The Lies we Steal (The Hollow Boys Book 1)

Briar

This idea made a lot more sense inside of my head than it did right now. It had seemed like a great plan all evening, getting ready, driving here, even the first twenty minutes seemed promising. 

“I can’t believe I let you drag me here,” Lyra laughs, hiding her face behind her red solo cup that’s still at the same amount from the time we arrived and I poured it for her. 

We were clustered in a corner outside people watching. 

In my head, when I got here I was going to be a social butterfly. Lyra and I would be chatting with girls about classes or boys we thought were cute. Maybe I’d even be talking to a guy who I might give my phone number to. 

That was not the case, at all. 

“Okay so maybe,” I make an oof sound as someone slams into me drunkenly, muttering a sorry before continuing to walk past me, “Maybe this wasn’t the best plan. In my defense, I didn’t think the party would be like this!” 

I looked out at the backyard of Jason’s house, we stood on the back patio where bodies filled the backyard and in-ground pool. It was a beautiful pool, one that made the swimmer in me envious. It was the only sport I was decent at and not even my high school had one this nice. 

Well minus the bodily fluids and trash at the moment. The DJ blared music from multiple speakers around the house, and God if you thought the backyard was packed. Bodies were filling every square inch of this mansion, pouring out of the living room, kitchen, and even upper bedrooms. 

I watched through the haze of the fog machine and weed, as bodies grinding together to the thumping beat.

“I told you, the kids of Ponderosa Springs aren’t normal. Everything they do, they have to do ten times harder than regular teenagers. It’s the money. Gives them all this complex that they are untouchable.” She yells over the music. 

I’d practically dragged my new roommate to this place, spewing some bullshit about us trying to be something more than ghosts. This was our freshman year of college, the next four years were supposed to be the best of our lives. 

I thought a party was the perfect way to kickstart that. 

Obviously, I had the right intentions, the execution was just a tad off. 

“I vote we leave and hit up Tilly’s diner for greasy burgers and fries, what do you think?” Lyra offers, seeing how uncomfortable we both are. 

I take another look around, couples, throuples and more with their tongues down each other’s throats. Watching the sly transaction of pills in little plastic baggies. My lungs burned at the recycled air even though we were all outside, I wanted to be anywhere else but here right now. 

“Hell yes—” I start but my voice is drowned out by the chant of someone’s name. 

Lyra and I both shift our gazes to the roof where a guy stands on top of it, wearing only what God gave him and a lacrosse helmet. 

“Dear God…” Lyra mutters, shielding her eyes just as he screams something incoherently, and propels himself off the roof and into the pool. 

Those around us lose whatever sense they have left, screaming, laughing, completely submerged at the moment. 

“If I never come to one of these again, it’ll be too soon,” I mutter, Lyra nods her head in agreement. Tossing her drink over her shoulder, 

“I have to go to the bathroom real quick, then we can leave.” 

“Do you want me to come with you? I don’t know if I trust everyone here.” She yells over the chaos. 

“Yeah! That way we don’t lose each other.” 

Together we make our way through the yard towards the backdoor, the heat inside the living room slaps me in the face, taking me aback a little. It’s pitch-black inside, the only light is the silver strobe bulbs that sporadically span across the room. It’s a snug squeeze inside, people crammed impossibly close to each other. 

How does anyone even enjoy this? 

My sweaty hands clutch Lyra’s as she navigates through the people best she can. It feels like we are making headway through everyone until someone jostles into the middle of us. 

My hand slips out of hers, my drink spilling down the front of my shirt, and to make matters worse it’s so dim I can barely see anyone’s face. 

“Lyra!” I shout over the derangement, squinting my eyes trying to catch a glimpse of her wavy brown hair and patterned shirt. 

My breathing shortens, my mouth dries as I lick my lips to wet them a bit. Wishing I wasn’t wearing my drink now because my throat feels like the Sahara. I try to remain calm, not wanting to freak out, and suddenly develop a fear of closed spaces. 

My feet scuffing forward, my eyes spot the front door and assuming that’s where Lyra would go too if we lost each other. There’s just a mountain of people I need to get through first. 

