Broken Hands

73. Black widow

The sun hung low on the horizon as Grayson stepped out of Durham, his uniform still pristine, though he had long stopped caring about its neatness. His bag hung lazily off one shoulder, bouncing slightly with each step so did his blazer. The school day had ended, but the weight of it lingered.

Earlier, he'd texted Alex to let him know not to pick him up. Today, he had a rendez-vous.

The thought felt bitter on his tongue. The word itself—rendez-vous—made it sound like something exciting, maybe even harmless. But this wasn't harmless. It was dangerous, skating the edges of everything Alex and Damien had drilled into him about rules, and safety.

It felt like he was going back to the same patterns but It wasn't the same as before, though. Not the same pattern of lies and deceit that had plagued him in the near past. This time, he was doing it for understanding, to gain a clearer picture of what he was walking into. He knew how Alex and Damien would react if they found out—full stop, no discussion. They'd forbid him from stepping any further, smother him with their worry, their need to protect him.

Grayson wasn't going to let that happen, yet. He could handle this. And if things spiraled, well, maybe then he'd loop them in.

The streets were bustling as he walked, but his mind felt far away, caught between caution and determination. Just as he turned a corner, a sleek black car screeched to a halt in front of him, its glossy exterior reflecting the fading sunlight. Grayson instinctively stepped back, his body tensing. Experience had taught him to move first, think later.

The window rolled down smoothly, revealing Hera. Her fiery red hair framed her face like a warning sign, bold and unapologetic. She was chewing gum, her sharp grin flashing as she winked. Grayson didn't fail to notice the perfect cut of her bob hair.

"Hello, Grayboy," she said, her tone teasing and familiar.

Grayson scowled, his hand gripping the strap of his bag. "Stop doing this, Hera," he said, his voice steady but firm.

Her smirk widened as she blew a bubble, letting it pop before leaning back casually. "What, picking you up? Being efficient? Yeah, I'll stop," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Grayson rolled his eyes.

"Hop in. We gotta hit the road," she added, gesturing toward the passenger seat.

Grayson didn't move. "I didn't ask you to pick me up," he said, his tone calm but laced with irritation. "I said I'd meet you there."

Hera rolled her eyes dramatically, her gum snapping again. "Yeah, well, I had better plans," she retorted. "Figured I'd make this faster for both of us."

Grayson narrowed his eyes at her, skepticism prickling at the back of his mind.

"What?" Hera asked, her tone bordering on playful annoyance.

Grayson sighed. "I'm beginning to think this was a bad idea," he admitted, the words hanging in the air.

Her expression shifted briefly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she shrugged. "Okay, Grayboy. You'll figure it out later when your head's high in the market, and your world starts to crumble." She raised her thumb and turned it down in a mock gesture of doom.

Grayson frowned, her words igniting a spark of unease. He stared at her, weighing his options, before finally walking around the car. Unlocking the door, he slid into the passenger seat, his movements careful but resigned.

"I hope I don't regret this," he muttered, glancing at her as the door clicked shut.

Hera grinned, shifting the car into gear with an exaggerated flourish. "Oh, you will," she said, her tone light but tinged with something darker. "But not today."