Keep Your Friends Close: A Gritty YA Crime Thriller, page 1
Keep Your Friends Close
Niki Keith
Copyright © 2023 by Niki Keith
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
1
Eddie
Now
I silently vowed that I wouldn’t knock out Riley’s teeth.
“Here we are,” Diego said, rolling his shitty Charger to a stop.
Wes, my twin brother, glanced at me from the passenger seat, catching my grim expression. “Oh, lighten up, bro. It’s only two days,” he said, pushing the door open.
I hurried after him. “So, what? Did we really have to invite him?” I eyed Riley leaning on his outdated station wagon. Just seeing his handsome features and killer smile made me cringe.
Diego came over and back-slapped me in the chest—hard. “We’re here to patch things up. Now quit bitching and get your stuff.”
I didn’t even wince. My eyes locked on his, my knuckles itching to pound his boyish face. I could do without his bullshit that weekend, too.
He snickered at me and heaved a glob of spit on the ground. Disgusting ass pig.
“You heard the man,” Wes said, bumping shoulders with me.
It was so typical of him to take Diego’s side. Sometimes you’d think they were brothers. Fuck it. The sooner I got it over with, the sooner I’d be away from them. I grabbed my backpack and tossed Wes his. A couple of cases of beer were beside Diego’s duffel bag. Just what we needed to make it the official weekend from hell.
My eyes flicked to the abandoned cabin Wes, and I discovered when we were thirteen. It was supposed to be our secret—until his loyalty to Diego became more important.
Brooklyn’s BMW purred up the rocky trail behind Riley, vibrating with muffled pop music. My heart skipped a beat. She would definitely make the weekend worthwhile. I withheld my grin. If one guy made a wisecrack, I would indeed scratch my knuckle itch.
Brooklyn’s best friend, April, jumped from the passenger seat in sunglasses, denim short shorts revealing her toned dark-brown legs, and a tube top that barely covered her boobs. The guys’ necks craned as they took in an eyeful.
But not me. I only had eyes for Brooklyn, who remained behind the wheel hesitantly. She, too, didn’t want to be around Riley. We didn’t want to have a party, especially not after what we did. Our lives would be over if anyone ever found out.
My eyes met Brooklyn’s. She gave me a small wave; I returned with a curt nod. Perhaps we could sneak off and camp away from the others. That was the overall idea—to use the cabin to store our personal things and camp outdoors because it was so hot. It wasn’t as if the place had much to offer, anyway. It didn’t even have electricity, but you could hardly tell with the LED lights and lanterns we had everywhere.
For Wes and me, having the cabin meant having our own private sanctuary where we could escape from Hank. God knew our dad wasn’t exactly Father-of-the-year. Lately, we used the cabin for anything but a haven.
“Good—all of us besties are here,” April said, over-enthusiastically.
Riley knew damn well he no longer had that title with me. Any of us. He’d burned us, and I refused to pretend it hadn’t happened.
April held up two bottles of vodka. “What do you say we get this party started?”
Wes dodged forward and reached for a bottle. “Now, I’m all for that. Shot party!”
“Uh-uh. You can get the food out of the back.” She snatched the bottle closer to her chest, out of his reach.
Wes scoffed and started for the cabin. “Like hell I will,” he muttered.
Riley, who’d still been leaning against the station wagon, laughed. “Can we just get this thing going already? I’ll help you with your stuff since I’m the only gentleman present.” He flashed a toothy grin.
I clenched a fist. Let Riley be, Eddie.
April batted her thick, fake lashes at him as if he had angel wings sprouting from his back. “Aww, thank you, Riley.”
I’d had enough. Clutching my bag, I followed Wes up to the lopsided porch. The log cabin was slate gray. It had a family room, a half bathroom with working water (I had no clue how), and a bedroom upstairs the size of an attic, which Brooklyn and I claimed since we were the only serious couple in the group. Wes and April were on-and-off lovers.
