Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland Book 2) Page 6

  “You’re right. You can’t imagine, so please don’t try. You’re just embarrassing yourself.” I went to stand, but Emily’s desperate tone stopped me.

  “We aren’t going anywhere fast. Please, Harper, just listen. If we find out anything, we will tell you. You will be the first to know. You can trust us.”

  Could I? Could I really trust her to put my feelings, a complete stranger, above those of her boyfriend’s best friend? I doubted it. That was why I kept my little night-stalker bombshell to myself. I figured if I told anyone, they’d commit me for sure.

  “Trust.” I laughed. “I can’t trust anyone. Even Jensen has retracted his statement.”

  They both gasped in shock. I stopped myself and took a breath, surprised they were only just finding this out.

  “You’re fucking kidding,” Ryan said. “He retracted his statement? Why? What the hell is that fucker up to?”

  “He said it wasn’t in the best interest of his family to pursue the case. Said he didn’t want the family name being dragged through the courts.”

  They both exchanged a knowing glance and Ryan rolled his eyes.

  “You mean his dad didn’t want that. Bloody hell. I knew he was a bastard, but I didn’t realise he’d shaft his best mate like that. Sorry, Harper. No offense.” Ryan dropped his gaze into his lap in embarrassment at his outburst. I hadn’t taken him for the shy type.

  “None taken. What do you know about the Lockwoods?” My own intel was limited to what Brodie had told me. I’d never really been in their circle at school. My friendship with them came later, when we were old enough to forge our own social lives. Mine had been an extension of Brodie’s. I had no idea what had gone on before then, but I knew they were held in high esteem by everyone in Sandland. Not as high as the Renaissance men were now, but high enough.

  “I know they aren’t to be trusted.” Ryan turned to Emily. “I bet if we looked deeper into their shit, we’d find more than we bargained for. Maybe we should start digging. See what corpses they’ve got hidden under their patio.” His eyes snapped back to me. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”

  “Again, no need to apologise. I can handle you using the word corpse. What I can’t handle is my brother’s death being used as some sort of cover-up.”

  Emily reached across the table to take my hand in hers. I didn’t like the contact, but I gritted my teeth and accepted it.

  “No one could handle that,” she said with a sad recognition in her eyes. “I know better than anyone how much that hurts. Like I said before, you’ll get honesty here. It’s how we work.”

  “Yeah, I know. I heard about what happened with your dad at the community centre. Sorry about that.”

  Emily turned to Ryan and sighed. He reached over and gave her hand a squeeze, taking her attention away from me, thank God.

  I hadn’t been at the community centre when her dad had faced his trial by public humiliation. But there were enough people there who had been, and the footage was all over the internet for everyone to see. Guys dressed all in black, hiding their faces with bandanas and hoodies, had kept her parents prisoners on the stage whilst a premade video played out to the audience, telling them all that Alec Winters, Emily’s dad, had been laundering money through businesses in Sandland for some pretty shady people. They also exposed his part in his son’s death.

  Apparently, he’d picked his son up after having a few too many whiskeys and then crashed the car. His son died right there in the passenger seat, and Mr Man-of-the-people had used an accomplice to move Emily’s brother’s body into the driver’s side and left him there. His own son, and he’d deserted him when he needed him the most in favour of his political career. A career based on lies, seeing as he also had a long-term mistress and a daughter hidden away in the capital. I suppose, when you really thought about it, Emily’s life was as much of a train wreck as mine.

  “We’ve all got our ghosts to contend with. Some of us more than others,” Emily said, breaking through my reverie.

  “Ghosts. I’m seeing a lot of those recently.” I clamped my mouth shut. I needed to get out of there before Emily’s soothing voice and sympathy had me spilling all of my secrets.

  Emily stood up and went over to her handbag that was lying on the kitchen counter behind us.

  “I think we’re more alike than you care to admit. I didn’t like talking to people about my brother, Danny, when he died. I didn’t see the point. It wouldn’t bring him back. But for some reason, I kept these. They weren’t much use to me, but they might help you.”

