The Lies we Steal (The Hollow Boys Book 1)

Alistair

I wasn’t sketching her because she was attractive. 

A lot of girls are attractive. There are a lot of girls who are pretty and some who are hot, but that’s not what matters right now. I don’t care that she’s pretty. 

I repeated those words over and over again as I used my charcoal pencil to enhance the curve of her round face, extra detail in the way her cheeks tint when she’s flustered. Her arched eyebrows, even the left one with a slit through it from a scar that refused to allow hair to grow over it. Easing on the pressure while I graphed the shape of her pink lips. 

I was sketching her because she was another reminder of something beautiful that did nothing but make me bleed. My entire life was spent surrounded by shiny things, by stunning people with glitter smiles and beautiful homes. All they did was take from me, hurt me, until there was nothing left to take, nothing human to hurt. 

It was fitting for her name to be Briar, a thorny fucking bush in my side. Poking, stabbing, annoying me. 

The maze had been fun. Thrilling. My hands wrapped around her scared body while she trembled beneath my touch. Even in the darkness, with the smoke pooling around us, I could see those colorful eyes dancing with terror. 

They shook for me, they begged for mercy beneath the layer of dissent. She would not die easily, refusing to lay down and give up. Which was fine with me, more than fine. 

I liked that she was willing to try and give it as much as she got it. 

My pencil pressed harder into the paper, these drawings were just reminders. Warnings of what happens when you trust beauty over action. 

Using my thumb, I began to blend the hard edges, shading them into skin texture giving her more depth than she deserved. NôvelDrama.Org exclusive content.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, the only thing able to pull my head out of my sketchbook during class. I’d learned to drown out the sounds of those in power at a young age, school was a breeze for me now. 

After pulling it from my pocket I see a few messages from the guys, mostly talking about Silas and his slow ass. We’d been waiting for a few weeks to hear about the security footage he was trying to hack into. 

Something about it was harder to do than other things, I think he mentioned something about a firewall? I don’t fucking know. All I did know was that he was taking his precious little time. 

We’d been following Thomas, taking turns keeping an eye on him and we’d yet to catch him doing anything suspicious. No midnight runs from his condo apartment on Main Street, no smuggling of illegal drugs into his car after school, we hadn’t even caught him going into the chemistry lab. 

I figured he was keeping everything in his house now. Trying to lay low after Chris turned up missing and the Candy King nearly died from a fire that broke out in his house. Whoever was involved knew they might be a target. They knew someone was coming for them next and they were probably doing everything they could to keep their presence to a minimum. 

Rook and I camped out for an entire night outside his place and there weren’t so much as a flicker of light in the wrong direction. I was starting to believe we were looking at the wrong guy, that the swipes in and out of the chem lab were just a coincidence. 

I fire a text back, slipping my phone back into my pocket and picking up the pencil to finish what was I working on. 

It was rare that I paid attention in class, even when I got lucky and had art as an elective in high school, I still drowned out the sounds of teachers and their directions. Not because I thought I was better, because I didn’t need their help. I didn’t want their guidance. 

Flipping to the next blank page in my book, I begin working on a few tattoo designs. Ones I’d like to have, ones I’d like to give to others. The more I worked, the more I was leaning towards black and gray illustrative designs, even a little surrealism where I could bend the creative spectrum onto skin. 

Shade believed in mastering all techniques in tattooing, starting with the basics and building up. You could have a specialty, one category you’re really good at, but you have to do the others just as well. So even though I hated traditional Japanese style work, I worked on sketching a dragon onto my paper. 

“Mr. Caldwell.” I hear my name seconds before my book is being shut by someone that is not me. The pages of my sketchbook tumble on top of my drawing hand and pencil. 

The rest of the class seems to inhale simultaneously, all of them possibly in shock from watching someone else blatantly disrespect me. Sure, teachers are in charge at Hollow Heights. It’s their job to dictate and guide us along our four-year journey. 

Just not me. 

Not me. 

Not Silas. 

Not Rook or Thatcher. 

They leave us be. Letting the bad apples guide themselves hoping our last names and money will cover any horrific damage we cause in the time we are here. 

They don’t bother bossing us because they know it would fall on deaf ears. Not only could we cause mayhem on our own, disciplining one of us would mean the possibility of upsetting our families. And with a name like Caldwell. One that is on half the town, the school library, and on the board of the university, mine was the last family you wanted to piss off. 

“Would you mind telling me the definition of an Axon? Relative to the body, of course.” Professor Thomas Reid stands tall in front of my desk, I hadn’t even wanted to sit in the front but by the time I got here, it was all that was left. 

I drag my tongue across the front of my teeth, making a deep sucking noise as I do. Students around me holding their breath, watching me, 

“Do you mind kissing my ass? Relative to the body, of course.” 

It’s not the answer he wanted, but it’s the answer he expected from me. He scoffs, the corners of his lips tipping into a satirical smile. I’d yet to see anything about Thomas and Briar that resembled one another except the dirty blonde color of their hair. If they didn’t tell you, I don’t think anyone would be able to tell. 

“Clever, Alistair, very clever. You know what they say, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.” 

I smirk, “And the highest form of intelligence. Maybe you should stick to teaching biology instead of lecturing students on Oscar Wilde. Doesn’t seem to be your forte.” Another failed dig at me has changed his attitude almost entirely. 

The aggravation sitting on his shoulders as he imagines a scenario where he can give me a piece of his mind without me smarting off back to him. 

“You’re right. This is biology. So let’s keep the doodles and sketches for art class. Pay attention or I’m kicking you out.”

It’s apparent Professor Reid, a teacher who has only been here a few years doesn’t care about the unruly reputations that surround me and my last name. I respect that. A man who makes his own assumptions, one who is not allowing others to scare him into not doing his job. 

