Street lamps flickered on in the gathering dusk. In the belly of Hell's Hollow, Emmett cruised through their territory in his pickup truck. He left his old caddie back at the hideout, wanting something more covert to scour the neighborhoods.

Screams erupted, causing him to shudder as he kept a close eye out on his surroundings and turned off his radio. What the hell happened? As Emmett reduced his speed, he wondered if he was about to drive onto the scene of a robbery taking place or worse. But as he crept onward, nobody came into view.

Gusts of wind rush down the street, followed by the pitter-patter of raindrops on his windshield. It was only a matter of time before all the downpours washed New Syracuse and all its filth away. As he spared a glance at the digital clock on his dash, Emmett circled back around, heading toward a subdivision of newly built habitat homes. Deeper down the street, he made a left until he reached a trailer park.

He flipped the windshield wipers on to combat the raindrops hammering his truck like a reign of bullets. A dog barked as Emmett navigated down the narrow strip of road, barely enough for his truck to squeeze through. Swan Lake trailer park was known to the locals as Swamp Lake due to the horrid conditions of the place. Nobody bothered to clean up the trash or fix the ramshackle trailers.

Mal's trailer was perched on the end of the street, next door to another one that had blown up last month. Damn methheads who couldn't cook properly. Emmett never touched shit like that, nor did he have future plans to. He swore he'd never let himself sink that low again. They were disgusting. He was nothing like those types of junkies.

Emmett prided himself in keeping his appearance presentable. He wouldn't end up like those desperate addicts that came crawling to them for their precious fix, begging with every ounce of their soul for just a small amount to get through the night. If he really wanted to quit the habit, Emmett knew he could. But he liked the person he became while high. Why would he ever want to give that up?

When Emmett parked, he took a moment to climb out, and braced himself for the ferocious rain that assaulted him. Emmett winced against the icy sting on his face then tugged his hood over his head, stomping through the jungle of a yard to Mal's front door. The gale tugged him back, as if trying to forcibly yank him away from the trailer park.

Emmett pounded his fist on the wooden door. A flash of lightning struck the murky gray sky as Mal propped open the door, peeking out before standing aside.

"Oh, hey. What's up, man?"

Fresh lilac and marijuana wafted in the air when Emmett stepped inside, trapping the storm outside. In the light, he noticed Mal's blackened eye and crooked nose. Wads of bloody tissues covered his coffee table, alongside a bottle of peroxide and remnants of a white powder, probably cocaine.

"Who beat the fuck out of you this time?" Emmett asked.

Mal shrugged. "Just some of them Black Vipers."

A lit cigarette dangled from Mal's bruised lips. He scratched at his pasty white cheek, where he'd tattooed a skull across his entire face. Even his knuckles had bones tattooed on them. The artwork was atrocious, but Emmett knew why he'd gotten it done.

Mal got sentenced for drug possession a few years ago, thanks to Detective Lindel. Not even their lawyer, Daniel Coleman, could save his sorry ass. He did get him a deal; a hellish six month sentence. The guys in jail roughed him up a lot, particularly the guards.

First time Emmett went out to visit his old friend in the slammer, he'd already earned himself a black eye and busted lip. Mal rarely let shit get to him, but that day, Emmett never forgot how Mal broke down sobbing, pleading for Emmett to break him out of there.

The gang leader did his damndest to keep Mal safe. While he had ties on the inside, there was a snowball's chance in hell that he could break someone out of New Syracuse County jail. Mal's gang tattoo didn't scare them off, so Emmett suggested the ungodly face tattoo, which worked for a while.

"I want names," Emmett demanded. "I'm not standing around while they hurt my people."

"Nah, don't start no shit." Mal waved a dismissive hand. "We don't need no gang wars cuz of me. I can handle myself. You should've seen the other guy. I got him good."

Emmett nodded, unconvinced by his story. Yet he didn't pry for more information.

"You got the stuff?" Emmett asked.

"Uh, yeah. It's back here." Mal gestured toward his bedroom.

A cockroach skittered by, causing Emmett to tense up. Fucking disgusting. He gritted his teeth and stepped away from it, following Mal to his bedroom. To his surprise, a young woman laid in his bed in nothing but a pair of neon pink panties and a black tank top that exposed her rotund stomach. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was Jules Kaufman. The mayor's daughter.

"She ain't dead, is she?"

Mal sighed. "Nah, just sleeping. Been that way all day. I think it might be pregnancy hormones and shit, ya know?"

"She's still using?" Emmett tried not to stare, but it was difficult. The woman was a pitiful sight. Even pregnant, her stomach barely protruded out.

"Yeah." Mal shrugged. "All her checkups have been good, I think. Maybe the drugs don't go anywhere near the baby?"

"That sounds like a crock of shit. I'm no doctor, but that crap she shoots up can really mess with the baby. I'm surprised it hasn't done any damage yet. Please tell me she's not prostituting herself anymore."

Mal's cheeks reddened as he sifted through his nightstand. "I-I don't think so. I dunno."

Emmett groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Have y'all considered not keeping it? That baby's gonna be more fucked up than us."

"Hey, now. Don't say that shit about my kid." Mal slammed the nightstand drawer, yet it didn't disturb his sleeping girlfriend. "Sorry. I just hate hearing that. Like, I gots problems too. Shit runs in the family already. It ain't her fault."