The hot and musty living room was complete with a loveseat, coffee table, and oriental rug, courtesy of Brooklyn. A fireplace burned like hell in the winter when appropriately lit. The back wall had built-in shelves with a set of cast iron skillets left by the previous owner. We kept them, unsure if we’d ever actually cook on them someday.
Sandwiches and roasted marshmallows were on the menu for today.
“Why don’t we do this?” I heard Diego say, unable to not be a control freak for five minutes. “Let’s work in groups. Wes, Riley, and I can set up camp. April and Eddie can gather what we need to start the fire. And Brooklyn can prep the food. There—we're all doing our parts.”
“Me and April?” I spun around and shot Diego a glare.
“I’m pretty sure we’d have to come and search for you if you’re with Brooklyn,” Diego said, rolling his eyes. “Besides, it’s only a few hours until sundown. We’ve already wasted enough time.”
Brooklyn appeared, handing out juices. “I’m fine with prep duty.” She shrugged, offering me a small smile.
“Oh, come on, already,” April said, shoving the vodka into Brooklyn’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring your boyfriend back in one piece.”
“Creepy, ain’t it?” April asked, almost an hour later.
“What?” I huffed, swatting at a low branch in front of me. The muggy air left me sweaty all over. What idiot thought camping would be a good idea, anyway?
“The seclusion. We’re all alone. No one can hear us for miles,” April said, her wide eyes gleaming.
I slapped a mosquito on my arm. “I’d say annoying before creepy.” I frowned at Diego and Wes, admiring their work. They’d successfully mounted one tent and were carrying on as if it were the Statue of Liberty. I couldn’t wrap my head around why Wes was so big on the trip. We agreed we’d limit our time with Riley to avoid further conflicts. But I suppose that scenario would only set Riley off even more. It didn’t matter. We were there—the entire gang.
I bent for a thick branch when a piercing scream sent me sprawling on my stomach into the dirt.
April laughed. “Told you it’s creepy. Diego, you owe me twenty bucks,” she said to them as they approached.
I pulled myself up, my shirt and shorts dirty, my palms caked in mud. “You’re an idiot,” I said, wiping my hands on my shorts.
April scrunched her nose at me. “Did you think I was being murdered?”
Wes snickered. “If you were, no one would hear your screams for miles.”
“That shit isn’t funny,” I snapped.
“Aww—why don’t you crawl back to the cabin and cry to your girlfriend about it?” Diego said.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Least I got a girlfriend. Third wheel,” I added under my breath.
April’s jaw dropped.
Diego stepped forward, jaw clenched. “What the fuck you say to me?”
“Whoa.” Wes leaped between us, a hand on each of our shoulders. “Seriously, just go chill out in the cabin, bro,” he ordered me. “And tell Riley to get his ass back here.”
My eyes stayed on Diego’s a beat longer before flicking to Wes. “Why isn’t Riley with you guys?”
Wes rolled his eyes. “Typical Riley bullshit. He complained about a stomachache and left to get some water. That was thirty minutes ago.”
Lazy fucker. I turned and dodged over a log, trying to find my way back to the clearing. “Yeah. I’ll go get Riley.”
Riley. Everything was his fault. Well, not all of it. What happened last year on Halloween night was more to blame, but Riley was definitely the icing on the cake.
The cabin came into view. I hurried, realizing then would be the perfect time to tell Brooklyn about camping elsewhere. Nothing but four walls stared back at me when I got inside. Bread and condiments were on the table, untouched.
“Brook?” I called out, carefully stepping up the creaky stairs. The cracked bathroom door told me no one was inside, yet I still stuck my head in. Nothing. I approached the closed bedroom door, about to knock, but the voices on the other side gave me pause. Brooklyn and Riley were in there together. I held my breath and listened.
“Riley… wait… I don’t…” Brooklyn’s voice panicked.
“No, you can’t back out on me now. Come here.”
Brooklyn yelped.
My heart knocked against my ribcage. I twisted the doorknob, but it wouldn't open. “Brooklyn!” I pounded the wood with my fist.
She gasped. “Eddie?”
I tugged on the doorknob. “Open the goddamn door!”
