I'm impressed.

The old Amy Kay would've caved. Would've jumped at a chance to reason our way out of this.

This new woman I'm dealing with is feisty. A fighter. Sick and tired of being flattened by life to the point where she's immune to its utter bullshit.

And right now, that bullshit is me.

She's in a familiar place. Familiar because none of us know where this is going. This uncharted territory is full of sharks.

I see it instantly. She's in there, re-living the same hole I've squatted in for years, building Cryptic into an empire, planning for this day.

It's finally come. I'm using the time and money and will to make my darkest dreams a hellish reality for one deserving fuck: Jace Chenocott.

I planned so carefully. Spent so many long nights probing underworld classifieds for guys willing to dig, get their hands dirty, and not ask questions. I made my hires, I put plans into motion, and I bided my time.

But fuck, I never planned for this.

Never factored in an elevator mishap from hell.

Never imagined running into her, face-to-face, igniting a fury in my blood I hoped I'd never feel again.

It's in her, too. The same rush. Same frightening, magnetic, self-destructive pull roping our hearts together. And I'm afraid those ropes are a whole lot stronger than any hate, any fear, or any common sense.

Shit.

The fact that I'm standing here, risking everything just to see her, says how much I've changed since the last time I was here to fuck the love of my life.

That love hates me now. The cold warrior I thought I'd become, replacing the stupid kid, is telling me to walk the hell away while the going is good.

Finish it. Finish Jace. Finish everything and fucking leave before there's collateral damage strewn all over our lives.

I'd be a fool not to listen. But a deeper, darker part of me says I'd be an even bigger fool to let this go.

I step up, closer to the house. Lifting my branch again, I tap-tap-tap at regular intervals. Just like a damn woodpecker, drumming in the night.

I need to talk to her.

Just destroying Jace isn't enough.

Not while I know Amy Kay, Maxwell, and Ophelia are standing by, thinking I've lost my mind. Thinking the worst of me – pretty much the norm for years.

Why the fuck do I suddenly care? Why the need to clear my name when I told myself it'd be enough just to watch Jace fall face-down in flames?

Why isn't hit and run good enough anymore?

One answer: Precious.

The only way I'll ever figure this out, and un-fuck myself, is hidden behind the same thick glass she once threw open for me, surrendering her sweetness. I keep tapping that branch on the glass for what seems like forever.

Don't even stop for rest. If I annoy her enough, she'll have to let me in.

Or she'll finally bring down the hell I probably deserve.

It's already loose in my blood: the rage I feel every time I pinch my jaw, the hard-on I keep wishing wasn't there, the maelstrom in my head that's blown my cold, calculating master plan to Jupiter and back.

I focus my thoughts, the same thing over and over.

Come the hell on, Amy Kay. Open up.

Open up!

Let's talk this stupid shit out.

Open the fuck up. Let's get this out of our systems.

Out of mine.

Open –

I can't feel my arms through the numbing burn. Maybe another reason I'm shocked for the second time tonight when her window pops open. I throw the branch down and wait for the screaming threats.

She never sticks her head out. The window hangs open, the world inside silent and waiting.

I scamper up the tree like a monkey, carefully stepping into her room. Can't stop my jaw from hanging open.

Fuck.

Her room hasn't changed a bit. Same décor. Same little desk in the corner. Same bed where we quietly tangled bodies, working young flesh to ecstasy.

Fuck again.

I remember how her moans poured into me. How they choked down my own guttural pleasure. How hard I came, her clenched to every inch of me, pulling pure fire from my balls.

That was us, an eternity ago, before everything went hurling to hell.

Tonight, there's just me. She's gone.

“Amy?” Her name comes out in a harsh whisper.

A second later, the world goes blinding red. It's like my skull explodes from the inside out, motion and pain blurring together. Then everything spins and my knees give out.

I go down. Hit the floor, too messed up to even swear, or remember what a stupid desperate asshole I am for coming up here.

* * *

“Trent? Trent?! Oh my God.” There's an angel whispering my name.

I wonder if I'm dead or dreaming, staring up at her face, soft and pink and panicked. Also, suddenly looking at me like my presence isn't akin to finding dog crap in her slippers.

