The Oath We Give (The Hollow Boys Book 5)

Coraline

I’m an addict.

To filling the void more than anything.

It just so happens that Ecstasy and alcohol are what I use to do this.

If anyone asked, I’d blame it on the drugs they pumped in me before sending me to Stephen. The chase of the high was forced on me. That’s easier than admitting that I’m not strong enough to get through this life without the Saturdays I spend drunk or high.

Honestly though? If someone asked me, I’d probably just tell them to go fuck themselves.

I use the cover of smoke to slip through the lounge of Vervain, a popular hookah bar among the locals of West Trinity Falls and an illusive escape for outsiders.

Fruity. Spicy. Earthy. Heady.

The different flowers and herbs burn into scent smoke, giving everything a hazy filter. My skin tingles as my favorite drug begins to kick in, making my skin buzz. Like lightning is just off in the distance, closing in to my position, ready to strike me at any time.

When I make it to the back, an exit door is illuminated in a red neon glow. One bouncer stands off to the side, dressed in black, towering over the patrons in the bar with a harsh stare.

I open my clutch, grabbing an old crinkled gum wrapper, and hand it over to the menacing man in front of me. He holds it between two fingers, glancing down briefly to read the words scrawled across the inside of the aluminum paper.

Silent Mirage.

The password is correct. My dress is just short enough. And luck is on my side tonight, or maybe it’s the silver smokey eye and deep purple lipstick. Possibly a combination of all of them. Either way, he nods his head toward the exit, and I slip by him to press my hand to open it.

When the false door opens, fake fog leaks out around my ankles. I sneak deeper into the pits of Vervain and find myself in a toxic haven reserved for two Saturdays out of every month.

The speakeasy-inspired nightclub is alive.

Glowing. Buzzing. Burning.

It’s a combination of the kaleidoscope of colors inside and the Ecstasy. I’m floating as I make my way through, mind spinning as I admire the neon tubes tracing intricate patterns along the walls, ceiling, and floor. 

Music thumps through my veins. It’s never sounded better than in this moment. All of my inhibitions are lowered, and all my mind can think about is finding nirvana.

In the dark of night, I seek artificial happiness to fill the void of my empty days.

I make my way to the translucent bar in the heart of the club, lit from within to create the perfect visual effect for someone tripping. When I get to the edge, my hands find the cool material of the counter, letting it cool off my warm body.

I look around at the people circulating the bar from every direction, the round build giving the bartenders a full 360 pathway around the bottles of alcohol and glasses. I catch a glimpse of purple hair, making me lift my arm to grab Tinx’s attention.

The eccentric bartender with a half-shaved head gives me a knowing look, hooking her fingers around a bottle of Casamigos Blanco before working her way through customers before she reaches me and slams an empty shot glass in front of me.

“Missed you last Saturday, girlie.” Her silver lip ring catches the light as she speaks, pouring the clear liquid into the glass in front of me. I’d been so jealous of her the first night I’d met her.

How she could freely wear herself on the outside like a second skin, without drugs, without repercussions. She could just be.

“You missed my money.” I wink, leaning over to grab a salt shaker from the caddy and handing her my clutch to hide behind the bar for the night.

“Those tips you leave pay half my rent, bitch.” She shrugs. “Can’t blame me for buttering you up.”

I laugh obnoxiously, knowing the only time I’m allowed to hear that foreign sound is because of the drugs. Sad life, isn’t it? Unable to laugh unless I’m drowning in chemicals.

Half of her rent isn’t even a noticeable expense on my account records. Most of the people in here work their entire lives for a quarter of my wealth, and I’d just been born into it? It hardly seems fair because it’s not like I deserve it any more than Tinx does.

It’s all because we were born on two different sides of the coin.

Me in Ponderosa Springs and her here.

A place where rules are more of a suggestion and authority is always met with contempt. The citizens are so vastly different from those just twenty minutes away. Here, they embrace an unapologetic attitude with a passion for rebelling against the affluent.