Brooklyn screamed. “Let go of me, Riley. Stop!”
I rammed my shoulder into the door over and over. “Riley, you son-of-a-bitch.” The old wood splintered and the door popped open. Riley had Brooklyn pinned to the wall with his forearm as he clumsily fumbled with the button of her jeans. “Get off of her!” I grabbed his shoulders and spun him around. He staggered, struggling to keep on his feet. His eyes were wild, sweat soaking his face. What was the matter with him?
I shoved him. “What the hell are you doing?”
His lips turned up in a sloppy grin as he swayed. “Go back
outside, bro.” He turned back to Brooklyn and grabbed a handful of her hair.
“Riley—stop!” I gripped his shoulders, hoping to pry him from Brooklyn, but he only tugged her with him.
“Fuck off!” He elbowed me. “Brooklyn said this was okay.”
“What?” Her voice went shrill.
My vision blurred. I punched Riley square in the jaw. As he stumbled and took a swing at me, I dipped, driving my shoulder into his waist, and knocked the wind out of him. Riley grunted and gasped for air, tumbling backward, hands reaching for something to hold on to.
I leaped, my arm outstretched, but his ivory fingertips clawed at nothing but air. It was too late. Glass shattered. Riley shrieked. Then he was gone. Brooklyn and I got to the broken window and watched in horror as Riley fell to the ground below.
Brooklyn screamed, a trembling hand at her mouth.
“Oh, God… I didn’t…” The fear prickling the back of my neck made me swallow my words. A gust of wind snaked its way through the shattered window, shooting a chill down my spine. It was like being in a whirlpool. Everything spun, merging into grotesque shapes I couldn’t recognize.
But then Riley came into focus below, sprawled on a cluster of jagged stones. I stared at him, willing him to move. I forced myself away from the broken pane, pieces of glass crunching beneath my sneakers. Dots of blood gleamed on my shaking hands. “Brooklyn…” I whispered hoarsely.
She kept her back to me as she sobbed. I took off down the stairs.
“What the hell was th—” Wes almost ran into me as I flew out the front door.
“It’s Riley!” I darted from the porch and rounded the cabin, skidding to a halt at the edge of the rock pile. Riley was flat on his back, his arms splayed over his head, blood trickling onto the rocks. The image burned into my memory as I stared, frozen in time. A bird screeched in a nearby tree, jolting me from my trance. “Riley?” I hardly recognized my high-pitched voice.
Wes brushed past me to investigate. I hung back as he carefully crawled over the rocks, shakily reaching for Riley’s neck. He snatched away and turned to me with a horrified expression. “Holy shit, Eddie… Riley… he’s dead.”
2
Eddie
Now
“I have no idea where Riley could be, Coach Donahue.” The words burned my throat. I shut my eyes, squeezing the phone so tightly I could crush it.
The Donahues—Riley’s parents—didn’t start calling until Monday evening. Two days after Riley…
Coach Donahue coughed. “Are you sure, Edward? I know how Riley can be. If he told you something, I promise I won’t be upset. His mother’s car is gone, too. I—” he sighed, “—we just want him to come home.”
I swallowed to keep my throat from closing. “Um, I’m certain, Coach. I haven’t heard from Riley since Friday night—at Mario’s birthday party. If he calls me, I will tell him to phone home.” I hung up and exhaled in a long whoosh, like air escaping an oversized balloon. Tears stung behind my eyelids. I clutched the corners of the warm dryer, attempting to pull myself together, groaning at the heaving in my stomach. There was nothing left in me, having vomited for the past couple of days. I gulped and took a deep breath. In and out. In and out.
By the third round, my shoulders relaxed, and the tightness in my chest lessened. I slowly opened my eyes. Alright. Back to work.
I reached inside the dryer for the warm, rainforest-scented bundle. That’s when I noticed the olive-green shirt, appearing as if out of nowhere. My heart rate quickened. Where the hell had that come from?
I dropped the load and poked at the green top like it was alive. It was Mom’s shirt, of course. Olive green was her favorite color. Only Mom had left almost eleven years ago. So why was it in the laundry?
