Tate's POV
Stop.
Don't move.
Don't breathe.
I go over the list of things I must do repeatedly in my head. I can't let them know I'm here. A crash in the kitchen makes me flinch and I mentally scold myself for making a cloud of dust fly in the air.
"Where's the girl at Tom?" A booming, groggy, all-to-familiar voice demands from beneath me.
"Out..." A hesitant, much less powerful voice squeaks.
"Oh really?" The first voice returns, completely unconvinced. His voice has hushed to a deadly whisper, making the hairs on the back of my neck stick straight up. "Because if you aren't more specific in the next five seconds, I'll beat your worthless ass til it's a bloody pulp, then find her myself. So you can either do this the easy way, or the much, much harder way."
"S-She's... uh..." I am cursing my dad silently for not finding a more plausible response quicker. "Well Dean, y-you see...."
"She's here. Isn't that right?" I can only vision the sly smile overtaking Dean Roger's sick face and the thought makes me nauseous.
"No!" My father replies, way too quick. "God no. Um, Charlie's I think it was... Across town."
"Charlie's Pub huh?" I can nearly hear my dad gulp in fright right before a loud smack from skin to skin contact thunders from below. "If you're lying, there's plenty more where that came from." Dean warns and then claps his hands together. "C'mon boys we're moving out."
Footsteps and the sound of my fathers feet being dragged as they carry him out of the house are the only sounds I hear before the front door slams. I silently release the deep breath I had been holding in.
Wait.
I hear the engine to the dirty black van start.
Wait.
I hear it speed off down the street.
Now.
I quickly open the hatch I was standing on and feet first slide down the opening. Within a few seconds my feet hit the ground and I stand up. I look around my kitchen and silence surrounds me. Bowls and plates and utensils were thrown about making the kitchen I was forced so hard to clean everyday destroyed. I look back up at the trap door leading to my attic, debating if I should close it or not. Out of nowhere a click echos from behind me.
Freeze.
The chill bumps rise and I instantly feel nauseous. I should have known better. A strong hand grips my arm and I'm spun around forcefully, not able to catch my yelp from escaping.
I come face to face with chocolate brown eyes, not the dark beady ones I've been running from for so long.
"S-Shyder...." I whisper with a hint of relief.
Shyder Rogers, son of Dean Rogers, and also the boy I've been in love with for as long as I can remember.
He's a horrible person. He smokes and spits and drinks, just like the rest of them. He's worked for his dad since he was old enough to learn how to shoot a gun. He's rude and conniving and looks at the world with hatred. But he looks at me differently. There's always been a hint of kindness behind his macho tough guy act and deep down I know he deserves to be apart of something better.
"You have to go." He says rushed and looks over his shoulder. He grips my arm again and yanks me towards the stairs.
"Aw man I was really looking forward to staying and seeing your dad!" I sarcastically spit and he immediately stops moving forward and gives me a look I've never seen before.