It’s an honorable quality and in any other situation, it might make me respect him more, but sadly, it’s not and all it does is piss me the fuck off. 

I scoot my chair back, the wood beneath it screeching noisily. Grabbing my things, slipping my pencil behind my ear before looking him in the eye. If he’s involved, I hope everything in my gaze is telling him, 

I’m coming for you.

My jaw tightens as I stand to my full height, taller than him by more than a few inches, 

“Allow me.” I murmur, not really giving a fuck if he kicked me out or not. I was leaving anyway. 

I was going to leave without another word, walk to my car, drive all the way home and then take my frustration out on a punching bag or a wall. I knew his karma was coming and knowing I could make him pay tenfold later on was what kept me from doing anything reckless in the moment. 

That was until I felt his hand on my chest. 

His fucking hand.

On my chest. 

My blood is nearing a physical boiling point as I drop my head to look down at his slender fingers plastered to the front of my white shirt. My mind zones out for a few seconds, just spinning around the endless possibilities of how to break every bone in his body. 

Each one crunching beneath my fist, underneath my shoe as I step down onto his windpipe crushing it slowly. I wanted to rip him to pieces and use the left-over shreds as chew toys for Silas’s dog, Samson. 

My mouth watered with hunger for a food that didn’t exist. 

For pain. For broken bones. For cries of mercy. 

“Your parents may be on the board, Alistair, but that does not make you untouchable. We all answer to someone.” He says quietly, near my ear. 

I raise my eyes leisurely, taking a deep breath, I feel my nostrils flare with the aggressive air passing through them. 

“Get your hand off me.” I grunt, suddenly losing every excuse in my head for why I don’t collide my fist into every bone in his face. My control is slipping further and further away. 

“Are you going to hit a teacher, Mr. Caldwell? That’s grounds for expulsion no matter what your last name is.” 

What is it with this family and testing my fucking patience? First his niece, who isn’t going to know her ass from her head when I’m done with her and then this fucking tool. Both of them, outsiders to this place, to how this works. 

Thinking they are above the never-ending pedigree. 

Dots of red begin to cloud my vision, the beast I don’t bother locking away growls inside my chest, ready to gorge on my intended target. 

Reaching my hand out to snake around his wrist, I grip him too tightly to be comfortable. 

“There are not many limitations to what I can do, Professor Reid.” My tongue spits his name out like rotten meat. For a split second, a firework of worry bursts in the center of his pupil before it dulls out. 

I release his wrist, pushing past him with my shoulder a bit for good measure and turn to look at him, the look on his face daring me to say anything that he could use to get me in trouble, “You should be careful, Professor Reid. People going missing and all.” 

It was irresponsible to say in front of people, but I thought that was slightly better than killing him with my bare hands in this classroom. Throwing the door open, I stalk down the hallway, thankful it’s empty and there is no one to shove out of the way as I make my way to the parking lot. 

I doubted I would make it home before my fist slammed into something or someone. The urge to call Rook and tell him to meet me at the house for sparring was tempting. In the ways Thatcher and I butted heads, Rook and I seemed to mesh. 

He needed to get hit sometimes and I needed to hit. 

I guess there was something about being in control of who hit him that made it different. All I know is he needed it sometimes, he needed the pain and I could give it to him. 

And we would do anything for each other. No matter the favor. Even if it meant beating the shit out of one another. 

Anger is pouring out of every single pore, my hands shaking as I click the unlock button my key fob, my hand curling around the door and yanking it open. 

I needed a second to catch my breath. I needed a moment to calm down. 

What I didn’t need was to open the door to my car just to find millions of bugs crawling around the inside. Hundreds of the flat oval bodies scattering along my dash and burrowing into my seats. 

In my delusion, I thought there were snakes accompanying the gigantic alien looking insects, but I quickly realized they were what was making the noise.

“What the fuck,” I curse, inspecting the outside of my vehicle making sure I hadn’t run over something that might have attracted them to the inside of my car. 

When I see nothing, I look back inside, grazing a sheet of white paper with red ink splattered across it. I reach into the nest of maybe twenty of them, shaking the paper off until they fall down onto the floorboards. 

It would take me months to get the musty, wet smell out of my seats. I wasn’t afraid of bugs nor did they bother me, it was just highly irritating. 

The world was intent on testing me today, apparently. 

I scan the note a couple times, looking at the cockroaches, back to the note over and over again. An inkling of a smirk makes my lips twitch. 

I’m not scared of you, Caldwell. Fuck off and find a new hobby. I suggest starting with insect collection. Here, I’ll give you a head start. 

I lick my bottom lip, shaking my head, what a fucking warrior she is. 

A warrior that I was going to shatter beneath my combat boot. I’d watch that little smart-ass light that twinkles in her eyes when I’m not around, disappear forever. I’d take everything she thought she knew and flip it. 

And she was going to taste like honey on my tongue when it happened. 

Human enough to be afraid, strong enough to not let it sway her. I wasn’t stupid, I knew she was scared, but I had a strong inclination that she was finished letting us run all over her. 

An itch on my hand causes me to look down and see that the chunky vertebrate had creeped onto my skin. I fling the bug onto the ground just before I smash it with my foot. It crunches under my weight. 

She’d not only managed to get hundreds of cockroaches into my car, but also broke into my vehicle without triggering the alarm. It showed talent. Showed promise. 

It was a fucking shame it was going to be wasted. That I would have to take a girl who thought she knew everything and show her what life was really about. 

Yank her into the darkness, into the shadows where I liked to hide, and show her exactly why she should be afraid of someone made of nightmares. 

Someone like me.