SATAN’S SPAWN

ROYAL HEATHENS

BOOK 1

DANDA K. WRITING AS

JENNA STYX

Published May 2023

Copyright © 2023 by (Danda K. writing as) Jenna Styx

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Satan’s Spawn: Royal Heathens Book #1

Editor : Marissa Shaw at Shawsome Reads and Editing Services

Proofreader : Tegan Reichuber, Brandi at My Notes in the Margin

Cover Designer : Graphics By Stacy

Formatting : Brandi at www.mynotesinthemargins.com

Photo : Depositphotos

ASIN: B0BWSSMM9P

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CONTENTS

Foreword

Author’s Note

Playlist

Prologue

1. Bex

2. Bex

3. Bex

4. Crayton

5. Bex

6. Bex

7. Crayton

8. Bex

9. Bex

10. Crayton

11. Bex

12. Crayton

13. Bex

14. Crayton

15. Bex

16. Crayton

17. Bex

18. Bex

19. Crayton

20. Crayton

21. Bex

22. Bex

23. Bex

24. Crayton

25. Bex

26. Bex

27. Crayton

28. Bex

29. Crayton

30. Bex

31. Crayton

32. Bex

33. Crayton

34. Bex

35. Crayton

36. Bex

37. Bex

38. Crayton

39. Bex

40. Bex

41. Crayton

42. Bex

43. Bex

44. Crayton

45. Bex

46. Crayton

47. Bex

48. Bex

49. Crayton

50. Crayton

6 Months later…

About the Author

Untitled

Sneak Peek

To all the Dark Romance authors

who inspired me to take the leap with them.

“A soul who is not worthy of redemption,

With fingers riddled in blood and sin.

Who stands stoic behind the gates of Hell.

Only to be brought to his knees by the kiss of an angel.”

-Crayton Shaw

AUTHOR’S NOTE

To my faithful readers, I know you’re used to the steamy emotional stuff from me, and I promise that will never be lacking. But, please, keep in mind this story is a dark romance, with situations you may not be comfortable with if you are not familiar with the genre. For a full list of content warnings/triggers please see my website, and look for Satan’s Spawn in my Books section.

Or simply click the link below :

https://dandakauthor.com/index.php/satans-spawn/

PLAYLIST

“River” by Eminem and Ed Sheeran

“We Found Love” by Rihanna

“The Soldier” by Lacey Sturm

“Let You Down” by NF

“Cleanin’ Out My Closet” by Eminem

“Dark Paradise” by Lana Del Rey

“Bleed it Out” by Linkin Park

“Take Me to Church” by Hozier

“Wicked Games” by Kiana Ledé

“All Around Me” by Flyleaf

“Alive” by Sia

“NIGHTMARE!” by Slush Puppy

“Control” by Zoe Wees

“Just Pretend” by Bad Omens

“Before I Forget” by Slipknot

“Dance With Somebody” Conor Maynard

Full Playlist can be found on Tidal:

https://tinyurl.com/SatanSpawnPlaylist

PROLOGUE

ANOTHER LIFE AGO…

“It’s time to eat, son.” Mommy places a bowl of oatmeal in front of me on the table, a sweet smile spread across her face. I don’t like this look of hers.

I know what it means.

“I’m not hungry.” I lie, pushing the bowl away even though I haven’t eaten anything since last night. Every time she offers me oatmeal, it makes my tummy burn and has me falling asleep.

“You have to eat your food,” she insists firmly with that scary smile still on her face. “It’s important, you know that.”

“I said no.” I throw the bowl onto the floor, making it shatter, and the oatmeal spills out in sticky globs.

I'd rather get in trouble than feel that pain and sleepiness again.

“Isaiah, this is the work of the devil!” She grabs me by my Spider-man t-shirt, which is the only one I have left that isn’t ripped or smells bad, and slams me down on the floor. The smile is gone, and in its place is the mean one that’s always waiting to come out.

My nose is inches away from the mess when she says, “Now you’ll clean this up with your tongue.”

“No!” I whimper as she holds the back of my head to press my lips against the floor. I can feel the stickiness of the cereal smush against my face and the sting of broken pieces cutting my lips. It really hurts.

“There’s sharp pieces in it, Mommy, please stop,” I mumble, but she doesn’t ease up.

“Before any salvation, comes obedience!” Mommy presses my face harder into the floor, and I can feel my skin cutting.

I cry out in pain. “I don’t want to do this anymore! Please!”

I’ve seen her putting weird stuff in my food for a long time now, and when I don’t see it I can feel it after.

“You will do what the Lord commands!” she scoops up oatmeal from the dirty tiles in the kitchen with her hand, lifts my head back and shoves it into my mouth.

It’s usually sweet, but this time it’s like yucky sour candy.

“Why does it taste like this, Mommy?” I try my best not to spit it out.

“That’s the devil leaving you, Isaiah. Now, keep going and don’t stop.”

I wish I could tell someone what she’s doing to me.

And everything else she’s done for as long as I can remember. I tried once with a neighbor in our building but they didn’t believe me.

And it’s not like she sends me to school where I can tell a teacher. Mommy wants me all to herself, she says. That I’m her punishment to deal with, no one else’s.

Her wrong to right.

And all I need to learn is what her religion teaches.

The only time she’s nice is when she comes into my room at night to pray over me. Asking her God to release me from my fate of the burning pits of hell.

But this feels more like that hell she speaks of.

“Eat your dinner.” She shoves me before standing. “Every last drop.” Mommy sits down on one of the chairs, waiting.

“Please don’t make me,” I beg; eating off the floor is gross.

“You need a cleansing, Isaiah. To learn obedience to your mother and to your Lord and savior before it’s too late.”

Mommy always talks about this Lord and savior, but I’m still waiting to meet him. For him to rescue me from her.

But this Lord never comes.

And neither does my daddy. He’s just as invisible as the man mommy prays to.

The one she reads about in her book every night, calling it the word I need to live by if I want to be “saved”.

“Why do you hate me?” I ask her, my eyes growing watery so I wipe it away.

“This is not hatred, Isaiah. This is the work of God. You have to be purified. You are Satan’s spawn, full of sin and need to be washed of it.”

I tried telling her to let me use her soap more often if that’s the case. I will clean myself extra if it’ll make her happy. But she says it’s not my skin that’s the problem.

It’s my soul.

And no amount of body wash can rid the devil of it.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” I try to plead one more time, even though I know it’s useless.

She never listens.

“No, you won’t, Isaiah. Not unless I ensure it.” She slides the broken bowl closer to me with her bare foot. “Now do as you’re told and eat.”

So I do—I lick up every last bit off the floor and swallow each drop, even the pieces with tiny hard flecks in it. All in hopes it will be proof I’m not as bad as she thinks.

That I am not Satan’s spawn, just my mother’s son.

A son whose mother has a deeper love for an invisible being than the flesh and blood she made inside her.

A few minutes pass after I’m done eating and ridding the floor of the bowl. I look down at the tips of my fingers to find them bleeding because I wasn’t careful enough with the pointy pieces.

Mommy doesn’t bother trying to clean my hands, instead she says in her calm tone, “To your room, Isaiah. Now.”

I do as I’m told, my head down as Mommy walks next to me, pulling her long white hair back in a tie.

My arms are already tingling by the time we get to my bedroom door, but I ignore the feeling, even though it usually takes longer to start my fall to sleep.

“I do all of this to test your strength.” She straightens her shoulders, her blue eyes not meeting mine as she adds, “To see if it comes from good or evil.”

“I’m not evil, Mommy. I’m just a kid.”

She peers down at me as if I just said a bad word. “Born from sin!”

My shoulders slump as we cross into my room and approach my bed, the stench coming from it has me holding my breath.

My sheets are stained with so much yellow it’s hard to tell they used to be white. I wish she would at least let me use the bathroom before she makes me sleep.

Mommy orders me to remove all my clothes as usual, so I do so lazily as she places a rag inside the large bowl of water on the nightstand.

“Lay down, son.”

My eyes are heavy as I blink at the dirty mattress, my feet growing unsteady. “I don’t want to.”

“You must. So I can know if the Lord is finally willing to accept you as his child.”

“The pastor you watch on TV says we are all God’s children, so why would you doubt me?” I ask, not that it matters, because if this is what he wants my mom to do to me to earn his love, I’d rather not have it. “I don’t want to be his child. I want to be yours.”

“You can never be mine this way.” She pushes me onto the bed, and my weakening body leaves me no choice but to collapse on the pillow. “My only prayer is that he takes you this time, so I know I have not been forsaken.”

“Where is he taking me?” I don’t want to go.

“Into his arms if you’re worthy.” She brings the soaked rag over my head, squeezing it out in two crossed lines onto my face. Mommy then proceeds to wash my naked body, beginning with my arms and hands.

“And what if I’m not?” I fight to stay awake—to keep her talking like this since she never does. “What if I’m still here with you in the morning?”

She brings the rag to my private area, scrubbing it so hard it burns, but I’m too tired to fight this time. “Then we keep trying every Sunday until you are.”

“The TV pastor says God has mercy. That he answers prayers.” I try to reach for Mommy but my arm feels like there are no more bones left. “Maybe he’s answering your prayers by keeping me with you…”

And maybe whatever questions she has about me have been answered all along. Just not in a way she expects.

Maybe this God she loves so much sees me as the good boy I know I am, and not the sinful one she thinks I’ve always been.

Mommy disagrees, of course, and shakes her head, continuing to wash me of these impurities she always claims I have. “No. We need to be careful with you, Isaiah.”

“Why do you say that, mommy?” I whisper, my head feeling like a big fat rock is sitting on it.

What makes me different from anyone else?

Everything around me darkens, and right before I’m pulled into sleep I hear her say, “Because the devil answers prayers, too.”

BEX

SUMMER

I always considered myself a good, honest person.

Determined.

Humble, reliable. Maybe too reliable.

It doesn’t take much to make me happy, though.

The warmth from the sun at midday. A matcha latte. The occasional green smoothie.

The beach. God, you could offer to bring me there to die, and I’d go willingly. I’d put up no fight as long as the turquoise ocean is the one to whisk me away.

Especially La Jolla cove.

I absolutely love my life in San Diego. I was born here, and if I’m lucky enough, I’ll die here too.

That’s the thing with luck, though, it’s not for everybody.

And when you’re hit with a bout of it, it usually comes with a price you’re not always willing to pay. Which is why I never rely on luck to get me through anything.

I’ve had a plan for as long as I can remember. And it’s a solid one: graduate with honors, get into Stanford, and get a headstart on my future. Which is why I made sure to ace all of my tests and tackle any extra credit.

I kept my head down, especially in the books, and out of everybody else's business. It’s the only way to survive amongst the bitter barbies and cliques at our local high school.

Junior year is approaching, and summer, in theory, will come to an end.

Here’s the beautiful thing about the southern California days: the season's names may change, but it always feels like summer.

Mom said it snowed here once in my lifetime, but I was too young to remember, and not much more than a dusting. She has her bursts of disappointment with the hot climate, saying there’s no Christmas like a white Christmas, but I have no problem decorating our little palm tree each year.

California runs through my blood, down to my DNA, and although my mother grew up experiencing the brutality of the east coast winters in New York City, I’m more than content never meeting them.

I love my mom, as most daughters do, and even her new husband Roman she met six months ago at some art exhibit.

He owns several buildings in the city, which didn’t impress a woman like Nina Dawson as much as his ability to paint a portrait.

Exquisite portraits. Most of her, some of me, some of Potato our chihuahua.

Mom is a sucker for fine art and free spirits, so when the literal version of both came along she had no choice but to fall in love with him.

Her exact words.

They’re cute, except when they’re not, because although the apartment we’ve been living in is new construction, the walls were built like crap, and you can hear everything from her bedroom.

Gross.

They’ve been married for a few months, but we still haven’t moved into Roman’s monstrosity of a house on the hills, so he’s been spending most of his nights in our place despite the abundance of room they’d have in his.

As if being summoned, Mom strides into our kitchen throwing her blonde hair up in a messy bun, cotton robe open to reveal a white t-shirt stained with a variety of paint. “Morning, baby.” She says, her usual bright smile plastered on her face.

With my elbows planted on the table, I look down at her fluffy slippers and chuckle, bringing the mug of green tea to my lips.

“Another messy night?” I eye her shirt.

She instinctively tightens the robe around her waist, her face turning red. “Oh, yes, Roman needed a hand with his current piece.”

From the sounds I heard taking place in the spare bedroom turned studio, I’m pretty sure she was the current piece.

I choose not to embarrass her even more, though.

“How’s it coming along?” I take another sip, relishing in the warmth even though it’s pretty hot outside.

Mom reaches into the cabinet above the sink to grab herself a mug. “Oh, it’s just beautiful. He’s already got a buyer set up.”

“That’s amazing…so I guess it won’t be making it to the gallery.”

She clears her throat, and it takes a few seconds before she responds. “No, my love, it won’t be.”

That was weirdly ominous.

I return the mug to the table.

“What’s up, mom?” I ask, an eyebrow raised as I fold my arms. “That tone is a mixture between ‘I have bad news’ and ‘please don’t put eye drops in my coffee because of it.’”

A nervous chuckle commences, and I already know I’m not going to like what her answer will be.

“Well, it’s definitely not bad news. It’s good news.”

“For who?”

With her back to me, mom picks up the coffee pot, which I brewed for her, and pours some into the cup. “I’d like to think for all of us, Rebecca.”

Great. She’s calling me by my full name.

This can’t be good.

I drag out a long breath, still recovering from the long list of thoughtless decisions she’s been making the past two years after my dad died. First, the used corvette, which cost us a quarter of my father’s life savings. It took a lot of convincing on my part for the owner to give a full refund, but I got him to do it.

Then there was her roommate phase, where she insisted we make some extra money by renting out the spare bedroom in our apartment. Which lasted all of two months because my mother decided she hated the idea, and kept trying to raise the rent immediately after our first “tenant” moved in.

Mom was always impulsive, but after dad’s passing it only got worse. Because she was not only impulsive—but also lonely, grieving, and trying to find her way in a world without her husband, who was her only other sounding board besides me. I barely had time to feel the loss of him because I was so busy putting out the fires she wouldn’t stop lighting.

I love her, though, so I always did it. No question. No matter how exhausting the process.