The music changes, no longer an upbeat hip-hop song with a strange remix, instead it’s a piercing screech of a guitar paired with frenetic drums. A sudden icy breeze races down my spine, unwanted chills sprinkling across my skin. My senses widen. My skin tingling, breaths settling deeper in my stomach. My ears almost twitching at every tiny sound. 

I know this sensation. I’ve been trained to notice it, even when other people don’t recognize the subtle feeling of being followed, I do. You have to always trust your gut as a thief, knowing the right time to strike is just as important as the skill itself. 

So I think, actually, I know there is someone here watching me. I turn swiftly, checking my left and right, everyone is caught up in the elation this party has given them. 

Someone blows a cloud of smoke in my face, making me cough, waving my hand to clear it out of my vision. 

My body flinches back, my heart sinking to my feet, spooked from what I found. The strobe light catches the angles of his face in glitches. One second he’s there, the next it’s darkness. 

He comes to me in sections, like a jigsaw puzzle. 

His broad shoulders were sheltered by black leather, a white shirt plastered tightly across his chest, stretching against the rigid muscles that lay beneath. The perfect swimmer’s body. Tall, wide, all tapered to a fitted waist. I find one of his hands suspending by his side, as he props himself up against the wall his boot keeping him there. Lengthy legs covered with dark-washed jeans, a standard for college guys, minus the wallet chain that hugs his pelvis and it makes my lungs throb with adrenaline. 

There are a least twenty people from me to him, enclosing him on both sides, yet he sticks out. I’m unmoving, continuing to piece him together. My mouth starts to water, my hands sweating profusely and there is a thumping inside my stomach. 

Smoke from his cigarette creates a veil of mystery around his face, the strobe revealing him gradually. I catch the veins in his dominating hands, protruding, lingering too large fingers that are embellished with silver rings. 

I shudder unconsciously, blotches of blood clinging to his knuckles. He’d recently connected them to someone’s face and I wasn’t sure if it thrilled me or scared me. Someone who could put up a fight? Or someone violent by nature? 

I was so curious. My nosey self wanted more. More than the pieces of him I could see. That was until I started putting together the edges of his face. The beat in my stomach dropping south, crawling between my legs. 

I clinched my body together, biting harshly on my tongue. 

The harsh scowl that adorns his otherwise angelic face, sucks the breath out of me. How anyone so handsome could look this bitter, was beyond me. I’d always been good at math, angles, points, and numbers. 

Everything about him was flawlessly proportioned. Aligned, sharp, and intense. Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

Dark hair, the color of onyx. Dark eyes like strings of licorice, sugary enough to eat and tart enough to make you sick. It wasn’t one of those instances where you thought someone was looking at you but really they were looking somewhere else. 

His eyes left no question. He was staring at me. 

But it was the shade of his heart that scared me. Such a terrifying level of black varnished the organ inside of his chest that recycled blood over and over again. It made me wonder if I sliced him open would his blood even spill crimson? 

The lowest part of my abdomen quivered from dread, from desire. There was a gravitational pull in his appearance, luring me in. But I could feel the sensations that rippled off him like a stone in a still pond. He was filled with ruckus, anarchy, violence personified and it struck a chord in me that hadn’t been plucked in a long time. 

Fear. 

Hot-blooded fear that boiled in my throat, ate at my skin, and gave me the sudden need to run, far, far away from him. 

While my brain was moving on high alert, screaming to leave and hit the road. 

My body had an entirely different reaction. It was refusing to leave his gaze. The outside of me, frozen. But the inside buzzed. The feeling stuck between my legs intensified because there was something about trouble that I’d always loved. 

When the strobe light went dim for a split second, relighting the room, he was no longer leaning on the wall. Now he was a few lengths closer to me.

One second he was there, the next he wasn’t, only to reappear another inch closer to me. 

He was an apex predator on the prowl for something to feast on. Something he could sink his teeth into and shred apart by the seams, stoking his need for the hunt and curing his hunger. 