West Trinity Falls doesn’t pretend. Its very essence is a testament to the human desire for freedom and pursuing life on your own terms. Even if it means dancing at the edge of legality and challenging the status quo.

That’s why the children of the Springs are so desperate to cross that town line. Here? Where salt water from the coast mingles with the smell of bonfires and the night electrifies your veins, we can be whatever the fuck we want.

It’s the reason I’m here now, to be whatever I want. To escape the nightmares and daydreams.

“Get me a lime, and I’ll pay it for the next three months,” I say lightly, rolling my tongue across the back of my hand before pouring a line of salt across it.

I’d give her more if she asked, but she won’t. I’d probably give her all of it, content to rot beneath a bridge for the rest of my life.

“Hey! I need another beer!”

When the devil can’t reach you, he sends a drunk, entitled man.

Some guy shoves his way to the front of the bar, knocking into me as he slams his empty bottle on the counter.

“You need to shut the fuck up.” I turn my head to flutter my eyelashes at him. “But we all can’t get what we want, can we?”

Tinx doesn’t bother holding back her laugh as she grabs the asshole’s beer, pushing it in front of him to take so he can return to his group of friends hiding in the corner who stare at women they’ll never actually have the balls to speak to.

“Bitch,” he mutters in my direction, sneering as he looks me up and down.

“Thank God!” I place a hand on my chest, pouting a little. “I was worried you liked me for a second.”

I’m sure he’s confused as he leaves, wondering if his overused insult gave him the upper hand or not, but as my tongue cleans up the salt from the back of my hand, I can’t be bothered to care.

“You’ve got a heart of gold beneath that bitchy exterior, Whittaker.”

“Nope.” I shake my head, pressing the shot glass to my lips and tilting my head back, letting the tequila burn every ounce of responsibility down my throat. “It’s all a plot to trick, to get karma to stop fucking me.”

I reach forward, plucking the lime from her fingers and biting into the flesh of the fruit, letting the citrus add the fire in my throat.

I’m not a good person.

I’m mean, angry, and spiteful, filled with ignored trauma and questions that will never get answers. The only person I can care about is Lilac.

I’m not good. I’m fucked-up, and there is no fixing it.

But that doesn’t matter tonight. The hope is that with every song the DJ plays, every searing tequila shot I take, I’ll go home numb, and for a few hours, I’ll sleep. I’ll feel absolutely nothing, snuggling deeper beneath the blanket of alcohol and ecstasy.

All to escape the fact my mind was so weak it allowed me to fall in love with my captor. All to avoid that stupid fucking text message that was probably a dumb prank.

All to deny how empty I still am.

Another shot goes down, and I’m ready to move to the dance floor so that when the full effect of this illegal candy hits at the perfect time, I can feel the buzz lapping at the shore, just there, ready to drown me in bliss.

“Coraline?”

I bristle, shoulders tightening, spine steeling.

The anonymity West Trinity Falls brings me is what I crave more than anything. There have only been a few times someone has noticed me in here. I’ve only had to slip into the version of myself I hate in the one place I find total freedom three times.

A bitter taste ruins the watermelon gum on my tongue.

When I turn my head, I see a pair of large, curious green eyes stuck to mine. Beams of light slash across our faces as I take her in, the waves of black curls, a cute red dress painting her petite figure.

She looks like everyone and no one. Distinct, small features that make it hard to believe I wouldn’t recognize her, but just enough cover that I might mistake her for someone else.

“Do I know you?” I ask honestly, tone accusatory, my guard trying to slam back up but slow because of the drugs.

A small smile curves her lips as she nods. “Lyra Abbott. We went to high school together and middle school and elementary.”

My eyebrows twitch, pulling together. Trying to find her in my memory is proving difficult, maybe because of the situation, maybe because I just can’t remember. Everything before being kidnapped is blurry.

