Under the Influence Page 4

  “Yeah.”

  “Homework done?” she prods, heading over to my bed and turning down the sheets.

  “Of course, Mom.” Laughing, I walk over and climb into bed, the familiar smell of clean linens surrounding me as I snuggle in. “How dare you question my work ethic.”

  She grins as she takes a seat beside me. Extending her arm, she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind my ear before she leans, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Just making sure,” she states with a wink. Her smile fades before she continues. “I know I’ve been busy. I hate that I haven’t been here as much as I should be lately.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. I know there are kids out there who need you.”

  “You need me too, Spencer. I should be here more.”

  We have this conversation often. Between her day job at my school as the guidance counselor and her volunteer work in the evenings, I don’t see as much of her as I would like. But I can’t be selfish. There are kids out there who need her more than I do right now.

  “Mom, it’s fine. I’m fine. School is fine. Stop worrying.” I grin, reassuringly.

  She smiles back, then takes my hand into hers. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I’m blessed to have you.”

  She squeezes my fingers gently before releasing me. After another light kiss to the top of my head, she stands, tucking me in tightly before heading toward the doorway.

  Just as she passes my desk, I remind her. “The light, please.”

  I don’t miss the hesitance of her movement as she stalls before releasing a sigh. We also have this conversation often. Without having to see her face, I already know her expression is etched with concern because at seventeen years of age, I still sleep with a light on and the door wide open. A habit not even my mother has been able to break. Not for eleven years.

  She leans, pulling the cord on my lamp and once the light is on, she continues toward the door. Opening it widely, she twists back to face me. “Movie night. We need a movie night this weekend.”

  I smile widely and nod my agreement. She dips her head, flicking off my overhead light before leaving me alone in my room. Reaching under my pillow, I grab my phone and plug it into the charger before putting my ear buds in and hitting play on my Gabrielle Aplin acoustic album. As Ghosts begins to flood my ears, I find myself lost in the excitement of Cassie’s theory and the eagerness of Dalton’s response. Seeing him with that little girl today gave me hope that there’s still a part of him that is alive. A very viable piece that he keeps hidden from the rest of the world. A small section awaiting someone’s discovery.

  I just really hope that person is me.

  After glancing once more at the lamp that provides my security, I close my eyes. Anticipation mixed with the sounds of Gabrielle’s guitar keep the demons of my darkness at bay as I allow sleep to finally take me.

  A DEEP, UNFORTUNATELY FAMILIAR voice and the sound of a lock being sprung wake me from the most uncomfortable attempt at sleep, ever.

  “Well, you’re free to go. Again.”

  I pry my good eye open and shift my neck to peer across the room at the person speaking. He watches me disapprovingly—something I’ve become quite used to with this particular officer of the law.

  As I slowly awaken, the pain begins to ebb. Jesus. My head is fucking killing me. And my ribs. And my back. In fact, every single part of my body aches and this metal slab I’m lying on is doing absolutely nothing to relieve the discomfort. I ease back into my previous sleeping position and take a deep breath, praying to the gods of pain for mercy before hauling my ass up.

  And as I rise, my world falls off its axis.

  “Fuuuuuck…” is all I can manage as my feet hit the ground.

  After a quick pass of my fingers through my matted hair, I lightly scrub my face with my hands and respond, “It’s about time.”

  Damn. Even my hair hurts.

  “Let’s go, Greer. Your other half is waiting for you.”

  My face is in no shape to smile, so I’m forced to grin internally at that remark. It’s no secret that Rat and I frequented the Fuller County jail often throughout our youth. Although, this is my first time outside the juvenile holding area.

  Slowly, I take another deep breath in preparation before finally standing. My fingers clench as my body objects profoundly to the movement and my steps are slow as I walk toward the open door of the cell. Officer Kirk Lawson stands tall in his typical dark pants/polo shirt combo as his keen brown eyes pierce me.

  “What?” My tone is clipped.

  Lawson shakes his head and exhales. “You’re in a completely different arena now, kid. A legal adult. You keep doing this shit, you’re going to land your ass in prison. In fact,” he pauses to close the door behind me, “with the charges brought against you, that’s exactly where you’d be headed had they not been mysteriously dropped.”