I think she's shaking me. Lightly. Somehow, it takes longer than it should for my arm to register the weight of her touch.

“What...” I stagger up in a sitting position, and instantly regret it. My temple throbs.

There's something hard and wrong on the side of my head. My senses work again. Reaching up, I touch my fingers against the tender lump rising on my skin and whistle softly. “Goddamn, Amy Kay. What'd you...oh.”

My eyes adjust to the darkness. I see her fall back against the bed, those green eyes so bright, fingers cupped around a dense ceramic mug.

“I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear. Just wanted to scare you away, is all. I thought you'd leave after a good whack. Maybe you'd just jump back down the tree and beat it.”

“You thought a little bump on the noggin would make me think twice about bleeding the truth?” Pretty fucked up I'm smiling. Even worse I won't consider leaving. Not without releasing the words I've worked so hard to put in her ear.

She shakes her head. I can't tell if she's impressed or disgusted.

Both, maybe.

“You're insane. If there's no concussion, here's what'll happen: I'll help you up, lead you down the stairs, and send you out the front door before anybody else wakes up. Surely, you've got a car parked out there, or a driver or something? I'll call you a taxi if you don't. Or if that won't do, an ambulance.”

“You assaulted me, Presh, and now you're giving orders?” A vicious laugh sticks in my throat. “Who the hell are you? Sometimes I wonder if I'm looking at the same beautiful woman with big dreams and bigger sass I had years ago. Or if you're her evil twin.”

Her face sours. “Things change. After what you did to Jace, to dad, I ought to just keep you here until the police show up. Maybe you'd drop this crap you're pulling so we don't press charges.”

Dad? Frowning, I try to stand up, but it's too soon.

“What's wrong with Maxwell?” I ask. A split second later, my ass crashes back on the floor, winning a sympathetic look I'm not sure I want.

“The usual. He's worried to death. Sick to his stomach, finding out the truth about my stupid fucking brother.” She blinks. It lasts a little longer than it should, like she doesn't want to wake up and face the cold reality. “Don't fight me on this, Trent. Please. You've done enough damage. Knowing the why, hearing it from your lips, won't change a thing. It's too late.”

“Wrong.” Soon as I say the word, strength flows back in my body. I'm able to reach out, grab her hand, fish the mug away from her.

Once it's a safe distance away, I put my other hand on hers, grateful she isn't fighting. “Just hear me out, Precious. That's all I'll ever want. Hell, if I'm still the bad guy to you, then here's what I'll do: turn around, leave for Oregon, and call off my dogs. I'll let that bastard-prick stumble through his divorce a free man. His pride won't be the same, or his future. Still, if you'll just listen, I might think twice about bringing down the house. Throw me a damn bone.”

Her eyes go wide, and then narrow. “You're telling me there's more? Like you haven't already done enough?”

It sounds ludicrous. But Jace is the man who won't have his life completely ruined hemorrhaging money, a career, his woman. He can still slink away with a few million to his name, locked up in a trust nobody else can touch, plus a few toys, unless I set them on fire, too.

“I'm a total fool for not dumping it sooner, Amy Kay. Like when we were stuck that long, hellish night.” It seems like the elevator malfunction happened a hundred years ago rather than just last week. “I have to get this out. If I do, you'll finally understand. You'll know why I put my life on the line a second time to help mother karma find her target. You'll get why I want to skin him alive.”

She slumps against the bed, jerking her hand out of mine. “If I say no again, I know you'll never leave. Fine. Let's get this over with, asshole. Out with it.”

* * *

I wake up in Heaven.

Seeing my green-eyed sleeping beauty curled next to me, naked as the day she was born, is the best damn sight in the universe.

My dick goes hard, ready for a proper wake up call. Even after we fucked five times, late into the night, it's still not enough.

I haven't begun to own this woman, to make every inch of her mine.

Perfectly, completely, unforgettably mine.

There's a small mark from a hickey above her left breast. A vicious pride puts a smile on my face, remembering how hard, how deep, how good we went at it the night before.

So fucking good.

I've barely begun to have her all the ways I will. Still know I'll never get sick of her.

Not after years sharing the same bed.