I wrap my hand around my wrist, digging my nails into the soft flesh of my arm. Forcing myself to stay put. I needed to see what would happen. 

What he would do. 

Another burst of light and then, I could feel him in my space. 

He was so very close to me. Sucking up all of my oxygen. Looking over my body. Just another step forward, just another inch, and I could touch him. Smell him. Feel his presence tenfold. 

As if he could sense that knowledge, he poked his tongue into his cheek, running it across his canine teeth and dropping his head, jaw tensed. His eyes beckoning me, giving me this urge to show him something…special. 

He knew I was nervous. He was ready for me to turn and run for the hills. I think a piece of him wanted to chase me, wanted me to try and get away so the wolf in him could hunt me down. 

Darkness incases me for another second, holding my breath, ready to face the consequences of my decision. To deal with whatever destruction he was ready to do to me, prepared to see his face light up with something like a surprise that I stayed put. 

For a millisecond, I could smell something spicy and warm. I could feel his proximity right on me, even hear his breath fan down on my face. 

My eyes shut, floating in the seconds before he attacked. 

“Briar!” 

Lyra’s voice pierces through the haze, my eyes snapping open realizing the mystery man is gone, disappeared in the crowd with not as much as a word. 

“Hey do you know—” I stop myself, knowing Lyra is full of knowledge about the people who live here, but how would I even explain him? 

Tall? Hot? When he looks at you, you feel like he might eat you alive? She’d think I was crazy. 

“Know who?” She yells, eyebrows coming together in concern. 

I look around me once more, trying to catch even a glimpse of his leather jacket or silver rings. 

Only to be disappointed. 

“No one, it was nobody. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Alistair

“Well, did you get your fix, Alistair? I haven’t known you to be the kind of guy who only watched. I kept waiting to see when you’d pounce, you let me down, pal. I was ready for a show.” 

I jog down the steps of the front entrance, lighting a cigarette as I do. The smoke burning my chest, setting fire to whatever good that’s left in there. 

“Not getting enough action, perfect one? Need to get off watching me now? All you had to do was ask, Thatch, and I’d let you.” 

His armrest on the driver side window, staring up at me with a glare. Slowly he raises his middle finger, the ruby gem with his family signet reflecting in the night. 

“Move over, sugar.” I open the driver’s door, with a sarcastic smile. 

“This is my car!” 

“And you drive it like you’re an elderly man with cataracts. Now move the fuck over.” 

He grinds his molars, lifting himself over the middle console and to the passenger seat. Readjusting his three-piece suit. I hated this car. The Lamborghini Huracán was one of the best on the market, dipped in Thatcher’s signature color. Dark red. But even I could respect that this car needed to be driven correctly and going ten over the speed limit wasn’t it. 

“Buckle up, honey. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

I can feel his glare on the side of my head as I put it into drive, pressing aggressively onto the accelerator, the tires squealing loudly.

“You break it, you buy it.” Thatcher snarks as we tear out of the driveway and towards the address Rook had sent us. 

His right hand grips the side of the door, it’s subtle, most wouldn’t even notice his already pale hand turning another shade of white as he squeezes the handle. 

Except I know this is the one thing Thatcher can’t deal with and that’s not being in control. 

“Oh yeah? With what money? You think I can fork out the two hundred grand for this?” 

“Oh don’t be modest, Alistair. We all know you have more money than God. One of the perks of having your last name on everything in town.” 

My hands grip the steering wheel impossibly hard. The animal in my gut waking up, it does so any time my family’s money is brought up. My family in general. 

“Not my money. It’s theirs.” 

He relaxes in his seat a beat, laying his head on the head rest with a sigh, 

“Whatever you say, Ali. Whatever you say.” 

The drive goes by quickly, this car eats the pavement for breakfast. It’s not long before I’m turning the car into the dirty driveway. A rickety old mailbox marking the house. 

I see the fire before we even pull in front of the house, the orange glow between the trees crackling and building higher. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” I groan, running a hand through my hair with agitation rattling my hands. 