  His gaze narrows and his face tightens into a stern expression. “Assault with a deadly weapon is no joke. It shouldn’t be taken lightly and neither should prison. I’ve watched you grow up on the streets, in and out of the juvenile detention center, petty crimes here and there. All of which will be sealed in your file because of your age at the time. But this, this is an entirely different game. A game for which there are no winners.”

  He shakes his head once more in emphasis. “Mark my words, Greer. If you keep playing, you will lose.”

  I stare blankly back at him, his words having no effect as they ricochet off my hardened armor. “We done here?”

  His tightened features relax, slowly transforming from frustration to concession. “You’re tough Greer. There’s no doubt about it, but you’re also smart. You could do so much more, be so much more, than this life. And as a man, that’s now your choice to make. You can either hold onto the rage that consumes you, or let it go and break free.”

  At his ridiculous delusions, I scoff. When the hell was I magically whisked away to become part of yet another fucking after school special? I’m growing increasingly weary of this same PSA and my recurring role in it every time I see Lawson.

  My eyes narrow in irritation at his assumptions. Although I typically have a certain amount of restraint when it comes to his mind-numbing lectures, tonight it seems too much for me to contain. Fury boils at the surface and the words spew sharply through my gritted teeth.

  “You don’t fucking know me, and you sure as hell don’t know my life.”

  My voice trembles as I speak and my fists clench to suppress my anger, but the heat finds its exit as it erupts along my skin. “Contrary to what you and your fucking fairytale existence have led you to believe, I am not given a choice. I’m not awarded that luxury because of what I had to do in order to survive. That was the path I was forced to take, and on that path I have no choice but to remain. Don’t come at me like you know me. Know my life. You don’t know shit.”

  His eyes remain trained on me, not once breaking away during my tirade. He watches me thoughtfully, taking in every word I speak. Once the last word leaves my mouth, his gaze remains focused while he leans into me and quietly offers, “You’re right. I don’t know your life. But I know mine and because of that, I know you do, in fact, have a choice. No one gets to pick their circumstances, Greer. The choice lies in what you do in response to them. It’s not awarded to you, but it is yours for the taking.”

  He holds my stare for approximately 2.5 more seconds for emphasis before finally turning away. No further words are spoken between us as he leads me to release processing.

  Once all my personal effects are again within my possession, I travel my usual route and exit the jail, Lawson’s speech still looming in my mind. The pain with each step begins to numb as I force myself to concentrate on his words. Yeah, it worked for a do-gooder like Lawson, the theory that I can dig my way out of this grave in which I will undoubtedly be buried—probably sooner than later. But what he doesn’t realize is that there is so much soil on my head, so much blood on my hands, there is no way
out for me now. Even fucking Hercules couldn’t tunnel his way out of the mess I’ve made of my life.

  The door slams shut behind me, and I’m greeted by the pearly white, shit-eating grin of my partner in crime, Anthony Marchione III, aka “Rat”, short for “No-Good-Hoodrat,” a name ordained to him by many a store clerk back in the day. Using his speed to his advantage, he lifted food from every corner store in the neighborhood and was pretty much the only reason I was able to eat some days. He’s still fast as lightning, and Silas uses that speed when we need to break in somewhere to grab whatever he needs.

  Rat’s thumbs are hooked in the belt loops of his frayed jeans as he approaches, and the gold chain around his neck glistens as the trademark Italian horn rests against his black thermal T-shirt. With his hazel brown eyes and olive colored complexion, the smile on his face lights up like a beacon when I head in his direction.

  “Did you tell Lawson I said hi?” he asks, laughing and moving to clap me on the shoulder. I duck out of the way to prevent the contact and wince, my body screaming from the movement.

  Rat’s face draws taut and he narrows his eyes. “Let me see your face, brother.”

  Reaching up, I thread my fingers through my hair and pin the layers covering my face against the top of my head, the length of it no longer able to obstruct the injuries. It’s at this point I notice that my right eye is now completely swollen shut, and the coppery taste of blood enters my mouth when I run my tongue lightly over the open gash in my bottom lip.

