I pick up a packet of spinach seeds, and right before I throw them into their furrows, I stop. I’m crowding them? The soil isn’t right? I need to talk to them? Plants are needy sons of bitches.
The back sliding door opens and closes with a slam. The sound gets me on edge, and I grab for the pistol I keep in my gardening tool box—but I roll my eyes and release my grip the moment I see who it is.
Jayden Devonport, Miles’s brother, saunters out of the house with his thumbs through the belt loops of his school slacks. He has a smug grin about him, like he’s thought of something clever, but I return to my task rather than engage him in conversation. The kid’s nothing more than a dumpster fire masquerading as a person.
“Well, well,” he drawls. “Look who’s been neutered.”
“Well, well,” I repeat in a mocking tone. “Look who finally got out of rehab.”
“Is this what you do now? Play the part of a retired geriatric?”
Yup. Still a dumpster fire. I wish Miles would cut him loose and stop worrying about him. He had the perfect opportunity to let him die when Jayden got shot ten months ago, but maybe I’m just an asshole. I don’t care if Jayden graduates or not. Hell, if Jayden started choking to death right this instant, I might pretend I didn’t notice.
“You’re even starting to look the part,” Jayden continues. “Do you see those white hairs?”
I exhale a long line of smoke and stand. Jayden takes a step back toward the house. I glance over and chortle. The kid’s put on some weight. Once upon a time, he and Miles looked like twins. I guess the rehab center didn’t require Jayden to exercise often—his green-and-tan school uniform hugs his protruding midsection a little too tight. The kid even has a pencil-line beard to hide the fact he’s losing any noticeable jawline.
“Nice facial hair,” I say. “Did your boyfriend draw that on for you?”
“Hey,” Jayden barks, indignant. Then he takes a moment to mull over my comment and gets red in the face. “And that’s not even a joke a faggot like you can make! You’re the one suckin’ dick!”
I walk up to him and pat him on the cheek. Jayden stumbles back, startled, almost like he’s afraid I’ll follow it up with a left hook. I laugh and continue into the house without another word. The kid never had much courage—he’s two nuts short of a ball sac, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he still wets the bed at night.
Miles and his sister are at the kitchen table. Lacy, unlike Jayden, isn’t a thorn in my side, but I know her about as well as I know the female orgasm. She sits, prim and proper, with her long black hair straight to the middle of her back. Her nose is buried in a book as Miles prepares her homework across the tiny table.
“You’re smoking?” Miles asks.
I forgot I even had the damn cigarette. I take one last drag and toss it into the sink. “Just when things get stressful.”
“Why not take another nicotine patch?”
“Fuck it. I hate wearin’ ’em.”
Jayden ambles in and takes a seat at the table, his face stuck in a frown. He grabs the TV remote and turns on the tiny set located on the far counter. The news starts up—it’s the only channel I watch—and I get tense the moment I see a picture of the North Union Rail Yard.
“—and authorities say some of the kidnappers are still at large,” the newswoman says, her voice filled with a showman’s flair. “The private investigators on the case, from Shelby’s Private Investigations, have yet to comment, but local sketch artists have drawn up representations of the criminals found at the scene. All information should be directed to the Joliet City Police hotline, or directed to your nearest precinct.”
A photo of the police department flashes on the screen, raising my heart rate. I’m in the picture, walking into the station. Luckily for me, my back is to the photographer.
“Pierce?” Miles says, staring at me rather than the TV. “What’s wrong? You don’t look well.”
I grab the controller from Jayden and switch off the television. “I don’t need any fame,” I state. I don’t want my picture all over the news—what if one of my old associates sees me?—and I certainly don’t want those kidnappers to know I’m one of the guys who busted their operation. They weren’t small-time. Even if they know Shelby’s PI firm is behind the investigation, that doesn’t link me. But they might deal with Shelby like they dealt with Davis.
“You don’t think there’s a chance I’ll be taken, do you?” Lacy asks, turning to Miles.
Miles offers a shrug. “Just stay close. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Way to cheer her up,” Jayden interjects.
I walk over to the table and lean my weight on the back of a flimsy chair. “You don’t have to worry,” I tell Lacy. “They don’t target girls like you.”
Jayden glares. “Why? Because she’s part Asian?”
I shake my head and offer the kid a sneer. “Do you think scumbags like them give a shit about your racial makeup? No. They want easy targets. Not kids who go to prep school—who have people around them at all times—or kids who have parents who would contact the authorities within minutes of their child’s disappearance.”
“Then who do they go after?”
“Teenagers hooked on drugs. Runaways. Prostitutes. People who don’t have someone who cares about where they are. It’s easier to drag some homeless druggie off the street than it is to raid a school with cameras and walls. You and your sister aren’t in danger.”
Jayden sits up straight. “Me and Lacy? You think those guys would try to take someone like me?”
“Maybe to harvest your fat organs.”
“Tsk. Fuck you.”
Miles gives
