๐๐๐. ๐๐๐ฆ๐ง ๐ค๐จ๐จ๐ค๐ฌ
๐๐๐.ย ย ย ย ย ๐๐๐ฆ๐ง ๐ค๐จ๐จ๐ค๐ฌ
blood//water โโโโ grandson
โ๏ธ ๐๐ซ๐จ๐จ๐ค๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ง'๐ฌ ๐ฉ๐จ๐ฏ
๐ณ๐ง๐ค ๐ถ๐ค๐ ๐ณ๐ง๐ค๐ฑ ๐ง๐ ๐ฒ ๐ณ๐ ๐ช๐ค๐ญ ๐ ๐ณ๐ด๐ฑ๐ญ ๐ฒ๐ฎ ๐ถ๐ค ๐ญ๐ค๐ค๐ฃ ๐ณ๐ฎ ๐ฃ๐ฎ ๐ ๐ญ๐ธ๐ณ๐ง๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ณ๐ฎ ๐ค๐ญ๐ณ๐ค๐ฑ๐ณ๐ ๐จ๐ญ ๐ฎ๐ด๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ค๐ซ๐ต๐ค๐ฒ๏ผand what better way to do that than to help Heyward deliver groceries to Figure Eight. While it would be nice to check out the Merchant wreck with the fancy drone we "borrowed", a storm is brewing which means it's unsafe for us to venture out into the water, but there's always tomorrow.
Today JJ and I are being helpful.
While I'd like to consider myself a useful person, I'm not nearly as accommodating as Heyward. I tend to stay away from work, but today I am here, at Heyward's service even if that service requires us to deliver groceries to the evilโโ a.k.a Kooks.
I take several bags from Heyward, and I pass them off to Pope who places them on the boat. "You three get these groceries over to Figure Eight," Heyward instructs, turning away to grab other bags. "Get straight back here when you're done. No fishin'. I promised deliveries by this afternoon. Rich folks don't wanna wait for you lazy sons of..." He picks up the bags, turns back and finds JJ holding his arms out willingly. "Oh, thank you, JJ."
Once all the bags are loaded onto the boat, we set off for the dark side. I hate Figure Eight with a burning passion, and there's been only a few instances where I've actually stepped onto their turf. I try not to get too close. I'd rather die than be subjected to their golf, polo shirts, and country clubs. They don't like Pogues on their side of the island, and we don't like them on ours, but that doesn't stop them, does it?
I offered to help, and while I'd rather not step foot on Figure Eight territory, it's nice to do something rather than sitting around, waiting for the weather to change so we can head out on the water to stare at a shipwreck.
Besides, I've never been this useful before.
We cross over onto enemy lines, and I swear on my life, there's a chill.
"Do you feel that?" I run my hand over my arm.
"Feel what?"
"That icy, evil chill," I breathe out, shivering to emphasise my point. "We're on the dark side, boys."
"This isn't Stars Wars, Brooke."
"I haven't seen Stars Wars, Pope." I scoff because, let's face it, I've been poor my entire lifeโโ I don't get to watch films. I've seen, like, one film, and it was something that JJ recommended, and if I remember correctly it was crapโโ don't tell him I said that.
"Doesn't even look like a storm hit there."
I stare across the water, looking to a perfectly clean and "beautiful" Figure Eight. Damn them. We have to spend all summer cleaning up the mess from the storm only for another to erupt at the end of the summer, while they get to sit on their asses, watching as the workmen do the dirty work, being payed thousands an hour.
It's unfair, but in the Outer Banks, that's life.
"It's nice to be a Kook," Pope comments, and I hum in agreement because their lives must be very, very easy. I mean, they don't do anything. They're being waited on, hand and foot, by usโโ the working class. They're living the easy life.
"Lucky bastards." I hate them, have I said that?
Delivering groceries goes swimmingly for a while. JJ gets several tips, as do I, and then we turn it into a competition for who can get the most tipsโโ me, by the way, but he doesn't know that just yet. Because I am, well, far prettier than JJ, these rich second-homers pay me like I'm some kind of prostitute, and I guess I'm not complaining because I love money.
I'm sharing my earnings with Pope, and I'm twenty dollars up from JJ, so I'm confident I'll win. I'm fully prepared to flash a final smile to the last customer and take the win, and he will be a sore, sore loser.