Fast forward to six months ago: enter Roman, a middle-aged man with a sweet smile brightening his salt and pepper hair who also has a lot more common sense and self control than my dear darling mother. He’s a kind soul who has been keeping her happy and grounded, so I decided this is one of her fires I wouldn’t bother trying to snuff out. Not even when they got married three months after meeting.

He’s filled a hole left in my mother’s heart, and in the process I’ve been able to focus on my studies and toward my goals for the future.

Potato wobbles into the room at this moment, trying his hardest to lift his chunky ass up on the side of my chair. I lean down and pat his head, where he proceeds to lick my hand.

“Just tell me what you did, mom.”

So I can start figuring out a way to fix it.

She turns to face me, leaning against the counter. “I didn’t do anything, in fact, this was all Roman.”

“Just spit it out, will you? You look like you’re about to burst an artery.”

She inhales a deep breath and licks her lips. “Roman was offered a wonderful opportunity to open up his very own gallery.”

Oh, well, that’s not bad. That actually is good news.

Confidence returning, I retrieve my mug and take a long satisfying sip. “That’s awesome. Where is it? Downtown?”

She squishes her nose. “Yes?”

And just like that, it’s gone again. “What the hell mom? Is it downtown or isn’t it? I have a chihuahua who needs to be walked.”

“It’s downtown, but not in San Diego.”

Okay, so, another part of the county—not my travel, not my problem.

“Chula Vista?” I ask, curious now.

“No, baby.”

Damn it, now I’m determined to guess, and my mother must notice because the nervous laugh is back.

“Oceanside?”

A shake of her head.

Damn it.

I let out a huff, hating when I don’t get answers right the first time.

Potato whimpers, and I know it’s only a matter of time before I’m cleaning up piss off the floor.

“Whatever, I’m over it. Just tell me where he’s opening this gallery of his.”

Mom looks behind me down the hall, as if checking whether or not Roman is up and approaching.

He’s not, because I can hear the snoring from where I sit, and mom squeezes her hands around the mug as she blinks down at her coffee. “It’s in New York City.”

* * *

“I am not moving to New York. Nope. Not happening.” I pace back and forth in the living room, as both Roman and my mom watch me with careful eyes.

“Bex, listen,” my mother holds her hands out to calm me down, but I don’t let her finish.

“Nuh-huh!” I wiggle my finger at her. “You don’t get to use my nickname when you’re ambushing me with a move across the country.”

We don’t even have any family left there. At least not any that I know of since Mom had a falling out with the majority of them when she took off to California with my dad.

A great uncle Jack was the only relative she still spoke to, and he died last spring from emphysema. The only person going into this move to New York knowing anybody is Roman, and he may be enough for my mother but he’s not for me.

Not that I’ve built a substantial amount of relationships here, either. Probably because my high school is made up of different cliques and I was too lost in my textbooks to try getting into one.

The closest I came to a friend was Joanie from middle school, but she moved to Colorado with her parents.

All of this was fine for me, though, because I always preferred it to be just mom, dad, and me.

Then just mom and me.

Her shoulders fall. “It’s an amazing opportunity for all of us. I grew up in that city. I loved it. I know you will too.”

The fuck I will, I barely own any other shoes besides flip flops.

Plus, if she loved it so much why the hell did she agree to move out here with Dad?

“I have plans, mom, that are all based around this side of the coast.”

“Nobody is stopping these plans, Bex,” Roman cuts in, “you can still go to Stanford after graduation. In fact, I can help you get in there. We’ve planned it all out.”

I’m glad they planned it all out.

Where the hell was I in this conversation?

“How the heck can you do that from New York? I’ve been working like hell here to keep up public school grades to get in.”

They both share a look, which has mine thinning into a glower.

“A friend of mine can get you into the highest rated preparatory school in the city. Just two years there will have your transcript sitting at the top of Stanford’s list. With my contacts and your grades, we can make sure of it.”

As enticing as that sounds, I don’t know if it’s worth giving up the only life I’ve ever known.

The only climate I’ve ever known.

The only home I’ve ever known.

My mother steps up to me, rubbing both my arms with her hands. “Trust me, my love, I wouldn’t decide to uproot you unless I knew it would keep your dreams intact. Think about it…” Her voice turns serious as she squeezes my forearms. “Your 4.0 GPA has made me so proud, but to a college like Stanford? They have hundreds of those sitting on their desks. Riverside Prep will make you stand out astronomically. Especially in junior year.”

Riverside Prep.

Give me a break.

I fight the urge to whip out my phone and Google the school, because let’s face it, if she told me it was somewhere in California, I’d be twitching with excitement.

Dragging them out of the house to enroll me.

But it’s not, which is why my mother is continuing to plead her case, and I’m grinding my molars with every word.

“Their dorms are exquisite, Bex, and we already have a condo lined up when you come home on the weekends. It’s right on the river, gosh I know you’ll just love it.”

I should argue I love oceans, not rivers, but what’s the point? Her mind is made up, and I am in no financial position to argue on my supermarket salary.

I’m not even eighteen yet, therefore unable to live anywhere on my own. Unless on my own consists of a private school I’ve never heard of.

As much as I love the idea of independence, jumping into it right now was never an option. Until now, I guess. But this feels a lot more like a requirement than an option.

“So not only am I moving across the country, I won’t be staying with you guys?”

“This school is board only. We tried to get them to make an exception for you. But they said it’s part of their social program,” Roman says as Mom wraps an arm around him.

Awesome.

“But this is a good thing, baby,” Mom adds. “It’ll prepare you in every way for Stanford. You can use some socialization, too. You’ve missed out on so much since—” Her voice cracks, unable to finish the sentence, but it doesn’t matter.

We both know what she meant.

Since we lost my dad.

In retrospect I know she has a point. Plus, a huge house on the hills is one thing, but the last thing I need is to be stuck in another condo with the two of them during their honeymoon stage– regardless of the state we’re in.

I’ve always been willing to do whatever it takes to get into Stanford, and if Roman is right about this school putting me at the top of the list, shouldn’t I at least give it a shot?

I should, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Especially knowing what I’ll be leaving behind.

I drag my eyes to my fat baby asleep on the couch, not a care in the world. “I can’t leave Potato.”

“You’ll see him on weekends and can visit after school; it’s well within walking distance to the condo.”

It’s as if Mom anticipated every single one of my responses and prepared the answers perfectly for them. I would be impressed if only she wasn’t flying me over two thousand miles out of my comfort zone.

“Well, I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I concede, and mom brings me in for a hug.

“I have a great feeling about this, Bex. Big things are happening.”

Hopefully not too soon, because I want to at least finish out the rest of the summer before being subjected to blistering cold weather.

“How long do I have?” I grumble, resting my cheek against her shoulder.

Mom chuckles. “You make it sound like you’re dying.”

A part of me feels like it is.

“Please tell me we have at least till the end of August to move.”

More silence between the both of them, and I groan.

“The beginning.” I can hear the wince in her words.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

“Why do you hate me?” I ask through a whine.

Bringing her lips to my ear, mom whispers, “Because you got the better titties, duh.” I roll my eyes when she pulls out of our embrace. “I knew I could count on my baby girl to understand.”

Of course she knew because, like I said earlier, I’m too damn reliable.

2

BEX

Closing my eyes, I drag in a breath, inhaling the salty air as the warm sand beneath my feet trickles through my toes.

I can hear the clashing of waves, along with seagulls mewing in the distance.

It’s my white noise, my solace, the only place I’ve ever felt completely whole.

La Jolla cove was always my father’s favorite place to spend the day: between snorkeling and picnics, the rocky shores, and even the sea caves we used to explore together.

Everywhere here has memories of us, and now I’m being stripped away from them.

From him.

I won’t even be able to visit his grave without a gruesome six hour flight.

I know it isn’t mom’s intention to hurt me, and I also know this is her way of moving on, but she never stopped to ask if I was ready to.

It’s been weeks of packing, finishing up my last days of work, and trying my hardest to keep it together as I prepare for an entirely new life. Mom hasn’t stopped smiling, and Roman made it his mission to make sure this transition is as easy as possible for me.

I appreciate it, even him finding a way for me to virtually register for Riverside instead of having to fly in. I saw pictures of the dorms, which are nothing shy of magnificent, but still I’m finding it hard to get excited.

And we’re leaving tomorrow.

“Hi sweetie.” Mom’s voice chirps behind me, probably assuming this is where I’d be spending my last day. When I look up, I find her standing at my side, holding the beach hat on top of her head steady as her long flowy sundress dances like white flames in the wind.

“Hey.” I reach my hand up to help her sit next to me.

Mom always loved the beach too, but it wasn’t a part of who she was like me and my dad.

Probably because she was the only one of us who wasn’t born in California.

“How ya holding up?” She caresses my platinum blonde locks.

“I’m really nervous, to be honest. I barely fit in with the people here, and this is my home.”

She nods in understanding. “You were always a recluse like your dad. It’s not a bad thing.”

Says the social butterfly.

“I feel like we’re leaving him…” I look down at my feet buried in the sand, reaching for the gold cross around my neck that he bought me for my fourteenth birthday.

I haven’t taken it off since he died.

“Oh, honey,” she sighs, “how can we leave him if he’s carried in our hearts? Your dad’s body may be buried here, but you know his spirit lives on.” She kisses my temple. “Especially through you.”

“What if I never make it back here?”

“You can make it anywhere, Bex. You’re resilient and independent, in many of the ways I wish I was.”

My mother has spent most of her adult life in relationships, even though I’m not familiar with anyone before my dad. I do know she’s always had an inability to be on her own, though, which is another reason it came as no surprise she eloped with Roman so quickly.

My mother falls in love fast and hard– something I’m afraid I inherited from her. Not that I ever really tested the theory.

“This is the first time you’ve ever taken me out of California. So probably best not to speak too soon.”

“Oh, baby girl, but California will never be taken out of you.” She brushes a rustling wave from my face, admiring it. “How can it when the color of this ocean is in your eyes?”

I inherited my bluish green eyes from my dad’s Norwegian roots, but we always used to joke that I really got them from the waters of La Jolla because he’d come here so much with my mom when she was pregnant with me.

It was silly then, kind of comforting now that I’m leaving.

Leaning my head against mom’s slender shoulder, I hug her waist, trying my best to stay positive when I say, “I’m sure New York has pretty beaches too.”

This makes her laugh. “Sure do, sweetie, but I suggest you lower your standards on them real fast, preferably before you visit one.”

Well, there goes my one and only silver lining.

* * *

The plane ride wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be—then again, Roman renting out a private jet so Potato wouldn’t be alone in the cargo area definitely helped.

It wasn’t enough, though, to stop the dreariness I felt as we took off into the sky, leaving California and everything I love about it behind us.

My mom and Roman spent the majority of the time talking through plans when we landed: plans for next week, the week after that, and so on. I kept mostly to myself, laying down with Potato as I switched between overthinking my decision not to protest the move more and watching reruns of Parenthood.

I dozed off around the second episode and surprisingly, by the time I woke up, we were preparing for landing.

Standing in some airport, dog in hand, I look around at all the travelers rushing around me to get to their destination.

Some in suits, some in dresses, some alone and some with families—but all sharing one thing in common—having their shit figured out so much more than I do right now.

“Here you go, sweetie.” Mom holds out a tablet, along with a water bottle, and I hike my duffle bag over my shoulder to take the medicine from her.

“Thanks.” I pop it in my mouth, reaching for the water next to take a sip. “I didn’t want to risk forgetting a dose on the way to the condo.”

Mom smiles as I pour some water into Potato’s mouth, then says, “Roman should be back from the bathroom any minute. Then we’ll be on our way.”

“He’s back, bearing gifts!” Roman approaches us, balancing three Starbucks cups in his hands.

“For you, dear.” He gives her one, then turns to me. “And a green tea for you, Bex.”

“Thanks, Ro.” I shove the water into the side of my duffle and take the cup from him.

“There’s a town car waiting outside for us. With no traffic, we should get to the city in about forty minutes. Our bags are already being transferred to the car.”

The plane landed in some fancy airport in New Jersey, just outside of Manhattan, which Roman uses occasionally when he has business here.

Guess he won’t have to use it as much anymore.

“Let’s grab a bite to eat first, I’m starving.” Mom suggests, blowing into her cup. “Maybe Carina’s Bistro? Then after we can drive through Time Square?”

Seriously? Now?

I know Mom is itching to get her hands full of the city again, but all I want to do right now is collapse into a bed and sleep off this trip.

Exploring is not even on my radar, not tonight at least.

Which is what I should be saying, but I don’t. Not that it would make a difference, because Roman says, “If that’s what my lady wants, then that’s what she gets.”

I usually find it adorable how much this man dotes on my mom, but right now, it’s nothing but dreadful.

I swallow these feelings down, even when Mom asks, “You okay with that, sweetie?”

No, I’m not okay. I’m not okay with any of this. But the hopeful glisten in her eye makes it clear how okay she is with it.

Am I supposed to take that away?

“I guess. Sure.” Looking down at the pooch falling asleep in my arms, I add, “But what about Potato?”

“He can sit with the driver as we eat. It’s no problem.” Roman reassures.

Damn, I wish it was.

With that, I nod, and both Roman and my mom grip the handle on their luggage and begin pulling it through the airport.

I follow behind, squeezing Potato to my chest as I trail them, watching as Roman gazes so lovingly down at my mom it almost makes me feel bad for being so apprehensive about everything.

Almost.

Because I can’t help but wonder if I would feel this way if Dad was here instead of him.

3

BEX

“All ready for orientation?” Mom beams from my bedroom door, dressed in a pair of jeans and a beige ruffled top.

We’ve been living in the condo for two weeks, and I’m confident when I say I’m nowhere close to being adjusted to this city.

San Diego can be loud, but Manhattan? It’s deafening.

The skyline is beautiful, I’ll give it that, but there’s no scent of salt water or cute beach shops lining any of the shore.

Just a deep flowing river on all fronts that makes up this chaotic island of concrete, yellow taxis, industrial buildings and skyscrapers.

Our condo is in an area called Chelsea, about a fifteen minute train ride from where Roman’s art gallery will be opening up. Just as my mom said, there’s a gorgeous view of a bunch of piers in the distance, especially during sunset hours.

It houses a bunch of really impressive yachts, along with what I hear is some really cool entertainment facilities I’m contemplating checking out.