  She handed me a bunch of leaflets. I thumbed through them, seeing grief counselling, ways to deal with the loss of a loved one, and other titles that all blended into one. She continued making her point as I flicked through them.

  “I never could stomach seeing a counsellor, but I did try some of the online forums and chats. If you prefer chatting online as opposed to face-to-face, it might help.” She reached forward and pulled a leaflet up from the pile to show me. “This one has a chatroom for teens and young adults that have lost a sibling. It’s probably the best of the lot. I used to spend quite a few nights letting off steam in there. The guys in that chat, they get it. They don’t judge, and they sometimes say stuff that’ll help. It’s no miracle cure, but it’s a chance to have a voice, to be heard. I think you need that, Harper. You need to be heard.”

  I sat, dazed, turning the leaflets over and over in my hand.

  “I’ll give it a try,” I said, looking up at her.

  I stood up and walked back towards the door. Then I stopped and turned to face them both.

  “I’ll pay for the damage. I shouldn’t have done that.” It wasn’t a sorry, but it was a start.

  “Kieron’s probably already fixed it by now. Don’t sweat it,” Ryan said, opening the door for me to leave.

  “Harper,” Emily called out, making me stop on the path and turn to face her. “We’re here for you. Anytime you need to talk, just come over. Even if you want to ramble a load of nonsense, we’ll listen.” Then she lurched forward and grabbed me in a hug. I took it, but I didn’t return the sentiment, just left my arms hanging limply at my side as she clung to me.

  “Anything,” she reiterated as I pulled away.

  I nodded absent-mindedly and then wandered back over to my car. I was a walking zombie in an apocalyptic post-Brodie world, where Renaissance men and their girlfriends hugged me and offered me tea and sympathy, and people I thought were life-long friends treated me like complete and utter shit.

  I had one foot in the mortuary and one still stuck in the fucked-up place I used to call home.

  Sandland.

  Half the population lived hand-to-mouth, while the other would cut your hand off if it meant they could buy another car to go with the ones that sat gathering dust on their massive driveways. The class divide had never been so wide. But I was a class all of my own.

  No family, apart from my nan. I pushed envelopes full of money through her door most weeks; whatever was left over from the cash-in-hand jobs I did on the building sites I walked every morning.

  No home, unless you counted the derelict high-rise covered in shit, piss, and graffiti that’d made Finn, Sandland’s own Banksy, have sleepless nights. A cold hard floor and a sleeping bag were my home now. Even the rats didn’t show up anymore, preferring a better class of shithole than the one I lived in. But it kept me hidden, and I didn’t get soaked in the rain. Well, not much, as long as I stayed away from the broken windows when it really poured down.

  As for my friends? I’d thought I was a rich man a few months ago. A man who has friends he can count on, that he can trust with his life, is a rich man indeed. Turned out I was as piss poor in that respect as I was financially. And that was why I spent most days watching them, trying to see if there was a hint of remorse from either one of them. Those days, when there was no work at the building sites, I usually camped out in Sandland. Chose one of them to watch as they went on their merry way, enjoying their shitty lit
tle lives without me.

  Not her though.

  I saved my visits to her for the night-time. I liked knowing she was in her house, thinking she was safe, but she wasn’t. None of them would ever be safe again. Not if I had my way.

  I sat with my hoody down low over my face as I swigged on a can of cheap, knock-off Coke and sat on the wall a few feet down from Ryan’s garage. They never noticed me. I’d sat here a few times, sometimes for hours, watching them working, laughing, joking about like they didn’t have a fucking care in the world. They didn’t though, did they? They didn’t have the law coming after them, ready to send them down for a crime they didn’t commit.

  Bare-knuckle boxing wasn’t illegal in our country, so why the fuck was there a warrant out for my arrest? The last time I’d spoken to Pat Murphy, the guy who’d organised the fight, he’d told me to lay low. Told me it wasn’t worth showing my face around Sandland. That’d been weeks ago, and I was still hiding like the freak she was painting me out to be. Enough was enough. Shit had to start changing real soon, and I was going to change it.