We then decide to separate because, you know, we'll cover more ground or whatever, and we'll get to go home faster. We drop JJ off at the next dock, and he takes the correct bags, waving a goodbye to us as he rushes off to deliver the second to last order. Pope and I stay together as the next customer ordered a lot of shit, and this shit's expensive from the looks of it.
Pope pulls up to the dock, and I grab the correct bags, very glad that this guy is the last guy. "How does your dad do this for a living?" I hold two bags, swinging them in my hands as Pope grabs another bag and a case of beer.
I'm exhausted, and the day has barely even begun. I don't know how Heyward does this, but hats off to him, seriously. Everybody bow, please.
We step away from the boat, and I take it upon myself to peer inside the bags. I've been doing that for everybody's orders because I am a nosey bitch, and I really want to know what Kooks order. "Hmm."
Pope sighs loudly. "What? You need to stop doing that, Brooke."
"Never." I pull out a large box of Kleenex. "I didn't know your dad sold tissues, Pope. Why does this guy need them?"
"He could have a cold."
"Or he could be really, really loneโโ"
"Stop." I clamp my mouth shut, heavily amused as I tuck the Kleenex back into the bag. "You spend way too much time with JJ."
I nod, agreeing with that fact. "Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
The bag slides down my arm as we continue to walk towards the house, cutting through a path next to the golf course to find the house. I don't bat an eye at who might be playing golf because, like I said earlier, I have no interest in being subjected to their golf. Seriously, what kind of people actually enjoy golf? Freaks, if you ask me.
"Hey, what's up?" That voice. I hate that voice. I've had literal nightmares about that exact voice, and now that voice is next to me.
Okay, I might have some sort of record for how many times I said the word "voice", but that's not important, let's move on.
That voโโ person speaking is none other than Rafe Cameron. I don't think I've mentioned him yet, so I'll quickly do so. Rafe Cameron, brother to Sarah Cameron who we all know, is a huge, colossal jerk, dickbag, and weasel. I hate him, as do all my friends. He's out of control, often on drugs or alcohol, and he's just so infuriating.
And don't repeat this to anyoneโโ seriouslyโโ because, in my world, I'd be executed for saying this or even thinking it but...
Rafe Cameron might be the most infuriatingly attractive guy I've ever had the displeasure of seeing, and I stand by that comment. I will forever stand by that comment, but I would never, ever repeat those words to my friends.
Those words are only for your eyes, readers. Do not tell a soul that I just called Rafe Cameron attractive because, believe me, I'll know if you utter a word...
Anyway, back to the story.
So Rafe just said, "Hey, what's up?" What's up is that he is talking to us, but I don't say that, I just turn to face him, biting back a grin as I look at how he's dressed. He's all dressed, prim and proper for a game of golf.
"Oh." I look him up and down, forcing a smile when I meet his eyes. "Hello. What's up," I mock.
"How much for one of those beers?" he asks, pulling his gaze from meโโ Thank Godโโ to look at the beers that are tucked under Pope's arm.
"They're not for sale," Pope says, taking a step away, but Rafe blocks him.
"Yes, go get daddy's bank card and buy your own," I comment, smiling harmlessly but he doesn't look amused whatsoever. Shame, ain't it?
Topper Thorntonโโ a fascist, yellow-felt tipped haired asshole, steps forward. He is also dressed in golf attire, and if I wasn't a little concerned about why they were talking to us, I'd laugh because this has got to be some kind of sick joke.
I glance at Pope, and I can see that he's obviously uncomfortable, and desperate to leave, so I take a step forward, hoping to get away. "Anyway, it was real nice catching up with you guys but..."
"Wait, wait, wait." Topper places his golf club in front of me, blocking my path, and if looks could kill, this bastard would be sand. "You two aren't listening to me." I look over my shoulder at Rafe, glaring at him, wishing that I had some sort of power to turn both of them into dust. "You've got so many, bro, and we've got nothing."
"Nothing?" I exhale a laugh, finding that to be funny. "Your golf clubs probably cost the price of a car," I say, letting one bag drop to the ground because I sense these bastards aren't going to take no as an answer.
"Nothin'," Topper adds, emphasising Rafe's point.
I nod at him. "Nice contribution, bro."
Ah, if looks could kill, I think I'd be dead right about now, but thankfully, looks cannot or he'd be just as screwed.
"They're not mine," Pope speaks up, stealing my attention. "They're already paid for."
"Already paid for?" Rafe scoffs, and when he looks to Topper, I know he's going to do something stupid, and I ain't going to let him. "What the hell? You probably stole 'em."