Potato, the traitor, is living his best life and found his niche at a local dog park two blocks away.

Everyone else is happy—but I’m still…deciding.

Visiting the school I will be moving into in a couple weeks will be the tipping factor.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I pop a tablet into my mouth and wash it down quickly with the water on my dresser.

“Which means you over-prepared. So you got this.” She ambles into the room and stops behind me as I slip my feet into flip flops.

Adjusting my white tank inside my high waisted skinny jeans, I freeze as Mom rests her hands on my shoulders, eyes adoring me. “How did I make such a beautiful young woman?”

I can sense she’s trying to shift the mood, so I decide to go along with it.

“Well, it all starts when a man and a woman love each other…” I smile awkwardly, which makes her laugh, but not with her whole heart.

“You’ve never been more right, you know.” Mom kisses my cheek. “You’re this beautiful because of how much your Dad and I loved each other.”

I swallow and look down, tucking falling strands of hair behind my ear. “Do you still love him?”

Nostalgia is probably not the best way to start the day, but I want to feel like my Dad is with me, and this may be the only way how.

Mom forces my chin up with her fingers, then looks me right in the eye through the mirror as she adjusts my cross. “Always, Bex. I will forever love your dad for so many reasons, you being the most important one.” Her arms wrap around me in a squeeze. “He’s with you today, baby. He is so proud I know it.”

“Thanks, Mom. I needed to hear that.”

She nods and reaches for the brush on my dresser, then starts running it through my pin straight hair. “There is nothing wrong with a little makeup, though, you know? Most girls your age are experimenting with all different types.”

Most girls my age are experimenting with a lot of things I’m not. Makeup being the least significant with modern day peer pressure. But, then again, I’m pretty sure most girls my age aren’t experimenting with some of the…peculiar things I am.

Which is definitely not something I want to get into with my mother.

“I’m not really the Sephora trips on the weekend, type.”

Mom gives me a shocked look, as if saying you don’t say? then asks, “Maybe after we finish orientation we can grab lunch? There’s this Thai place called Pru that all the locals rave about on Yelp.”

As good as that sounds at the moment, I’ll need to see where my head is at after orientation. In case, you know, there’s a large rock I’ll feel the need to hide under the entire school year.

Or maybe a closet to barricade myself in.

“Possibly.” I offer instead. Keeping the paranoid thoughts to myself.

“Sounds like a plan, then.” She runs the brush through my hair a final time before placing it onto my dresser. “Now let’s go, we both know how much you twitch when you’re not at least five minutes early to everything.”

Mom practically skips to the door, winking back at me before disappearing into the hall. All of this high energy makes me groan as I pick up my notebook and drag my feet out of my room, wishing there was a stealthy way to lock her in a closet instead.

The condo is lightyears ahead of what our three bedroom apartment was in La Jolla. For starters, it’s a corner unit, offering two balconies and tall windows lining all the exterior walls, which gives us a front row seat to the pretty skyline I mentioned earlier. Everything is white, which is quite the contrast to the bright orange and yellow walls mom painted in our previous place.

The minimalist style makes an already large space seem even…larger. With only a few artistic metal sculptures decorating the living room, along with Roman’s portraits of mom and me above the gas fireplace. That’s really it for now. Even though mom hasn’t complained yet, I know it’s only a matter of time before she attempts to add something bright and gaudy to the walls.

Making my way with as much optimism as I can, I stop by the long L shaped kitchen, and reach onto the island to pull a banana from the hanger. Peeling it back, I realize mom is already taking off toward the door, so I make quick strides in an attempt to keep up with her.

“Honey, we’re leaving!” Mom shouts as she opens the front door, and I hear a “good luck” come from the only colorful room in the back that Roman is using as his home studio. Giving Potato a quick pat on the head, I blow him a kiss before entering the hallway, and Mom closes the door behind me.

In a matter of minutes we’re on and off the elevator, banana peel thrown in the trash, and walking down the long lobby with—surprise—all white and black marble walls.

“Everything is so fancy in this building.” I crane my neck to look up at the ceilings, which have actual chandeliers overhead.

“I know, right?” she says through the corner of her lips. “And no color whatsoever.”

This makes me chuckle.

With a push through the spinning doors, the both of us are out of the building and onto the street getting hit in the face with five tons of humidity.

Shit this air is heavy.

It gets hot in La Jolla, but none of that compares to the thick wall of muck I’m breathing in.

I guess this is why southern California is known to have the best weather in the world.

Another reason to get back there. I tell myself.

“So, the great thing about Riverside is that it’s only six short blocks from our condo, which was Roman’s deciding factor on buying here.”

I give her a look, which she interprets immediately. “I mentioned this already, didn’t I?”

“Few times, yeah.” I deadpan, and Mom responds with an apologetic “oopsie”.

As we make our way deeper into the neighborhood, every single detail manages to catch my attention: from rows of ethnic shops, to eateries, even the street art lining the brick walls of buildings on different blocks. I can’t help but give props to this city on the cultural diversity mixed into the roots. It adds a form of beauty that would only be seen in an art gallery like the one Roman’s portraits were displayed back in California.

With over eight hundred languages spoken, which yes I did Google, I’m really starting to see why New York City is considered the melting pot.

“Look.” Mom points to an artist perched on the corner, sketching a couple’s faces on a small easel.

This early in the morning?

I take in this man, who created his own business right in the middle of the street—right in front of an outdoor cafe. Which is a pretty solid advertisement strategy. Tons of people, especially those on dates, watch you work as they eat, drink, and “be merry”.

Nothing screams a memorable, albeit slightly awkward, first date like being forced to sit still and on display while hundreds of people gawk at you for—my eyes dart to the written sign on the small table—fifteen minutes.

“You know…that’s pretty cool. If the art gallery doesn’t work out, at least Roman knows he has options.” I turn my head back to mom who’s grinning at me from the corner of her eye.

“Told ya you’d like it here.”

Okay, pump the brakes, lady.

“It was one compliment, Mom. Not a flag in the ground.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll take the hint.” She holds two hands up in defense.

The sound of screeching and a loud crash makes us both jump, and when we turn to face the sound from the street we find a matte black muscle car slammed into the back of a taxi.

“Uh oh.” Mom winces. “That ones gotta hurt. Car looks expensive.”

The accident doesn’t look bad at all, a typical fender bender, but the angry taxi driver climbing out of the car yelling obscenities would beg to differ.

Yikes.

Nobody gets out of the black car, and given the windows are completely tinted, the person inside is a mystery to all of us.

Especially the little old man in a black Newsboy hat gesturing toward his damaged taxi and serving out a dish of his wrath.

“Should we make sure whoever’s inside the car is okay?” I take a step toward the street, and mom grabs my arm to stop me.

“No, baby. This is very common in the city. They will sort it out, we don’t want you late for orientation.”

I look down at the ground and bite my lip, knowing she’s right. After all, I doubt the hit was hard enough to hurt anything other than the driver’s wallet.

“Yeah, true.” I lock my arm around hers and we move again, taking one last look at the scene as Mom falls right back into our conversation about the city.

“This place here makes the absolute best muffins.” She points to a corner shop labeled “Manny’s Bakery” and chef-kisses the air. “It’s been around since before I was born.”

“Long time, then.” I smirk, nudging her.

“Watch it,” she warns.

Continuing further, we pass a huge supermarket and a couple retail stores before approaching a corner. When mom points this time, I find a cul-de-sac with a humongous cathedral style building shaping the dead-end street.

“Would you look at that…” She gasps. “It’s gorgeous.”

An array of colorful flower bushes line the exterior of the school, along with benches placed out front which are seating a few waiting families.

“Let’s go, sweetie, they’ll be opening the doors soon.” Mom pulls me by the back of my arm, but my feet stay planted in the concrete.

“Bex, don’t let the lavishness intimidate you…you belong here just as much as the rest of them.”

Given we went through about three months of only Rice ‘A’ Roni for dinner after my dad died and mom quit her job at the salon, I’d beg to differ.

I start moving, heart pounding, throat tightening as I squeeze my notebook to my chest, and as I close the distance between me and the entrance, it feels as though I’m choking on sand.

I try to distract myself by examining the gray and white school shield, bypassing the pictures and going right for the latin quote at the bottom.

Imperare Sibi Maximum Imperium Est

“To rule yourself is the ultimate power.”

I’ve heard the expression many times before, yet I still find myself staring intently at the words, like they’re taunting me for some reason.

I don’t know how much time goes by before mom squeals—“Here we go!”—just as two girls push through the front doors wearing what I’m pretty sure are much shorter versions of the gray and white plaid skirt I received in the mail.

Same white shirt tucked into the waistband—although they are foregoing the top three buttons meant to actually cover our breasts—and a black blazer draped over their shoulders. They’re laughing together until they spot me looking, I’m sure, like a deer caught in headlights, and offer a cold expression before returning to their conversation.

Off to a great start, Bex. Already using the friend repellant that is your face.

“Embrace those jitters, sweetie. This is the start of the rest of your life.”

Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t include the two stuck up bitches who just daggered me with their eyes.

4

CRAYTON

I’m an asshole. A merciless one.

I know it, my dad knows it, the kids at Riverside know it, and if it was up to some of the girls I’ve fucked in the past, the world would know it too.

Crayton Shaw: the mystery nobody dares to try and solve.

The wolf lurking in the hallways of this ancient building.

The fiend.

The bad guy.

Always the bad guy.

Which is precisely what my roommate Saint’s newest fuck buddy is thinking right now as she peers over at me from his bed covering her chest with his sheets.

“Do you mind?” Melanie, the virtuous daughter of a right wing conservative political daddy, sneers at me as I cross my ankles on my bed.

“Not at all, proceed.” I lift my hand, giving her the green light to begin her walk of shame out of our dorm room.

In her defense, the sticker Saint left on the door made it clear I wasn’t supposed to return until eight o’clock this morning, and they were asleep when I walked in to find her naked in his bed.

In my defense, I found it hilarious to take my time and hang each article of clothing she threw all over my bed throughout the dormitory hallways before slamming one of Saint’s textbooks on the floor to wake them up.

Here we are now, twenty minutes later, Saint stretching his arms over his head as I wait for the closet skank to realize she’s leaving here in a bed sheet.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Saint winks at me as I toss his football up in the air. “Long night of killing puppies?”

“Kittens.” I correct him, which makes Melanie gasp, of course thinking low enough of me not to assume it’s a joke.

“Can you please get out so I can get dressed?” Melanie attempts to reason with me, which makes Saint chuckle because he knows she’s got a better chance of her hymen regenerating than that happening.

Saint has been my roommate since freshman year at Riverside Prep, and it’s been this way ever since for a reason.

He’s the only other person I can tolerate enough to actually live with.

“Sure, I’ll get out.” I stand, tossing the ball over to Saint who looks absolutely thrown by my attempt at decency as he stands in nothing but a pair of ball shorts.

“Thank you,” Melanie huffs, hauling her legs over the bed still covering herself.

That’s when it happens.

“Where the fuck are my clothes?” Her eyes widen with panic.

“Oh, were you needing them?” I pull her pink lace thong from my pants pocket, carrying it toward the door. “I assumed they were only for show since you threw them all over my fucking bed.” I pull the door open and whistle, and a few seconds after that Levi, the Royals JV wide receiver and another addition to our dysfunctional crew, appears with a wicked grin.

“Sup bitches? I got a text tellin’ me I’m on thong duty.”

By thong duty, he’s referring to the panties of the girls we fuck that get slung over the tall gate to the school’s football field in the back.

It takes the staff long—and the girls even longer—to manage to get them down, since nobody, not even the school’s faculty, wants to piss off the guys whose parents keep a heavy hand in endowments.

My dad being the most generous of them all.

With a menacing smile on my face, I hold the flimsy underwear out and Levi snatches them, running off before the dorm head starts his morning rounds.

Today is new student orientation, too, so this will be a fun eye sore for any newbs.

Unless, of course, that ass kisser Archer takes it upon himself to climb up there and fetch another pair down again.

Regardless, we’re required to wear our uniforms today as the tour takes place, and our friend Melanie here has around a half hour before the new students roll in.

“Saint, please tell your despicable friend here to go retrieve my clothes.”

This girl says it with so much confidence it’s as if she actually believes he will.

“I’m about to hit the shower, actually.”

She turns around to face him with a fierce glower. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He seems to think about it for a minute. “Yeah, I don’t think I am. We worked up a sweat last night.”

“Time to go.” I pull the door open wider. “Chop chop.”

“The both of you are assholes!” She bunches up the sheet around her and starts moving, but stops when a body passes the door.

“Oh my God, Clarice!” Melanie shouts, making the blonde outside our room stop dead in her tracks.

“Melanie?” Her eyebrows crease her forehead. “What the hell is going on?” The blonde approaches the door, but I block the entrance with a fold of my arms.

“Far enough.”

“How come she’s allowed in?” Clarice echoes my stance.

“Because she offered up her snatch. You willin’ to do that?”

Her lip lifts in disgust but stays quiet, knowing she doesn’t stand a chance against me.

Clarice is one of the quieter students in Riverside, keeps out of everyone’s business, and if it wasn’t for the lack of pigment in her hair I’d say she’s one of the very few girls who doesn’t deserve the scowl I’m aiming at her right now.

But she gets it anyway.

“What did you do to her?” She looks past me at Saint.

“Nothing she didn’t want, trust me. You church girls are freaks.”

This has Melanie letting out a growl. “Clarice, please go find my clothes in the hallway before the dorm head sees them.”

“Hallways.” I turn and correct her. “They aren’t only in this one.”

“I fucking hate the both of you!” Melanie screeches, stomping toward me in her bare feet, because of course I hid her shoes too.

“And yet you’re always coming back for more.”

“You’re a bastard!” She spits as she tries to pass, but I don’t budge which infuriates her even more.

“Move! Now.”

“Doesn’t your church teach you any manners?”

Or anything at all since she gets around the entire school.

Saint calling Melanie’s name has her relaxing her shoulders with relief.

So pathetic.

“What is it?” She asks without facing him, and I don’t miss the hope mixed in her voice. Like she’s just waiting for him to tell her to stay inside because we’re only joking.

“I’m gonna need those sheets back when you’re done.”

That earns Saint another growl before the uptight bitch pushes past me and out into the hallway with her friend.