“It’s alright if you don’t remember me. We barely knew of each other, let alone spoke. But I just wanted to come over and—”

“If you’re here to tell me you’re sorry or ask about what happened,” I snap, a deep exhale flaring my nostrils, “you can leave now. I don’t talk about it. Sorry to disappoint.”

My hands push my body from the bar, ready to disappear into the crowd. To her credit, her face remains peaceful, unaffected by my tone and clear accusation. Almost like no matter what I say, she’ll remain kind.

“I came over to buy you a drink,” She motions behind her. “Well, we wanted to buy you a drink.”

Two more people stand behind her, just far back enough for me not to have noticed them at first.

Sage Donahue has only grown more beautiful as the years have passed. It’s a quick lesson on why everyone was so enamored by her in high school.

Ponderosa Springs’ Sweetheart with her natural strawberry blonde waves, freckled pale skin, and signature red lip. But there is more to her now. Age, maturity, softness—wait—

I drag my tongue across my bottom lip. “Why?”

It’s in noticing Sage that pieces of a puzzle click together.

Lyra shrugs carelessly, taking a sip from her orange-colored cocktail that I have an urge to take a drink from. “No one needs to look this lonely in a club.”

“I’m not lonely,” I try to say defensively, but I think it sounds more like defeat. “Besides, shouldn’t I be buying you three drinks? I mean, your boyfriends are the reason I’m standing here, right? It’s the least I can do.”

“Husband.” A new voice tickles my ears. “And you don’t owe us anything. She’s just being nice.”

My eyes flick to her hand, wrapped around a glass. Sure enough, looped around her ring finger is a solid black line tattoo.

I take in my very first physical look at Briar Lowell, positioning herself a little closer to Lyra, who is several inches shorter than her. Sharp eyes that I doubt miss much watch me. She’s on guard, ready to protect her friend if I make another snarky comment.

If I were a betting woman, I’d say that willingness to defend the people around her is a reason one of Ponderosa Springs’ most violent and notorious men chose her.

I didn’t recognize them immediately or know them really, but they sure as hell know me. The Hollow Boys played a huge part in discovering the Halo. Without them, who knows what would have happened to hundreds of missing girls.

“Listen.” My throat constricts as I try to swallow, needing another drink. “I’m not the girl you need to be nice to. I’m a shit person, even worse friend. You could do much better.”

“Welcome to the fucking club, chick. But Lyra here is good at picking up strays.” Sage places her hands on Lyra’s shoulders, squeezing playfully before looking up at me. “Oh, and the mean girl shit? Doesn’t work on her. So you might as well stop fighting your Ecstasy trip and say yes. Take it from me, it’s much easier that way.”

High school Sage probably would’ve never taken a second glance at me. This version? I’m not familiar with.

My teeth skim my bottom lip.

Fuck. I groan in the back of my throat.

E is incredible. It’s the best drug, but when it kicks in? It takes no prisoners. They didn’t code-name it pleasant for nothing. When it takes over, there is nothing but beauty, even in an ugly fucking world.

Hope fizzles in my gut. Euphoria thrums through my veins, warmth spreading all the way to my toes. For the life of me, I can’t find a reason to not say yes to them. I want to free-fall into the arms of the world that I deserve to be loved by.

“One shot?” I arch an eyebrow.

“Is it ever just one?” Sage smirks. “What do you drink?”

I brush my flat-ironed hair behind my back, taking my time to feel the strands beneath my fingers.

“Something other than tequila exists?”

Briar, for the first time since she came up, cracks a smile.

“Thank God,” she breathes, waving softly at Tinx. “I’m tired of getting vodka drunk with these bitches.”

Sage had been right. One shot is never just one.

With the full effects of Molly flowing through my veins and alcohol filtering through my system, everything is in full color. The club is a kaleidoscope, blinding my eyes with a haze of bliss.

Nothing bad can touch me here.

Neon lights pulse beneath the translucent dance floor under my feet to the beat of the music. The DJ mixes one song into the other, weaving them together seamlessly. A new song blasts from the speakers, and the redhead on my right squeals above the surrounding noise.