  “Motherfuckers,” Rat breathes. “What happened?”

  I shrug, releasing the hold on my hair. “After you went with Jamieson, I don’t remember much, man. I just know as soon as you left, I found myself surrounded by at least ten of his men. The rest of it is a total blur.”

  This is pretty typical actually. When I’m in my zone, I see nothing but the monsters of my past. It’s their faces that come into contact with my fists, their ribs I break, and their wrists I snap so easily, all in the name of my retribution. My payback to all those motherfuckers who felt the need to knock around a helpless child. My fucking vengeance as it reigns down upon them.

  That’s what makes me so valuable to Silas. I have no conscience when it comes to what I do. Because deep down, I know the men I beat senseless are nothing more than the same scum I feared growing up. The difference is now I’m no longer a helpless child. And I make good and goddamn sure they are aware of that fact.

  I will concede that Lawson was right about one thing. The rage. It’s always there, lying just beneath the surface, waiting for me to open the floodgates. But tonight, I had a little extra help in the rage department because this wasn’t only about my retribution. It was about Penny’s as well. My mind couldn’t escape the men in front of me knocking her tiny little body around like a rag doll. Her sweet, angelic face marred by some monster’s hand.

  That’s all the fuel I needed.

  I siphoned every bit and used it until not one of those men was left standing. I don’t even remember where the baseball bat came from, but I do know it came in handy.

  “Brother.”

  Rat’s deep voice pulls me into the present.

  “We need to go. ‘Caid wants to see you.”

  I grin inwardly. I still don’t know how we’ve managed to get away with calling the Silas Kincaid, ‘Caid over the years.

  After a relenting sigh, I reply, “Yeah, I figured.”

  Together, we turn toward the parking lot. I pull my cell out from my pocket, the cracked screen reminding me it was broken during my attempted assault.

  My eye rolls, trying to bring the other with it, which results only in a tremendous amount of pain shooting across the right side of my face.

  Rat throws me a sidelong look. “After we’re done with ‘Caid, you’re gonna need to get some ice on that. And I would lay low if I were you. You don’t want your girl poking her nose where it doesn’t belong, and she will when it comes to you.”

  I nod my agreement but say nothing. Rat and Spencer have been friends ever since the day I introduced them when we were kids, and I know he watches out for her almost as much as I do. He’s also smart enough to keep our affiliation with Silas a secret, deciding to jump in and work with me at my fictitious garage.

  “What’s up with you two, anyway?” Rat asks.

  I take a brief second to enjoy the evening air as it numbs my throbbing face before we round the corner of the police station.

  “Spencer? Nothin’ man.” I glance toward Rat to gauge his expression. His cocked brow tells me he doesn’t believe me, so I dip my head in the direction of his illegally parked Caddy to keep us moving before I reaffirm, “Nothing is going on. She’s like my little sister.”

  His head jerks back and both brows disappear behind the jet-black curls that hide his forehead. The corner of his mouth lifts into a wry smile before he barks out a laugh.

  “Dude, if I looked at my sister the way you look at Spencer—no, just no.” Shaking his head back and forth with a look of obvious disgust, he continues. “Let’s just forget I said that.”

  “You’re delusional, man. The only way I look at Spencer is like a little sister.” The last words are enunciated slowly so his highly deluded brain has time to process them. I even add hand gestures for emphasis, just in case.

  He snorts. “Right, man. Whatever you say.”

  We both stop in unison at the side of the car, before he grips the handle and grandly gestures for me to enter. I happily take him up on the offer, sliding into the passenger seat. He rounds the front of the car, then opens his own door. Just as he hits the leather, he adds, “She looks at you the same way, brother.”

  The car takes off down the street and I take in a long, deep breath of calming air. “Seriously, Rat, what’s up with this newfound obsession with my love life? Are you jealous? I mean, I know I just got out of jail, but I’m no one’s bitch. Not even yours.” My lips twitch as I add, “It’s not you, bro, it’s me.”

