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Tommy teases. “The O’Farrell family—heard of ‘em?”

I shake my head, feeling my stomach sink for reasons I don’t yet understand. “No, who are they?”

“Bad motherfuckers from Boston,” he answers. “They’ve been doing an awful lot of business in the city lately.”

“Is
 that a bad thing?”

I feel so naïve asking that, especially seeing as how my gut’s already answered that question for me.

“Started out friendly enough, but some would say that ain’t the case anymore. My sources tell me the O’Farrells have been trying to do too much too soon, taking a bigger piece of the proverbial pie than what’s been offered. That’s the problem with parasites, though. Leave ‘em unchecked and they tend to kill the host,” he adds. “Guess that’s why it’s been decided not to leave that shit unchecked.”

My heart’s in my throat now, and I’m afraid to think of what this all means for Ricky—directly, indirectly.

“But enough about the family business,” Tommy continues with a smile. “You got any idea how to use this thing?”

My gaze shifts to the box he holds and, suddenly distracted by my own rampant fear, I take a few seconds to answer.

“It’s been a while.”

“Which means no,” he scoffs. “Guess you better block off a weekend and find some YouTube videos. I’m in sales, not training.”

I don’t bother explaining that, back when Mike was still on the force, he did teach Hunter and me how to load and handle a handgun. Partly, I keep this to myself because I don’t feel like sharing anything personal at the moment. But I also don’t speak up because it almost sounds like he’s letting me take the box. I’m reluctant to get my hopes up, though.

“Fifty now, because I know shit’s been tough for you since Hunter left, but I expect weekly payments until I say we’re square. Understood?”

I nod and fish the money from my pocket. “Understood.”

He hesitates as he stares at the chump-change I’m offering, and when he unlocks the security door to take it, he curses to himself through the entire exchange.

“Don’t make me come find you to get my money,” he warns. “I don’t care how far back we go; I always get what’s mine.”

I’m shivering as I step down off his porch, and it has nothing to do with it being cold as balls out here, while having everything to do with what my gut’s telling me—I’m about ninety-nine percent certain I’ve just made a huge mistake.

But like with all things, time will tell.

@QweenPandora: Looks like I’m bringing you folks a double-header tonight, and this one’s kind of juicy.

There’s been talk that the Harrisons’ marriage is on its last leg. Until now, it’s all been rumors, but this pic of Cypress Pointe’s beloved headmaster and his better half leaving a counselling session—looking rather distraught, might I add—seems to confirm that theory.

What happened? Wifey’s penchant for a fresher, younger cut of meat finally taking its toll? Or perhaps someone has some real insight into what’s going on. Got something to add? I’ll be here all night.

Later, assholes.

—X

Chapter 12

BLUE

Scar hasn’t spoken a single word to me since picking her up from the diner. Not even about all the X drama, which she would’ve loved to chat about. If her silence on that issue hadn’t already let me know she’s pissed about earlier, the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut would’ve made it obvious.

I have every intention to try and clear the air between us, but first, I have a gun to hide. Standing at the opening of my closet, I look around, deciding to shove the box from Tommy under a pile of hoodies in the far right corner. Then, after moving a few things around to conceal it completely, I head to Scar’s room. Surprisingly, she hasn’t locked me out.

“Ok, just say whatever you need to say so we can eat dinner and not have our entire night ruined.”

Apparently, just the sound of my voice has earned me the death stare, but I don’t care. This is how we handle things. We talk them out.

“What difference does it make whether I say something or not? Because you’ll say absolutely nothing in return,” she scoffs, dropping down onto her bed after pulling her dark hair into a ponytail.

I should’ve felt that coming. My gaze lowers to the carpet and I still have no clue how to navigate these waters—tell her enough so she knows to be more mindful of her surroundings, but not so much that she’s overly paranoid.

Like me.

“There’s just stuff going on that—”

“That I don’t understand,” she cuts in with an eye roll. “So you keep saying. But honestly, from the outside looking in, you just look like a crazy person who’s becoming even more overbearing than you already were.”

Her words cut deep. Yes, I’m completely aware of my tendency to smother her, but how could she not know it’s because I love her? How could she not know I’m desperate to keep her safe because if something happened to her it would literally kill me?

“I’m gonna let that slide, because I know you’re confused and upset right now, but—”

“How long has it just been us?” she asks. “Most people would say since Mike left, but you and I know it’s been much longer than that. Even before mom took off and Hunter got arrested, we were all each other had.”

Listening to her, looking into her eyes, my heart’s in my throat because she isn’t wrong.

“A long time,” I answer.

“So, if there’s anyone in this world I should be able to trust, it’s you, right?” she reasons. “Then, why doesn’t that go both ways? And don’t tell me it does, because if that were true, you wouldn’t be hiding
 whatever this is from me right now.”

She stands and takes a step to storm off again, but I have her arm before she can leave the room.

“You’re fourteen, Scar.”

“Fifteen,” she argues, “which means I’m not a baby. Which means I won’t fall apart if you tell me

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