Page 1 of The Wayward Sons & The Vampires of Fortune (The Wayward Sons #4)

nineteen years ago

S tate your name for the record.”

“Gray,” I whispered as I fussed with the handcuffs around my wrists. They hurt. I’d been in them for hours, moved between rooms, and then chained to this table. The last detective I tried to tell that to just scoffed at me.

“I need your full name, son.” The detective who sat across from me scribbled something down on his stupid little notepad. What the hell did he have to write down anyway? I hadn’t said anything worth all the scribbles. And what was his name again? I should’ve paid attention better.

“Grayson Charles Harper.”

“Good. And do you know why we arrested you?”

“You found drugs,” I said. When he glanced at me, I added, “In my dad’s house.”

“Where you live, correct?” the detective asked.

“Sort of,” I answered with a shrug. Most of the time, I crashed in the old barn or in the back of my boyfriend’s car. Mostly because my drunk-as-fuck father kicked me out for some reason or another. “When he don’t mind me there.”

Which was never. Marta was the only person in that house who liked me, and she was just the cleaning lady. She kept me fed, stitched up my clothes that tore, and kept the first aid kit stocked. A big part of me wished I could just go home with her instead. Those were just silly dreams.

“Is the house listed on your driver’s license as your place of residence?” he continued.

“Yes, Sir,” I muttered.

“Where did you get the drugs, son?”

“I…” I faltered. What was I supposed to say? My boyfriend took the drugs while I was busy stealing the money they didn’t know about. At least, I hoped they didn’t. I’d stashed that shit to help me escape this hellhole. “I don’t got a good answer for that, Sir.”

The detective just nodded, his lips pressing together tightly and damn near disappearing under his bushy mustache. I just stared at him. Why would anyone want a ridiculous thing like that on their face? Did he want to match his mop hair?

“I’m going to level with you, son—”

“I ain’t your son,” I snapped. I was no one’s son. Not really.

“Right,” he replied. The pen dropped to the table as he leaned forward. “We found three hundred and fifty grams of heroin in your house. That’s a first-degree felony. You’re seventeen. You’ll be tried as an adult. You won’t end up in juvie, son. That’s real time in an adult prison.”

My heart thumped harder in my chest. Prison. I wasn’t made for a tiny room with four walls and no window. I needed the open air around me and the earth beneath my feet.

“Do you know what they do to scrawny little boys like you in prison?”

“I don’t, Sir, but I reckon it ain’t that hard to figure out,” I said.

That shit I wasn’t worried about. I was a goddamn hunter.

Demons were more terrifying than a bunch of assholes in prison.

Besides, I could control the air and the earth.

While I wasn’t dumb enough to use my power in front of humans, I wasn’t opposed to it either.

Sometimes, people just needed to be put back in their place.

“No, I’m sure it’s not,” he agreed. “So, who did the drugs belong to, Grayson?”

“It’s Gray,” I corrected. “Ain’t no one around here callin’ me Grayson. Sir.”

“Look, son,” the detective began, “if I’m being honest, I don’t think you did this.

That boyfriend of yours—Sampson West—he’s got a rap sheet a mile long.

You? The only thing you’ve got is a handful of loitering warnings.

The evidence all points to you, but I can’t see how you go from hanging out where you shouldn’t be to hard drugs.

Come on, son. You help me, I help you. Was this your boyfriend’s doing? ”

I said nothing.

“If we ask him, is he going to say it was you?” he pushed. No way in hell would Sam turn on me like that. “No matter what they say, silence is just as damning as saying something.”

I just shrugged. I didn’t have a damn thing to say.

They didn’t have enough to say this was me, and Sam wouldn’t say a fucking word.

Wasn’t quite sure what they’d do with the whole drugs in the house thing, but hell…

even my old man was home. I couldn’t be the only one in hot water.

And good old Teddy Harper didn’t take shit lying down.

There was no way my old man wouldn’t figure out a way to sweep this shit under some rug somewhere.

Hopefully.