Her slim, warm hands grab my shoulders, shaking me back and forth. The glow of sweat and light across her skin makes me smile before she even speaks.

“I love this fucking song!”

My head tilts back with laughter. I’m only a small piece of an enormous world in this crowd. Bodies everywhere, roaming hands, swaying hips. My heart thrums in my chest, head swimming.

I scan the small circle of girls around me as Sage releases my body. Lyra’s and Briar’s hands are interlinked, gripping onto one another as they dance in sync. Their backs are pressed together, hair a swirl of blonde and black strains.

The small talk we’d shared earlier had been shortened further to drink orders and screams about favorite songs. Maybe we’d talked? Maybe we hadn’t? I only knew I’d never been happier to just exist around a group of people who weren’t out for information about what happened to me. No bloodsucking leeches searching for an exclusive, getting close to me just to gain their thirty minutes of fame.

We’re all here to have fun.

Them because apparently they’d just been reunited, according to Sage and me, to escape. We’d come together in the perfect silent collision.

The EDM-style harmony seems to physically animate. Swirls of light pouring from the speakers slither toward me with purpose, the crackling tentacles of music curling around my waist, urging my body to dance.

What would the Ponderosa Springs elite think if they could see me right now?

My arms lift above my head, bending slightly, and my eyes shut as I sway, the infectious rhythm captivating me. It starts gradually, ambient sounds that build tension in the room. The beat ascends, climbing slowly, making you feel every tick to the top of the roller coaster.

As we reach the peak, everything goes silent, and when my eyes open just as the sudden surge of music returns, the club moves in slow motion. The girls around me start lightly jumping to the beat, joining the rest of the bodies as we bounce.

Blinding smiles, wild hair, the lingering smell of weed.

It’s euphoria.

Pure human indulgence.

But nothing good can ever last, not really.

There aren’t enough drugs and alcohol in the world to deny that fact.

In my peripheral vision, I see it.

Sage has stopped jumping, right arm lifted straight above her head as she slowly moves her hips back and forth. The drink in her hand sloshes around the glass, spilling over the lip and onto the floor.

This wouldn’t have caught my eye if it hadn’t been for the guy slipping behind her undetected. I’m slow to react when he lifts his arm, dropping something into the contents of her drink and trying to glide past as if nothing happened.

Suddenly, I’m not at Vervain, drowning in bliss.

I’m eighteen, walking home from a college party, not remembering drinking nearly enough to be stumbling. My body doesn’t feel like my own, the way it reacts out of untapped rage I wasn’t aware lived inside of me.

“Hey, asshole!” I scream, my dark nails digging into the fabric of his shirt viciously, jerking him back by the shoulder. “You just go around spiking girls’ drinks, you piece of shit?”

The vibe of the club shifts at the drop of a hat, hostile energy and tension so thick I can barely breathe.

“What?”

Maybe it’s Briar who said it or Lyra. I can’t hear that well over the continuing music thumping around.

The guy turns, greasy blond hair swaying in front of his face, anger furrowing his brows as he yanks his shoulder from my grip.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He seethes.

My teeth bite into the flesh of my tongue enough to bring blood as I lean over to grab Sage’s drink from her hand.

There, floating at the top of her drink, is an undissolved pill floating at the top. My hand is shaking as I sling the liquid inside the glass in his face. Alcohol drips down the front of his mouth.

“What the fuck!” He runs his hand down his face, wiping it off with malice. “You’re gonna get it, you stupid fucking bitch—”

I’ve never been aggressive like this before, never been the type of girl to swing first, ask questions later. But tonight is apparently the evening of firsts.

My fist slams into his nose, barely feeling the recoil in my arm. Blood spouts from his nose, leaking like a waterfall onto the clear floor beneath us. People around notice the animosity, causing chaos to erupt.

Shouting. Shoving. People trying to escape before security arrives.