"I understand, but I'm being realistic with you. How do you expect to care for a baby here?' Emmett gestured around. "You've got drug paraphernalia everywhere and bugs."

"We can get rid of that stuff." Mal waved a dismissive hand. "And we don't got no bugs. You must be trippin."

"Your cockroaches greeted me in the living room."

"Whatever." Mal thrust the bricks of cocaine in his arms. "I bet you wouldn't say shit like that if you got Kaz pregnant. You'd be doing everything you possibly could for him."

"What the hell are you on?" Emmett's face twisted in confusion. "If Kaz got pregnant, I'd be fucking terrified and blame it on the aliens."

"Fuck you on about with aliens?" Mal asked, shaking his head.

"Those fuckers are real, ya know? Out there watching us, kidnapping some to be probed." Emmett shivered just imagining it. "Come on, you can't tell me you don't believe in them."

"Man, you're wacky as fuck sometimes." Mal laughed. "Goddamn aliens."

"Yeah, mock me all you want. But seriously, if y'all really want to start a family together, then you've gotta get your shit together. I'm not trying to be a jackass or ruin your fantasy idea of a family. Also, you need to realize how quick CPS will be to take your baby away."

Mal frowned. "What? Why the hell would they do that?"

"Your baby's gonna suffer through withdrawal after it's born," Emmett told him. "We all know what kind of hell that's like, but imagine your unborn baby enduring it. Jules' family will step in. You know how controlling her father is. They'll probably want to raise the baby themselves, away from you both. It's not like you two can afford it."

"Stop it." Mal interrupted, shaking his head. "Don't be telling me that shit. Our baby will be fine. She's got a friend who had a baby while smoking crack and she turned out fine. You're just thinking about the worst, but you don't know everything."

"You need a reality check. Your girl's out there messing around with other guys for fucking heroin," Emmett snapped. "Do you even know if it's yours? You should have a paternity test taken after it's born."

"Of course it's mine. Just get out." Mal's eyes darkened, clouding with animosity.

"Mal, come on."

"Just leave us alone. Take your drugs and go."

"This isn't all of my stash," Emmett cleared his voice. "I was going to be lenient with you guys, considering your baby, but I need my supply. Where is it?"

"The fuck you talking about? You've got it all right there," Mal argued. "I even gave you that stuff back at Kaz's art studio. Goddamn desperate, aren't ya? What? Kaz snorted too much and now you need to blame it on me?"

Emmett dropped his supply on the table and snatched Mal by the collar, gripping the fabric until his knuckles whitened. "Don't you dare blame Kaz for your fucking messes. You and that whore have been dipping into our supply, haven't you?"

Mal squirmed against his grip, wincing as Emmett released him. He backed up against the wall, rubbing at his neck as he panted like he'd ran a marathon.

"Maybe she took some," Mal wheezed. "I'm sorry, Emmett. Please, just give me time. I'll pay you back. I always do."

"I've been too lenient with you. I expect my drugs back within a week."

"How am I supposed to get them by then? Does it look like I have that kind of fucking money laying around?" Mal asked, voice raising an octave as he gestured around the filthy trailer. "You gotta gimme more time, man. This is bullshit. It ain't right. You know I can't get it back by then. Maybe a month or two?"

"You should've considered that before letting her get into our stash." Emmett shrugged, recollecting the bricks of coke. "I'm done covering for your ass. Baby or not, you can't keep screwing me over."

"Just get out before she wakes up. Last thing I want is for her to stress about this shit," Mal spat. "I thought you had my back, but I guess I was a dumbass for believing that."

"Don't paint me out to be the enemy here. This is your fault for losing my stash." With those final words spoken, Emmett took his exit and hurried back out onto the porch.

What an asshole. He seriously blamed Emmett for losing his own goddamn drugs. If it weren't for that floozy he knocked up, they wouldn't even be in that predicament. It wasn't Emmett's fault they couldn't be responsible. As if either of them knew the first thing about caring for a baby.

Filthy rainwater splashed at Emmett's pants, seeping into his socks as raindrops pelted him. He cussed and unlocked the doors to his car. He needed a fucking smoke. A migraine nailed into his skull, pounding away each time he blinked.

After turning the ignition on, he pulled himself a cigarette out of the carton in his pocket and lit it. Rain pounded against the exterior of his car as the windshield wipers fought to clear his view. He couldn't believe Mal. Jules had him wrapped around her little finger and Emmett couldn't understand why. If her father caught wind about their baby, he'd do everything within his power to take it away from them.

Mayor Kaufman loved ruining people. Even if it meant hurting his own daughter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw a shadow slip behind Mal's car. He waited for a moment, anticipating something to emerge as he flipped his fog lights on. No critters scurried from under it. Emmett squinted as he leaned up against his dash, trying to find something lurking around.

Vibrations against his leg startled him as he gazed down, realizing it was just his phone. He took a gander at his new messages from Kaz before sparing a final glance around Mal's front yard. Maybe it was just the coke he'd snorted earlier messing with his mind. He just needed to get home to Kaz.

A nice, warm shower with him sounded heavenly. Anything to get out of the frigid rain.