Not after thousands of times ending in her screaming my name.

Not after walking through hell for one more piece of her.

I hold her close, loving how she sighs, still lost in hazy dreams. Pressing my lips to her ear, I let it come out. All of it and then some.

“You're so fucking beautiful, darling. And I was an idiot to run, even if I had a good reason. I'm never leaving you again. Not after seeing you naked and perfect and peaceful like this. You're the only woman I'll ever love, Presh. You were made for me. Only girl I'll stand to wear my name, my ring, my everything. Watch me wife the hell out of you.” My cheeks go red hot as the scalding words slip out.

Am I really doing this? Pouring my heart out? I am. While she's asleep.

Don't know if she hears a single word. Doesn't matter. I've made my confession and someday soon I'll say it to her face. After we're engaged, without another care in the world except how happy we'll be.

Now, it's time. I roll away with one more kiss on her neck. I stagger into the bathroom attached to her room.

My stomach growls while I take a leak. The thirst isn't far behind.

We've got this place to ourselves. What will it hurt to walk down there, brew some coffee, and then scrounge us up breakfast?

I march into the kitchen and start pawing through cabinets like a starving bear. Maxwell's stash of fancy coffee beans teases my nose through the bag.

No sooner than I'm reaching for the grinder, I see movement outside the huge window overlooking the Chenocott's slice of the Seattle shore.

A figure. He – at least I think it's a he – stoops down by the rocky crop of beach adjacent to the boathouse. There's a shovel in his hand, methodically smoothing a rough patch of dirt, patting it even. His boot kicks several more heavy black rocks over the top, head twisting side to side.

Weird is an understatement.

My stomach rolls. Adrenaline spikes my blood. My pulse quickens.

Something very wrong is happening here.

I briefly wonder if it's a servant, a gardener, some contractor doing late season landscaping before summer melts into autumn. But no one should be creeping around like this, suspicious as hell in that oversized black hoodie.

“Fuck,” I whisper, wondering if this is the price for such an incredible night.

I drop the bag of beans on the counter and stomp to the wall, ready to grab the phone and call the police. Then the figure turns, showing me the back of his hoodie, and I see familiar white letters.

It's a local band, some post-grunge Nirvana throwback popular in the clubs downtown and on campus.

Jace.

Pursing my lips, I slam the phone back in its cradle, and open the door. Seems like it takes forever to cross the massive expanse of their three level deck, tethering the staircase to ground level. Then I'm off, bolting across the acres stretching to the coast.

I catch Jace mid-way while he's walking toward the house. He immediately looks startled, knowing I'm not supposed to be here.

Too bad. I don't intend to start on why, and I definitely don't want to disturb my beautiful, naked Presh upstairs, still dreaming sweetly in the sheets.

“Usher? What the fuck?” There's something else on his face.

Alarm. Suspicion. Worry.

“Took the words right out of my mouth, bro. What're you doing here? Dropping by while Maxwell's preoccupied in the woods?”

I don't like how his eyes shift around.

It's the look of a guilty man, pretending to make eye contact but actually avoiding it. “Yeah. Mom missed a few shirts I really like when she had Amy Kay bring my clothes out to your place a while back.”

Total lie. Ophelia's a meticulous woman. And there's nothing truthful in his weak-ass tone. “You lose your shirts out back then? Were they floating down the coast or something?” I nod toward the spot where I saw him digging.

Not sure what he's done with the shovel. It's gone, along with any sign he was out there digging, except for the sand stuck to his rubber boots. It's an oversized pair of fisherman's wear he must've borrowed from the boathouse.

“Well?” I press him through the silence.

Jace's eyes bug out. I've never seen anyone honestly lost for words before.

His head drops, but only for a second. When he looks up, there's an odd excitement in his eyes.

“Shit. Listen, man...what if I told you we don't have to spend the next year holding our dicks, begging angel investors or writing congressman for research grants?”

I cock my head, not saying a word.

“I've found an awesome way to give our company a huge shot in the arm by Christmas. I wasn't sure if you'd like it at first, but since you're out here...come on.”

“Jace!” I call after him, but there's no slowing him down.

Fuck. He turns, takes off, urging me to follow.

