Corrupt(39)

I shot my eyes up to the rearview mirror, seeing Michael’s gaze meet mine, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Uh-oh,” he taunted, and Kai laughed at his side. I folded my arms over my chest, trying not to look nervous.

We pulled to a stop on what looked like an abandoned street. I peered out the windows and took in the small, old houses—broken, dilapidated, and dark—with their broken windows and crumbling roofs.

“What is this place?” I asked as Michael shut off the car.

Damon’s large body climbed up from the back, following Will out of the car, and before I knew it I was left alone.

Twisting my head, I saw them step onto a worn lawn in front of a house, Michael having put on his mask, as well.

Were there people up here? The tiny community appeared deserted, so why wear masks?

I hesitated a moment before letting out a sigh and opening the door. I’d kept my hood up, but I pulled it further down over my eyes, just in case.

The light breeze blew my hair as I walked around the car, and I looked up, seeing Will carrying the duffel bag into a house, followed by Damon and Kai.

There was no door.

I stuffed my hands into my middle pocket, stopping next to Michael, who simply stared at the crumbling structure. His hood was drawn, covering his hair, and only the small amount of light coming from the moon showed the red profile of the mask. Inside the house, I saw flickers of light. The boys must have flashlights.

I clutched the small box in my pocket, hearing the wooden matchsticks inside jiggle. I’d forgotten I slipped them in there the last time I wore the sweatshirt.

Michael turned his head and looked down at me, his eyes nearly black voids that I could barely make out. My heart caught in my throat, and I felt like I’d been flipped upside down.

That damn mask.

He reached into my sweatshirt pocket, and I pulled my hands out, wondering what he was doing. He took out the matchbox and held it in his palm.

“Why do you have these?” he asked. He must’ve heard them shake in my pocket, too.

I shrugged, taking the matchbox back. “My dad collected matchboxes from restaurants and hotels when he went on business trips,” I told him, sliding open the box and bringing it up to my nose. “I took a liking to the smell. It’s like…”

Without thinking, I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nose, the sulfur and phosphorous instantly making my smile.

“Like what?”

I closed the box and looked up, feeling lighter for some reason. “Like Christmas morning and sparklers rolled into one. I kept the collection close to me after…”

After he died.

I kept all of the little matchboxes in an old cigar box, but I started carrying one with me after he died.

I stuffed the box into my pocket again, realizing I’d never told anyone that before.

I peered up at him, narrowing my eyes. “Why did you bring me along tonight?”

He faced forward, staring at the house again. “Because I meant what I said in the catacombs today.”

“That’s not what it sounded like at the dinner table,” I argued. “I’ve known you my entire life, and you act like you barely know my name. What is it with you and Trevor, and why do I get the feeling that…”

He stared ahead, unmoving. “That what?”

I dropped my eyes, thinking. “That it has something to do with me.”

Michael finally took notice of me today. He’d told me things that I’d only ever dreamed of hearing, and he put into words everything I was feeling.

And then at dinner, with Trevor, he’d shut down again. Just like the old Michael. I wasn’t even in the room to him. Did I have something to do with why he and Trevor never got along?

But then I shook my head. No. That would be ridiculous. I wasn’t that important to Michael. His and Trevor’s issues stemmed from something else.

He remained silent, not answering, and my cheeks heated with embarrassment. I shouldn’t have said that. God, I was a stupid kid.

I didn’t wait for him to answer or continue to ignore me. Climbing the small incline into the yard, I stepped onto the porch, hearing it whine like a dying animal under our weight as Michael fell in behind me. Hurrying into the house, I spotted the boys flashing their lights around and exploring the various rooms.

A ripe, pungent scent hit my nose, and I winced as I looked around and took in the old house.

The place was uninhabitable.

Old furniture, stained and ripped, was strewn about, while piles of wooden debris, looking like it had once been chairs and other furniture, sat in corners. Probably waiting to be used as firewood.

All the windows I could see were broken, and I dropped my eyes, seeing garbage and puddles on the floor among small glass vials, pipes, and needles.

I twisted up my lips, hating this place already.

Why would Michael want to come here? I couldn’t deny that dark and dangerous held a lot of allure, but old filthy mattresses on the floor, stained with f*ck-knows-what, and dirty needles strewn about?

This place was ugly. I didn’t want to be here.

I cocked my head, peering in front of me and seeing an open door ahead. When one of the guys’ flashlights danced across the room, I vaguely made out spray paint on a white wall inside the door. It looked like the entry to a basement.

I definitely didn’t want to go down there, either.