As suspected, Rafe does something stupid. He takes his golf club, pushes it against the bag in Pope's hand and rips it open easily. Damn plastic. Kie would not be happy, that's all I'm saying.
The groceries spill out onto the floor, and I shake my head, dropping my other bag.
"What the hell? You owe me for that."
"We don't owe you shit, Pogues," Rafe spits, and I scrunch my face up, a little disgusted. "Buy your own shit."
Okay, this is ridiculous.
Pope still has a death grip on the beer case, and he uses one hand to shove Rafe away from him. Topper predicts this move, and he lunges forward to try and snatch the beers from him because, apparently, they're just starving for beers. "We just want one of these beers! Just give us one of theseโโ"
"What are you? A rabid dog? Getโโ" I step forward, taking it upon myself to push Topper backwards, and surprisingly, he stumbles a far distance but not for long enough.
"Give us a beer!" I stand by my rabid dog comment, especially when he starts to salivateโโ Okay, he doesn't actually salivate, I'm just joking.
Back to the fight, sorry! I tend to go off course.
Topper charges forward, and I stay in front of Pope, blocking him because I am notโโ Arms wrap around my waist, and an alarm blares in my head, but I can't fight, not against Rafe. "Brooke!" I squirm in the tight hold, my feet lifting off the ground as I'm spun away from Pope who is being shoved down to the ground after Topper finally gets his damn beers.
"Son of aโโ"
Rafe pushes me down to the ground, but I don't stay there. As if I'm just going to sit there, eating sand while they attack my best friend. I'm on my feet again, as is Pope, and he lunges forward first, sending his fist towards Rafe whoโโ stupidly, might I addโโ looks away from me.
I step forward, but that freaking golf club blocks me again. I follow the length of the golf club, and I'm unfortunately greeted by the face of pure evilโโ Topper. My hands wrap around the golf club, cold metal at my fingertips, and I squeeze it tightly, sneering at the boy.
I hear a thwack noise, and I push the golf club and Topper away, charging past him and knocking into Rafe who has his own golf club raised in the air. Pope is on the ground, face in the sand, and I can only assume that Rafe hit him on the back with this piece of metal.
He's coughing and spluttering, and just before Rafe hits him again, I rush to stand in front, raising my hands in the air to block him. "Don't you even think about it," I threaten, glaring up at him because, annoyingly, I'm not six foot.
I let Pope get hurt, and there's no way in hell I'm going to let it happen again.
Rafe looks down at me, and he lowers the club slowly. He leans down, breath against my ear as he utters, "Stay off Figure Eight, Pogues."
With him being so close, I do something that, well, is stupid, but I don't care. He hurt my best friend, and for that, I'm afraid I have to do something to get revenge, so I raise my knee and I let it meet the middle of his legs. I step back, nearly tripping over Pope who is trying to collect himself off the ground, while Rafe's face twists and contorts in agony.
Rafe doubles over, obviously in pain, and all I feel is this great sense of achievement and satisfaction. "Y-You bitch," he spits out, trying to stand but he struggles, and Topper steps up behind him, slapping a hand on his back.
"Come on, man." Topper picks up Rafe's golf club that he dropped on account of being hit in the balls, and he and Rafe walk away.
Well, Rafe stumbles away, and because I am truly a bitch, I leave them with a parting comment, "It was real nice talking to you guys. Make sure you help him ice that wound, Topper. Be a good bro." I hear them curse me out, and if Rafe could actually stand, he'd probably turn around and attack me.
Compared to Rafe, Topper is a major pussy, and I'm really not exaggerating. He will not do anything unless he has backup or if he's pressured into something because, of course, he doesn't want to look bad. I hate Topper, and as he looks over his shoulder to spite me, I wave my hand, toying with him before I drop to the ground to help Pope.
He's struggling to pick himself up and off the floor, and I reach my hand out, pulling at the hem of his shirt to check his back. Yep, he was hit. "Shit. Okay." I crawl across the sand, moving to collect one of the bags that the boys didn't rip.
I dig into the back, pulling onto the Kleenex. I knew they'd come in handy, just not for... this. Pope huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls himself up. "Y-You can't look in the bags."
"Well, I'm sure he'll understand. This is more of an emergency than his need to mastโโ"
"Don't," he interrupts, watching as I pull a few tissues from the box.
"Oh, you love me really."
