Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 74
There’s a long pause at the other end of the call, which gives me a small sense of satisfaction. Hildy’s not very good at this sort of thing, evident from the debacle at the Mexican restaurant the other day.
“Sorry, what?” she tries to buy more time.
I roll my eyes and continue my meandering path through the kitchen, “Have you talked to Bowen today?”
“No, not yet. He might’ve been over near Dayton this afternoon.”
As if you wouldn’t know. You run his schedule, Miss Director of Operations…
“And hey,” Hildy changes the subject, “I’m sorry I brought up all that stuff at dinner the other night. I should’ve asked if you wanted to talk about it first.”
I furrow my eyebrows and stare across the floor. As awkwardly as I left that restaurant, it’s odd that Hildy’s not angry with me for spilling the beans about Bowen’s engagement to Emily and Leona’s shitty response to it. Then again, maybe she can’t be angry with me right now…
“Don’t worry about it,” I reassure her, “there’s just…a lot going on right now. And…” I swirl my finger along the countertop, “I had an argument with Bowen last night.”
“What about?” Hildy’s voice hitches in concern.
When I glance at Barrett, she’s watching me with baited breath.
“A few things…,” I sigh, keeping my voice serene, “it got kind of ugly. He left before I got up, and I haven’t talked to him at all today.”
“I told you he can be an asshole,” Hildy reassures, “you can’t tell him shit sometimes, but he always figures it out and makes it right again.”
“How long does he usually stay mad? I…” God, it’s hard to think on my feet, “I guess I’ve just been avoiding him…because I don’t want things to be awkward…” All the same, I need to find out how much Hildy knows and where Bowen is.
“Honestly, Brett, I wouldn’t worry about it. Bowen loves you, and once he’s all in, he’s all in. He might’ve been angry last night, but it’s not like he’s going anywhere.”
Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.
“He’s committed,” Hildy continues, “it’s like when you all met—I told him that calling up some rando girl he saw walking by the lake was a bad idea, and now look!”
My eyes round and my face falls, “The lake?” I blink in astonishment, “What did you say?”
Everything goes silent. A few seconds later, there’s a shuffle on the other end of the call and a muted voice in the background. And before another lie can be spoken, I end the call.
Thanks for calling the wrong number last night…
And Hildy knew the entire time.
If I didn’t still feel like I needed to be on my guard, I’d be downing the rest of Barrett’s bottle of Town Branch right now. But, instead, I’m perched on her sofa, debating what to do next. Dragging my hand down my face in revulsion, I raise my phone and continue texting Colson.
ME (9:13PM): Bowen came here tonight.
COLSON (9:13PM): I know he did.
ME (9:14PM): How do you know he did??
COLSON (9:15PM): Because I saw it. Barrett’s smart for not opening the door.
ME (9:15PM): Don’t you have hobbies? Do you ever watch movies? Btw, we also found a GPS hidden under my car. That’s how he knew I was here.
COLSON (9:16PM): I’ll watch a movie with you tomorrow night. Because you’re coming here.
I would argue with Colson, like usual, but this time I can’t. And neither can Barrett. As angry as it makes her, she knows I can’t stay here much longer.
The GPS tracker is sitting two feet away from me on the ottoman, its blue light still blinking. We decide to leave it alone for the time being. Bowen already knows I’m here, and turning it off seems like it might exacerbate an already unstable situation. Barrett might be feisty, but she’s no match for an angry Bowen Garrison—neither of us are. And he wasn’t angry when he came to Barrett’s house looking for me.
He was hunting.
The same way he’s hunting when he finally sends me a text the next afternoon while I’m carefully packing all my stuff—what’s left of it—back into my duffel bag.
BOWEN (3:37PM): Brett, I’m so sorry for everything. I just need to hear your voice and know you’re safe. If you want, I’ll get you your own place until you’re ready to come home. I never meant to hurt you. I love you so damn much and I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right with you.
I start to type, but make myself stop. I know he sees it; the three little dots moving up and down, starting, then stopping…
It goes on like that for another 15 minutes or so.
