The mid-afternoon air hits me as I step outside. I pull out my phone to a screen of missed calls and text messages. I'm dialing Jay's number and my knuckles are already itching for what's coming. The phone rings once before he picks up.
"Well, well. He lives," Jay says dryly. "I was about to send a search party."
"I need you to meet me at the pier at six," I cut in, my voice clipped. The warmth from my moment with Nora drains away, replaced by cold purpose.
There's a pause, and Jay's voice drops, cautious. "The pier?"
"I need a favor," I say, my grip tightening on the phone until my knuckles turn white. Images of Evan's phone, of what he did, flash through my mind. "Setting an asshole straight."
The line goes quiet for a beat, then Jay exhales, his voice hardening with understanding. "I'll drive."
When we pullup to Connor's house later that night, the thrum of bass bleeds into the night air, light strobing against windows and spilling across the manicured lawn. It's the same scene it always is—loud music, too much booze, and people pretending their lives are more interesting than they are. But none of that matters. My focus narrows to one target: Evan.
Jay moves through the crowd like a ghost, a wolf in sheep's clothing. He doesn't need instructions—we've done this dance before. Five minutes is all it takes for him to corner Evan, flashing that fake smile that never reaches his eyes. The baggie of pills he holds up might as well be a golden ticket. I hang back by the bar, lighting a cigarette to steady the adrenaline clawing at my chest. The ember glows bright then dims with each drag as I watch Jay work. He leans in close, dropping his voice like he's sharing some precious secret.
Even from here, I can read his lips:"Not here, though. Too many people. Next door in the backyard. The neighbors are out."
Evan, the stupid fuck, grins and downs his drink before heading for the side gate. Jay catches my eye on his way out and gives a barely perceptible nod.
We're on.
I wait in the shadows of the massive oak tree, cigarette burning low between my fingers. I really need to quit this shit too.
Evan stumbles into view, his movements clumsy and erratic. He freezes when he sees me, recognition flashing in his bloodshot eyes, followed closely by fear.
"Shit," he mutters, taking a shaky step back. But Jay's already there, blocking his escape.
Jay lifts the gun—a prop, unloaded, but Evan doesn't need to know that. The panic that washes over his face is almost satisfying. Almost.
"Relax," I say, keeping my voice deliberately calm, razor-sharp. "We're just gonna have a little chat."
"You're fucking insane," Evan spits, but his voice trembles, betraying his fear.
I let out a low, humorless laugh. The sound echoes in the dark space between us. "Maybe. But at least I'm not a piece of shit who preys on underage girls."
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He's frozen now, trapped in the snare he's been setting for others.
"You think you're untouchable," I continue, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. The gravel crunches under my feet. "Rich boy, smooth talker. You get off on it, don't you? The power it gives you, the control you feel when you're terrorizing girls, degrading them. Boys like you grow up to be men who think they can do whatever the fuck they want to whoever they want."
Before he can muster a reply, I drive my fist into his stomach. The force knocks the wind out of him, and he collapses to the ground, gasping like a fucking fish out of water. The sound of his pain is music to my ears.
"Get up," I bark, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. His glazed-over eyes meet mine, and I shake him hard enough to rattle what little sense he has left before slamming my fist into his jaw. His head snaps back, and he stumbles, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth onto his pristine white collar.
I crouch down to his level, leaning in close to make sure he sees my face when I tell him, "You come near Nora again—you even think about her—and I'll make fucking sure the last thing you ever see is my face before you find out what Hell really looks like. Do you understand me?"
He groans weakly, nodding, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough for what he's done.
"I said, do you understand me?" I growl, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pulling him so close our noses almost touch. The metallic scent of his blood mingles with expensive cologne.
“Y—yes,” he croaks, his voice barely audible over the distant thrum of bass from the house.
I release him, and he crumples back onto the grass, limp and pathetic. Reaching into his pocket, I pull out his phone, holding it up for him to see.
"This? I'm keeping it," I say coldly, slipping it into my pocket.
I head back inside to find Jay who'd walked away after I sent Evan to the ground. The bass reverberates through the floorboards, the music a dull roar in my ears. Instead of finding Jay, I spot Farrah almost immediately. Her body is practically glued to Connor's as they fuck each other's mouths in the corner. She sees me and horror flashes across her face, like I'm some ghost that has come back to haunt her.
She pushes past Connor, who looks pissed—probably nursing a hard-on and wounded pride. I'm about to walk away when she calls my name, her voice cutting through the chaos of the party.
