Page 17 of The Lies We Steal

“Nate Robbins, self-proclaimed Candy King. Sells everything from weed to heroin. Only person in town you can get Ecstasy from with a crown on it.” Rook tells us, “Hasn’t said anything about who he gets it from though. It’s just the normal responses, stop, don’t kill me.”

I peer up to the slamming trailer, the entire left side is encroached with orange fire, moving quickly towards the back. I wasn’t interested in being burnt to a crisp tonight. So we were going to need to wrap this up.

Thankfully for us, it was secluded. Placed in a plot of land that was surrounded by towering trees, miles away from anyone else. The perfect place to commit murder.

The wind howled, owls singing in the branches, and I could smell the rain on its way. There is always a scent that settles into the air when a thunderstorm is coming.

Nate could barely sit up on his knees, if he was smart, and I knew Silas was, he took his legs out first. Dirt covered his clothes, blood dripping from his face too quickly to be healthy.

I doubt he’d be able to walk out of this, if we let him live that long.

He bellows in sheer pain. I knew this one would be a little harder to crack than Doctor Howard. Nate was a criminal, he had more to lose if he told the truth.

“I’m not telling you assholes shit!” He spits saliva and blood onto the ground in front of him.

“How heroic.” Thatcher grunts.

We didn’t have time to pussyfoot around with this guy, not like with Howard. The clock was ticking and we needed answers.

I crack my neck, grabbing Nate by the back of his greasy hair. Silas had done a number on him, open wounds oozed blood and bruising has already started.

“Thatcher give me your knife.” I reach my free hand towards him, feeling the cool metal of the Swiss army in my hand.

I flick to blade open easily, hooking the blade underneath an already cut open wound, lifting the skin up, shredding ligaments and nerves. It’s severely painful, something I wouldn’t want to happen to myself.

“Son of a bitch!!” He cries, I can feel his warm tears on the back of my hand as he withers in my hold. Every bone Silas struck is probably broken or shattered. They ached with all his movements.

I couldn’t image what kind of pain he was in.

“I wouldn’t lie again, Nate. Tell me about the Ecstasy.”

“Goddammit! Fuck! HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP!” He wails into the night like a banshee.

Rolling my eyes, I filet the skin back even more, pulling it up and pressing the tip of the blade into the tissue beneath. I feel the blade hit his cheek bone, so I begin to rub it back and forth.

“Scream like a fucking pussy all you want, Nate. No one can hear you out here. There is no one that is going to save you from this.” I seethe.

“Fuck agh, fine!” He groans, bawling like a little baby. I don’t blame him though. “I’ll talk, please, I’ll talk!”

I smack the opposite side of his face, “Smartest move you’ve ever made, Nate.”

“I get my X from a teacher’s assistant at Hollow Heights. Name’s Chris. It’s good product, only guy who makes it like that in the state. I just, I—” He stops,

“Ah ah, keep going Candy King.” I add, wiggling the knife in front of his face.

“I just mark it with my symbol, okay?! Make people think I’m the one making the shit. I meet the guy in the parking lot of Tilly’s on Saturdays, he drives a white Volvo. That’s all I fucking know I swear.”

“A teacher’s assistant? You’re fucking joking.” Rook breathes.

I sling Nate’s body down onto the ground, he hits it with a thud. The windows inside the house shatter, an audible explosion resonating from inside the walls. The fire hisses and cackles, warning us of its rage.

I throw my arm up to shield my face from the wave of heat. We needed to leave. Now.

Leaving Nate there, unafraid of him talking or if he dies, either way he can’t touch us. He’s a drug dealer and we are four of the most important sons in this fucking shithole.

I jog to Thatcher’s car, using the knife to quickly slash Nate’s tires, making it that much harder for him to get help.

“Is everyone in this fucking town involved? Who’s next, the fucking priests?” Rook mutters, slinging his bag over his back, helmet in his hand as he turns to face me.