Maybe I do still love Bowen to some extent, or at least part of him. As soon as I read his text, my stomach flutters with both horror and excitement and I have the overwhelming urge to see him. But it doesn’t last, because I know exactly what will happen if I go back to that house.
As soon as he looks at me with that intoxicating smile of his, I won’t be able to remember why I was angry. He’ll wrap his muscular arms around me and lift me in the air, hold me against him, and when he kisses me, it’ll be so intense that I’ll forget everything just long enough.
But I can’t forget. I have to remember. Because I know better.
One half-assed pseudo-apology can’t erase years of true crime binges and high school modules about dating violence and dorm bathrooms plastered with numbers for sexual assault and domestic violence hotlines. It can’t erase that night. It can’t erase the new terror unlocked for another decade—maybe longer.
My blood runs so cold I feel like a porcelain doll that could shatter at any moment. There won’t be a next time because I’ll be fucking dead.
I can’t go back. Ever again.
Barrett sinks down onto the cushion next to me, glancing over my arm at Bowen’s text. She took the day off—family emergency—to make sure I’m constantly in her line of sight. I don’t know how I managed to fall asleep last night. Maybe it was sleeping in Barrett’s bed behind two locked doors. Or maybe it was pure exhaustion from cowering in terror the previous night. Eventually, the adrenaline abates and you crash. But, either way, I needed it.
“I don’t blame you for second-guessing,” she motions to my phone, “it sounds pretty good.”
“You’d think so, if any of it was true. But I know he’s lying,” I slide the phone onto the ottoman, “because Bowen’s never sorry for anything.”
“I still hate the idea of you leaving,” she shoots me a concerned glance, “and going to Colson’s.”
“I know. But where else do I go for now that doesn’t put you or anyone else at risk? Bowen knows where you all live.” Both our gazes shift to the black box on the ottoman, lit up like a bomb waiting to detonate.
“I agree, we’re out of options. It’s just…” Barrett scoffs and looks away, “Colson fucking Lutz,” she smiles bitterly to herself.
I lean in, looming over her shoulder with a devious grin, “You could threaten him,” I waggle my eyebrows at her, “tell him if he makes one wrong move, you’ll sicc Dacia Ferguson on him.”
Barrett throws her head back in a fit of laughter, cackling up to the vaulted ceiling. A few moments later, after finally composing herself, she swipes her finger under her eye to wipe away a tear.
“OK, be honest Brett,” she clasps her hands over her knee, “do you trust Colson?”
“Yes.” The answer tumbles out of my mouth much quicker than I thought it would.
Barrett gazes at my duffel bag and work tote, packed and ready to go next to the ticking time bomb. Then she turns to me gravely, her eyes filled with trepidation.
“But should you?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Colson
High School
I loved the dark before, but now it’s what I live for. Because now it’s not just about partying and girls and racing in the dead of night with only headlights to guide our way. Now, it’s about making Bowen’s life a living hell as long as he’s still walking around a free man.
Since law enforcement isn’t going to do their job, the Dire Wolves will. The soccer season is over and we need something to do, so we’re going hunting. And it’s open season for murderers.
I don’t show Mason, Alex, Aiden, or anyone else the video, but I tell them what’s on it. Bowen’s crusted blood is still smeared across my knuckles when I tell them what Evie said about Bowen the day she disappeared. I tell them about the pole building and her grave site and every sick thing he ever said about her. And, after that, they all agree he needs to pay, and we’ll be the ones to bring her justice if no one else will.
“They don’t know us,” Mason scoffs, “they can’t arrest all of us if we don’t talk.”
This is the first time he’s smiled since we found Evie. He’s become hard and prickly, usually staring off into space like he’s deep in thought. He’s probably thinking about that morning in the woods more often than he should. But I’m the same way, I can’t get her out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about that dank, rusted pipe, the dark sludgy water, and what Bowen turned her into.
