How do you control your future when your future is controlled by the past?
That's a question Dylan Foster has been struggling to answer for years. His parents are dead. But the family feud with a violent gang is still very much alive, and they're a...
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Henley
I can't believe this shit.
"You should have let us leave them, Henley. What the fuck have you got us into? We know nothing about them!" Jasper fumes, his hands grip on the wheel as he drives us back to the scrap yard.
I know he's right, but something was telling me they're worth saving. Well, one of them is...
We speed into the scrap yard and he slams on the breaks, almost giving me whiplash. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
I hear him mumble something under his breath as he jumps out the car and slams the door shut.
My eyes roll and I get out too, Finn beating me at opening my door.
The two boys quickly follow suit and park the car next to Jasper's. My annoyance thaws as I see him, but it comes back just as fast when I see blood staining his shirt.
He's been shot.
Fucking great.
"You've gotta help him. You've gotta—" the tattoed stranger gets cut off by Jasper slamming him into the side of the car by his collar.
"We don't have to do shit. We shouldn't have even fucking helped you back there. Get the fuck outta here." Jasper's cold eyes glare into his.
"Let him go, we need them," I interrupt and place my hand on his back. His muscles tense at my touch and he pushes the boy away.
——
"I'm Jett," the one with tattoos says, breaking the silence as the other gets stitched up by Della, Jonathan's aunt. "And he's Dylan."
"I'm Henley, this is Jonothan, Finn, Della and he's just an asshole." I point each of us out and Jasper exhales loudly, clicking his jaw to the side.
"Whatever, I'm waiting outside. Della, hurry up so these idiots can go on their way." Bad move, Jasper.
Dylan stands up, not even wincing as he pulls away from Della, who is sat there shocked at the boy before her. "Listen, dick. I don't know what your problem is but it's not with us," he spits, getting in Jasper's face.
A scoff is all he gets.
I can't help the grin creeping up on my face, and so I sit here staring like a weirdo, admiring Dylan and his blazing eyes. God, why did you have to make him so damn hot?
He glowers at Dylan before he turns and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a bang.
Dylan backs up a few steps and sits down again, his broad shoulders dropping as he relaxes. He's almost fully cleaned up and stitched now which is a huge relief.
The last thing we all need is having a dead person on our minds, even if he is a stranger. And a good-looking stranger at that.
When she's done, Della pulls me to the side, a blank expression resting on her pale face. "Henley, we can't have this happening again. If someone ends up hurt, you take them to the hospital, I don't care how much trouble you're in. Are we clear?"
"Crystal." Bitch.
She never really liked me even when I was a child, and I know why. She thinks my mother and I are a waste of space. I'm just a bastard child and my mother's just another drug addict.
Like she's any better.
I give her a sweet smile, turning around and rolling my eyes. God, I hate her.
——
"So are you gonna tell me who shot you?" I ask, sitting next to Dylan as he stares out of the wind screen of his car.
He shakes his head. "Your friend's right. You shouldn't have helped because now they're after you too and they don't stop. They never fucking stop." His knuckles turn white as his fingers curl round the wheel.
"If you tell me who they are, we can help you," I say, curiosity crawling up my spine.
He gives a wry laugh, "it doesn't matter who they are," his dark eyes pierce into mine, "we're all dead."
With that said, he gets out of the car and closes the door with a force. He's right, we are dead. We're not killers, we're not prepared for this shit, but if it does come to a fight, I'm sure as hell not going down easily.
My stomach grumbles and I groan. It's been a while since I last ate anything and I doubt there's much food stored in the mini refrigerator in Jonathan's dad's office.
Unlike his stuck-up aunt, Jonathan's dad actually likes me, treats me as his own, so I don't think twice before I open the door and walk in. The office is empty with papers spread all over the desk and a spilled cup of coffee staining the majority of them.
With my guard raised and my heart thumping against my chest once again, my fingers curl around the baseball bat tucked away into the corner.
The sound of the door handle jiggling sets my adrenaline into overload and I prepare myself to swing when it opens.
I'm midway through the swing when I meet eyes with an alarmed and rather shocked Phil.
"Jesus, Henley!" He manages to take hold of the bat and throw it to the side. I bet my face displays nothing but embarrassment and horror.
"Phil, I—"
"What were you thinking?" His eyes shift between mine and the bat and I notice some scrunched paper towels in his clutch. That explains the coffee...
"I thought you were—I don't know. I saw the spilt coffee and you wasn't here and I thought something happened to you—" I ramble and his arms pull me into his embrace.
"I'm okay," his tone is consoling as his hands rub my back," tell me what happened?"
He's never seen me like this. No one has really except Jonothan, so I don't blame him for being worried. It kind of brings me comfort in a weird way. It proves he cares more than my dad did.