I grab a water bottle from the bag, grateful that this guy seemed to plan for this in a weird kind of way, and I pour the water onto one of the tissues.
He looks at me, a frown on his face, and tears in his eyes. I hate that he feels like this. "Can I?" He nods, and I press the wet tissue against the mark on his forehead, unsure on how he got this one. He hisses, trying to pull back. "Sorry."
"It's okay."
"I'm really sorry." I press the tissue against the wound again, soaking up the blood, and then I grab another tissue, wetting it. "You are the last person on Earth who deserves this."
Something of a smile touches his lips, and I give myself half a point for somewhat cheering him up. "Y-You really knew how to handle them," he says, voice hoarse, and it breaks my heart to hear him sound so defeated.
I mean it, Pope is the last person who deserves to be treated like this. He's the kindest guy I know. I swear, if they harm him ever again, I'll have their heads on a stick and stuck in the middle of town for everybody to see.
I shrug my shoulder, wiping his head carefully, trying not to hurt him. "They're assholes, Pope. I am trained in handling assholes."
"Is that a dig at John B?"
I breathe out a laugh. "No." I catch a smile form on Pope's face, and I move the tissue away from his head. "But don't tell him I said that, alright?"
He nods, wincing. "N-Noted."
"Take your shirt off." His eyes widen, and I pull out another tissue. "Don't get the wrong idea, sweets. I love you, but you and I..." I point from him to me. "...we're besties, Pope, that's it. You're my guy."
"Then why do you want me to take my shirt off?"
"You were hit. I want to wipe the blood away."
He obeys, taking his shirt off, and I move to wipe at the wound on his lower back. As I wipe the blood away, I think about all the ways I'm going to torture Rafe and Topper. I might cut their fingers off, one by painful one. I might slice them all over, let it be really slow and torturous. I might even castrate them altogether.
Okay, I've taken a dark turn. I need to back track.
"Okay." Pope pulls his shirt back on. "I'm going to go and drop off the bags that aren't destroyed, and I'll give him my tips as reimbursement." My bags weren't destroyed, and I have plenty of tips to make up for the things that were hit. I'll just apologise over and over and over again, flashing him the sweetest smile ever.
"No. I-I can'tโโ" He shakes his head, but I can see that his head is hurting. "You won't win the competition."
"Pope." I squeeze his arm. "You are far more important to me than some competition against JJ. You're more important than money." He looks away from me, a little embarrassed as he's not the best person at accepting compliments, but that doesn't matter. "Just go start the boat, okay?"
"Thanks, Brooke."
"No problem, Pope. You're my guy, remember?"
He smiles. "How can I forget?"
โโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโโ
๐จ ๐ฃ๐ค๐ซ๐จ๐ต๐ค๐ฑ๐ค๐ฃ ๐ณ๐ง๐ค ๐ฆ๐ฑ๐ฎ๐ข๐ค๐ฑ๐จ๐ค๐ฒ ๐ณ๐ง๐ ๐ณ ๐ฑ๐ค๐ฌ๐ ๐จ๐ญ๐ค๐ฃ ๐จ๐ญ๐ณ๐ ๐ข๐ณ๏ผ๐ ๐ญ๐ฃ ๐จ ๐ ๐ฏ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐จ๐ฒ๐ค๐ฃ ๐ฏ๐ฑ๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ด๐ฒ๐ค๐ซ๐ธ ๐ฅ๐ฎ๐ฑ ๐ณ๐ง๐ค ๐ฌ๐จ๐ฒ๐ฒ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฒ๐ณ๐ด๐ฅ๐ฅ๏ผI gave him all the delivery money I hadโโ paying him extra just so he wouldn't complain. He basically received his groceries for free and gained a bit of cash, but it's just business. The Kook get the money, and the Pogues get beat. That is life.
We're now back on the boat, on our way to pick up JJ when Pope turns to me and says, "Can you not tell anyone about this?"
"Pope, JJ will know." He isn't stupid, and he's been beat several times. He knows when somebody else gets hit.
"I know, but don't tell Kiara or John B."
I don't question why he doesn't want them to know. I just nod, obeying his wishes. "Okay."
We pull up to the dock that JJ is running down, waving a wad of cash in his hand. "Guys, you are not going to believe what just happened to me! Whoo!" He cheers, and I frown, realising he won't be this happy once he gets in the boat. "That was the best one hundred bucks I've ever made!"
Damn him. He would've won anyway.
