Chapter 5

- Get the hell out of here! Learn to answer for yourself!

He does not retreat, and the second piece of gravel hits his shin, making him yelp.

- What did I say? Disappear, brat!

Matt clears out, but before he leaves, he boldly flips us off, and I like what I see in his eyes when he does it.

- That little Palmer is going to ask for it one day! - Nick gets angry. - He was told clearly: stay inside! Why the hell did he crawl out? I swear, Carter, if Lucas does not care, next time I will shove that middle finger up his ass myself! I am not putting up with little punks sticking it in my face!

- Cool it, Nick.

But my friend jumps to his feet and yells after the kid:

- You hear me, asshole? If I see that one more time, you will be picking your nose with a stump!

I tug my friend by the T-shirt, and he drops back down beside me on the crate.

- Sick of this... - he keeps hissing viciously.

- Leave him alone, Holt! - I raise my voice. - It was not curiosity that drove him out here, it was a sense of danger. He does not like all of this. At least one Palmer has a head on his shoulders!

- So what? - Nicholas jerks a shoulder. - Who asked him?

- No one. But maybe he is the one who will someday crawl out of the shit his father shoved him into first, and Chris is shoving him into now! You really think Matt is going to sleep tonight?

A police patrol flashes by on the road, and I stand up. I raise my voice, addressing my friends:

- Wrap it up in there, Lou! Nick! Time to go!

Holt and I go through the garage door and pass the fumbling couple through the side bay into the main one, where there is a Dodge with a broken headlight and a deep dent in the fender, then head to the outside exit. Once we are on the street, we wait for Lucas and Tilda by Nick's and my motorcycles.

Lucas looks a lot like his brother: the same height, dark curly hair, and round black eyes. He is much thinner than Christian, but in the wide leather jacket it is not so noticeable. Besides, in September evening falls earlier already, and I hope the lack of resemblance can be hidden. For anyone who accidentally remembers his name, it will be hard in the future to tell the brothers apart even under oath, and this seems like a good way to cover the older Palmer's ass at least a little, since he did not think of it himself.

When Lucas and Tilda finally come out of the garage, I explain the assignment to the blonde. Despite her mercenary nature, the girl has brains. And teeth.

- Baby, we are going to take a ride around Sandfield Rock and drop into a few crowded places. You will have to hang on Lucas like a leech and call him Chris until he goes deaf and believes it himself. Got it?

She tugs her short dress down over her hips and fixes her blond, dyed hair, which has bunched up at the back of her head. She smiles defiantly, touching the tip of her tongue to the edge of her sly lips.

- Can't I hang on you instead, handsome? I wouldn't mind.

I take the short leather jacket thrown over the motorcycle seat and put it on. Pull my keys from my jeans pocket and slide them into the ignition.

- No. I hate clinging. It suffocates me.

Tilda lets out a little laugh and suddenly remarks, letting her gaze slide over my groin:

- I figured that out, Wright. And even if you did not want me today, I still remember exactly how you prefer to make love.

She does not have time to finish. The last word is still hanging in the air when the cold is already locking my chest and squeezing my throat.

Everything that might be connected to that fucking feeling makes me recoil, but more than anything, it is the clever look on the blonde's face, as if she has forgotten who she is dealing with.

I sharply grab her weak wrist and yank her toward me, clenching my jaw.

Tilda rightly senses she has said the wrong thing, and the girl goes pale.

- C-Carter, sorry! - she babbles, her voice growing quieter as my eyes come closer. - I didn't mean...

- Then shut up, Strong! Preferably on your own. Unless you want me to help!

The guys have already started their motorcycles and are waiting for us. I shove Tilda away, put on my helmet, and get on my black Ducati. Knocking it off the stand, I start the engine and nod shortly toward Palmer.

- What are you waiting for? Get on with Chris. The night will be long! And until I say otherwise, forget Lucas exists!

- Oh! - Tilda catches on quickly, showing her teeth again. - Got it!

- Lucas?

- Yeah? - my friend answers, handing the blonde the second helmet.

- You will have to talk to Matthew. Today you stayed home with him. And even if you die tonight, tomorrow morning you had better be at Hurley's practice.

- Is that all, Wright? - my friend smiles.

- No, there is one more thing. When you get back, tell Christian he is a fucking stupid bastard.

We ride past the police department and honk at two cops patrolling the area. We hang around the beach, where there are still plenty of people; we stop at a roadside diner we have never been to before and behave loudly but peacefully.

Tilda and Lucas play a couple in love, and the girl improvises brilliantly when she suddenly gets jealous of "Chris" over one of the waitresses and stages a tearful fight with him...

Late in the evening, the four of us arrive at the Bluff, a place in Sandfield Rock on a cliff facing the ocean, where the forest presses close and young people like to gather if they want to get away from curious eyes. We stop in a semicircle in the headlights' glow and cut the engines.

Ray Walberg's crowd is here tonight. Cars and motorcycles stand around, a fire burns not far from the cliff edge, and silhouettes move to the music. The party is in full swing, and Rammstein is roaring from Bluetooth speakers at full blast.

These guys are older than us, but we were all born in this town and have known Ray for a long time, so some couple keeps having sex on one of the hoods, paying no attention to us. Ray himself is kissing a long-haired girl, gripping a can of beer in one hand and her ass in the other.

At last he tears himself away from what he is doing and greets us with a wave, taking a generous swallow from the can.

- Hey, Wright! What, decided to air yourself out? Didn't you wander a little far?

To avoid shouting over the music, I have to come closer and shake his hand.

- Hey, Walberg. Something like that.

- You lose something here?

I look at his girl, and with a firm slap low on her backside, he sends her toward the fire.

- Julia, baby, go take a walk! I will be right there!

A crooked smile appears on Ray's broad face, and I answer with the same. He has probably noticed Christian's brother, whom he does not get along with, and guessed we are here for a reason.

I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and shrug:

- Maybe. How about a strong joint? They say you are a master roller now and bought up all the rolling papers in town. So I decided to ask if that was true.

- Who says?

There is no point beating around the bush. I have long suspected Ray not only smokes weed himself but sells it too, so I smile crookedly.

- I do.

We stand alone, Nick and Lucas behind us, and look at each other.

After a minute, I think I should add:

- My pockets are full of surprises, Ray. You won't like them.