I slam the door shut without a second glance, trudge over to my bed, and wipe it down to make a point.

“You could’ve left her shoes, you dick.” Saint says as he grabs his robe and shampoo caddy to take with him to the showers.

“You could’ve told your little Sunday whore to throw her shit on the floor.”

He offers me a touché with a tilt of his head. “Facts. But I was a bit caught up in the moment. You know how it is—you got Alexis.”

I want nothing more from Alexis’ than her cunt on occasion and her ability to write my papers on the regular. But I don’t bother telling him that. I prefer to keep my business, my business.

Saint stops in front of the mirror, running a hand through his dark brown hair to tame it. “Heard we got a west coaster comin’ in hot. Straight outta Cali.” He checks his teeth. “Word in the halls is that she looks really good too. The guys are already fighting for dibs on this one, and they haven’t even seen her yet.”

I don’t care enough to ask how he knows this.

“I’m sure you’ll be at the front of that line.” Deciding I want an egg sandwich from the bagel store, I pick up my wallet off the dresser and shove it in my pocket.

“Not all of us have the hottest chick in the school offering up her snatch like a burrito at Chipotle.”

I come well equipped with disturbing images, and that sure as fuck is a new one.

“Goin’ to get food.” I make my way to the door. “Want somethin’?”

“The Alexis kind?”

This fucking guy loves to test my patience.

“Do you want anything from Chelsea Bagels or not, asshole?”

“You’re going all the way there for food?”

“Why the fuck you think I’m asking?”

Saint shrugs. “Bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll.”

With that, I whip open the door, hearing Saint yell, “A lemon Snapple too!” as I walk off not bothering to close it.

* * *

Swinging my keys around my finger, I make my way over to my one cherished possession, Raven my Mustang, with as much pride and joy as I felt when my father gave her to me for my sixteenth birthday. It’s how I assume parents feel for their offspring, if those offsprings were a ‘69 Mustang Boss 429 and worth over half a million dollars.

Which they’re not.

But my baby is.

I’m pulled from my reverie by two chicks giggling and pointing to Melanie’s thong hanging on top of the fence.

You’re welcome.

“Where you runnin’ off to Cray Cray?” A voice that belongs to Riggs, Levi’s cousin and sophomore, asks from behind me.

“Gettin’ food.” I keep moving, and Riggs falls in step at my side, dressed completely in his uniform.

“Oh, fantastic ’cause I’m fucking staaaarving.” He rubs his hands together, unaware that I’ve stopped walking. Turning around to face me, he asks, “Fuck is you doing, man?”

“Besides going alone as I intended?”

“What’s got your panties in a tighter bunch than usual?” He pouts stupidly. “Alexis not puttin’ out or something?”

What the fuck is the obsession with this girl?

Her pussy is mediocre at best.

“Less worrying about my dick’s social life and more worrying about when yours will start having one.” I trudge ahead and he stays back, knowing better than to push me too far.

“Cold, Cray Cray, that shit was cold,” he says behind me, adding, “at least bring me back an everything bagel. You know how I take it. Buttered, a little brown. Just how I like my women.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

I hear Riggs whistling to who I assume is a girl he’ll never actually try to fuck, and reach for the phone in my pocket to call my dad.

He’s already picking up on the first ring by the time I get to Raven.

“Son,” he greets me. “Should I be grabbing the Tums?”

“Real funny.” I pull open the car door and slide inside, slamming it shut.

“Well, when I get calls this early I’m usually opening either those or my wallet.”

“You won’t be needing either. Just wanted to let you know I won’t be making it to the office later.”

“The reason being?” He waits.

I don’t have one, but I always think on my feet.

“They want us to help prepare the signs and shit for the start of the new year.”

“You? Help out?” he says these words as if the idea is a foreign concept.

Probably because it is.

“Yeah, you know me. Always the humanitarian.”

The explosive roar of the engine comes to life when I twist the key in the ignition, along with my bluetooth over the speakers as I pull out of the spot.

“Tomorrow, Crayton. No excuses.”

No promises.

“Loud and clear, pop.”

After my father goes through his usual spiel about responsibility and needing to work on my interpersonal skills, and how working for him during the summer is the best way to do that, I pretend I have another call and hang up.

The only reason I work for my dad on occasion is because of how much I respect him. And the only reason I make it a point to actually show up sometimes is because he’s the only person in my life who’s earned said respect.

Sitting in the usual city traffic, I turn up the volume on “‘Till I Collapse” by Eminem and ring my fingers around the steering wheel. The beat thumps off the windows as I bob my head to it, mouthing off with the lyrics as I wait for the light to change.

It’s hot today, and even with the AC blasting I can still feel the humidity choking the car from the outside.

The streets are packed—per usual for morning rush hour—and I won’t lie and say I’m not second guessing my decision to drive through this shit just for a sandwich.

They’re the best fucking sandwiches though, and always worth the parking ticket I end up getting.

Alfie, the peanuts guy, is setting up his stand on the corner, reminding me to grab a bag on my way back.

I’m about to accelerate when the sight of long white hair snags my attention.

And my ability to suck in air.

The invisible noose tightens when I take in the features on her face: pinched nose, high cheekbones, and a saccharine smile that makes my stomach pang with distaste.

I hate those fucking smiles.

They remind me of her.

The older woman she’s walking with looks similar enough to assume she’s her mother, except the hair on her head is more golden, nowhere close to that ghostly white.

The same ghostly white that’s haunted me for years.

And is returning with a vengeance right now as I blink away the image of scornful blue eyes.

The sound of a horn honking from behind makes me jump out of my skin, and my reaction is visceral as I slam my foot on the gas, not realizing a taxi is slowing to a stop in front of me until it’s too late. I stomp my foot on the brakes right before there’s a loud crash of metal, and my body’s jolted forward.

Cursing, I put the gear in park, knowing for damn sure the front of my car will have damage.

Son of a bitch.

What the hell has gotten into me?

My knuckles are white around the steering wheel as I turn my head in the girl’s direction, only to find her attention focused this way. There’s concern fixing her features, and the smallest pout forms at her lips as if she’s contemplating whether or not to walk over and see if I’m okay.

I’ll make sure she regrets it if she does.

Anger rumbles deep inside me, not because there’s an old man screaming obscenities at me in front of my car, but because I feel unraveled with the sight of her: all innocent like it’s not her fault I just dented my car.

All noble like she didn’t just poison my mind with memories I thought were forgotten.

This girl must really be the nosey type, stupid too, because she takes a step toward me right before the older one grips her arm, saying something to make her stop.

Probably telling her to mind her fucking business.

And she’s right.

I’m a dangerous guy for a pretty girl like her—since I find pleasure in breaking pretty things.

Which is why when they walk away arm in arm, I’m feeling both aggravated and relieved.

I should be asking myself why the sight of this girl’s face was enough to bring me back to that other life, but I know it won’t matter because it’s not like I’ll have to see her again.

* * *

The second call to my dad this morning went a lot like he assumed the first would.

I told him how I fucked up, and he used his wallet to fix it.

Paid extra to keep the police report out of it.

Knowing him, he probably whipped out the Tums too, because this car had a custom paint job that cost over three months rent for some of his tenants.

It’ll cost me a lot more, though, since he’ll be expecting some sort of recompense, and I’ll have to use up my energy finding ways to avoid it.

I left out the details about the Little Ghost I saw in the street that brought me to this predicament, and instead insisted the taxi driver stopped short for no reason because he’s old and senile.

He believed it—or didn’t—either way my dad was never the type of guy to not take control of a situation.

Or leave me to my own devices.

It also helped that it was only my car that got the real damage. Just a few scratches on the taxi.

Which is why, after the both of us pulled into a parking lot on the corner, it took no more than fifteen minutes of Cillian Shaw bartering with the old guy on the phone to have me turning my ass around and heading back to Riverside in a damaged vintage Mustang.

All for a fucking sandwich.

“What the hell, man?” Riggs holds his hands out in disappointment as he catches me barraging past him in the girl’s dormitory hall—chest heaving, empty handed.

I’m still on edge from the accident, so if he knows what’s best he’ll throw himself out the nearest window before I do the honors.

“Ran out of bagels.” I march past his slumped shoulders and approach Alexis’ door, pounding my fist against it.

I do this until every room in the surrounding area has a head peeking out of the doors to see what’s going on.

“Alexis ain’t there, man.” Riggs says from several feet away, knowing better than to approach me when I’m like this.

“Where the fuck is she?” I snap, eyes slicing in the onlookers direction who then scurry back behind their doors.

Good. Nosey fucks.

Riggs doesn’t answer until I’m pulling out my phone from the back pocket of my slacks to text her.

“Saw her take off with Annalie a little while ago, said something about getting coffee around the block.”

Shooting off a message asking why the fuck she isn’t in her room, I get an immediate response explaining how she’s on her way back from Starbucks, just like Riggs said.

Me

Hurry the fuck up and meet me in the bathroom by the gym.

Alexis

What’s your problem?

You. My car. My mother’s ghost.

Me

Don’t ask fucking questions. Just do what I said.

Alexis

Whatever…meet you there in fifteen.

* * *

“Alright. What’s got you so stabby today?” Alexis asks as she approaches the handicapped stall, snorting a morning bump from her fingernail. I lean against the tiled wall spinning my switchblade between my fingers.

“Take off your panties.” I get straight to the point, never in the mood to stroke her ego with giving out personal information.

“Are you fucking serious? I have Annalie waiting in my room, you know.” She stops, crossing her arms.

A pathetic show of resistance.

My eyes shoot up to Alexis as I fold the knife closed. “Am I giving you the impression I’m not serious? Or that I give a fuck about Annalie?”

“No,” she says quietly, softening her tone.

Shoving the knife into my pocket, I spit out, “Then do what the fuck I asked or I’ll find somebody else who will. Starting with your friend.”

This has Alexis blowing out a small frustrated breath through her nose, needing to put up some fight to feed her pride. But we both know how much she loves when I beckon her because it means I’m not beckoning anyone else.

And if there’s anything she wants more than exclusivity with my cock, it’s nobody else taking what she’s delusional enough to believe is actually hers.

In a school like Riverside, girl code tends to be a lot more…flexible…than guy code.

Especially when it comes to Saint, Levi, Riggs, and yours truly. Our bloodlines founded the school, and even though our father’s handed over the reins, it doesn’t make them any less dominant. That, along with all the money and politics put into Riverside, we’re deemed untouchable. Each of our fathers and their father’s and so on graduated from Riverside and went off to an Ivy League college of their choosing.

Most of their faces are in frames aligning the old walls of the building, along with a couple of celebrities and presidents.

Which is exactly what girls like Alexis are thinking when they see guys like us: the life they can get out of it.

Also why most of the guys here are only focused on getting what they want, too: their dicks nice and wet.

Alexis saunters over to me again, breasts straining against her white blouse, creating the perfect amount of round cleavage spilling over where it’s purposely unbuttoned.

“Was just wondering if you wanted to talk about it.” She shrugs, eyes on me as she slides the lock closed on the stall. Hanging her bag up on the hook, Alexis licks her lips as I peruse her long tanned legs.

The last thing I want to do is talk.

Think.

Especially as Alexis turns and lifts her plaid skirt up for me, revealing toned thighs and red booty shorts that lick the curves of her round ass. Even more so as she lowers said red booty shorts and bends over the sink attached to the wall, looking back at me with batted lashes.

My mother’s presence is still lingering like a dark cloud as I advance on Alexis, but I don’t let it stop me.

“Is this how you want me, baby?” she grins suggestively as I reach her. “Or do you prefer me on my knees?”

As if I ever allowed her, or any chick’s mouth near my cock.

Pulling a condom out of the back pocket of my pants, I unbutton the top and immediately shove them down to my ankles. Ripping open the wrapper, I slide the rubber along my shaft, then lubricate it with some spit since I’m not about to have the condom rip. Giving no warning before driving inside her, I fuck Alexis mercilessly until all that’s left to see is my rage expelling around the two of us.

All that’s left to feel is the tight walls of her cunt.

All that’s left to think about is all the ways I never want my mind to go back to that fucked up life I lived before this.

5

BEX

After about twenty minutes of the most rehearsed speech made by headmaster Beaumont—a concerningly old man who doesn’t believe in tailoring a suit—a young, animated student with a bright smile steps up to the plate like this is some sort of presidential campaign.

“Welcome to Riverside Prep, new faces, my name is Archer, grandson of headmaster Beaumont and a junior here. I will be taking you around for this morning's tour of this magnificent institution and showing you where you’ll be living for the next few years.”

Should I be concerned with how much this Archer looks like Archie from Riverdale? With the blazer, tie, and bright russet hair? All that’s missing is Jughead Jones trying to solve the latest murder of a new California student.

Mom rubs my shoulders, and I give her a look, telling her to can it with the PDA because it seems to me the girls in Manhattan may be even nastier than the ones in California.

“How I like to do things, is an orderly fashion,” Archer continues, “so I will be asking each of the new students to pick a partner and leave the questions for the end of each stop. Parents slash guardians? Give ’em some space will ya?” He waves his hands as a signal for the parents to do just that, and all the new enrollees, which is around ten of us, start to scatter to find their perfect match.

Mom takes a step back, doing as Archer says, but just as I expected not a single person is attempting to declare me their orientation partner.

Until my eyes catch on to a girl about my height, pitch black shoulder length hair with blunt bangs and voluptuous curves I could only dream of having, looking bored as she blows a bubble with her gum. She’s wearing a similar outfit to mine, except the opposite, where her tank is a dark plum and skinny jeans are shredded at the knees. Also, she’s sporting Chuck Taylors instead of flip flops.

Which I may be able to get on board with if I have to.

Her gaze shoots to mine, a silent understanding between us before we make our way awkwardly toward each other.

“Fuckin’ hate starting a new school.” The girl mumbles just as she parks next to my side.

“Same here.” I mumble back. “Names Rebecca, Bex for short.”

“Just Hendrix,” she returns.

“You from around here?”

“Unfortunately.”

Well, that’s not promising.

“Alright everyone!” Archer resumes addressing us. “Now that we’re all partnered up, let's start with making our way to Dembridge Hall, which houses the dining quarters and entrance to the gym.”

Archer offers me a lopsided grin, right before he turns and starts striding down the long corridor like he owns the place.

