One night, approximately ten hours, not even an entire day. That’s how long ago my sisters were hauled off by Social Services, yet it feels like an eternity. I barely slept last night, staring up at the cracked ceiling of Blaise Porterson’s bedroom, worrying about where they are, if they’re safe, if they’re scared. More than likely they were taken to a group home and probably slept worse than I did. I’d know. I’ve been to a couple, and they’re crowded and loud and uneasy. I couldn’t wait to get home, which means, if my sisters are at one, they’re feeling the same way.

I need to get them out of there.

In the past, when we would temporarily get taken away from our dad, we’d be in a group home for a couple of weeks while he got his shit together and then we were released back him. That’s not going to happen this time, not after he tried to beat the shit out of me. If I know my dad, he left Honeyton the moment he realized the cops had been called. He’s done shit like this before—gotten in trouble with the law and bailed out of town. But he always took me and my sisters with him. This time, he couldn’t. The law wouldn’t allow him to. I wouldn’t allow him to.

I’m okay with the idea that he won’t be in our lives anymore. I just wish I could’ve gotten him to sign guardianship of my sisters over to me. Since he didn’t, I’ll have to find another way to obtain it. While Blaise has assured me he’ll help, I’m not going to put all of my hope into him coming through. Sure, he helped me out last night—stopping my father from beating my ass and letting me spend the night at his house because my dad might have given me a concussion—but I never completely rely on other people. No, the only person I can truly rely on is myself.

“Yo, bro, have you seen my black pants?” Alex shouts from just outside Blaise’s shut bedroom door, tearing me from my thoughts.

I’ve been awake for a couple of hours, surrounded by the scent of Blaise’s cologne, which I’ll admit to only myself smells good, lost in my thoughts and worries and trying to figure out if I should go to school today. I don’t want to. Not only does my head and face hurt like a bitch, but I’m exhausted and know I’ll barely be able to pay attention. But I think the first step of showing I’m guardianship material means getting my act together, not just with school, but with a better job that pays more. There’s probably more to it than that, though.

“Fuck, how am I going to figure all of this out?”

I wait in silence, hoping some answer will fall out of the ceiling and land in my lap. Of course, that never happens. If it did, I might get extremely concerned about my possible concussion.

Sighing, I roll to my side and check the time on the alarm clock. Crap, if I don’t get my ass out of bed now, I’m going to be late.

“Which pants are you looking for?” Rhyland suddenly yells.

“The black ones,” Alex hollers back.

I roll my eyes. The black ones? Yeah, because the Porterson brothers have so many different assortments of pants. So far, I’ve only ever seen them in black, except for the one time Rhyland wore a blue shirt.

“Which black ones?” Rhyland shouts.

“Will you guys shut the hell up?” Blaise hisses. “Hadley’s still asleep.”

I consider letting them think that—at least the damn shouting would stop—but I need to get up anyway.

Tossing the blankets off me, I pad over to the door, pull it open, and step out into the hallway. “Good morning, loud mouths,” I greet them with a smirk.

Rhyland mimics my smirk. “Glad to see you’re a morning person.”

He’s dressed head to toe in—shocker—black, his short brown hair is damp, and he has a Pop-Tart in his hand.

“I’m really not,” I say through a yawn.

“Aw, then it’s got to be us putting you in a good mood.” Rhyland winks at me and I roll my eyes.

“Sleep well, princess?” Alex asks. Or more like sneers.

He’s just a ways down the hallway, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitted basketball shorts, his heavily inked arms and chest on full display. Strands of his dark hair are sticking up everywhere, he looks as pale as the damn undead and the bags under his eyes don’t help either. After what I witnessed yesterday morning, he’s probably strung out. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s up and moving at all. And in infamous Alex style, a smirk tugs at his pierced lips as his hard gaze settles on mine.

I’m about to quip with an awesome comeback when Blaise says, “Alex, don’t start.”

I peer to my other side and find him standing near a doorway, close enough that I can see his eyes are bloodshot, either because he’s stoned or he slept as crappy as I did—my bet is the latter.

