Speed had never been my drug of choice, but I rode hard, zipping through the last of the commuter traffic and pushing my luck at amber lights. It was a warm evening, no moisture in the air. My bike was steaming hot by the time I reached Decoy’s house.
I parked next to his car. It was unlocked and the rear passenger door wasn’t shut properly.
On guard, I left it and moved to the house, giving Decoy enough time to see me on camera and let me know if he didn’t want company.
My phone buzzed. Heart in my throat, I fished it from my pocket, but it was Locke’s name on the screen and relief washed over me.
Locke:am i even surprised u chose the craziest mutherfucka to pick a fight with
Folk:I didn’t pick a fight with anyone.
Locke:not what it looked like, bro
I left him on read and unlocked Decoy’s front door.
Silence greeted me, but I’d spent years honing my ability to judge if a building was empty or not, and my heart already knew Decoy and Ivy were close.
Also, his car was outside, so however much I trusted my gut reaction, logic told me they were here.
I shut the door behind me and waited a moment, scanning the hallway for signs of life.
Ivy’s book bag was on the floor by the cupboard under the stairs, her shoes and school uniform in a pile beside it.
I put the bag and the shoes away and took the uniform into the kitchen. The cuffs of the cardigan were soggy and frayed, like they’d been chewed on all day. I rescued the white polo from the crumpled mess and put the rest of it in the washing machine.
Decoy wasn’t the kind of bloke who left dirty clothes lying around. It took me a few minutes to rustle up a whole load. By then, I’d spied him and Ivy in the garden. She was digging in a pot while he stared into space.
I snagged a beer and two juice cartons from the fridge and took them outside, claiming the space beside Decoy on the patio steps.
Ivy glanced up and jumped, her dirty hands flying to her uneven hair. “Folksie, you’re so quiet.”
“Habit, bug. Come here a sec.”
Ivy set her trowel down and shuffled in my general direction.
When she was close enough, I swept her off her feet and placed her on my knee. “This is nice,” I lied, ruffling her hair. “Did your mum take you to the hairdresser?”
Beside me, Decoy rumbled a sound that might’ve been a warning, but I ignored him just for a moment, blocking him out to zero in on the tired fear clouding Ivy’s gaze. The hesitance strangling the answer she wanted to give.
I tucked her choppy hair behind her ears, picking over my next words, searching for a loophole she’d accept. “You know, if there’s something you’re not supposed to tell your dad or your teacher, you can always tell me instead. Or someone else. I bet Orla would want to know where you got that pretty haircut.”
“I’m not allowed to tell Orla.”
“Who else aren’t you allowed to tell?”
Ivy rattled off the names of every brother at the table, mine included. Even Locke. It left me fresh out of options close to home, but the Rebel Kings weren’t my only family.
I carried Ivy back to her pot and set her down, coaxing her to tell me all about it while I fired off a text to the best person I knew to fix this situation. All the while, Decoy looked on his silence, his honeyed gaze so lifeless I couldn’t look at him without real fear rising in my chest.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang with a video call.
Jekka.
I angled the phone to catch Ivy in the frame and answered the call, and Jekka’s face appeared with the biggest smile.
“Oh my goodness!” She leaned forward. “Who is that little beauty? Finch, come here and look at this.”
My sister filled the screen a moment later and hooted out more delighted enthusiasm. “Oh ho! As if Folk needed anyone to make his ugly mug any uglier. Honey, where’d you get that haircut? I want one too.”