“To the right, as you can see, are hallways that lead to the female dormitory buildings. We will be visiting those after the main office where each of you will retrieve your room and board paperwork.”

Everyone stays quiet as he goes through his commentaries on each area we visit, and I take down as many notes as I can to make sure I don’t get lost in this gothic museum of a building.

From the dining hall to the gym, classrooms to the outdoor football field, Archer hasn’t come up for air with both the sentiment and history within every crevice of this campus.

By the time we get a break to eat, I’m in desperate need of bladder relief, and can’t remember for the life of me where the bathrooms are since I was too busy jotting down details of crown moldings. Dang it.

Of course neither Hendrix nor our moms remember either, so I sit here about to combust as I watch everyone else’s initial angst melt away with the heat of the day.

The entire tour crowd is spread around a bunch of round tables outside the gated football field, where I also notice a parking lot to the right.

There aren’t many cars parked, but from what I can see they’re all no less than luxury.

Mom made friend’s with Hendrix’s mother June, and the both of them are off a few feet away in conversation as my new acquaintance and I sit next to each other eating granola bars we got from some vending machines.

“So, what brings you to Riverside?” Hendrix picks at the chocolate chips.

“I moved here from La Jolla, California. My stepdad is opening up his own art gallery not far from here.”

She tosses a small piece of chocolate in her mouth. “Rich stepdad sounds miserable.”

“He’s not too bad.”

She shrugs. “I dig it, then I guess. I was happy being in public schools, though.”

No argument here.

“I get that. This atmosphere is definitely unique compared to the broken lockers and old desks at my other school.”

A huff this time. “I’d take old desks over Mom’s new money any day.”

“New money?” I inquire.

“Yup, lotto to be exact. Who knew it was actually possible to win?”

“What’s up ladies?” Archer grins as he appears over us, effectively blocking the sunlight beaming down on me.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I offer him a welcoming smile. “I’m Bex, this is Hendrix.” I hike a thumb next to me, where she’s examining her silver nails.

“Howdy.”

Yup, that’s all she gives him.

“How do you girls like the school so far?” Archer asks, attention fully on me and I don’t blame him.

“It’s beautiful, albeit a bit intimidating.”

“Ahhh,” he waves me off. “You’ll get used to it in no time. Just stick by my side, I gotchu.”

I can tell he’s genuine about his statement, but for some reason it still isn’t comforting. Especially as I glance down at his very impressive Rolex.

“Appreciate that, thanks.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, maybe I can take him up on his services before my freaking bladder bursts.

“Actually, you think I can use you right now? I can’t remember where the heck the bathrooms are.”

He lets out a deep chuckle. “I guess I’m not very good at my job, then.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, no. That’s not true at all.” I shake my head vigorously, about to ramble on with damage control when Archer bursts out into a fit of laughter.

“Damn, girl. I’m kidding.” He waves me over. “C’mon I’ll take you to ’em.”

I stand, looking back at Hendrix. “You need to go?”

“All good. I’ll be finding a place to hide so I can smoke a cigarette.”

“And I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Archer says before gesturing for me to follow him.

Walking toward the doors leading to the gym, Archer holds one open and gestures for me to go in first.

I smile a thanks as I cross the threshold, coming smack in the face with the huge basketball court we viewed earlier.

“Luckily for you, there are bathrooms right by the gym lockers.”

Oh, thank fuck.

Walking across the court, we come to another set of doors, which Archer makes sure to hold open again like a gentleman, allowing me to pass.

I find a banner at the top of the wall which reads “Riverside Royals”, along with the face of a ferocious lion wearing a crown. Right underneath the angry bastard is a sign on a metal door that reads “Women’s bathroom.”

“Here you go, milady.” Archer elegantly bows, the silliness of his nature offering a glimmer of hope not everyone here will be a shit.

“Back in a jiff.” I scurry off, about to push the door but it jerks open before I can, leaving me to topple forward.

And land into something extremely hard.

Better yet, someone.

I look up to find sapphire eyes peering down at me, so intense they prickle my skin.

Taking a step back, I run my hands through my hair to gather my composure, half waiting for an apology or even concern if I’m okay.

His chest is like cement for Pete’s sake.

I get nothing.

Except for a scowl marring this stranger’s face as he takes in my appearance. All the way from my brown flip flops to the long platinum locks I’m smoothing out.

His hair is light, too, buzzed short on all sides. In fact, the only dark feature on this guy is the large black goat tattoo at the front of his neck. It’s creepy and unusual, not to mention the horns taking up both sides of his neck.

Pronounced cheekbones complement the angular jaw sharpening as his gaze halts on the hint of cleavage around my bust. It makes me instinctively fold my arms to cover myself.

I draw my attention to his tie flung lazily around his neck, and then the shirt half opened and untucked revealing a white muscle tank underneath. It’s as if he’s in the midst of getting ready for the day.

Which I find insanely odd since he’s coming out of the girls bathroom.

“Hey, you okay?” Archer appears at my side, looking me over.

“Yeah.” I smile, a bit shaken up. “I’m fine.”

The stranger still says nothing, and his gaze feels like pure fire on me.

“Think you can step aside, Shaw? She has to go to the bathroom.”

Shaw.

“Tell your little friend here to watch where the fuck she’s going, Beaumont.”

I’m about to flip this guy off and tell him maybe he should watch which damn bathroom he journeys into, but the asshole literally pushes past me to size up Archer.

I’m not going to lie, I expected the tour guide to fold like a leaf, and although he looks nervous, he still holds his own against the giant towering over him.

Please don’t let this turn to blows on my account.

No words are exchanged between the two of them, just icy glares and scowls—mostly from the jerk-off—until finally his lip curves into a cold grin and he takes off down the hall.

Where I watch every single one of his steps until he’s disappeared around a corner.

What the actual hell?

“Sorry about that.” Archer rolls his shoulders, his voice bringing my mind back to the bathroom. “He wasn’t hugged enough as a child.”

“Who was that?” I ask, still feeling the aftershocks of his viscous glare like tiny ants on my skin.

“Crayton Shaw. He’s another junior at the school.”

“A junior?”

That guy does not look like a junior in high school.

In fact, he doesn’t look like a high schooler at all.

“Yeah, uh, you know, like right before a senior.” Archer sounds like he’s questioning my sanity, or whether or not I somehow managed a concussion.

“Of course.” I laugh it off, still rattled by the interaction with this Crayton guy.

“Although, technically, he should be a senior.”

Ugh. I hate that we have something in common.

I don’t know why I’m so intrigued by his mystery, but I can’t help the questions that keep pouring out of me.

“Why was he in the girls bathroom?”

Archer inhales a deep breath. “I’m sure once you go in there to do your business you’ll know.”

My eyebrows knit as I turn, pushing the door open and heading inside the large bathroom, which is lined with at least ten separate stalls.

Movement to the right snags my attention, and I find the stuck up brunette from earlier leaning over the sink wiping smeared lipstick off her lips with a paper towel.

Her shirt is even more revealing than it was outside, since at least two more buttons are opened, and the hem of it is hanging out of the waist of her skirt as if it was tugged repeatedly.

I guess this is what Archer meant.

I don’t even realize I’m staring until she sneers, “What the fuck are you looking at?”

“Sorry.” I rush into the nearest stall where I finally get to release the two water bottles I drank during the first half of the tour.

I hear her mumble the word “skank” as the sink water turns on.

A little harsh, but whatever, I don’t expect any less from people like this.

I exit the stall just in time to find her brushing fingers through her tangled hair, back to me as she swings the door open and exits.

Those two were made for each other. Obviously.

After a minute of cleaning my hands and drying them, I’m returning to the hall where I find Archer leaning against the far wall checking his watch.

He raises an eyebrow. “Get your answer?”

I pop my lips, not needing to say a word for him to know that I did.

“Is that Crayton’s girlfriend?” I ask as I reach him.

“Alexis?” he huffs. “She wishes. Crayton doesn’t have girlfriends. He’s…”

“A loner?” Like me.

Why the hell do I keep comparing myself to a dick head like that? Jesus.

An incredulous laugh follows my question. “More like a psychopath.”

I am definitely not a psychopath.

I shake off my momentary lapse of judgment as Archer checks his watch again. “Time for the second part of the tour, c’mon.” He waves me onward as he pushes off the wall, hurrying to the gym doors to open them for me.

6

BEX

It’s already noon and things are winding down as we approach the end of the tour. After two hours of sightseeing, speeches, and filling out some paperwork in the main office, the new students of Riverside Prep finally get to visit the dorms.

For some unfathomable reason, everywhere we went I found myself looking out for that Crayton guy. Wondering what other areas of this school he hangs out in or if he would end up popping up again to be one of the volunteers helping Archer out with the orientation.

Even though something tells me the only kind of tour that guy would head is one of his bedroom.

“Looks like you two are bunkin’ up.” Archer says over our shoulder as Hendrix and I look down at the paper stating the same room number.

One small mercy. Hey, I’ll take it.

“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Mom exclaims as we make our way down the single corridor attached to the female dormitory building. “You two will be roommates.” Her and June both squeal with excitement, so over the top you’d think they’re the ones who’ll be living together soon.

My elation comes in the form of a question as I look over at Hendrix next to me. “So…we do this together?” I half shrug, trying to put a little optimism out into the universe.

“Together”—she confirms with a pop of her gum—“but, bitch, you better not snore.”

The only inclination that she’s kidding is the small wink she shoots at me when Archer holds open a squeaky metal door. He insisted on leading the girls to their rooms and left the guys to another student here.

“Here we are, miladies. These are your quarters,” he says to Hendrix and I only, even though there are four other girls with us.

Stepping inside, we walk ahead first into a very impressive Victorian inspired lobby. Textured copper walls are dressed with ornate wood mirrors and metal sconces, all surrounding brown padded couches and hardwood tables centered around a wood burning fireplace. The vintage floral rugs matching the drapes are so clean I avoid stepping on them when Archer welcomes us inside the building.

It’s absolutely beautiful—then again, given what the rest of the school looks like, I’d expect nothing less.

“This is the common room, where a lot of students chillax on their off time. The steps are right here.” Archer points to the cherry wood staircase as he moves through the area with ease. We all do our best to keep up. “The elevators are straight ahead which take you up to the eighth floor so much faster, unless you’re looking to get in some cardio.”

We all follow behind him, drinking in the setup all the way to the elevators, which we take floor by floor so Archer can show us the entire dormitory. This included the public showers, the library, and the media room. When we reach the fourth floor, which happens to be where all of our rooms are, Archer has already gone through the rules and expectations living under Riverside’s roof.

All of which I’ve already read on the pamphlet given earlier, so I use this time to examine the hallway until we reach room 402.

My room.

The door is open when we approach, and when I look inside I find two undressed queen sized beds separated by an oval area rug and two night stands. The windows have a really pretty antique stained glass at the center of them, which is casting colorful lights into the room from the sun.

“What do you girls think?” Archer smiles wide as Hendrix and I, followed by our Mom’s, head inside the large room.

“These corner desks are so pretty!” June runs a hand over the antique mahogany, which looks fresh out of a Pottery Barn catalog.

“A hundred of ’em were donated to the school by the Reagan administration in 1985,” Archer explains proudly.

Is there anything he doesn’t know about this damn place?

“Oh, Bex, I can’t wait to go shopping this week!” Mom declares from the other side of the room, taking mental notes on what we’ll need as she looks it over.

“Maybe we can go together?” June suggests, and it looks like Mom is about to explode from excitement. Hendrix looks as though she’d rather stub her toe repeatedly into the wall.

“I’ll leave the shopping to you.” Hendrix grumbles, which takes the wind out of both our parents’ sails.

Not mine, though, my ship is cruising full speed ahead knowing I won’t have to be subjected to two overly enthusiastic mothers.

Mine is already too much to handle.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Hendrix asks as we exit the school, finally done seeing everything.

“Grabbing lunch with my mom. You?”

She pulls a fresh pack of cigarettes out of her messenger bag, slapping it against her palm. “Heading over to the piers. Some pretty decent bands play there for money, wanna come?”

As enticing as it sounds, I feel bad to ditch my mom since I know she’s looking forward to the Thai place.

“Maybe next time.”

“Did somebody say the piers? That’s where I’m headed too.” Archer appears out of nowhere, throwing an arm over my shoulder. It has mom flashing me a hopeful smile from where she’s standing with June a few feet away, planning play dates like Hendrix and I are in elementary school.

“That would be me.” Hendrix rips open her pack, and tosses the plastic into the nearest garbage can. “Bex is going to lunch with her mom.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Mom strides over to us, waving her hand. “We can have lunch any other time, baby. You kids go have fun.”

“Are you sure?” I don’t want her to feel bad, but man can I use a break from all of…well…her.

“Of course!” She insists.

“I’m free for lunch,” June chimes in. “Starving too, if I’m being honest.”

Mom claps her hands. “Well, then it’s settled.”

The excitement emanating off her makes me feel a lot better about going, so I shrug. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Archer squeezes me into him. “Hell yeah, and you already know you got the best tour guide.”

7

CRAYTON

I blink lazily as I wake, until the sun shining so brightly into my room forces me to cover my eyes.

The stench of vomit slams into me, bringing forward another wave of stomach pain, so I squeeze my eyes shut as I curl into myself.

“You are a lost cause, Isaiah.” Mommy’s tired voice is next to me.

I let out a pained moan. “What did you do, Mommy? My stomach won’t stop hurting.”

Usually by morning the aches go away, this time it feels like my stomach is on fire.

“This is what it feels like to be denied by your Lord.”

Another moan escapes my lips as I squeeze my stomach tighter. “May I please take a bath?”

“What bath will help you if not a holy one? Last night was supposed to be it, Isaiah.” Her voice is tight with anger. “I did everything right. Prepared you right. But I’m afraid there is no hope for you.”

“Please, Mommy. No more.” I beg as she reaches for the small white bottle of water on my nightstand, sprinkling some on me.

Everything after being forced to eat my oatmeal off the floor last night is a blur, only bits and pieces of what she did to me replay in my head, and I always wonder why it’s the worst things I end up remembering.

My private area is still sore from how much she rubbed it, always saying she has to because it’s where the devil speaks to boys. Makes them do evil things. And it’s her job to pull him out.

Nothing came out, though. She’s never right.

None of this feels right, it only hurts so much.