He gets into the boat, walking across the deck to the cockpit where Pope is pulling the boat away from the dock. "When I say count me in on all these grocery deliveries, Pope, I mean it." JJ stops behind Pope, eyes finding mine, and I shake my head. "What's up with you?"
"Nothing," he forces out, turning away from JJ, but JJ knows there's something wrong based on how I'm avoiding eye contact, and how Pope has turned away.
"What's up with you?" JJ steps away from me, moving to lift the cap that Pope has placed on his head to cover the mark on his head. "Yo, what happened to your face, dude." Pope winces, stepping away from him, obviously wishing that JJ didn't have to find out. JJ looks over at me, and I remain quiet. "What happened?"
"Rafe and Topper jumped me," Pope explains. "They said no Pogues on their side of the island."
JJ's face hardens, and he steps close to Pope. "What are you gonna do?"
I know what that means, and I'm all for it.
Revenge served on a silver platter, best served cold.
"Revenge," I say, and JJ nods. "Sweet revenge. They hit us, we hit them."
JJ leans back, leaning next to me while Pope steers us to a specific location where we will carry out our revenge. It's only right that, for hitting us, we should hit them right back much harder.
We arrive at the dock leading to Topper's house. We saw this boat the day before, and what's better revenge than sinking his precious, expensive boat. "Twenty-twenty Malibu, twenty-four-MXC," JJ says, pushing his sunglasses on. "The world's finest wakesetter. Number one in quality, luxury, and performance."
JJ tugs on his bandana. "This is war, guys. They hit us, we hit them."
"That was my line."
JJ pulls the bandana over his the bottom half of his face, prepared for a mission. "Do it."
Pope pulls his shirt off, and pushes it into my hands. I offer him a smile. "They hit us, we hit them," I repeat, watching as Pope turns away, and dives off the boat.
The second he hits the water, he begins to swim across the water towards Topper's boat. "Did they hurt you?" JJ asks, and the concern in his voice makes me laugh.
"No. They wouldn't dare."
We watch Pope climb up onto Topper's boat to pull out the plug. He then dives back into the water, and begins to swim right back to usโโ his very loud, supportive friends. "He's incredible," I say, and JJ breathes out a laugh next to me.
Pope swims to our boat, and pulls himself up using the ladders. "Holy shit." JJ claps a hand over Pope's, helping him up. "I'm so proud of you right now."
"That was great, Pope."
JJ pulls his bandana and shades away. "You guys can't tell anybody," Pope says, pushing the plug into JJ's hands.
"Oh, no, yeah. Totally, dude."
"No, I'm serious, dude. Not Kie, not John B, nobody."
"That was everybody," I joke, but neither boy looks amused. "Whatever, our lips are sealed, we promise."
Pope steps away back to the cockpit to steer the boat, and JJ throws the plug overboard, letting it sink in the water."Let's go!"
I move into the cockpit, and I place a hand on Pope's shoulder. "I am so proud of you."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."
I'm so proud.
When we arrive back at the Chateau, we grab our boards and surf the waves, choosing to forget that we helped commit a felony.
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๐ณ๐ง๐ค ๐ญ๐ค๐ท๐ณ ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ญ๐จ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ถ๐ค ๐ง๐ค๐ ๐ฃ ๐ฎ๐ด๐ณ ๐ณ๐ฎ ๐ณ๐ง๐ค ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ฃ๐จ๐ญ๐ ๐ณ๐ค๐ฒ ๐ถ๐จ๐ณ๐ง ๐ณ๐ง๐ค ๐ฃ๐ฑ๐ฎ๐ญ๐ค ๐จ๐ญ ๐ง๐ ๐ญ๐ฃ๏ผKiara is in charge of lowering the drone into the water, feeding the wire. Pope and John B stand on lookout, watching the camera on the drone. And JJ and I are in charge of taking care of the wheel to make sure the boat doesn't swerve the wrong way.
"All right, guys. Pin it here." John B tells us, grabbing the drone.
"Roger that! X marks the spot." The drone sinks underneath the water, and I find that it's all happening so fast. One minute we're just steering the boat, and the next we're doing this. It's sinking, and very soon, we'll find that shipwreckโโ hopefully.
"All right, JJ, we're right over it." JJ turns the wheel, keeping us securely in the spot. "Ten seconds northwest," John B informs, looking at the pad that shows us what's happening.
"Got it! Ten seconds northwest."
