Flock (The Ravenhood #1)(7)

“Alfred Sean Roberts, twenty-five, and a Virgo.” I take a picture of his license and shoot off a text to Christy.

If I wind up dead, this dude did it.

The response bubbles start immediately, and I know she’s going insane. The picture does little credit to the real thing. His looks are jarring and seem out of place here.

“Sending out a safety net?” he asks, reading my move.

“Exactly,” I hand him back his license. “If I don’t make it home, you’re suspect number one.”

He seems to mull over my statement. “Do you party?”

“In what sense?”

“In every sense.”

“Not really, no.”

He looks at me with such…intensity, new hesitation in his posture, as if weighing whether or not to take back his invitation. Despite being slightly offended, I decide to make it easy on him. “I guess that’s a dealbreaker? Don’t worry about it, see you around—”

“It’s not that, just…” He cups the back of his neck. “Jesus, I’m fucking this up good. It’s just the guys, they’ll, well, they’re—”

“I’ve been to plenty of parties, Sean. I’m no Little Red Riding Hood.”

This earns me a grin before he stomps out his cigarette with a greased-stained tan boot. “Good, because we don’t want to let the wolf get a whiff.”

“Where exactly are you taking me?”

He flashes a blinding smile that feels like a bat to the chest.

“I told you, my spot.”

I should be wary, especially because of his hesitation, but I’m intrigued more than anything. “I’ll follow you.”





We pull up to a two-story house, the only one in a tiny cul-de-sac. The rest of the houses on the street spaced just far enough apart to allow a fair amount of privacy. It’s a far cry from the inch between houses neighborhood I grew up in. I get out of my Camry and meet Sean at his car, an old classic that I struggled to keep up with on the ride over. It’s fire engine red, looks newly polished and seems to suit him perfectly. The rest of the parking spots in the circle and lining the street are cars of the same nature, mostly classics, shiny metal with powerful engines—either that or huge trucks that require some effort to climb in.

“This is beautiful,” I tell him as he gets out and closes the door, eyes hidden due to a pair of vintage Vegas Elvis style shades. Sunglasses that would look ridiculous on anyone else but work effortlessly on him. Darting my eyes away, I run my fingers along the glossed exterior of the car.

“What is it?”

“’69 Nova, SS.”

“I love it.”

A flash of teeth. “Me too, come on.”

I glance up the driveway, and it’s easy to see the tan-sided house is suited for bachelors. It’s nothing special, the lawn manicured enough to make it clean, but lacking a personal touch. There’s a group of people gathered on the porch, a few of their heads already turned our way.

A twinge of social anxiety keeps me idle as Sean walks a few steps ahead of me to follow. When he senses I’m not at his side, he turns back, and I latch my wrist to the arm draped loosely at my side. “Who all lives here?”

“Me and two others, they’re like my brothers, and both will bite.”

“That’s reassuring.”

He pushes his shades up to his crown and eyes me skeptically. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“Should we?”

Sean takes the few strides towards me, his voice level when he speaks.

“Look, I’ll admit back at the plant I thought you were a bit more bulldog than pup.”

I give him a dead stare.

He points to my expression, a new grin in place. “See, now that, that mean mug right there, is what will keep you alive in this house. Think you can keep that up while you’re here?”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t these your friends?”

He lifts a steady hand between us before pushing some hair away from my shoulder. I don’t shy away from his touch. “If you had flinched, I’d take you somewhere else, you’ve got this. Just don’t take any shit like you didn’t from me back at work and you’ll be fine.”

He takes my hand and we walk through the crowd on the porch, stopping short of the front door. “Who’s this?” The voice comes from the porch swing, out of the mouth of a guy draped around a girl who looks at me with the same interest. I can practically see the ‘we don’t do well with strangers around here’ in both their expressions.

“She just started at the plant. Cecelia, this is James, and that’s his girl Heather,” he jerks his chin to the others crowded by the porch fence who scrutinize me while sipping their beers, “Russell, Peter, Jeremy, Tyler.” They all give me the lift of their chins while a strange sensation rolls up my spine, and it’s not a bad one. If anything, it feels a little like déjà vu. Tyler holds my gaze the longest after our introduction, and I can’t help but notice the wing tip beneath the cuff of his T-shirt when he lifts his beer. Our eyes stay locked until I’m led into the house.

Despite my hesitation in coming, I feel more comfortable here than I have after one night at my father’s, and I use that to fuel each step. Once inside, I scan the spotless house. The walls look freshly painted, and the furniture new. The living room is empty of people, save the loveseat where a couple talks animatedly, the guy giving me a once-over before giving Sean a nod while he guides me through a sliding glass door. It’s when I step through onto the patio that my hackles rise, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I feel like I’m on display, which isn’t far from the truth because the back yard is bustling with people, smoke billowing from a nearby barbecue, and out of the mouths of a few next to the fence bordering the yard. To our left is a long patio table full of people taking shots and playing cards. The gathering seems to be just a few heads shy of a full-on party. Sean leads me to the middle of the yard where rows of coolers sit fully stocked with beer next to a picnic bench.