Mason’s always been more reasonable and laid back than I am, but not anymore. After I finish telling them about Bowen, he leans back on the tailgate of his truck and empties his beer in one gulp, that same pensive look on his face, which tells me he’s already thinking of fun ways to fuck with Bowen, and I know he won’t let me down.
The first few times, we start out more subtle; showing up wherever Bowen is, watching him from a distance, and making sure he knows it. But, tonight, we all have an itch to scratch.
“You don’t have to talk to the police, no matter what they say,” Aiden pushes an oversized furry, white rabbit head over his face, “if you’re not under arrest, get up and leave. And if you are, say you want a lawyer and shut your mouth.” He would know, he was the last one of us to see the inside of an interrogation room at the Canaan Police Department.
Wells Rhinehardt showed up at the Raffertys’ doorstep the night after Evie’s funeral and took Aiden in to be questioned—for murder. It’s not the first time Wells has showed up just to be a pain in the ass, but after what happened between Jay, Sydney, Hildy, and Aiden before Evie’s murder, Wells has been trying to nail him for something and probably hoping for a promotion out of it.
“Did something happen with Evie’s hair?” Aiden asks me the next time I see him.
“Why?” I ask, acutely aware that nobody except the police and a few select family members know the gruesome details of her death.
“Because they kept asking me about it, implying that I should know—like I did something to it. Probably because of Syd…” A smarmy grin creeps over Aiden’s face as he silently recalls his last encounter with Jay Rhinehardt.
Bowen knows what happened to Jay…to Sydney…and then to Hildy…
“It’d be pretty convenient for Bowen if he made it look like you butchered Evie’s hair before killing her,” I hold Aiden’s gaze, confirming his assumption without saying it.
“I’ll get them, one day,” he nods to himself, “I’ll get all of them. Every last one of them.”
And I believe him.
After jamming his head into his furry rabbit mask, Aiden turns to us with a shimmy, making his ears wag back and forth. On any other night, he’d look ridiculous, but given the circumstances, he looks downright deranged. Which is great, because tonight, we’re ratcheting up our game.
It’s Dire Ridge’s prom night, but we have other plans. We’re driving around, packed into Mason’s old Chevy Avalanche, except all of us look like we’re on our way to a horror movie convention. Half of us wear neck gaiters or balaclavas with black hoodies, but there’s a hockey mask, a Michael Myers, a Purge mask, and Aiden’s tall, lanky ass in his rabbit head. It’s a balmy evening, but the wind whipping around us keeps the sweat at bay.
We’ve already hit up two places, searching for Bowen, when Mason stops for gas. Rory and Josh almost get wasted by Al, who owns the Sunoco in Hellbranch, when they forget to take off their masks and he pulls a shotgun on them as soon as they walk through the door. But they want beer, and Al is notorious in three counties for selling to minors, so he gets over it pretty quickly.
Alex has been on his phone all night, distracted and texting a goddamn novel while sitting in the bed of the pickup.
This time, when he pulls out his phone, I glance over his shoulder, “Who the hell have you been talking to?”
He flinches, startling me in the process, and then turns it face down, “Uh, um…” he stammers, messing with his disheveled black hair. After a moment, he looks at me awkwardly, “Dallas.”
“Dallas?” I blurt out. “Since when do you talk to her?”
Alex shifts uncomfortably, swinging the strap of his Purge mask around his finger, “I saw her at lunch one day and she was really upset, so I started talking to her and she mentioned that she games, and I told her so do I, and then she asked if I wanted to play sometime. So, we started gaming together.”
“Gaming?” I arch my brow, “You’ve been gaming with Dallas?” I’m intrigued, “What do you play?”
“We started out playing Destiny and Dark Souls,” Alex hesitates for a moment, “now, it’s mostly just Tomb Raider,” he says flatly.
I furrow my brow in confusion, “Do they even have multiplayer for that anymore?”
“Not really,” he mutters, “Dallas just does single player. She likes the old games anyway.”
“So, then how do you play together?”