Bloodshot eyes aside, he looks as pretty as he always does—which is stupidly pretty—dressed in black jeans, a matching T-shirt, clunky boots, and his blond hair is hanging in his eyes.

“Hey,” he says with a tense smile. When his gaze sweeps across my face, the smile goes poof.

“What? Did I sprout, like, a horn from my head or something?” I reach for my face.

He snatches hold of my hand. “Don’t touch your left cheek.”

I wiggle my hand from his, eliciting a frown from him. He shouldn’t take it personally. I’m just not the kind of girl who likes guys holding her hand, even if it’s only to keep me from touching my face.

“Why can’t I touch my face?” I ask in confusion.

“Shit, that looks painful,” Rhyland moves up beside me, gawking at my cheek.

I instinctively reach for the face again, but quickly stop myself. “It actually doesn’t hurt that bad.” I glance between the two of them, noting their skepticism. “Why? How bad does it look?”

“Um… Not that bad.” Blaise smiles stiffly.

“Yeah…” Rhyland stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back onto his heels, his brows rising toward his hairline.

What a bunch of liars.

“Stop sugarcoating shit and just tell me the truth, dudes.”

When the both shift uncomfortably, Alex gladly chimes in.

“You look like your ass got kicked.” He reclines against the wall, that smirk more evident than ever.

“Alex,” Blaise warns.

Alex shrugs. “What? She wanted to know the truth.”

Blaise’s eyes narrow, his lips parting, more than likely about to give Alex a big old lecture.

Even though Alex annoys the crap out of me, the last thing I want is to cause friction between them after they let me crash at their place.

“Blaise, it’s fine,” I intervene. “I did ask, so…” I shrug then sigh. “Where’s the bathroom again? I need to go check out the damage.”

Blaise points to a doorway just down the hall. “It’s in there.” His frown deepens as his eyes stray to my cheek again. “We should’ve put some ice on it last night. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

“It’s cool.” I start to move around him. “It’s not your job to take care of me.” It’s no one’s except my own. Has been that way since the day my mom died.

The brothers grow quiet as I walk away and slip into the bathroom. The instant the door shuts, they start whispering about something. My guess is it’s about me, but they’re talking too quietly to know for sure.

Blowing out an exhausted exhale, I cross the bathroom and stand in front of the sink where a mirror is hanging on the patched up beige wall. Then I instantly cringe.

My long, wavy brown hair is a ratted mess, my eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and my cheek is splattered with the nastiest looking bluish-purple bruise. There’s also a smaller one just along my hairline.

“Man, Alex nailed it when he said I looked like I got my ass kicked,” I mutter as I lean over the sink to get a better look. “I don’t even think makeup will cover this up.”

Not that I’d know how to cover it up with makeup. I’ve never been much of a makeup girl. That has always been more of Payton’s thing.

My chest tightens at the thought of my sister. I need to find out exactly where they are and if they’re okay.

After splashing some cold water on my face, I hurry back to the bedroom to grab my phone off the nightstand so I can send my sisters a text, even though they haven’t responded to the ten messages I sent last night. I’m guessing their phones were confiscated as a safety measure to keep my dad from trying to get ahold of them. Still, I’m going to try messaging them anyway. What I’m really hoping is that the group home they’re in is in the same school district as me. That way I’ll be able to see them today.

The hallway is empty when I step out of the bathroom and the house is quiet, making me wonder if the Porterson brothers left for school. But then Alex steps out of one of the rooms so there goes that theory.

I quicken my pace, way too tired to get into it with him, but apparently he’s the opposite mood.

“Has your pops ever hit you before?” he asks.

I pause and cock a brow at him. “Seriously, are you trying to have heart to heart with me? The guy who dug up all my family’s dirt and plastered it all over the school?”

“Chill out. I was just curious, okay?”

“Well, you know what the say about curiosity.”

“That it killed the cat? Yeah, I don’t think it applies to this situation. “ He muses over something. “Well, unless you’re planning on killing me.”