It’s all a blur for my eyes. My chest is heaving, mind starting to spiral, and emotions that have no business being here bubble up inside me. I hitch my arm back, ready to swing on this guy again, who is holding his nose, trying to back up from me.

I just want to see him bleed out. Choke on it and die right here on this floor.

Just as I swing again, a singular arm curls around my waist. Strength rocks my body backward into a brutally solid chest. I squirm in his grip, kicking my feet but moving nowhere.

Jesus, fuck, this security guard is big.

My nails dig into the forearm sealed around my torso, clawing at his skin, but I’m merely a kitten attacking Godzilla. He’s barely fazed by my weak fighting style. He simply gets moving us back away from the crowd in front of me.

“The girls! I can’t just leave them!” I scream, frantically swinging my eyes around to find the people I’d just met but don’t want to leave to fend for themselves.

But when I catch a glimpse of them, there are three larger bodies covering them, guiding them away from the turmoil. My stomach churns with unease, crashing adrenaline, and alcohol, making a violent concoction in my stomach.

I’m about to throw up, about to tell him as much as we disappear from the packed club to a secluded, dimly lit hallway. Where are we going? Where is he taking me?

No, no, no. Not again. This can’t happen again. Please.

My feet hit the floor, the quiet echo of music in the distance in the tail of my mind, as my back meets the wall, exposed skin tingling as the cool surface presses into me.

Muscular hands cage me in. I feel the weight of chains that shackled me to cold lonely nights. My stomach rumbles for food I’ll never taste. I’m desperate for fresh air that doesn’t taste like mildew on my tongue.

The fight in me earlier no longer exists. I’ve allowed fear to swallow me whole and leave me frozen. My hands shake uncontrollably, thoughts a jumbled mess, a chaotic whirlwind of past and present worries. The overwhelming feeling that something terrible is about to happen will not leave my stomach.

The mind is a dangerous place, and mine has been taken over by a storm, spiraling, drowning me while I desperately search for an anchor amidst the raging wind.

“Please,” I beg.

God, I hate myself. The half-choked plea is bitter in the back of my throat, and I feel pathetic for speaking it aloud. I shake my head back and forth, my body slumping against the wall.

I can’t go back to the basement.

I can’t be a victim, not again.

I can’t.

I’m choking on memories of trauma I hate. He said he’d come back for me, and it took me a while to realize he didn’t just mean physically. My breaths are shallow, tiny gasps as if my lungs are afraid to take in too much air.

Stephen Sinclair would never leave me alone.

I would smell him in the air. Feel his presence behind my shoulder with every step forward I took. Hear his voice in my dreams. I’m determined only the bittersweet mercy of death’s hands would deliver me from him.

I’m falling apart for everyone to see, and I can’t stop it.

Time loses its grip on me. Seconds stretch out into eternity, yet everything moves in fast-forward. I’m hyperaware of every sensation, every sound, every flicker of movement around me. It’s as if my senses are on overdrive, each input bombarding me relentlessly, making me feel like I’m about to unravel.

My chest tightens even more, body trembling, my muscles tensed as if ready to flee from an unseen threat. The room seems like it’s closing in on me, the walls pressing closer and closer.

I need to escape, to find someplace safe, even though I don’t think I’ve ever known what safety truly looks like.

“In 1815, Adolf Anderssen sacrificed both rooks and the queen to deliver a checkmate against Lionel Kieseritzky.”

Tiny hairs behind my neck rise, chill bumps scattering and spreading across my naked arms. I can barely hear the actual words, my brain not computing sentences.

Only the voice.

Smooth and calm as the night sky.

Silas Hawthorne.

“The final move, 23.Qh6#, gave it the name the Immortal Game.”

Warm hands, much larger than my own, cradle the sides of my head. Fingertips massage the spoken words into the back of my scalp, tendrils of my hair looped through the gaps in his finger as his voice coaxes me toward dry land.