I expect him to lead us to the stretch of shore where I caught him digging. Instead, he turns into the boathouse, giving me a sly wink as he unlocks the door. “Need to shake these things off, anyway,” he says, stomping grey sand off his boots.

We step inside, stopping next to the hulking Wilkie. It's a little older, more worn than when we took it out years ago. Still brings a smile to my face, remembering my first kiss with Amy Kay at the controls. Plus last night's many hotter kisses.

“Give me a sec,” Jace says. Shaking his boots off and throwing them against the wall noisily reminds me why we're here, and I don't fucking like it.

There's a large chest in the corner, probably stuffed with life jackets and spare boating gear. He slips back into his shoes and then walks over, undoes the lock, and throws it open. Whatever I expected inside, it's not a briefcase.

My guts knot. He's coming toward me, the mystery briefcase slapping his thigh, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “Just so you know, I was waiting for the right time to let the cat out of the bag. And this cat's a fucking tiger, bro. Check it out.”

I can't help but stiffen, standing over his shoulder, while he stoops down and undoes the clasp. The thing pops. My eyeballs almost burst from my head.

It's full of cash. More than I've seen in my life. Bright, crisp, forest green money.

Everywhere.

“This is...how much...Jace...what the fuck?” I clutch his shoulder, demanding answers as much as I need support so I don't fall over.

He turns, shooting me a devilish grin. “Four hundred thousand, or pretty damn close. Been scrounging it up since May. All those long nights where I'm sleeping till two or three in the evening? It's not just shaking off pussy and beer. Been working like a fiend.”

Working? It can't be a normal summer job.

Millionaire family with deep connections or not, no ordinary trade pays a hundred thousand a month in cash.

“Jace...” I want to nail him with a hundred questions.

I'm still speechless when he stands, and slaps me on the shoulder. “Impressed? I thought so. Bet you've got that big brain going, figuring out all the ways we'll turn this shit into millions. Our own empire, Usher. Rich as sin before we're twenty-five. Think of the world class ass hanging out limos that'll buy.”

My eyes jerk to his. Shaking my head, I finally growl it out, “Tell me what, and how. Right the fuck now, Jace. You're freaking me out.”

I desperately want him to say it's not something illegal, as unlikely as that seems.

His chin tilts, no doubt studying my horrified expression. I can't even hide it because wherever this money came from, I know I won't like the answer.

“Oh, yeah. That part. Kinda the reason I didn't tell you from the get-go. Look, before I say anything, you've got to know what would've happened if I hadn't decided to strike out on my own.”

My stare is pure ice.

“I'm not as stupid as you think,” he continues. “Let me spell it out for you: we'd have muddled through our last couple years in college, working our balls off, lucky to land more than a few measly thousand. Hardly enough. We'd take on huge fucking loans, or else we'd go to dad with our tails tucked between our legs. My old man might've given us the money, sure. Then we'd owe him every penny, but that's under normal circumstances.”

“Normal?” God help me, I can't stop growling.

“Yeah. Normal, that's what dad would do. I don't know how Senator Maxwell Chenocott would treat us. Hell, there might be a law or something stopping him from investing in our company.” His voice drips sarcasm, wrinkling his nose. “Hey, dude, quit looking at me like I've lost my mind. You know every word I'm saying is true.”

True or not, it changes nothing. “Where'd you get the money, Jace? Where?”

“Shit, Trent, give me some fucking credit,” he says, ignoring my question. “I'm looking out for us, our company, our future. Because as loaded as I am, politics changes everything. So does having a straight edge prick for a father who'd rather throw me under the bus than believe I'll ever claw my ass up to his level.”

“Jesus, dude. That's what this is about? Your ego?” There's no use hitting below the belt line, but my filter is off. “You still haven't answered my question. Jace, where?”

His dark green eyes look like pond scum in the dim light. “I'm getting there. You really want to know where this miracle came from, or are you just gonna execute me without a trial, too?”

Too. Just like his old man, or so he thinks. That stings, and it shouldn't, but god damn.

We're too close, him and I. Brothers in all but blood.

I don't like it, but how the hell can I judge? He went behind my back making money doing God knows what.