"One hundred feet!" Kiara calls out, continuing to feed the wire and drop the drone.
I hear a gasp behind me, and I look out the door to see Pope staring at the screen with wide eyes. Some sort of octopus scared him. Bless.
"Four hundred feet!"
I slap a hand on the wheel, nearly tripping over my own feet as the boat tilts to the left, indicating that the tide is turning which, in turn, means we are turning. "The tide's turning!"
"Ten seconds easy," John B calls. "Southeast."
"Copy that!" JJ turns the wheel, and I tumble once again, hip crashing into JJ's. One hand falls around my back, keeping me upright while I use both my hands to turn the wheel, aiding him as best I can.
"Twenty seconds mid-speed, alright? South."
"Copy that! Aye, aye." The weather is taking a bad turn, and we continue to try and steer the boat to a standstill, trying to keep it at the correct place but with the weather turning, the waves turn.
The boat is rocking, but we're keeping our hands on the wheel, keeping it still as best we can. "JB, is that good?" I ask, raising my voice over the crash of the waves against the boat.
"Yeah, that's perfect."
I don't know how long it'll stay still butโโ
I fall into JJ again, and his arm wraps around my back again, pushing me back to a stand. Thunder crashes, rain hits the boat, and I'm on the verge of falling off the boat. The waves are controlling the boat, and we're struggling to guide the wheel.
"Okay..." The boat is rocking, and both my hands are on the wheel, squeezing tightly because I do not want to fall.
"JJ, hold it steady!"
"We're trying!" I yell back, standing closely to JJ who still has his arm around my back as both his hands hold the wheel.
"Okay, nine hundred," Kiara calls out.
"JJ, we'll turtle in this storm."
"Nine-twenty."
"Crank it north by northwest!" John B tells. "Ten seconds!" We turn the wheel together, and brace ourselves for the sharper turn. My feet trip, my back presses against JJ's chest, and my hands hold the wheel with a death grip.
"John B, there's too much current!" Kiara yells, holding the wire tightly. "We're gonna lose it!"
"South, southwest. JJ, hard!"
"Is it the wrong time to make a "that's what she said" joke?" I yell, and I hear JJ laugh.
"Never a wrong time, Sunshine."
He steers the boat, and the turn is much shaper this timeโโ so sharp that my body falls forward, chest hitting the wheel. JJ is behind me, sweeping an arm under my stomach to pull me back so he can guide the boat easily.
"Can you just stand still?"
"Shut up!"
"Half speed. Steady at this bearing!"
"I'm trying!" we both yell to John B, growing increasingly agitated because it is not our fault.
"Nine sixty!" Kiara calls. "Nine seventy!" Her voice raises in panic. "Nine eighty!"
"Okay, steady here!" I finally stop flaying around, and I stand securely, freeing the wheel as we come to a standstill. My head falls back, resting on JJ's arm as we turn away, looking to our friends who stand and stare at the Royal Merchant wreckage.
I step out of the cockpit, moving to stand by John B. The rain continues to hammer down, but I don't care. I want to seeโโ
"It's the Royal Merchant."
Now, let's cue my brother's monologuing. Are you ready?
There is a moment in every kids life when you feel like anything's possible. When you feel like you've got the total mojo. You could, I don't know, free-climb El Capitan, land on Mars, or, uh... get elected President. The whole world's there for the taking if you've got the sack to go for it. And then, when you least expect it, some Kook shows up and tells you there's no eternal mystery. And then all that talk about free-climbing and Mars and the president... bullshit. Magic gets cancer and dies.
The magicโโ the Royal Merchantโโ doesn't reveal a damn thing. No gold is under that water. Why would there be?
I don't know how long we spend searching the wreckage with the drone, but we don't find a damn thing. It's defeating, it is, but we should've known that all this would be nothing. "It's not there." John B shakes his head, stepping away from us. "Just pull the drone up."
"Look, we can do another pass," Kiara suggests, but it seems pointless. We've circled the wreckage too many times, and now the battery is dying. "Recharge the battery. We canโโ we can go back down."
"We've done it three times. There's nothing there."
"Shut up!"
"What? It's true."
I press my head into my hand. "Great."
"The gold could be buried. We don't know."
"If it was there, it would've been found on the metal detector, okay?" He isn't wrong. The gold is absolutely not down there. "Somebody beat us to it."
Or, perhaps, itโโ
"Or it was never there."
Read my damn mind.
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โ soph speaks
pope & brooke >>
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