The car crawls to a stop when we are parked several feet away from the blazing trailer. I’m quick to hop out of the car seeing Silas looming over a kneeling body, a wooden baseball bat in his grip. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Rook hisses, stalking up towards me, anger radiating off his body. 

“Yeah, what took us long to get here, Ali? You wouldn’t have gotten distracted?” Thatcher asks, cunningly. He has a tendency to ask questions he already knows the answers to. Boost his monstrous ego. 

I push Rook’s chest before he can get in my face, pointing my finger at him, “I told you to wait. I told you if worse came to worst you could light it up, but not before I even got here.” 

The anarchist in him refuses to back down, let alone admit what he did was reckless. I should’ve known better than to let him take the lead on this one. Rook is as unpredictable as the roaring flames behind us. 

I got distracted. It’s my fault I wasn’t here earlier. 

Distractions make you weak. Make you stupid and I am none of those things. 

I allowed myself to be both of those tonight. 

I usually don’t enjoy parties. I went tonight because we needed to watch Nate. Waiting for him to leave. Before that I only go when we have a plan to cause some type of chaos, scare people, fight someone, burn something down, ruin everyone’s fun. Never going to actually party. However, this Hollow Heights Homecoming proved to be…interesting. 

I should have been focused on the task at hand. There was a lot at stake right now, but instead I stopped to watch her.

The one who never looked away from my eyes, not even when my presence started to scare her. Her cherubic face glowed in the darkness, reflecting off the strobe lights. I couldn’t see a lot of her, I wasn’t sure if her hair was brown or if it was that dirty shade of blonde that I seemed to have a thing for. 

I wasn’t so sure it mattered. 

There was something inside of her that was more interesting than her looks. The way she didn’t run from me. She didn’t allow her fear to overcome her. No, she was curious. She let her curiosity win, she wanted to see what I would do. 

My cock twitched. 

Wondering how far she would let me go before she cried mercy. 

“You are not the goddamn boss of me, Caldwell. If I want to torch up this shithole because I think it’s the best bet at protecting us, then that’s what I’m going to fucking do.”

“Careful, Rook.” I warn him. 

“Or what? You gonna hit me?” He raises an eyebrow, “Do it, I’m sure I can take it.” He is baiting me. But this isn’t sparring in my basement like normal, this is me letting out my anger and him needing pain. I’m about to rip his balls right off and put them on a shelf in my fucking bedroom. 

“Ladies, we have more pressing matters at the moment. Put your dicks away, you’re inadequate compared to me, let’s focus on not dying or going to jail for the time being.” 

Thatcher slaps our shoulders, pushing between us and walking towards Silas. Knowing this is nothing to concern himself with because it’s like brothers arguing over the last piece of pie. 

“Did you at least cover your tracks?” I ask Rook as we follow Thatcher’s moves. 

He gives me a sideways look, “I’m not an amateur. Broken bulb in the oven, turned it to high, took ten minutes before it exploded. However, we have to make this quick, he’s got a lab in the back bedroom, and I hear meth is highly flammable.” 

Goddammit.

“Batter up!” Thatcher howls like a wolf at the full moon. 

Silas straightens up, like he’s at bat for a World Series title. Rearing the wooden barrel back, he slugs it forward, swinging his hips and upper body with it. A thud followed by popping of what sounds like Rice Krispies electrifies the night. 

Apparently, Silas had grown tired just watching all our fun. 

A charge of excitement zipped through my blood, my dick twitching again. Tonight had been full of things that got me going apparently. 

“Who is he? And what do we know?” 

“Nate Robbins, self-proclaimed Candy King. Sells everything from weed to heroin. Only person in town you can get Ecstasy from with a crown on it.” Rook tells us, “Hasn’t said anything about who he gets it from though. It’s just the normal responses, stop, don’t kill me.” 

I peer up to the slamming trailer, the entire left side is encroached with orange fire, moving quickly towards the back. I wasn’t interested in being burnt to a crisp tonight. So we were going to need to wrap this up. 

Thankfully for us, it was secluded. Placed in a plot of land that was surrounded by towering trees, miles away from anyone else. The perfect place to commit murder.