And I went behind his with Amy Kay – who might wake up any second, wondering if I've ghosted her after one unforgettable night. Not in a million years. I want this shit over and done.

“Show me,” I say coldly. “I'll try to hold my fire.”

I hope that's not a lie. Jace doesn't say another word. He turns, rips the boathouse door open, and holds it until I'm right behind him. Then it's the world's longest walk across the property, to the very end, not far from where the boat launches into the water.

“Shit, I forgot the shovel,” he mutters, stooping down. “Help me dig.”

I get down in the sandy dirt next to him, dreading what we're about to unearth. It's wet soil, waterlogged from the sea. Safe on high ground from all but the highest tides. Nobody would ever come digging around in this barren soil unless Maxwell and Ophelia decide to build something here, and they've got bigger worries.

We're several feet in, scraping the soft sand with our fingers, when I feel something heavy, cold, metal.

“Bingo,” Jace whispers, crowding in front of me to clear the rest.

He yanks another key from his pocket, sticks it in the padlock, and after a few choppy seconds, the big metal box pops open.

It takes several tense seconds to process what I'm looking at. There's several neat rows of a green leafy substance tucked in what almost looks like plastic wrap. When it hits me, I don't want to stand, but I bolt up anyway.

“You're dealing weed?” I choke out. I hold the last bit in, something along the lines of you fucking idiot.

He turns, still stooped over his cache, wearing a strained smile. “That's my stash, bro. Just a little extra kickback. We'd be at least 50K richer if I wanted all cash, but a man deserves a bonus, doesn't he?”

I have no words. Jace digs through the top layer, lifting a fatter bag stuffed to the brim with what looks like milky hard pebbles.

“Here's what's earning us a fortune. Catch,” he whispers, tossing it neatly over his shoulder.

My hand flies out, plucking it into my palm before it hits the ground. I swallow, wondering what kind of mess we'd have to clean up if this bag bursts.

The rocks, crystals, whatever the hell they are, feel sharp through the plastic. They stab at my fingers like little knives, nasty secrets begging to get out.

Whatever the hell I'm holding, it can't be good.

“Got a few more pounds stashed away. Met a guy at the club last spring who was in our chem lab. Snowball, remember him?” Jace stands in front of me now, staring at the bag clenched in my hands like it's his first born.

“Yeah. Stupid asshole flunked out completely last semester, I heard.” Can't hide the venom in my voice. He was a pudgy older kid in a leather jacket and devil tattoos. Too grungy to fit in with the clean, chic aesthetic on Bellingham's campus, but somehow, he always showed up at every frat party. “Didn't much like him.”

“Thought you'd be smarter, Usher. Don't judge a book by its cover.” Jace gives me the side-eye. “Turns out, Snowball left school loaded. Hell, maybe he always was, I'm not really sure. While we were off chasing citations and internships, this glorious motherfucker was making bank. We were his market. Kids love to experiment like hell on campus these days.”

My throat goes dry. The saltwater ocean breeze in the air wafting up my nostrils only makes it worse. “Market for what? Ecstasy? Weed? Heroin?” I cough on the last one, dreading the answer.

“Think a little more salt of the earth, Usher. A little cheaper. That crap you're holding isn't just for rednecks and biker pricks anymore. Breaking Bad did wonders for marketing this shit to a new crowd.”

Methamphetamine.

My face dips down in disgust at the poison I'm holding. It isn't sky blue like it was in the TV show. It's dirtier, in just about every sense. My hand slips, subtly shaking, and the bag hits a rock tucked in front of my toe.

“Hey, asshole, careful with that!” Jace growls, snatching it up, bringing it to his chest. “There's at least another ten grand in here, and plenty more where it came from.” His eyes shift to the pit, which might as well be a smoking crater, threatening to open wide and bring my whole world into hell.

“You're fucking crazy!” I bite down on every word, ramming my palms in his chest. He rocks back, throwing the bag into his spider hole when he's steady again. “Goddamn, dude. A drug dealer? Don't tell me you've thought this through!”