  We coast to a stop at a red light and he turns to face me, his green-brown eyes full of intensity I’ve rarely seen. “I’m tired of this game you play, D. I’ve been your best friend since we were six and we have literally been through hell and back, together. If I see something good for you, something to give you that piece of happiness, that home you crave, I’m going to not only point it out but call you out for being a stupid motherfucker if you can’t see it for yourself. And you are, without a doubt, being a stupid motherfucker right now.”

  I say nothing as he breaks his gaze to absently swipe the sleeve of his thermal, clearing it free of lint. He sniffs and then adds, “Plus, you’re really not my type. You’re too fuckin’ pretty.”

  Just as the light turns green, I fight the threatening smile and respond, “Shut the fuck up.”

  Rat answers with a satisfied chuckle from beside me.

  “Speaking of sisters…” I throw him a deadpan look to properly indicate the segue. “How’s Trinity?”

  He smiles genuinely, pride replacing the previous intensity as he concentrates on the road in front of us. “She’s great, man. ‘Bout to graduate, actually. She’ll be the first in our family to make it through high school.”

  Just as we pull into the all too familiar warehouse, my mouth curves upward at the corners and I nod in agreement. “That’s good, man. Real good.”

  “Yeah, well, we can’t all be geniuses like you, D. Not all of us were able to graduate from the likes of St. Louis Parochial High School.”

  I involuntarily snicker and my ribs throb in protest. I wrap my arm tightly around them. “Spencer’s mom is the only reason I was awarded that scholarship and you know it. I’m not a genius, fuckwad. ”

  He smiles as we pull into the all too familiar warehouse. “You are too. You read Aeropostale and Pluto.”

  My shoulders shake with laughter, my mind clearly ignoring the pain in favor of humor. “You mean, Aristotle and Plato?” I clarify as he throws the car into park.

  His eyes
shoot me a peeved glare. “That’s what I said.”

  Grin still intact because I know he truly believes he pronounced the names correctly, I lean forward and jerk open the door handle. “Nah. I don’t read Aristotle or Plato. Dante maybe, but that’s because I find it comforting that someone else’s Hell was worse than mine.”

  As soon as I’m standing, Rat’s door closes behind him and he makes his way to the front of the car. “But he makes it through, right? I mean, he eventually goes through Purgatory and then to Heaven.”

  One look at the surprised-as-shit look on my face and Rat snorts in response. “Cliff’s notes, man. I read one paragraph of that old, worn out book you had on your desk and it was interesting shit, but I didn’t want to spend the next twenty years of my life trying to decyber what the dude was talking about.”

  I press my lips together in yet another attempt not to smile. “Decipher?”

  “Right,” his hazel brown eyes narrow impatiently. “That’s what I said.”

  We begin to walk side-by-side. “I can see why you read it,” Rat continues, “but I like to think we’ve already made it through our hell and we’re just kind of chillin’ in Purgatory for now.”

  Once we reach the door to enter the warehouse, Rat yanks it open. I shove my hands in my pockets, answering as I pass him by, “Yeah. You just keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll even get a pass to Heaven.”

  “You never know, brother. You never know.”

  The door closes me into a narrow hallway, confirming that we are indeed not in Purgatory. Because as we travel its length, slowly entering the ninth circle of my own personal Hell, I know it’s only a matter of time before I come face-to-face with Satan himself.

  OUR BOOT COVERED FEET pounding on the cement floors are the only sounds in the hallway as we make our way to Silas’s office. Two left turns and a set of stairs later, we finally reach our destination. Taking our seats in front of his desk, I eye Juan, his number two, as he stands next to our boss like the loyal puppy that he is. With his slicked back hair and beady black eyes, he glares at me from across the room, looking ever the henchman. His black blazer is stretched to full capacity as he crosses his arms behind his back, his gaze never leaving mine. In fact, it’s not until Silas mumbles something inaudible that he breaks away, nodding briskly before leaving his post and passing my chair on the way out. The door shuts quietly behind him, and we watch as the back of the chair we’ve been staring at slowly turns, finally revealing the man in question.