The wind howled, owls singing in the branches, and I could smell the rain on its way. There is always a scent that settles into the air when a thunderstorm is coming. 

Nate could barely sit up on his knees, if he was smart, and I knew Silas was, he took his legs out first. Dirt covered his clothes, blood dripping from his face too quickly to be healthy. 

I doubt he’d be able to walk out of this, if we let him live that long. 

He bellows in sheer pain. I knew this one would be a little harder to crack than Doctor Howard. Nate was a criminal, he had more to lose if he told the truth. 

“I’m not telling you assholes shit!” He spits saliva and blood onto the ground in front of him. 

“How heroic.” Thatcher grunts. 

We didn’t have time to pussyfoot around with this guy, not like with Howard. The clock was ticking and we needed answers. 

I crack my neck, grabbing Nate by the back of his greasy hair. Silas had done a number on him, open wounds oozed blood and bruising has already started. 

“Thatcher give me your knife.” I reach my free hand towards him, feeling the cool metal of the Swiss army in my hand. 

I flick to blade open easily, hooking the blade underneath an already cut open wound, lifting the skin up, shredding ligaments and nerves. It’s severely painful, something I wouldn’t want to happen to myself. 

“Son of a bitch!!” He cries, I can feel his warm tears on the back of my hand as he withers in my hold. Every bone Silas struck is probably broken or shattered. They ached with all his movements. 

I couldn’t image what kind of pain he was in. 

“I wouldn’t lie again, Nate. Tell me about the Ecstasy.” 

“Goddammit! Fuck! HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP!” He wails into the night like a banshee. 

Rolling my eyes, I filet the skin back even more, pulling it up and pressing the tip of the blade into the tissue beneath. I feel the blade hit his cheek bone, so I begin to rub it back and forth. 

“Scream like a fucking pussy all you want, Nate. No one can hear you out here. There is no one that is going to save you from this.” I seethe. 

“Fuck agh, fine!” He groans, bawling like a little baby. I don’t blame him though. “I’ll talk, please, I’ll talk!” 

I smack the opposite side of his face, “Smartest move you’ve ever made, Nate.”

“I get my X from a teacher’s assistant at Hollow Heights. Name’s Chris. It’s good product, only guy who makes it like that in the state. I just, I—” He stops, 

“Ah ah, keep going Candy King.” I add, wiggling the knife in front of his face. 

“I just mark it with my symbol, okay?! Make people think I’m the one making the shit. I meet the guy in the parking lot of Tilly’s on Saturdays, he drives a white Volvo. That’s all I fucking know I swear.” 

“A teacher’s assistant? You’re fucking joking.” Rook breathes.

I sling Nate’s body down onto the ground, he hits it with a thud. The windows inside the house shatter, an audible explosion resonating from inside the walls. The fire hisses and cackles, warning us of its rage. 

I throw my arm up to shield my face from the wave of heat. We needed to leave. Now. 

Leaving Nate there, unafraid of him talking or if he dies, either way he can’t touch us. He’s a drug dealer and we are four of the most important sons in this fucking shithole. 

I jog to Thatcher’s car, using the knife to quickly slash Nate’s tires, making it that much harder for him to get help. 

“Is everyone in this fucking town involved? Who’s next, the fucking priests?” Rook mutters, slinging his bag over his back, helmet in his hand as he turns to face me. 

I glance over at Silas, he’s staring at the flames that climb higher and higher every second. Lost in his head and I wonder if he’s seeing something else than just flames. Wondering if the voices are there, or if he’s imagining people dancing through the fire. 

Wondering if he is seeing her. 

Red flashes in my eyes, knowing I can do nothing but watch him in pain right now. I can’t help him, not yet anyway. But I can slaughter the people involved in her death. I can’t bring her back, but I can avenge her. 

For Silas. 

I return my eyes to Rook, “If they are,” an eruption shakes the ground, a gust of hot wind hitting all of us. Nate screams, the fire probably spreading to outside the house and creeping up on him. 

“Then we’ll watch the whole town burn for that mistake. For Rose.”