  I watched as a car pulled onto the forecourt and then she got out, her blonde hair whipping in the wind as she stomped over to the workshop where Kieron was.

  What the fuck was she doing there?

  I leant forward as she took something off the workbench then marched over to a van parked in front of the office and started banging the shit out of the windscreen.

  This chick was crazy.

  Fucking nuts.

  I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at her. What the fuck was she doing, kicking off at the Hardys like that? I thought I was mental, but she definitely had a screw loose. Face of an angel and temperament of a psychotic bitch. I had to admit, deep down, it turned me on. In a fucked up, I’d never go there, she’s completely insane, kind of way. But still, it did something to me. The girl had balls. I liked girls with balls.

  She lifted her arm up to hit it again, and like a crap reality T.V. show, I couldn’t bring myself to switch off or look away. This shit was too entertaining.

  Then Ryan, Emily, and Ryan’s dad, Sean, charged out of the office. Ryan grabbed her round the waist and moved her away from the van, shaking her hand until she dropped the tool she was holding. Sean looked mortified, grabbing his hair and shouting, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I could guess, but I was just that bit farther away to hear it. I liked Sean; he’d always been good to me. Treated me like his fourth son, and he’d always done everything he could to help me and my nan out. So, seeing him get shit on by the likes of Harper Yates didn’t sit well with me. Sure, I’d laughed at first, but she’d crossed a fucking line giving Sean grief. This wasn’t his battle to fight.

  Harper had her back to me, but I could see her shoulders sag. Defeat was taking over. About fucking time too. And then I bristled with anger. What the hell were they doing taking her into their house? Was this some kind of sick joke?

  I gritted my teeth and held myself back, when what I really wanted to do was go over there and tell them all what I thought about them. The girl had ruined my life, was bad-mouthing me all over Sandland, and they were inviting her in for tea and biscuits?

  I always knew Ryan was a pussy for Emily, but Harper too? Was he looking to start his own harem for all the broken girls of Sandland?

  I bit my nails and waited. Only my nails were non-existent, so I was just biting the skin around where my nails used to be. This feeling of being helpless, of watching and not being able to act, made me feel pointless, worthless even.

  I decided there and then that I needed to pay Kian a little visit. Maybe Finn too. Out of all of them, they were the ones I trusted the most. Finn, because he got me. He always had, and he barely spoke anyway, so nobody would be quizzing him for what he knew. And Kian? Kian could hack into anything if you asked him. If I wanted anything sorting that was technical and I wanted to bypass our resident computer whizz Zak, Kian was the man. He would sort me out, no questions asked. I wouldn’t tell the fucker anything though. He was a good kid, but he never knew when to keep his mouth shut.

  About a half hour later, the door to Ryan’s house opened and Harper came out, looking saner than she had when she went in. Emily called out to her and she turned around, then I watched as Emily hugged her. Fucking hugged the bitch that had ruined my life and destroyed everything. So, she smashes up a van on Sean’s premises, tries to get me put away for life, and she gets a fucking hug? I make one mistake, and I’m out. No passing go, no collecting two hundred pounds. Just fuck off, Brandon. We want to forget you even existed.

  No way.

  I wasn’t going to take this lying down. I would have my say. If she could fuck shit up for Sean, I’d fuck shit up for her.

  Watch out, little Yates. I’m coming for you.

  “Oh my word. I can’t believe it. What on Earth is happening to this lovely town?”

  Mum looked up from her phone to give Dad a worried glare over the breakfast table.

  “I think we need to move house, Andy. This place is going to the dogs.”

  “What happened?” Dad was picking over his eggs, but any fool could see he had zero appetite.

  “Someone set fire to the Lockwood’s cars last night. They think they were petrol bombed on the driveway while the family slept inside. They’re lucky they didn’t target the house too. Who would do that?”

  I knew who.

  Dumb move though. Everyone knew they had CCTV in every corner of that estate.

  “Have they caught them?” Dad asked. “Don’s security is pretty tight all over that place. I can imagine the police are on that today.”

