Chapter 222
Kieran's POV
He knelt down, unzipped the bag, and pulled out one of the stacks. In the dim warehouse light, the bills looked convincing enough. He flipped through them quickly, then grabbed another stack, checking the denominations.
"This better all be here," he muttered.
"It's all there. Now leave us alone."
He looked up at me, and for a second I saw something that might have been regret flash across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by that familiar sneer. "You think fifty grand buys you peace? This is just the down payment, kid. I'll be back when I need more."
"No." The word came out cold and flat. "You won't."
His eyes narrowed. "You threatening me?"
"I'm telling you how it's gonna be. You take that money and you disappear. You don't call Mom, you don't go near Lily, and you sure as hell don't ever mention Summer Hayes again. Because if you do, I'll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of man you are."
"Everyone already knows what I am." He stood up, the knife still in his hand. "And they know what you are too. You're just like me, Kieran. Same blood, same temper. Only difference is you got better grades."
"I'm nothing like you."
"Keep telling yourself that." He picked up the backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. "But one day you're gonna snap, just like I did. And when you do, that pretty girlfriend of yours is gonna run so fast—"
"Get out."
He laughed. "See? There it is. That Cross family temper." He turned toward the door, then paused. "Oh, and Kieran? Next time I need money, I'll just ask Summer directly. Bet she'd be real interested to hear about—"
I don't remember making the decision to move. One second I was standing still, the next I had him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. The backpack fell, bills scattering across the dirty floor.
"Don't you ever—" I started, but then Drake shoved me back. He was grinning now, that sick, greedy grin, and he crouched down to scoop up the fallen stacks. He grabbed a fistful of bills and carried them toward the doorway, tilting them into the last sliver of daylight that cut through the gap between the metal doors. He held a bill up close, squinting at it, turning it slowly between his fingers.
Then his whole body went rigid.
"The fuck is this?" he whispered. He grabbed another bill, then another, holding each one up against the light. His hands were shaking now—not with fear, but with rage. "SPECIMEN COPY," he read from the watermark, his voice low and deadly. "SPECIMEN COPY."
He turned to face me, and every trace of charm, every last shred of the performance, was gone.
"You fucking—"
The first punch caught me in the shoulder. The second one I managed to dodge, but he was faster than I expected, grabbing an empty beer bottle from the floor and swinging it at my head. I got my arms up just in time, and the bottle shattered against my forearm instead of my skull.
"You think you're smart?" Drake was screaming now, all pretense of control gone. "You think you can play me like some kind of idiot?"
He came at me again, and this time I wasn't fast enough. The bottle—what was left of it—caught me across the temple. The world went sideways, pain exploding through my head as I stumbled backward.
"I was gonna let you off easy," Drake snarled, advancing on me. "Just take the money and go. But now?" He pulled out his phone, and my blood ran cold when I saw what was on the screen. Photos of Summer. Dozens of them. Walking to class, sitting in the library, getting coffee. "Now I'm gonna make sure she knows exactly what kind of piece of shit you are."
I tried to stand, but my head was spinning. Blood was running down into my eyes, making it hard to see.
"She's gonna find out you tried to pay me off with fake money," Drake continued, circling me like a predator. "Gonna find out about your crippled sister, all the dirty little secrets you been hiding. And then I'm gonna find her myself. Gonna tell her some stories about you. Maybe I'll—"
The metal door exploded inward.
For a second, I thought I was hallucinating from the head injury. Because there, backlit by the setting sun, was Summer. She was wearing her white puffer jacket and jeans, her hair wild around her face, and she was holding—
A metal pipe. She'd grabbed a length of rusted pipe from somewhere outside, and she was holding it like a baseball bat.
"Get away from him," she said, and her voice was shaking but her grip on that pipe was steady.
"Summer—how—" I couldn't form the words.
"Your phone," she said, her eyes never leaving Drake. "I turned on Find My Friends weeks ago when you started acting weird. And tonight you turned off your location, Kieran—you actually turned it off—so I knew something was wrong. But it pinged here before you killed it." Her voice cracked. "I called the police on the way. They're coming. They're right behind me."