“All right then.” The detective drummed his fingers on the table as he settled on just staring at me. Glaring at me . I shrugged again because no way in hell would some old man with a mop for hair intimidate me.

How long we sat there was beyond me. I’d been stuck in this place all afternoon and night. I was hungry, tired, and bored. It was all just blending together at this point.

“All right then,” he repeated and got to his feet. I waited patiently as he unhooked my handcuffs from the table. “Let’s go, son.”

Staying silent, he led me out into the hallway. We made it as far as the elevator hallway before he stopped.

“Ah, shit,” the detective muttered. He patted down his pockets before turning to a uniformed officer standing nearby. “I forgot my notebook. Will you stand with him for a minute?”

“Yeah.” The officer nodded and stood next to me like I needed some kind of babysitter. Yeah, yeah, police station and all that shit. The man looked about as thrilled with the decision as I was, but we both remained where we were stuck waiting.

I fidgeted with my fingers, restless and pent up. It wasn’t the handcuffs or the small building full of police. The air was too still—stagnant and gross. It made my skin crawl. And that was why I couldn’t go to prison.

Down the hall, Sam stepped up to the elevator. I frowned. He wasn’t in handcuffs. Why wasn’t he in handcuffs too? Hell, why was he alone? Something uncomfortable clawed its way into my chest.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stared up at the elevator light.

His gaze traveled along the ceiling while he bounced on his feet.

When he saw me, he froze, and my chest constricted.

He looked like shit—his blue eyes brighter as a result of the redness from being strung out and his chestnut hair a mess.

He hadn’t told them I did this… had he?

My gaze held his as I silently pleaded with him to say something—anything. He had to know what would happen if he didn’t. His jaw ticked, lips pressing together tightly.

My mind reeled with the possibility of what it meant. Why would he do this to me? We were two misfits. A drug addict and a thief. We didn’t fit in anywhere, but it didn’t matter. I loved him, and he loved me. We had each other, and that was more than enough. What else did we need?

At least, it was supposed to be.

Two men stepped up behind him. The first was some guy in a suit—probably another detective—but I recognized the other as Sam’s older brother, Cole.

His brother had raised Sam and had been a royal pain in our asses along the way.

Cole was tough. I couldn’t blame him too much, considering he’d had sole custody of Sam for years.

A whole bunch of legal shit and all that. I didn’t really understand the details.

But I did know that if Cole was involved, this wasn’t good. For me.

“Just give me a call if you think of anything else I need to know,” the detective said to Cole, giving him a business card. To Sam, he added, “Get yourself help, kid. I’ll be in touch.”

The minute they were alone, Cole’s hand dropped on Sam’s shoulder hard enough to make even me flinch.

“ In ,” Cole ordered.

“Fuck off,” Sam snapped.

“Get your ass in the elevator or so help me, Sam, I’ll knock your ass out and drag you to rehab that way,” he growled, his voice so low I had to lean into my hunter senses to catch the words. Rehab? Cole was taking Sam to rehab, which meant I was left here. In handcuffs. “Your choice, boy.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” Cole shot back. The elevator dinged open, and Cole damn near pushed Sam inside.

And just like that, Sam was gone, leaving me to take the fall for the shit he’d done.

“Seems unfair, don’t you think?” My very own detective popped back up by my side.

Well played, dick. Of course, he’d manipulated this whole shitshow.

“He gets to go home with his brother while you stay here with me. You sure you don’t want to change your story?

No new information you want to share with me? ”

I stared at the closed elevator doors, willing them to open up again. Like Sam would come strutting back in and admit to the whole thing. My heart wanted that anyway, but my head knew better.

No one was coming to rescue me.

No one gave a fuck about me.

Not really.

I was on my own.

“You think I can get one of those fancy state lawyer people at my trial?” I asked, giving the detective my best grin.

“Or is this one of those stand up there and defend myself sort of things? I ain’t finished high school yet, Sir.

I reckon it’d be real fuckin’ dumb to let a kid like me do all sorts of talkin’ in front of a judge and all them people. ”

The detective sighed, annoyed by me, and I just smiled wider.