“That’s actually wasn’t what I going to say, but it does sound a bit appealing,” I throw a smirk at him and he retaliates with an eye roll. “What I was going to say is being too curious and putting your nose into my business means a kick in the balls.” I smile sweetly at him. “I’m sure Blaise can give you all the details about how good of a ball kicker I am.”

He grins snidely. “Actually, he said you kick like a kitten.”

“Guess you won’t mind if I do it then.” I start to lift my foot, not to kick him in the balls. Just to scare him and am rewarded when he flinches.

Grinning, I step toward the bedroom again.

“You don’t scare me, Hadley,” he says.

“Then why’d you flinch?”

“I didn’t flinch. I had an itch in my eye.”

I give him an okay gesture to which he responds with another eye roll.

“Whatever.” He turns to leave.

Wait. Did he seriously just back down from an argument?

“For the record,” he says as he walks away. “I wasn’t asking you about your dad so I could tell the whole school. I was just asking to see if you were okay.” He leaves it at that, ducking into one of the rooms.

I stand in the hallway, confused as a mofo.

He wanted to see if I was okay? Alex Porterson, the guy who slit my tires and spread those flyers all over school?

“He’s up to something,” I mutter as I wander into Blaise’s bedroom. The question is: what?

I wish I knew. Wish I had time to try to come up with an answer. I have way more important things to worry about right now. Starting with getting ahold of my sisters.

Picking up my phone, I send a group text.

Me: Hey! Just wanted to check in on you guys again and see if by chance you can message me yet?

After a minute ticks by and no replies ping through, I grab a pair of torn black jeans, a black tank top with a skeleton on it, and some clean underwear. Then I lock myself in the bathroom and turn on the shower. Steam fills up the room as I strip my clothes off and pull my hair into a messy bun to keep it dry, knowing I won’t have time to blow dry and still be on time for school.

As I move to pull back the shower curtain to get in, I catch sight of my reflection again and freeze. Images of last night rush back to me, louder than the water pouring out of the showerhead.

How my dad hit me.

Grabbed my hair.

Yelled at me.

Hurt me.

Tears sting my eyes.

“Don’t do this, Hadley,” I demand, clenching my teeth. “Don’t you dare fucking cry over anything that has to do with him.”

I close my eyes and will the images away. Instead they shift, flashing back.

I’m standing near the street where a river flows on one side, car engines rumbling across the air. Then I hear tires skidding, followed by a loud splash.

“No!” my dad shouts as he rushes toward the river, leaving me behind with the bystanders.

I move to run after him, but then my stomach clenches as a scream pierces the air.

A heartbeat later, I realize it’s me who is screaming, and that someone has grabbed my arms and is dragging me back, away from my dad, away from the accident, away from my mom.

I scream again but a hand clamps down over my mouth.

“Quiet,” a man whispers. “Everything will be fine as long as your dad pays his debt.”

As I’m picked up and hauled backward, I dig my heels into the ground, trying to stop him, but he only scoops me up. I open my mouth to bite his hand, but he simply smashes his palm harder against my lips.

“Will you calm the hell down?” he growls. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

Nothing’s going to happen to me? Does he think I’m stupid?

I let out a scream, but his hand muffles the noise. I kick my legs, slamming my feet into his knees, but the dude is freakishly strong and doesn’t even seem fazed as he picks me up and tosses me into the back of the car—

I gasp for air as the images fade, my legs shaking so badly I can barely stand. I grip the edge of the sink for support and breathe in and out, attempting to settle down my racing pulse. But I can’t seem to calm the fuck down.

“What happened to me?” I whisper while staring at my reflection in the mirror.

My bloodshot eyes stare back at me. They’re eyes I’ve seen countless times, yet they somehow look different now. More haunted.

What exactly happened to me during those blank days following my mother’s death?

I need to figure that out. Figure out the truth. But the only person who may have the answers is the very person who put these bruises all over my face. And I have a feeling that finding my dad may not only be dangerous, but will also be very difficult. Because if there’s one thing my dad’s good at, it’s hiding from his problems.