“If you'd lay off the kick in the balls for two seconds, ass-wipe, you'd know I'm not selling anything.” He talks like it's plain as day, written on his forehead or something. “I'm more like...a middleman, let's say. Giving these babies a nice home until it's time to send them down the distribution chain. Snowball has some wicked friends across several state lines, Usher. He's paying me big money for storage – nobody would ever suspect any of the places I've picked out. They're practically invisible.”

“Places?” I growl, shaking my head. “You're telling me there's more?”

“No shit. I told you, it'd be dumb to put all my eggs in one basket. Your ma's dogs have been sleeping right next to one.” His smile darkens, as if to say, fuck you, you're in this whether you like it or not.

“Get a damn grip. I was real careful every time,” he whispers. “Made sure your ma and pops didn't see anything. Kept it away from the dogs, too, at the edge of the garden, so nobody'd ever –”

I don't let him finish.

My fist plows into his face.

First time in my life I've ever hit another man and meant to do damage. Serious fucking damage.

Crunched bones and bruises. Ruptured blood vessels.

Whimpers. Tears. Heartbreak.

Everything a shady, backstabbing, sociopath cock like my soon-to-be-ex-best-friend deserves.

“Leave my parents the hell alone. You're not welcome in our house anymore.” Thunder ripples in my throat. I stare through him, wishing my eyes could burn a hole through this asshole's chest.

"Usher, you fucking coward...should've known you weren't man enough for this." He stands up taller. "If you're kicking me out of your parents' house for the summer, then you're not showing your face around here either. Go home. Pretend I never showed you anything today. You rat me out, you're a dead man."

Pain stabs at my chest. It's not his threat that bothers me. My thoughts go to Amy Kay, blissfully oblivious to this shit flinging. This nightmare on her doorstep.

Fuck, I need to leave, but I also need to say goodbye. "Whatever you say, asshole. I'm going."

I'm not thinking straight. Turning my back on this traitor, without growing eyes in the back of my head, is a huge mistake.

I've only taken a few steps toward the house when he rushes forward, shoving me face first into the ground as hard as he can.

I roll, so pissed my blood burns, ready to kill him and throw his body into that pit on the beach.

"That's for putting your hands on me," Jace growls. "I'm warning you, Usher, you're not as fucking brilliant as you think. Let me stop by your place one more time to get my stuff. If I find out you've touched it, wrecked it, thrown it away before I get there, you've got a guaranteed ass kicking coming."

I nod, standing, retreating toward the house and this time looking over my shoulder. Of course, I'm planning to rip his filth out of ma's garden first chance I get.

Shit. As bad as I need to talk to Presh, I need to get home more.

My parents could have their lives ruined by a DEA raid every second his crap sits on our property. There's no telling how sloppy he's been. For all I know, this house is under surveillance right now, Federal agents waiting for the right second to swoop down like hawks.

I practically punch the door open, stepping into the kitchen. This time, my stomach growls, but it's all rage fueling it.

I find a pen, tear a page off the notepad stuck to the fridge, and start writing frantically underneath the Chenocott and Morse Legal header.

I keep it short and sweet.

What fucking choice do I have?

I can't just tell Presh her brother is a meth slinging halfwit. Not like this.

I say there's urgent family business – true.

Tell her last night meant the world – true.

Swear I'll be back to explain everything – almost true.

I don't know when, or how, or if I'll go for the jugular and make sure the Chenocotts find out the danger this asshole put them in.

I hesitate on the last part, but only for a second.

Love you Presh, I write, because I'm not sure I'll ever be in the mood for games again. I'd rather have her know and think I've lost my mind, saying it too soon, versus risking her never hearing it at all.

Hell, now that it's on the page staring back at me, I know it's something I should have said a lot sooner. Jace's bullshit changes nothing. After this is sorted out and things are fixed at home, I'm heading back here, having that talk with Maxwell.

I look up, ready to storm out to my car. Jace is waiting by the door, blocking an easy escape.

Fuck him.

I'm so on edge, it's hard not to run him down like a screaming bull. I stomp toward him, hating the thought of tearing up the Chenocott's lovely home if he throws another punch.

There's no choice – it's on him.

Despite the urge to knock his teeth out, if I squint carefully, I still see a brother. His twisted flip to the dark side can't change what we were: friends, fighters, wing men, endless bawdy laughs.