“There’s only one thing left to do, Isaiah. You left me no choice.” Mommy reaches into her skirt pocket, and pulls out something black. When she flips it open I realize it’s some sort of knife.

“What are you doing with that?” my voice trembles with fear, especially as she runs the tip of her finger along the pointy end.

“Well, the Lord can’t deny you if I take you myself.”

Not liking the sound of that at all, I ignore the terrible pain in my stomach and attempt to crawl off the bed as fast as I can.

Mommy pulls me by my leg and drags me across the dirty mattress, flipping my weakened body over.

“Why fight this, Isaiah? Don’t you want to be saved?”

Only from her.

“Please don’t hurt me.” I plead when she climbs on top of the bed, sitting on my legs.

“How ironic it is to hear you say those words, because they’re exactly what I said to him.”

“To who, Mommy?” I ask as she reaches for the water again to pop the lid open.

She squirts some more on my face, then draws a cross on my forehead as she responds with, “Your father, of course.”

I shoot up off the bed, sweat burning my eyes and drenching my neck. When my head swivels to the side, I find Saint standing over me with his arms crossed.

“Dude, this is the fourth night straight I had to wake you out of some nightmare. You good?”

“Fuck off.” I groan as I throw my legs over the bed, standing and pushing past him to pull black jeans and a black shirt out of my nightstand drawer.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” He says behind me, honest but carefully. “You don’t have to keep whatever this shit is bottled inside.”

I doubt he wants this volcano erupting.

“There’s nothing to fucking talk about, it’s a bad dream, I don’t even remember it.” I shove my ball shorts down my legs and step into the jeans. “Let it the fuck go, Lavell.”

The truth is, ever since I laid eyes on that new girl a week ago, I haven’t been able to sleep without nightmares of that psychotic cunt who spit me out. It’s even worse now that I don’t have Raven to spend these restless nights in.

I’ve grown too accustomed to hiding my past to have it haunting me now everywhere I go.

Throwing the shirt over my head, I do the same with the hoodie slung over my desk chair, then drop onto it to pull on my boots.

Saint already knows not to push the issue, so he falls face first onto his bed. “Where you goin’? It’s almost eleven.” he asks, throwing the blanket over his bare back.

As if either of us gives a shit about the schools mandatory curfew.

“Out.” Is all I give him, needing to get the fuck out of this room before I do something stupid.

Like strangling him for trying to be a decent human.

“You do know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, right?”

I roll my eyes as I tie up my last boot, snatching my wallet off the desk. “Which is exactly what you should be telling yourself before attempting another one of these conversations.”

I stuff my wallet into my back pocket once I stand, ignoring the middle finger that’s pointed my way from the shirtless guy on the bed.

“You’re an asshole,” Saint mumbles into his pillow.

Tell me something I don’t know.

“Yet somehow you still love me.”

* * *

“Six bucks is your change, here you go.” The twenty-something year old guy behind the liquor store counter hands me the bills, along with the bottle of Jack in a brown paper bag.

“Thanks.” I take the bag from him first, then the money which gets stuffed into the front pocket of my black hoodie.

“So, did it hurt?” The guy asks, pointing to the horns on my neck.

What is it about my face that screams: I love to engage in small talk?

Especially when I make it a priority to seem as unapproachable as possible.

“Not as bad as the piercing on my cock.”

This makes his eyes widen. “You for real?”

“I can arrange for you to find out.” I raise an eyebrow, my gaze dropping to his lips so I can drive the intention home.

Maybe a quick blowjob in the back is all I need to rid these fucking nightmares.

He audibly swallows, no doubt appalled with what I’m suggesting. “I don’t swing that way, man. I was just curious.”

Well, this will teach you to be less curious when a pissed off guy walks into your store.

Reaching for a pack of spearmint gum in front of the counter, I shove it in my pocket. “What’s that saying about curiosity?” I reach for a bag of chips, too. “It killed the…?”

“Cat?” He offers nervously after a brief silence.

“Pretty sure they meant the cashier.” My lip twitches as I turn, boots pounding against the floor as I exit the store.

I ignore everything and everyone around me as I trudge toward the park, taking swigs out of the bottle and reveling in the alcohol burn that coats my throat. I need to feel anything other than the nerves from the memories that have been ambushing me non stop.

How can one person do this?

A girl I don’t even know.

Other than what the background check told me when I looked her up.

Rebecca Dawson.

Born in La Jolla, California. Turning eighteen at the end of the month. Father died of a heart attack and Mom’s a newlywed part-time hairdresser.

Okay, so I did more than a background check, because I had to know if this girl is related to me, somehow.

She’s not. But I still can’t figure out why the hell she has this effect on me.

Which is exactly the kind of thing my bullshit shrink would be asking me to figure out. You know, since the dick spent every hour of our sessions juggling between convincing me to take meds or asking me to do his job and explain why I felt the need to hurt people.

Why I lashed out the way I did.

The answer I gave him never faltered.

Because I fucking can.

Because some Bible thumping fanatic many years ago had the precious God she worshipped abandon her when some fucked up shit happened. Then made the choice to keep the tiny fetus growing inside her because of it.

Choice is what has all the different paths in life crossing ad-infinitum. A never ending series of events that could only be disrupted by ceasing to exist. Something I’ve contemplated more times than I’d care to admit.

Taking an even longer chug of the whiskey, I fall further down the rabbit hole until my throat goes numb.

Until I go numb.

It’s not long before I’m reaching the corner across from the park I usually escape to. There’s a few people in the dog area–which fucks with my plan to take a piss–so before I cross the street I dodge into the nearest alley between buildings to do my business.

Pulling up my zipper when I’m done, I wipe my hands down my jeans and pick up the bottle, stepping out into the light of the streets to be on my way again. I usually park the Raven here at night to write or escape my thoughts, allowing the scenery to whisk me away to another place.

Tonight I just need to breathe the freshwater air. It’s so much less stuffy than at Riverside.

Concrete turns to grass as I reach the brink of the park, and when I make it to my usual spot with the perfect view of the river, I feel like my lungs are finally able to expand to their full potential.

Sitting down, I stare off into the night and continue drinking, in an attempt to escape the very demons I’ve become.

8

BEX

“So, are you excited for tomorrow?” Mom beams from the other side of the table, where she and Roman are taking their time enjoying their vegan tacos and quesadillas.

I, on the other hand, am scarfing mine down like my bedroom holds an electrical chair.

With move-in day less than ten hours away, I haven’t had an appetite or lick of food all day. Luckily for me, hunger came back when Mom started cooking a late dinner for Roman since he was stuck at his art gallery with some piping issues.

It’s around ten-thirty, an odd time to eat dinner, but I’ll take what I can get when my nervous stomach allows it.

“Yup. Can’t wait.” I lie, taking another huge chunk of food. “So excited.”

Roman swallows, aghast as he watches me brutally assault my quesadilla. “You okay, Bex?”

No. I’m petrified to be on my own and living in the same building as some rude guy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Just extra hungry today for some reason.” I pause. “Probably PMS, who knows.”

I can sense the moment Roman regrets asking, because he’s practically recoiling at the sight of the tapatio hot sauce on his plate.

Way to go, Bex.

“Baby,” Mom cuts in, “you sure you’re okay? Did you take your meds?”

“I’m peachy”—I pick up the bottle of Sprite, twisting it open—“and of course I did. Why?”

“Because that’s lemon juice you’re about to drink.”

I look down at the bottle, and sure enough it’s lemon juice.

Fuck me.

Reality sets in again, along with my nerves and lack of appetite.

And those damn sapphire eyes.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

“That is lemon juice.” I chuckle nervously, placing the bottle down on the table.

Wiping my hands on my shorts, I contemplate a swift escape because it’s all that can save me from the impending conversation.

Potato delivers as he begins crying at my feet.

Just in time, too, because I can practically hear the wheels turning in Mom’s head.

“Looks like there’s a chihuahua that needs a walk.” I slide my chair back to stand, wearing my best fake smile as both the parentals eye me skeptically.

“I can walk him, it’s late.” Roman offers, about to get up too.

It’s never too late to evade the truth, Roman.

“No!” I blurt out, then rein in the crazy. “I mean, I got it. I’m gonna miss my Chunky Muffin. Need some alone time with him.”

Mom nods my way, resting a hand on Roman’s shoulder silently telling him to let it go.

I use that as my opportunity to make kissy sounds to Potato, tapping my thigh. “Let’s go, buddy.”

Walking through the condo toward the front door, I look down to find Potato keeping up, and also notice I’m wearing my pajamas.

Whatever.

I’ve seen people wearing things twice as shocking as gray shorts and a white Hanes tee.

At least I’m still sporting a bra, which is more than I can say for some of the people in this city.

The heat has settled down now that it’s almost midnight, but not so much for the noise. There’s horns honking, people shouting, crowds parading down the street like it’s noon as I step outside.

Manhattan really is the city that never sleeps.

Making the small journey to the park I often take Potato to, I fall into our routine as usual: keeping the chihuahua close so nobody steps on him and stopping at all the usual spots he likes to pee. One of which is the traffic pole right in front of a children’s clothing boutique.

The river looks like liquid ebony in the near distance, and the closer we get the more the waves look like glitter from the moon’s reflection.

The people start to blend in, along with the scenery as I pass the rows of closed retail stores and busy outdoor restaurants, not slowing down unless instructed by my dog.

That is, until a tall figure a few stores ahead of me barges out of a liquor store, a brown paper bag dangling from his fist.

A darkness looms over me, similar to what I felt when I bumped into him during orientation, and somehow I know, even while wearing a hood and no uniform, that the person whose back is now to me belongs to the guy I’ve been obsessing over all week.

Why? No idea. Pretty sure it involves stronger meds.

What the hell is he doing out of the dorms at this hour? I know Archer mentioned there’s a curfew for the boarding kids, a strict one at that.

Does Crayton really seem like the type to abide by rules?

Most definitely not.

Point proven as he twists the top off of, what I assume, is alcohol in the brown bag and takes a swig, chucking the cap into the street.

He looks so…unexpected in black jeans and matching hoodie.

This outfit doesn’t scream “I’m the rich sadistic asshole” like I assume he is.

It’s surprisingly mundane for a guy who probably commands every room he walks into. Including the bathrooms.

Similar to that day, I can’t ignore the pang of curiosity that hits me. The need to know where he’s headed comes even stronger. Maybe his whereabouts can shed a light on why Crayton looked as though he was a chemical shift away from going full serial killer in the hallway.

Don’t do it. My conscience warns, but I’m already lifting Potato up, moving in full stealth mode down the street after the guy.

The hoodie comes down with the next sip he takes, the lights around us bright enough to showcase buzzed golden hair, along with a partial of his creepy tattoo.

If there was any previous doubt, it’s obliterated with the sight of those horns taking up his neck.

I must look ridiculous, dodging between people and buildings to keep an eye on him, trying to make sure he doesn’t notice he’s being followed. Crayton doesn’t seem to, and we go on like this for about three minutes until we come up on the piers and he makes a right turn.

This is when I realize he’s been walking in the exact direction of the park I take Potato to.

Must be a coincidence. There’s more than just the park to be found here.

A couple bars. Shops. Definitely not the gates of hell where he belongs.

Nevertheless, I keep up my pace, patting Potato on the head for being a good quiet boy, and peek out behind the corner to find Crayton.

Except he’s vanished.

Damn, damn, damn.

All that effort for nothing.

I’m probably better off, knowing this would only end in disaster if he spotted me being a creep.

Setting Potato down on the ground, I accept defeat and we continue on our walk in a much less suspicious manner.

When we approach the park, I’m not surprised to find a couple people with their dogs, some on benches, some standing as the dogs run around.

I keep Potato on the leash at all times, walking in aimless circles around the small enclosed garden, stopping when he starts sniffing one of the trees.

I stare off at the water as he does what dogs do, getting lost in my thoughts as usual. This time there’s only one person at the forefront of them.

Why the hell was I following this stranger through the streets?

More importantly, why am I so drawn to him?

Crayton Shaw is a heathen. A bully.

Therefore I should be filling the space between us, not trying to close the distance.

Fate tests me right after this realization, because not even twenty feet outside this park is the man himself meandering toward the edge of the piers, still drinking whatever the hell is hidden inside that bag.

My immediate reaction is to jump behind the piss tree, Potato yelping as I tug him, hoping and praying Crayton doesn’t have some weird night-vision-super-hearing or some shit.

Not that he needs freaking night vision in a lit up park.

Regardless, I guess he’s lacking, because the guy doesn’t even react to the sound, and I’m sure if he knew I was here watching him, he’d have something to say about it.

I continue spying from behind the tree, Potato in my arms again, and I can’t help but feel like I’m intruding on something private. There’s a sadness to his face that doesn’t come from ordinary moments.

What would make a guy like him sad?

I start to feel guilty, which I shouldn’t, because he didn’t have an ounce of compassion when he almost knocked me on my ass by the bathrooms. Empathy isn’t subjective for me, though, so I can’t help who I feel it for.

Guilt isn’t enough to make me look away, though.

Especially as Crayton reaches a hand behind his back, removing his hoodie and leaving him in nothing but a black T-shirt. His muscular arms are in plain view, with etchings of more tattoos scattered around them.

I’ve never thought tattoos were attractive, but on Crayton? There’s not much that isn’t attractive.

Sans the weird black goat.

I want to get a closer look, but the dark sky and this tree is all I have in my favor if I want to stay hidden. So I stay here, watching this cruel beautiful boy sit with his back to me on a patch of grass, looking as though the weight of the world is hanging on his shoulders, and suddenly, I become determined to find out why.

* * *

“Oh, yes Eduardo, just like that! You’re fucking me so good.”

“Oh this pussy is so tight Mandy, so fucking tight.”

“Ohhhh, yes, more, you look so hot with your cock inside this pussy.”

I stare at the screen on my phone, the sound of Eduardo and Mandy’s bodies slapping along with the vibration from my bullet filling the darkened bedroom.

Eduardo plunges in and out of Mandy, fucking her within an inch of her life as I watch on, in hopes for some type of release. I hold the small vibrator in place, my legs bent and parted, and when that doesn’t work, I wiggle it a bit, hoping for once I can manage to see what all the hype is about with a big O.

Damn you, Mandy. You make it look so easy.