Alex just looks at me with the same uncomfortable look, leaning away slightly like he’s trying to avoid a rattlesnake.
“Wait,” I narrow my eyes, “you watch her play it?”
“It’s her favorite,” his eyes widen as he tries to justify himself, “and she’s really good!”
“I bet she is,” I say with a roll of my eyes, “do you have to ask for a turn?” I laugh, but then stop short. “But where?” I squint in confusion, “I don’t see you at my house.”
Alex tries to maintain eye contact, but they keep darting away.
I clench my jaw as the realization hits, “Your house?” I growl, “You live with your brothers! How the fuck does she get there, Alex? She can’t even drive, she’s only fifteen!” I’m about two seconds from lunging for his throat.
Aiden and Mason glance over from the pump, drawn to the commotion.
Alex is on the brink of panic, “No, dude, it’s not even like that!”
“Then why don’t you tell me what it is like?” I glower at him.
“She’s never been to my house, I swear!” he confesses with an exasperated huff, “I’ve only seen her at your house. Seriously, you just don’t know about it.”
I peer at him from the shadow of my hoodie, “So, you sneak into my house just to sit in Dallas’s room and watch her play Tomb Raider?”
Alex shrugs, “Yeah.”
“And that’s it?” I clarify with an edge in my voice.
“Yeah.”
This is too weird, even for me. “Why?” I ask with genuine curiosity.
Alex’s face softens when he realizes I’m not about to beat him senseless, “It makes her feel better. She says everyone acts weird around her now, even her friends. Like they’re afraid to talk to her.”
I rub my hands up and down my face, “Why didn’t you just tell me instead of sneaking around my house like a fucking creep?”
“Dallas told me not to,” Alex cracks a smile, “she said she doesn’t need you being all up in her business. I think she feels stifled.”
I arch my brow, “You do, huh?”
I don’t know whether to laugh or punch him in the face. I can barely keep a straight face at the thought of Alejandro Barrera, who wears Ariats with his soccer uniform and cusses people out in Spanish on a regular basis, being ordered around by Dallas and sitting in her Pepto Bismol bedroom while he watches her play Tomb Raider for hours on end.
“Jesus Christ…” I let my head fall with a laugh, “this just keeps getting better.”
“Are you mad?” he asks, “because if you are—” I start shaking my head because I know what he’s about to say.
He’s too good of a friend to lie to me, even if he does sneak into my house to see my sister. He’s about to offer to break the whole thing off, but I can’t ask him to do that, especially right now. What do I care if Alex wants to spend his time with Dallas, especially if it makes her feel any shred of happiness right now? He’s not like Aiden…
“No, I’m not mad. I’d rather you keep an eye on her anyway…” I trail off, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Bowen threatened her,” I spit out.
Alex jerks his head up, “What?”
“Yeah,” I nod, “that’s why I split his head open at the funeral, because he can’t keep his damn mouth shut.” When I look up, Mason and Aiden are leaning against the side of the truck, hanging onto every word. “I don’t know that he’s ever spoken to her, but he still knows who she is. You’ll be here until summer, and I’m not going far…”
I’m trying to convince myself it’s not as bad as it seems, that there will still be a few of us around to keep an eye on Dallas.
I shoot Alex a look and lower my voice, “Seriously, don’t fuck this up. You don’t lay a finger on her and if I ever see her crying over you, you’ll be the next one I come for with the rest of these assholes.”
He holds my eyes and gives a nod just as Rory and Josh return with a case of beer. And as soon as they jump in the truck, we take off with a third place in mind.
As soon as we swing around the curve at the top of the old railroad bridge, my heart pounds with excitement when Bowen’s white Lancer comes into view. There’s a fevered buzz and a wave of menacing laughter as Mason skids to a halt at the entrance of the overlook and his headlights flood the clearing with light.
I jump down from the bed of the truck and can’t help but laugh as four of them race ahead of me, itching to get going.
“Wakey, wakey!” they surround the Lancer, pounding on the trunk and windows.