My eyebrows twitch as I open my eyes. Tears slip down my cheeks, a mixture of frustration, confusion, and fear. It’s dark in this hallway, nearly empty, and all I can really make out is the shape of his body.

“Bobby Fischer, the match of the century, happened during the Cold War. People for years talked about this one chess match being a symbol of political war. Fischer won, making him the first American to win the World Chess Championship.”

The intensity starts to wane as he continues rambling. The tightness in my chest gradually releases its grip, and my breathing, though ragged, steadies. He’s talking about what I think is chess history. Such a random, off-base topic, but it’s not the context that has distracted my brain.

It’s his voice.

The same one that mumbled in my ear through a phone speaker and kept me from jumping to my death. It’s a blend of darkness and warmth, a low rumble that emerges from the depths of his chest. A single candle flickering in an abyss of nothingness.

“Shāh māt, the king is helpless or the king is defeated, translates to—”

“Checkmate.” I choke on the word.

The Ecstasy is still pumping through my system, the alcohol and crash of adrenaline. I’m left feeling drained. Like even though the storm inside me is subsiding, I’m still standing in the pouring rain.

He holds my head in his hands, fingers curling around the base of my neck, tugging me forward. My forehead drops to his chest, nose inhaling the smell of tobacco and cologne stuck to his shirt, luring me closer.

My body seeks his, looking for…I don’t know. Comfort? Calm?

The world is still hazy, and all I know is he’s the only thing keeping me from falling to the ground.

“Coraline.” He whispers my name like a secret. “Breathe for me, Hex. Breathe.”

I let my weight fall into him, unsure if he’ll be able to shoulder it but knowing somehow that he will. Shaky breaths rattle from my lips as I take slow inhales through my nose.

“Don’t judge me, Silas.” I squeeze my eyes tightly, feeling the tears leak down my face. “Don’t—”

Don’t tell anyone. Don’t remember this. Don’t think of me as weak.

This is mortifying.

The way my vulnerability has leaked from me like split veins, and there’s nothing I could’ve done to stop it. It doesn’t matter that it’s only one person who’s seen in. One person is enough.

All it takes is one person to know how weak you are on the inside, just one, to destroy you. I can’t let that happen, not when I’m so close to getting out of here.

“How can I judge the way you choose to kill your sadness?”

There is a part of me that wants to push him away, run and pretend this never fucking happened. But a smaller piece is so tired, and his arms are so undeniably warm.

“Can you—”

I pause, not sure what to ask or how to ask it, just knowing I don’t want him to leave. Not yet. I need a few more seconds to collapse, and then I’ll leave. I will pick up the scattered pieces of my pride and pretend this was a dream.

But I just need a few more moments.

“Anything,” he mumbles, standing steady, not making a single move to step away from me. He tilts my head back, making me look up at his face. One of his thumbs brushes a tear from my face.

It’s my first real look at Silas tonight. What little light exists in this tiny hallway casts a gleam across his face.

For a moment, we are two strangers in an empty room, connected only by our eyes. Our pasts do not overlap, and we are totally unknown to each other. It’s just a second that I allow myself to imagine a world where I can be attracted to him without repercussions.

His eyes are dark, like sodden earth, and so fucking vacant, begging for life to occupy them, aching for a spark. I track the details of him from his straight, distinguished brow to the slope of his strong nose.

Freckles, such a soft and innocent thing, dust the planes of his light-brown cheeks, and his lips are so inviting that I have a sudden overwhelming urge to see him smile. Just watch as his full mouth tilts up and shows off what I know are blinding white teeth.

There is an ache in me to touch him, but I refuse it.

I never wanted this, to know him past his reputation. For him to know me, to see me. I did not want to be two strangers in an empty room because I know who I am and what I would do to him—any male, for that matter, that got too close to me.

I’m the spindle lover boys prick their fingers on. I leave them comatose with only the memory of my touch.

I’m not the princess. I’m the rotten apple.

The poison made to demolish happily ever afters.

I’m no good for him, for anyone.

“Let go of me.”