  “Yeah,” I huffed, rolling my eyes. “They’ll chalk it down to high jinks and close the case. Hard policing isn’t exactly the forte of the Sandland police.”

  Mum ignored my dig and shuffled over to sit next to Dad to show him the photos on her phone.

  “Karen sent me these. Police have no clue who did it, although they have some suspicions. A dark figure spray-painted over the security cameras at the front of the house, and any cameras that weren’t vandalised were offline. It’s like they had a perfect window to do whatever the hell they wanted, whoever they are.”

  Criminal damage and tampering with technology? Sounded like the fallen saint of Sandland had weaselled his way back into the good graces of the Renaissance men. There were only two guys I knew of who could tap into systems like that, and they were both in that crew.

  “I shouldn’t say this,” Dad said in a low voice, like the Lockwoods were in the next room. “But Don has enough enemies to fill Wembley Stadium. I think they’ll have their work cut out for them sifting through that black hole.”

  Mum hummed in agreement then leant forward to look at me.

  “Maybe you should reach out to Jensen and Chase? They haven’t had an easy time of it lately. We need to stick together in these trying times. Plus, safety in numbers. I do worry about you being on your own sometimes, Harper. Sandland isn’t like it was years ago. These gangs are-”

  “You don’t need to worry about me, Mum,” I said, cutting her off. My own safety was the least of my worries. If someone wanted to come for me, I was ready.

  “All the same,” Mum added. “Those boys might not be going through the grief we are, but they are going through a lot.”

  I tried to look contrite and empathetic, but I wasn’t. They’d had cars burnt. Cars that would probably be replaced today. A minor inconvenience for them. They had insurance. They also had people on the payroll who’d deal with that annoyance for them. They wouldn’t be phoning companies or getting quotes, organising salvage and recovery. That was beneath them. So why should I feel sorry for them when all they’d done was fuck us over? They deserved a bit of payback. Unbeknown to my parents, they weren’t grieving Brodie like we were. They’d moved on.

  Suddenly, I felt tired of the scrutiny being thrown my way. Mum had sensed something wasn’t right, and I wasn’t ready to discuss it. I certainly wasn’
t prepared to tell them about my little visit to the Lockwoods yesterday, or my own crazy blow out at the Hardy’s garage.

  Shit.

  I’d caused criminal damage, hadn’t I? Did that mean the police would suspect me of burning those cars? I mean, I had an alibi. I was at home all night. But I also had a motive. A pretty fucking big one.

  “I need some fresh air,” I muttered, suddenly feeling nervous. I grabbed a piece of toast from the rack so they wouldn’t pester me to sit down and eat, then I wandered over to the patio.

  When I opened the door and stepped out into the garden, the icy chill made me shiver. The dew on the grass was a blanket of glittering frost, and I was thankful I had my Converse on this time.

  I made my way to the bottom of the garden, the grass crisp and crunching delicately under my feet. I pulled my hoody tighter around my middle and hugged myself, trying to find comfort in my body heat.

  And then I froze.

  In between two fir trees, right where he liked to stand, was a collection of white pebbles, arranged to spell out the letters RIP. Underneath was a single white rose laid there like some sick homage. The fact that it was a white rose, like the one I’d thrown down to rest on Brodie’s casket, made me realise that he’d been there that day. He’d seen me. And he wanted me to know he had. This was another one of his sick and twisted games.

  “You won’t win,” I said in a low, angry voice to nothing but the open air around me. “Play all the games you want, but you won’t win with me. I’m not fucking scared of you. You’re nothing, do you hear me? You. Are. Nothing.”

  I kicked the stones until no evidence of their message remained, then I picked up the rose and stalked back towards the house. I stomped up the steps and headed for the bin, shoving the rose into it and then stormed back inside. I was done playing his hide and seek twisted shit. If he wanted to come onto our property, he needed to be man enough to face me. No more skulking in the shadows. No more secret messages and stalking. We both wanted revenge. We were both fighters. But only one could win. And that would be me.