I shook my head and tossed it in the trash. It had to be Hank’s doing. Our father, Henry Hawkins, preferred to be called Hank. He swore he’d kill us if we ever said dad. But Wes and I had another name for him—Monster.
I finished folding the laundry and quietly made my way up the basement steps, slipping a key from around my neck. It belonged to Mom. The key went to the double-keyed knob on the basement door, which had been her place of refuge.
Wes and I had matching copies. It pissed Hank off whenever we locked ourselves down there, and he couldn’t get to us. He could’ve changed the lock, but he refused to put any money into the house. Our house held on by such a thin thread, people assumed it was vacant. The shutters banged against the siding even in the faintest of breezes. There was no telling what lived in the knee-deep grass. I suppose that was my fault. Whenever Hank got drunk, he yelled at me to mow the lawn yet forgot about it the moment he sobered. I could do yard work, but truthfully, I did not know where to begin.
The sickening yellow tint in the hall reminded me of an old hospital room. A truck commercial blared from the ancient floor model TV in the den.
Creeping inside the kitchen, I spotted Hank’s shiny brown head in the busted La-Z-Boy. His nine-millimeter pistol rested on the end table. For whatever reason, he always kept his gun within arm’s reach. Maybe it was a reminder of his hay days as a cop.
Hank tilted his bald head back and downed the final swig of his Budweiser. I was grateful it wasn’t the harder stuff. Why the hell was I spying on him, anyway?
I cautiously stepped away from the doorway. We had to be careful maneuvering around Hank’s paranoia. Wes had barged in on him before, and Hank had turned and taken a shot at him. The bullet hole remained a grim reminder in the kitchen wall.
“Come here, Eddie,” Hank said suddenly, startling me. Did he have eyes on the back of his head? I dropped the laundry basket in the doorway and approached his chair. “What’re you staring at?” he demanded, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “I could see your stupid reflection.”
Duh. “I was just passing by.” I tried to sound casual. Not that Hank would ever notice when something was the matter, anyway. Wes hadn’t been home since Friday. Hank hadn’t caught on to that yet.
He finally turned my way, eying me as if I were nothing but shit on his shoe. “Well, pass by the fridge, and bring me another beer.”
I nodded, about to spin on my heel, when a newswoman stopped me cold. “—a local jogger discovered the body this afternoon—”
I stared at the TV, everything around me moving in slow motion. The reporter’s speech became inaudible, slurred words.
“—authorities are yet to release further details—”
I gulped hard. What did she mean? Found a body where? I almost screamed. Could it be Riley?
“Asshole.” Hank’s face came into view, leaning over the arm of his seat. “Go fetch my beer before someone finds your battered body next. And bring me a bowl of chips, will ya?”
I made my way to the kitchen on wobbly legs. I had to grip the ends of the counter to steady myself. Just breathe. It couldn’t be Riley, could it? That night we’d been sure to—
I fished my cell from my pocket. I had to reach Wes. But his number rang once and then went straight to voicemail. “Of course.” I hung up.
“Edward, if I have to come in there…” Hank said, springing me into action.
I searched each cabinet to find the same thing: nothing. Hank hadn’t picked up groceries in ages, let alone a bag of potato chips. I found a pack of saltine crackers in the cupboard that I guessed would have to do. With another beer, he most likely wouldn’t have noticed the difference, anyway. Besides, I was more concerned about that mysterious body. I had to get a hold of Wes.
I grabbed another Budweiser and returned to the den, straining to hear what was being said. The news was discussing scattered thunderstorms for the night. I held the items out to Hank.
“What the hell is that?” He glared from the pack of crackers to my face.
“It’s all we have.” You know that already, I wanted to add, but my eyes landed on the pistol. Was it loaded? I didn’t want to take the chance of finding out.
Hank snatched the things from me and settled back into his seat. He shoved two crackers in his mouth at once. “Well, don’t just stand there watching me. Make yourself useful and change the goddamn channel.”