Students, partners, inseparable as twins.

We balanced each other's soft points. Made ourselves better together. Now, that's gone forever.

“What's wrong? Too big a baby to walk past the guy you're about to screw over?” His words are a slow poison drip on my soul.

“It's not too late to fix this.” We both know it is. I don't know why I'm bothering to give him wishful thinking, but I do. “Dig the crap up. Destroy it. Dump it back on Snowball. Pay him every cent you owe, and extra for the weed, too. Call it good. I'll go to the police with you.”

Jace's face goes red and he scratches at the ten o'clock scruff on his cheek. “Fuck you, Usher. I don't need your brains to bail me out of this one. Too late for second thoughts. You were the one who said we needed capital, remember? I did this for us. Hell, if my money isn't good enough, then maybe I'll just throw the whole wad at something else. I see what I get now for ever listening to you. I –”

I cut him off. We go back and forth, slinging accusations, getting absolutely nowhere.

If Presh isn't awake by now, goddamn, she will be if we get much louder.

It's past time to go.

Last time we lock eyes, I can't believe how soulless he looks. His anger comes out mechanically, reactionary, without apology. My best friend is gone forever.

He's too wrapped up in his own shitty excuses, his daddy issues, his own twisted ego. He can't see why housing meth to get ahead is the biggest mistake of his life.

Jace's nostrils flare, and the last words I ever want to hear from his evil mouth sour the air. “You're not family, asshole. Never were. My parents. My house. My sister. You want to keep that perfect goddamn grin, you'll keep away from everything. I'll pick up the pieces and we'll be done.”

There's nothing left to say.

I wheel around, slamming the door shut so hard behind me I think I damage the roof.

* * *

He's faster than I think. It's a late summer night and I'm working like a maniac. I'm dirty, exhausted, in a mad rush to fix ma's garden. All so I can get the leather duffel bag unearthed and in my truck.

Amy Kay's texts rattle my phone all day. I'm forced to ignore them.

Haven't decided what to say back. There's nothing to say while I'm still struggling to get several pounds of drugs in plastic wrap off my property.

I'm cleaning up, carrying the bag to my truck, when I hear another vehicle roar onto the curb next to our driveway. Stopping cold, I peep through the window, hoping Pops doesn't notice the sound.

He's slumped peacefully in his recliner, the TV going. Right where he should stay for a few more hours until he lumbers to the other side of our rambler and crawls in bed for the night.

Good. Means there's a chance I'll be able to deal with the asshole on our doorstep without anybody being the wiser, if I can keep my voice down.

If we don't rip each other to pieces, I tell myself.

Seems like the likeliest outcome after Jace climbs out of his convertible.

Wait. Convertible?

My eyes narrow. A coolness creeps into my veins. Jace drives an Escalade. Same black luxury beast he got for his eighteenth birthday.

This is Amy Kay's car, and I can't imagine an excuse for him driving it that doesn't make me want to cave his face in.

“Hold it right there with the bag, Usher,” Jace snarls, slamming the car's door. He stands, fists at his side, ready for a brawl. I'm not close enough to tell if he's drunk, but there's a good possibility.

“Just hand it the fuck over and I'll be on my way. Don't care about my clothes. I need what's in that bag.”

“Finders, keepers. Asshole,” I add.

He snorts. “What, so you can sell it off behind my back?” Jace creeps closer, the moonlight turning pale in his eyes. “Or maybe I ought to be worried you'll just snort it up yourself and burn your smarts out, Usher. A boring, two-timing orphan piece of dog shit like you probably can't wait to have a little excitement.”

My fingers white-knuckle the bag. It suddenly weighs a hundred pounds.

Not so heavy I won't hesitate to throw it into his criminal face. “Fuck your excitement. I already get plenty of that with your lovely sister, thank you very much.”

His eyes go big and he bares his teeth. I don't regret pissing him off.

Amy Kay's too sweet to kiss and tell – I'm not that kind of asshole – but I knew it'd be the perfect way to bait him. Even better because it's true.

I never take my eyes off her car behind him as he lets out a few more muffled curses and charges forward. We're roughly matched with strength. My reflexes are better.

