“Kenneth’s got a truck, we’ve got a truck,” Rhys shrugs, slamming the tailgate. “And there’s plenty of room back here for a dead body.” The smirk he throws over his shoulder is pure venom, and I honestly can’t tell if he’s joking.
Unlike mine, Rhys’ mood has stabilized. He’s fallen into a steady, psychopathic temperament that roils with malice. I thought his irritation back at the house was going to be hard to deal with, but now, I’m worried this might be worse because I have no clue what’s going on in his head, no idea if somethingI say might cause him to lash out. One wrong comment and I could find myself being booted from the truck whilst speeding down the highway. There’s no telling when he’s like this.
Staring after him, I steel myself before climbing into the passenger seat, tossing the folder into the back. The Raptor’s interior is all black leather and red trim, the kind I’ve only ever seen in pictures. Rhys slides in beside me, his expression carved from stone with the ghost of that cruel smile still lingering there. He’s on a mission with one sole objective in mind, uncaring of how many people he’ll have to stomp on to get there, including me.
Mounting his phone on the dashboard, I catch a glimpse of the address glowing on the cracked screen. Kenneth’s uncle’s last known house. I recognize the street name but can’t say I’ve ever been over to that side of town, my entire childhood condensed down to my apartment, my school and the local youth center.
Rhys guns the engine, the roar of it tearing through the still morning as the truck fishtails out of the hangar. Tires shriek across the tarmac before catching, propelling us forward with a violent jolt that slams me back against the seat. I subtly click my seatbelt into place.
The jet has shaved hours off the trip, but there’s no hangar anywhere near where I grew up, so we’ve still got a solid hour of driving ahead. An hour of nervous energy where the air seems thicker as if it remembers me.
Rhys grips the wheel with both hands, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he pushes the Raptor harder than necessary. The dashboard glows blue against his skin, catching the tattoos crawling along his arms. Every few minutes, he glances at his phone mounted on the dash, checking the GPS or the time, and each time his scowl deepens. He’s barely holding himself together, rage simmering beneath the surface, and honestly, I’mnot far behind. If it weren’t for the certainty that Rhys will crack again, I might have fallen apart myself.
Catching me staring, his eyes narrow into a scowl.
“What is it?” he grumbles, swerving to cut across the lane and take the exit. I wait for him to merge with the next highway before clearing my throat.
“I figured, since you can’t pretend to be asleep anymore, maybe we should…talk?” I try weakly. Rhys rears his head back as if I’ve slapped him.
“What’s there to talk about? You hate me, I despise you, yet somehow here we are.” Huffing through his nose, Rhys turns up the radio, and I’m quick to lean forward, shutting it off completely. It’s not often I’m in Rhys’ orbit when he’s unable to make a sarcastic comment and walk away. We’re on a mission here, chasing one singular goal. In my mind, there’s no better time to air our shit once and for all.
“I don’t hate you. You’re just a monumental asshole to me that won’t let up. I’d rather you just ignored my existence entirely, but for some reason, you put a target on my back.”
Rhys’ fingers grip the steering wheel tighter. He doesn’t respond, the tension he radiates becoming stifling. Those same tattoos seem to be staring directly at me now, the skeletons on his neck stretching as Rhys cracks his neck.
I don’t let up my staring, refusing to back down this time. Harper managed to see through Rhys’ exterior and find something worthy underneath. For the briefest of moments, I want to see it too. I want to know who Rhys Waversea really is. Finally the tightness in his arms loosens, and the mask slips.
“My reasoning seems futile now,” he admits, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror and landing back on the road. I wait for the rest of his explanation, and it doesn’t come.
“Well, I’d still like to hear it,” I state boldly. In fact, I think I damn-well deserve it, but coming at Rhys with that attitude willcause him to shut down, not keep him talking. Another layer of silence falls between us, but I know better than to think he’s withdrawing from me this time. He’s merely contemplating his answer. I give him space, drawing my attention to the window where the highway is falling away and buildings are filtering into view.
“I don’t hate you either,” he says at last, surprising both of us with the flatness of the confession. “I just needed you gone. Destroying the scholarship program was an easy way to aggravate the board enough to reassess my father’s position. I needed to prove he can’t control me. I needed to be the menace they were so desperate to get rid of, they were willing to dethrone us both.”
“Seems counterproductive,” I hum to myself. Rhys’ brow twitches, his mouth turning down at the corner.
“How so?”
“Removing you from Waversea would put you right back in close quarters with him. Back in his house, under his rule. Doesn’t seem like winning to me.” Rhys’ knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel once again, the rigidness returning to his posture. He’s shutting down again, but at least I got one real answer. One glimpse beneath his armor.
“I didn’t need to win. I just needed him to lose.”
“No matter the cost?” I wince, thinking not only of my own life but all of those Rhys was willing to sacrifice for his vengeance. Rhys nods in agreement.
“No matter the cost.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he rakes the other through his hair. I frown at the dashboard, trying to put together the jigsaw pieces he’s given me, but none of them fit.
“You’re messing with people’s lives for your family feud. Just because I’m on a scholarship doesn’t mean I’m less of a person.If anything, I deserve my place at Waversea more than you do. I busted my ass to get in.”
Images resurface of the nights I studied until my vision blurred. The times I battled with myself to stay motivated. The guilt I felt for taking a place I didn’t feel worthy of, but Jeremy did. He couldn’t fulfill his dreams, so I’ve done it for him.
“It didn’t matter,” Rhys grunts, refusing to bend to my perspective. He feels justified in his actions, and there’s no changing his mind. His voice drops so low that I barely hear it over the roar of the engine. “I just needed to hurt the man that hurt me.”
My eyes drop to the hardly visible raised scar on his neck which I’ve seen Harper absentmindedly stroke when she thinks no one is watching. It’s not hard to imagine exactly how Rhys’ father hurt him, and it’s in more than the emotional sense. I wish I could find it in myself to find that reason enough, but I don’t. I’ll never understand his logic, but perhaps I can influence it.
“Does it matter now?” I tilt my head in his direction. “You’re about to walk into my childhood and chase down parts of my past I wanted to leave buried alongside my brother. Finding Harper will be much easier if I’m not walking shoulder to shoulder with someone who’s looking to harm me at every turn. She’d want us to put our differences aside.”
The truck swerves as a bitter, high-pitched laugh escapes Rhys. It comes so suddenly, I hastily search for the source before realizing he’s laughing at me. There’s no humor behind it, only the harsh sarcasm I’ve learned to expect.
“Don’t lecture me on what Harper would want. She wanted us. She begged for it, and you walked away. You rejected her. You abandoned us.” Rhys spits the words like a confession and a curse. His vulnerability cracks through, disguised by anger which I meet head-on with a hostile chuckle of my own.