She screams through her orgasm, and I watch as the blonde porn star Mandy Candy, who I’ve gotten to know very well, practically explodes from exaggerated pleasure on the green couch her mailman decided to fuck her on.

At least one of us got off.

With a disgruntled huff, I toss the bullet and reach into my bag of “goodies” for my rabbit.

By “goodies” I mean all the different sex toys I’ve purchased on a secret Amazon account in my journey to climax-hood.

The rabbit has never done the trick either, nor the dildo’s, or even the damn butt plug I reluctantly tried after reading an article on how they can bring on the good stuff.

Never once have I prevailed.

But seeing Crayton tonight has stirred something desperate inside me. Along with the reminder of what awaits me when I move into the dorms tomorrow. My nerves are so on edge, and I wish for once my body would allow me to feel the effects of an orgasm. I’ve heard from so many people that it helps relax a person.

And I need to relax.

Starting Riverside Prep, as amazing of an opportunity it is, it’s also utterly terrifying. Creepy black goat with horns, kind of terrifying.

I can still feel Crayton’s fiery gaze on me.

As if it was my fault I had to pee and he got caught mid walk of shame out of the bathroom.

His eyes, though. They’re sticking with me like a lingering chill.

His blue is a couple shades darker than mine, and lacking the greenish hue, but they’re still pretty nonetheless.

It makes me wonder how much more attractive he would be if he wasn’t so scary.

After ten minutes of stalking in the park, I ran off and returned home, continuing my sleuthing with Google. Which was useless, because I came to my senses, refusing to pay any background check websites for a guy who probably hasn’t thought of me since orientation.

Shaking Crayton from my thoughts, I turn the rabbit on, inserting it into my working wet vagina, which is always a friendly reminder it’s not my ability to get aroused that’s the issue. It’s my ability to benefit from it.

Reaching for my phone, I move on to the next video, another one with Mandy where she gets stopped by a very crooked cop.

Or should I say cop with a crooked penis?

I go through my usual routine, visualizing and steady breathing, adjusting the vibration settings trying to find the perfect one. It feels good, don’t get me wrong, but there’s not a tingle or any other inclination it’ll go further than a vaginal massage.

I continue trying to draw out the feeling anyway, in hopes tonight will be my lucky night.

It isn’t—because after ten minutes of Mandy getting railed bent over a police car, I call it quits, clean off my devices in my en suite bathroom sink, then hop back into bed an orgasmless specimen.

I will die on this miserable hill; I’m convinced.

Just as I get comfortable under my blanket, the ding of a text coming through surprises me. I reach for my phone on the nightstand and check to see who it is, finding Archer’s name across the screen.

Archer

See you tomorrow, California. If you need any help setting up your room, I got a pretty good eye for decorating.

I could be sassy and tell him since it’s after midnight, we’re already into tomorrow, but I decide against it. I’ll save the sarcasm for when we’re all living together.

Me

Should I bring the coffees?

Dancing dots appear on the iPhone screen, right before the next text comes through.

Archer

Americano for me. Thankyaaaa very much.

I smile as I close out my phone, connecting it to the charger before settling back into bed. I’ve spent the last week hanging out with both Archer and Hendrix in between shopping with Mom for school. When we weren’t hanging out, we were group texting or video chatting. It’s become an everyday routine.

A couple days ago they both took me to the most amazing park called the High Line. It’s an elevated railway transformed into a linear park overseeing the west side of Manhattan. It had the lushest green trees and bushes stretching around twenty blocks, along with benches and bed chairs seated perfectly for a gorgeous view of the city.

Besides the piers after orientation, the High Line has been one of my highlights since moving here.

Hendrix and I will be meeting outside the building in the morning, so I reach over for the small notepad I keep on my nightstand and add another to-do to my list, making sure to text her when I wake up about the coffees. I’m unable to deny the excitement I feel to have already made two friends here.

I’ve never been the “more the merrier” type up until orientation.

It gives me some hope, knowing I’m getting a bit more comfortable with this new world—okay that’s a bit of a stretch—but it feels like it.

The concrete jungle is nothing like La Jolla. Not a scent of salted air to be found, only mountains of buildings and heat so thick it feels like I can slice through it.

I’m grateful for the few positives, though.

Two good friends, good food, and living in an area of the city that has so much life to it I know I’ll never stop discovering something new.

Let’s just hope these new discoveries are strictly pleasant ones.

And nothing like the ones I found inside the female bathroom. Or sitting alone in the park tonight.

* * *

The morning passed with a blur: between Mom overdoing herself making a three course breakfast—which I could barely eat from jitters—to the three of us rushing out of the condo with all of my luggage because the town car decided to show up early.

Roman tagged along to help us get all of my belongings up to my room but then took off to make the inspection on his new gallery in time. Which was fine because Archer was right there waiting to take over with the heavy stuff.

He didn’t even complain about me forgetting the coffees.

We haven’t stopped unpacking for three straight hours. June and Hendrix equally as exhausted while the five of us sit scattered around the dorm room to take a much needed breath.

“Everything looks fantastic, girls.” Mom looks around the fully furnished room. One side a darker, edgier set up with cartoon caricatures and band posters pinned up on the walls. Hendrix—or should I say—Hendrix’s mom, picked out a blocked colored comforter mixed with gray, black, and whites and dressed it neatly over her bed as her daughter sat disinterested at her desk.

I stand up from my bed, and walk over to the small artificial palm tree Mom bought to make me feel at home. I turn the switch on at the base, and watch as the entire tree lights up with the same type of LED lights that are hung in waves over my bed.

I stuck to what I’m used to: a bold teal on my mattress and the same bohemian tapestry I hung in my room in La Jolla. Except there’s pretty twinkling lights in front of it this time. Walking into this room seems like night and day with the differences in style. But it’s moody and I like it.

“We did a pretty awesome job.” I agree, sitting down on my bed between Archer and Mom.

“This calls for celebration!” Archer declares, slapping his knees. “Because with all the shit—” His mouth clamps shut, forgetting to censor in front of the parentals, then adds, “Because with all the very necessary items we had to unpack, I thought we’d be here until midnight.”

Mom and June chuckle, then June says, “You don’t have to hold back in front of us, Archer, we use a bunch of colorful words when raising teenagers.”

“Can’t forget the husbands too!” Mom joins in on the joke with a raised finger.

I want to point out that she’s usually the biggest kid in every room, but thoughts of my dad surface, particularly ones that remind me he isn’t the husband she’s referring to, and it replaces my playful mood with a somber one.

Mom must tell, because there’s an apologetic look crossing her face. I smile anyway, letting her know it’s okay and it’ll pass. I would never want her to feel like I resent her for finding happiness again.

Even if I’m still looking for mine.

“Well, that is one problem I do not have.” June brings Hendrix in for a sideways hug. “It’s just me and my girl.”

With that, I see the first real smile from my friend since we started the move in.

As much as Hendrix has this withdrawn way about her, I can tell she’s also nervous to leave her mom.

No matter how prestigious the school is you send your kid, a girl will always need her mom, and being stripped of that is something you can never fully be prepared for.

Especially when you’ve already been stripped of a father, which is something we both share in common for different reasons.

“Back to the celebratory plans, ladies!” Archer cuts in again. “How ’bout we grab a bite to eat? Lunch is on me.”

“Archer”—I shake my head—“you don’t have to do that, you’ve already done so much.”

He waves me off. “Ehhh, no worries, Bex. By ‘on me’ I really mean ‘on my grandfather’ because I’ll be using his Amex. Doubt he’ll even tell.”

I don’t know Mr. Beaumont, other than being a lawyer and headmaster, but I do know your teenage grandson using your money to pay for the lunch of four complete strangers may not be something that bodes over well. No matter how rich you are.

“I don’t feel right about that.”

“Trust me, Bex. With classes starting tomorrow, you may end up considering the meal as a small restitution.”

9

BEX

Pulling up my second black thigh high sock, I stand from the bed and reach for the blazer. Running a thumb over the embroidered shield at the breast of it, I examine it closely before whipping the jacket over my shoulders.

Walking over to the mirror I take a minute to look at myself. The plaid gray, white, and black skirt falls just around my thigh, exposing ten inches of bare flesh until it meets the high socks. Mom made sure to iron my button down, and the tie over it, but unlike that snob Alexis on orientation day, mine is secured comfortably at my collar.

I kept my hair straight, waking up an hour earlier to flat iron it perfectly, even added some of Hendrix’s concealer to my face so I can hide a pimple on my chin from PMSing.

I’m happy with how I look, and all that’s left are my black flats to complete the ensemble. I slide both feet into them effortlessly, picking up my brand new Stella McCartney tote Mom and Roman got me for good luck.

It’s gorgeous, and I love the chain and whipstitch trim aligning the bag, but I feel guilty knowing Roman spent almost fifteen-hundred dollars on a bag for me.

Which is absurd because he’s spending so much more a month sending me to Riverside.

After a glance at the time to find it’s seven-thirty, I twist open my pill bottle, and quickly pop a tablet in my mouth.

“Think we can pass for entitled twats?” Hendrix asks, wiping down the lapels of her blazer as she emerges out of the explosion of mess that makes up her side of the room.

After lunch yesterday, the Mom’s returned home teary eyed while Archer, Hendrix, and I spent the day together in our dorm watching TV and ordering takeout for dinner until curfew was called.

Archer has been with us so much the past week I questioned whether or not he had anyone else in this school he was close to. The endless calls from his friends, however, proved me wrong fast. It means a lot knowing he’s taking time out of his daily life to help Hendrix and I get acclimated.

“With a bit more cleavage and makeup, probably.” I smirk. “We’d also need to come equipped with a live-in maid to clean up the messes you make.”

Hendrix feigns offense. “Messes are how I express myself. Judgey McJudgerson.”

“No judging here.” I hold my hands up in a defensive position. “I just prefer my things in order. It’s more appealing and less distracting.”

She crosses her arms. “I could easily argue that both appealing and distracting are mutually exclusive.”

Well, not for my brain.

“Doesn’t work that way for me, unfortunately.” I reach for the medicine bottle and twist it closed.

Curiosity etches across her face as she watches me. “Why do you say that?”

I don’t like to mention this to a lot of people, but there’s something about Hendrix that makes me feel comfortable confiding in her. Maybe it’s because of the natural gravitation we had toward each other at the beginning.

“Full disclosure?”

She nods, reaching for her backpack and throwing it over her shoulder.

“I have ADHD, diagnosed when I was younger.”

Hendrix looks as if she wants to call bullshit, but when I remain stoic her expression shifts.

“Is that why…?” She purses her lips, eyeing the bottle.

“Yup.”

“I never would’ve guessed, man. You’re so…” Hendrix tries to find the words, so I find them for her.

“Organized? Not bouncing around the room like a rabbit on speed as most people expect?”

“More like…focused.” She laughs, but not in a shrewd way.

“Focusing on the things I’m interested in was never really the problem.” I counter. “It’s what I’m not interested in that’s tricky. It works this way for people like me more than you’d think. I was held back in first grade because of it.”

She turns all serious. “Bex, if it’s that hard on you I’ll make sure to clean up better moving forward.”

I look over at the unmade bed, thrown clothes, and random sketch pads littered around the floor on her side—deciding I don’t mind the challenge if it comes from her.

“You’re all good. I’m a big girl.” I shrug, heading for the door. “Besides, I’m not the one sleeping on top of a bed of pencils.”

After a quick FaceTime call with Mom, Roman, and Potato, Hendrix and I made a quick Starbucks run so I could get a matcha latte, including the coffee I owe Archer from yesterday.

I’ll need all the green tea I can to survive the first day of classes. I’m trying my hardest to be optimistic and keep my eyes on the prize, but I can’t help the looming feeling overhead as I recall what happened at orientation.

If karma is in my favor she will make sure I have no classes with Crayton, or his ice queen Alexis, so I can get through this year with a smile on my face and a continued 4.0 GPA.

But the closer we get to the entrance of the building the more that determination feels like wishful thinking.

“Morning, miladies!” Archer kicks off the garden gates holding his arms out for us. “It’s a big day. Hope you’re ready.”

Archer’s uniform fits him as if it was tailored specifically to his body. Plaid tie and white oxford, black blazer, which fits his broad shoulders like a glove. His khakis are fitted, not loose or cringy looking, and his dress shoes look freshly shined.

Even his red hair is perfectly styled: shaved short on the sides and parted thick wavy strands on top. He looks very handsome.

“Mornin’.” I smile and hand Archer his Americano, taking a sip of my matcha latte.

“Sunshine here didn’t get anything?” He refers to Hendrix, who looks as excited for the first day of classes as one would storming the beaches of Normandy.

“I had my double shot of espresso, I’m good.”

I adjust the bag over my shoulder, eager to get this day started and over with. “Ready to go inside?”

Archer looks down at his watch. “We still have ten minutes until homeroom.”

“Perfect, because I need a cigarette.” Hendrix pulls a Newport out of her blazer pocket, and brings it to her lips as she struts further away from the entrance of the building.

“I’ll walk with you.” I start moving behind her and Archer follows.

“You guys coming to the Harold’s party this weekend?”

Am I supposed to know what that is?

“What the hell is a Harold’s party?” Hendrix raises a questionable brow as she lights up the end of her cancer stick.

“Oh, duh. Newbs.” He shakes his head. “Sampson, he’s the Royals running back, also my boy. His dad owns all the Harold’s Donuts in the country.”

Mom took me to that donut shop, holy crap. It’s right smack in the middle of Time Square. And it’s amazing. You get to build your own donut, flavor and all, and even choose from so many different frosting and toppings. Their hazelnut mocha donut was to die for.

“He’s a really cool dude, trust me, and he throws the most epic pool party every year on the first weekend school starts. It’s this Saturday, you girls should definitely come.”

Hendrix couldn’t look any more disinterested in the idea of a pool party as she blows a cloud of smoke into the sky.

“I wasn’t invited. And it’s not really my scene.” I shrug.

“Not your scene? You’re from SoCal for Christ’s sake. Isn’t that all you guys do?”

Not me.

“A lot, yes. I’ve never been to a pool party, though. I was more geared toward my studies than partying.”

And mostly hung out with my parents.

Especially my dad.

A pang shoots through my chest at the thought of him, but I try my best not to make it noticeable.