He's too enraged, and I'm eerily calm. I step aside just before he grabs my throat, throwing my full weight into his side. Jace never knows what hits him before he goes head-first into my tailgate.

There's a savage echo through the metal after his head impacts it. He goes down groaning, clutching at his neck with both hands.

“Move, asshole, so I know there's nothing broken.” I'm not so cold I'll leave him suffering out here if he's done real damage.

It takes my shoe pressed into his ribs to turn him over.

“Fuck...you...” he grunts, every syllable on fire.

Smiling, I grab his arms, pull him onto the lawn. The vicious looks never stop while I dig in his pocket for his phone, finding her keys. “Can't have you messing around with this. You know the gas station up the street? The guy there'll probably let you use his to call for help. Whenever you're able to walk again. Rest here as long as you need to, buddy.” I slap him on the shoulder.

He takes a swing at me, but it's way too slow and sloppy, sending him into the grass again. “Don't work too hard. I'll put this dirty laundry where it'll never bother you again. I'm sure Snowball won't be happy your little hiding spots weren't as secure as you said, but hey, at least you've got four hundred grand to pay the damages – and you won't even have to worry about laundering it.”

A parting kick to the ribs leaves him breathless. That's how I want it.

He gives me the finger as I throw the bag in the backseat, burying it under an umbrella and a blanket from a picnic we had a few weeks ago.

Fuck, it was so much simpler then. How did everything get this complicated so fast?

It's a question I keep asking as I turn onto the highway and drive south to Olympia. The gas tank is low, so I stop for fuel and a coffee after twenty minutes on the road. I want to go at least an hour or two down the Olympic peninsula, where the touristy places turn into the boonies.

Something's been rattling around in the trunk since I squealed out of the neighborhood. I open it on my way back to the car and freeze. It's got nothing to do with the loud thunder booming overhead, a storm cracking through the atmosphere.

“Oh, Jesus.” Words can't do justice when I see a familiar, dirty metal box.

My fist bangs against it lightly before I remember I'm not alone here. I slam the trunk shut and jump back in the driver's seat, trying not to have a fucking panic attack.

Jace must have come looking for all his drugs. He knew he couldn't trust me to stay quiet after our fallout, and hell, maybe it's the smartest thing he's done. If I'd managed to dispose of crap he buried by ma's flowers, I damn sure would've figured out a way to clear the Chenocott's place next.

Looks like I don't have to. That's the only good in this. Amy's little car is stuffed with what I'm pretty sure is his entire very illegal stash.

Of course, it also means I'm driving through the night with enough drugs to get a twenty year prison sentence. Fuck, maybe life.

“Just breathe,” I tell myself, fusing my hands to the wheel, driving more careful than I ever have in my life.

It's harder once the sky rips open. Hard rain pelts the road in a thick ocean deluge. Somebody pissed off Poseidon bad.

But I follow the dark twisting highway as it narrows past Olympia. Into the night. Into the icy silence cut by wind and rain and nerves. Into my only chance to fix this shit for me, my folks, and the woman I love.

It's an ugly miracle. I should be thankful. I keep telling myself I just need to find a ravine, somewhere with tall trees and water flowing back into the sea, where I can make this disgusting secret disappear forever.

Lightning knifes the sky the further I drive. I'm somewhere near the edge of the Olympic forest, searching through the darkness for an isolated campground I can try, when it happens.

Another shriek of blue howls through the darkness. I hear the wind whistling through the trees, but no thunder. It's too soon.

There's no warning whatsoever before the top of the huge cedar slams into the road in front of me.

No time to skid around it. No time to hit the brakes. No time to save myself or the car or my whole fucking future.

There's a crunch of metal, a split second vertigo, and then I'm out.

I don't wake up until morning, when I run miles, torn and bleeding to the nearest gas station.

I tell Pops everything. He picks me up a couple hours later, brings me back, and we spend the next twenty-four hours in a mad rush to pack everything. The police were already picking through the wreck when we drove past it. What was left of its fire-blackened husk, anyway.

Jace will never admit to his shit. He'll throw me under the bus and the Chenocotts will hire the best lawyers in Washington to save his skin.

I see my only chance, and my parents agree: we have to leave Seattle forever.