messed up enough to murder someone. No doubt about it.
You’re stalling. “Ugh.”
I force my feet to move.
This is a big score for me, bigger than I’ve ever taken on. I’m not stealing cheap mascara, taking an extra carton of milk, or snagging a hundred bucks from spoiled classmates that don’t notice they’re short when their no-limit credit cards make up the difference.
No, this is a real crime. High risk, higher reward. The go-to-jail-if-caught kind.
My stomach turns over as I hesitate in the darkness.
If I get caught, Mom won’t make it on her own. Maybe I should have done this at the end of junior year, before I turned eighteen in June. I tug on the end of my ponytail and chew on my lip again.
There’s no other way. This is the only thing I could think of to get the money we need fast. It’s a better idea than robbing a bank.
If I have to become a vigilante, repurposing some useless extra wealth to those more needy—me and my mom—then so be it. Getting back at Devlin is the cherry on top of this sour sundae.
Moving from shadow to shadow toward my goal, my resolve strengthens. It gives me the false sense of bravery I need to take this leap from my comfort zone.
I stop along the waist-high stone wall that forms a perimeter around Devlin’s property line. Everything about his house screams elite, down to the cold iron gate cutting the property off from the road that turns into the circular driveway.
“A gate for the biggest house inside a gated community,” I mumble to myself, shaking my head as I hop onto the stone wall and swing my legs over.
I drop off the wall into a crouch in case the community’s private security patrol comes this way. My footsteps are light and quick.
