Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
“Try me.”
“No Starbucks,” Coral chimes in. “No little shopping districts. No city landscaping.”
“No traffic laws either, it appears,” I add, feeling Farrow speed way above the limit. “What do you all want out of this?”
They won’t let me go home, not even to collect my belongings.
They won’t tell me who I’m staying with.
“I won’t run away screaming,” I warn them.
Farrow slows, pulling up alongside the curb in front of a row of townhouses. “But we’re certainly going to piss you off,” he says.
A snort goes off somewhere in the truck, and then everyone pops open their doors and climbs out. Peering beyond the windows, I see others loitering in the street and on the sidewalk, music vibrating under the tires. I only hesitate a moment before I follow.
Groups of people sit in tiered positions on porch stairs, while others stand around burnt-out street lamps and cars that look like they haven’t moved in a decade. An ’80s, two-door green Dodge that looks like it weighs more than my house sits lopsided on two flat tires, a young guy with dark hair and a leather jacket, fisting a plastic cup, leans against it.
I slam the door to the truck, Farrow and his crew waiting for me. Turning, they lead me like we’re on parade, everyone’s eyes following me as I float past.
They still haven’t told me where I’m sleeping. I cast my gaze around, seeing both sides of the street lined with the same style brownstone townhouses, but for whatever reason—either age, wear, or damage—they’re close to looking black. They might’ve been impressive once.
Gazing ahead, I see this street disappear into the horizon, a few lights in Shelburne Falls glittering in the distance.
We’re high. This neighborhood sits on a hill.
And these houses…they’re not cheap. Or they weren’t back in the day.
Something pulls at my memory.
What is this place? Most of the houses in Weston are one story, with clapboard siding and overrun lawns.
Here, wrought iron railings lead the way up stone staircases to rich, wooden doors and mostly dark windows, although the house to my right has a soft glow coming from the second floor.
“Oh, shit,” someone gasps.
I look to see a guy with his head turned over his shoulder, gaping at me.
Mace stops me and unfastens my cuffs, taking them off as another young guy drifts past me. “It’s going to be a long two weeks, baby,” he taunts.
“Has she had her shots?” someone else jokes.
But then Farrow swipes something off the top of an old wooden barrel, handing me a drink. About two fingers of something cloudy white.
I don’t even smell it. I hand it back.
Amused, Farrow swallows the contents in one gulp.
“Where are—” But my phone rings, cutting me off.
I look at the screen, hoping it’s not my parents.
Kind of wanting it to be Kade. Kind of not.
But Aro’s name stares back at me instead. I answer. “Hey.”
“Dylan!” she shouts, but static suddenly fills my ear. “Don’t go in—”
And then more static.
I look at the screen, seeing the call is still connected. “What?” I shout for her to repeat.
“Someone—” Again, her voice disappears.
Farrow Kelly starts to head deeper into the crowd, and I crane my neck, trying to keep tabs on him.
“Can I call you back?” I start to follow. “You’re cutting out.”
“Knock Hill—”
“Huh?” I cover my other ear to hear better.
“Dylan!” she shouts again.
“I can’t hear you.” I shake my head, losing sight of Farrow and pushing through people to catch up. “Text me, okay?”
I hang up, remembering as soon as I end the call that she’s from Weston. Kade would’ve told her and Hawke by now that I got traded in the prisoner exchange. She sounded worried.
I hop up onto the sidewalk, stopping at Farrow’s side as he pulls off his hat and tosses it through a back seat window of an old black Pontiac GTO. I withhold my shudder. Pontiacs…
“Where are the adults?” I ask.
I don’t see anyone here over twenty.
He starts to walk away, glancing back at me. “You know, some people wanted your cousin in the prisoner exchange.” He runs his fingers through his greasy blond hair as I follow. “They thought he’d be fun. Personally, I wanted Thomasin Dietrich.” He takes a shot off another barrel tabletop, turning to face me. “I mean, she’s practically a Rebel anyway, and in no time, she’ll be an adult. She wants to be one of us.”
“But she’s not old enough.”
He nods. “Yeah…” Almost like he’s thinking out loud.
Thomasin Dietrich is Nate and Piper’s kid, and she’s a freshman. And she’s a Pirate, but only reluctantly. If she weren’t at the mercy of her address, she’d come to school here instead. I’ve seen her hanging out with the Rebels a lot over the past couple of years when she was—and still is—far too young to be out of the house, on her own, at any hour of the night.