“Well, in that case you have to come. You can be my date.” He winks at me, not an ounce of nerves in sight, which makes it obvious the suggestion was a friendly one.

“Can I sit on it for a bit?” I hope I’m not coming off rude, but it’s a tall ask for a person who was never part of the “it” crowd.

“Of course, just let me know. I’ll be there either way.”

Archer seems unphased by my response, which I appreciate, and Hendrix seems to have had enough of her cigarette and the conversation. She flicks the Newport into the street and hikes her black bag over her shoulder, gesturing her chin to the door.

“Let’s do this, guys.”

“I’ll lead the way.” Archer whips around, striding confidently to the front doors.

“You gonna go with him?” Hendrix whispers next to me.

My mind is telling me hard pass, but my mouth hasn’t caught the memo.

“Will you come with me if I do?”

What the hell, Bex?

She seems to think about it for a second. “If I get a front seat to you and Carrot Top on a date, maybe.”

I shove her playfully in the arm and she shoves me back.

It feels good despite nearly spilling my latte on my jacket.

Like we’ve been doing this friend thing all along.

“Quit being a jerk,” I mumble.

Hendrix holds up her hands in front of her face and pretends to make out with the air.

Until Archer turns around and checks if we’re following, making her hands fall quickly to her sides. He offers us a confused expression before turning back around.

“Stupid ass!” I whisper-shout. “He almost saw you.”

“Almost being the key word.” She retorts.

We approach the brown doors and Archer holds them open, as usual a gentleman, allowing us to head inside first before saying, “Welcome to the real concrete jungle, ladies.”

* * *

“Good morning ladies and gentleman, please take your seats.” A very tall and lanky man with glasses walks in the classroom, holding a briefcase.

It’s already the third period of the day, and so far I must say things have gone rather smoothly. There was no trace of Crayton or his Ice Queen to be found, which makes me wonder if maybe they actually fell off the face of the earth like I’ve been hoping they would.

My first class was history which I shared with Archer and Hendrix, and the second was Economics. I was alone but by that point, I was already feeling some weight had been lifted as I melted into the crowd.

Which brings us here: to English class where the teacher looks to be only ten years older than us in a pair of dark blue jeans and white polo, even though every other teacher I’ve met so far has been sporting ties or dresses.

It’s a refreshing change, almost like I’m back in public school.

Archer, Hendrix, and I slide into the only few seats left vacant in the back, since other students were huddled around most of the others already when we walked in.

I’m reaching into my bag to pull out a notebook when a low gravelly voice has my head darting up.

“Hey.” Bright hazel eyes meet mine, attached to an insanely gorgeous guy with inky black hair.

“Hey.” I echo as I open up my spiral notebook, nerves creeping up my spine with his lingering stare.

Confidence is oozing off him in waves as his lips spread into a wide grin. “I’m Felix, nice to meet you.”

“Rebecca,” I reply, “Bex for short.”

“How do you like it here so far, Bex for Short?”

The humor in his tone makes me chuckle, and loosen up just a smidge. “It’s definitely different than I’m used to.”

“I’d be happy to show you the ropes.” Those bright greens drop to my lips, and my cheeks instantly heat. “If you want, of course.”

“Uhm, maybe?” I squeak, all sorts of flustered with his amorous behavior.

You’re being ridiculous. I scold myself, not used to getting a guy's attention, let alone liking it.

My awkwardness makes Felix snicker this time. “I’ll take a maybe over a no any day.”

“Mr. Crimson.” The teacher beckons, and I’m assuming it’s Felix because he turns in his seat in front of me to face him. “There’ll be plenty of time to get to know the new students.” An accusatory eye darts to me before he pops open a marker and turns to the dry erase board, writing his name across it.

Felix uses this as an opportunity to look back at me over his shoulder once again, and winks.

Oh, this guy totally knows how hot he is.

I smile again at him, then glance over at Hendrix, who’s grinning like the Cheshire cat. Archer is busy typing something on his phone to offer any insight about this Felix guy. So, to avoid saying or doing anything stupid, I gaze around the room to distract myself.

This classroom setup is exactly like the rest of them: tall windows with not so much as a smudge on them, courtesy of the never ending cleaning staff roaming this freaking castle. There are closets aligning the back facing a smartboard and dry erase board which takes up the entire front wall. Cherry wood desks for the teachers, and traditional wood tops with metal chairs attached for the students.

“For those who don’t know me, my name is Mr. Beckett,” Mr. Beckett announces, “I will be your English teacher for the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, one of you earns an expulsion from my class.” He turns around to us, clearing his throat just as loud footsteps sound at the door. “Case in point with my friend right here.” A look of frustration, but not an ounce of surprise appears on his face as a body appears in the classroom.

The same body I was following the other night through the streets.

You’ve got to be freaking kidding me.

In strolls Crayton Shaw, completely disregarding Mr. Beckett as he crosses his arms over his chest.

My entire body stiffens at the sight of his piercing eyes and muscular frame, which is still obvious by the way, despite the buttoned oxford and stupid blazer.

Crayton is a vision in black khaki and cruelty, making both of them, plus the creepy neck tattoo, look oddly appealing. Suddenly I find myself wanting to be the one to fall off the face of the earth.

Or have it swallow me whole.

Whichever is faster and less painful.

Trailing behind him—shocker—is Alexis popping gum, brushing her long brown waves over her shoulder, wearing her uniform appropriately this time.

Save for the shortened skirt.

I notice how not a single guy or girl in the room dares to make eye contact with Crayton, or Alexis for that matter, as the both of them make their way toward the rows of seats like royalty.

“Miss Ivanov, you know I don’t tolerate tardiness.” Mr. Beckett warns her, even though they’re equally late to class.

“Sorry, Mr. B.” She grins stupidly over her shoulder as they parade down the aisle I’m in, where the only two seats left are behind me and to my left.

Fucking awesome.

At this moment a woman appears at the door asking Mr. Beckett to step into the hallway, and I busy myself by pulling some more supplies out of my bag, hoping like hell nobody can see the sweat I’m sure is glistening on my forehead.

If Crayton recognizes me, he doesn’t make it obvious as he drops into the desk next to mine, but Alexis makes it a point to clear her voice obnoxiously loud as she stops at my side.

The entire room goes silent, and I can feel the anticipation rolling off everyone around me. They’re waiting with bated breath to see what’s about to happen.

“You’re in my seat.” Alexis snips, hand on her hip.

There was no mention of arranged seating so I know she’s wrong. Plus it’s the first day, it’s not like she could’ve been here before me to stake some stupid claim on it or whatever.

“I don’t think that I am.” I do my best to ignore the gasps as the rest of the class hears my rebuttal. I reach for a pen in my bag pocket and place it on top of my notebook, not looking to engage in all this pettiness.

“I just fucking said you are.” Alexis sneers, popping the other hip this time. “Everybody in this school knows I always sit next to Cray.”

Given her precious Cray looks more interested in what’s on the back of the guy’s head sitting in front of him, I doubt it’ll sting too much for her to be four feet away instead of two.

“I’m not moving.” I shrug, knowing if I cave now I’ll be setting the pace for the rest of the year.

More sharp breaths ensue around us and Hendrix looks like a leopard ready to attack a gazelle.

Archer watches intently, ready to step in at any moment, but I really hope he doesn’t.

I can fight my own battles.

I think.

“You little—”

“Alexis take a seat, please.” Mr. Beckett’s voice reappears in the room, unaware of the tension because all the students quickly whip around in their desks.

“Big mistake, bitch.” Alexis whispers in my ear as she slithers into her seat behind me.

I ignore her, not daring to cast a glance at the giant next to me either, even though there’s no doubt those blue eyes are intruding on me now.

Dissecting me.

It makes me feel naked in all the worst ways.

Not that there’s ever a great way to be naked in a room filled with strangers.

Minutes feel like hours as Mr. Beckett goes on with his first day lecture, going over plans for the year, syllabus, projects expected to be done by mid term ending. The entire period passes with me writing down notes, small talk with my two friends, even Felix, which seems to make Crayton’s predatory gaze amplify by a thousand knots. It leaves me desperate to crawl out of my skin.

“By the end of this week each of you will write an essay on your childhood. I want to get to know you better, especially the two new faces in the back.” He smiles at me and Hendrix, and I manage an awkward one his way.

Hendrix does no such thing, she continues staring out the window onto the football field.

“Alright, that’s all for today guys. Don’t forget those papers are due Friday.”

The bell rings just as he finishes his statement, and the majority of the class gathers their things and rushes out of the room. I attempt to do the same, but the second my legs are in a standing position I feel someone shove me from behind, knocking me into the desk.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hendrix seethes at Alexis as she snickers like a petulant child.

“Oopsies. Guess I didn’t see the useless twat.”

I gather my composure, straightening my shirt.

One or two things can happen here, I can mouth off to Alexis and get into a potential physical altercation, or I can be the adult and set my boundaries without stooping down to her level. All while wishing she gets the worst case of genital crabs known to mankind. “I’d appreciate it if you’d watch where you’re going next time.”

Of course, true to bully form, Alexis makes another berating comment. “Stay out of my seat, skank. And maybe I will.”

Archer is in deep conversation with a couple of guys while all of this goes down, not that I’d want him to swoop in like a knight if he wasn’t. At least I don’t think I’d want him to.

I’ve never really been in this situation before.

Sure, there were bullies on the west coast, but I kept to myself so much I flew under their radar. I was invisible at La Jolla high, which is what I was aiming for in Riverside, too.

I feel more than seen here, though. I feel targeted—on display—and just like one of those soldiers on Normandy beach at the moment they realized they were trudging to their doom.

I’m watching Alexis saunter off as furious blue eyes to my left burn a hole into the side of my head. I turn to face him, not daring to look anywhere but at Crayton when he slides in between two desks. His entire body eclipses mine as he invades every version of personal space one could with another human being.

The tips of his unlaced black combat boots, which are not appropriate school attire, are stepping painfully onto the toes of my flats. He’s so close I can smell the notes of masculine cologne on his skin.

Spice and bergamot fuzed into one egotistical sociopath.

Crayton tilts his head, revealing even more of the black horn by his carotid as he speculates my face, but stays quiet.

A quiet that has chills prickling my arms.

What the fuck is this guys problem?

I could easily knee him in the nuts in an attempt to flee, but I don’t. I won’t even hedge, because I know a jerk like this feeds off of his victims reactions.

So, I give him nothing.

Not even when he lowers his face to mine, so close I can sense mint on his breath. Heat from his skin.

I. Don’t. Budge.

l meet the asshole’s gaze head on like one would a mountain lion, hoping like hell I don’t get eaten alive. Or seem intimidated.

I am intimidated by him, though.

I don’t know Crayton Shaw—but as he towers over my petite frame, peering down at me with a ferocity so intense you’d think he’s seeing right inside my thoughts, I find myself getting lost in the depths of those sapphire iris’.

They’re still so beautiful despite his crude behavior. And there’s that heaviness in them I still want to figure out.

It makes a ton of sense given how hostile he is to those around him.

Or maybe just me.

I’m yet to figure that out.

And have no time to deliberate further, because the callous tone of his voice forces my joints to lock tight as he says, “Welcome to Riverside, Little Ghost.”

Little Ghost?

What the hell does that mean?

* * *

The corridors of Riverside went from looking like they belong in a royal manor to a fortress of doom within minutes after third period.

Even the sconces are no longer giving off the patrician vibe they once did, no, now they seem more like weapons that can be used to take me out.

It’s as if I’m stuck in an alternate universe based solely off the board game CLUE.

Crayton Shaw, in the library, with a freaking candlestick. There.

Everything went to shit after my standoff with Alexis and Crayton. Whispers in the hall were immediate, and although I haven’t seen Crayton since he almost broke my toe with his stupid boot, I can feel him everywhere.

In the taunts of the guys.

The scoffs from the girls.

Death glares from Alexis, who I’m unlucky enough to share Math with also.

Hendrix walked with me to my class after English, but I don’t want her holding my hand, especially since the next two periods weren’t ones we have together.

Lunch is, though, which I’m thankful as fuck for.

“I heard she fucked one of her previous teachers in California. It’s why she had to move across the country.” A blonde offers me a cruel smile as I pass, not bothering to be discreet with her lies.

“I heard the bitch gave him an STD, too.” A brunette with a pixie cut counters, slamming her locker shut.

Jesus.

The imagination of these people.

I keep my head high, not sparing them a glance as I make my way to Dembridge Hall. If I don’t respond, they’ll eventually get bored.

I’m sure of it.

My stomach pangs, and my fingers are tingly from lack of food today, since my anxiety had me skipping breakfast.

I’ve been running on matcha and disappointment for most of the morning, and it’s already past noon.

The doors to the dining hall are big, heavy, and wooden, much like everything else in this school. The interior design kept well within the eighteen hundreds. The sound of loud chatter and movement erupts when a girl brushes past me to push one open, not bothering to hold it for me.

“There you are!” Hendrix stomps over to me, holding the straps to her backpack. “What the hell took you so long?”

Besides someone locking me in the bathroom?

“I forgot a book in class,” I lie, not wanting her to feel sorry for me.

“I was about to send out a search party, yo.” She bumps my shoulder, the uncomfortable smile telling me she’s well privy to the whispers in the halls.

“Did somebody say party? Because it’s here, baby!” A voice belonging to Archer bellows out behind us right before his arms wrap around our shoulders.

“You good, Bex? Heard there was an incident in the bathroom.” He offers me a squeeze.

“What incident?” Hendrix lowers her eyes on Archer and me.

“It was nothing, the door jammed.” I brush it off, and thankfully they let it go.

The dining hall here looks more like a damn venue than a school cafeteria. Wood floors below us, rustic chandeliers above us. Mosaic designs above the windows to compliment fancy oak panels that are the walls. I feel like I’m walking into the compact version of the Hogwarts Great Hall. Most of the tables are long and rectangular, taking up the center of the room, save for a few circular ones by the windows and entrance.

This room is nothing less than extraordinary, fit only for the most elite kids in this city.

We make our way toward the buffet style setting where an array of actual meals are being served: sesame chicken, lasagna, slow cooked briskets. It’s lightyears ahead of public school lunches back at La Jolla.

For the first time since third period, I’m feeling damn excited. Even if it’s just to eat.

“You have to try the Chinese food. It’s the shit.” Archer grabs a tray and gets the servers attention by pointing to the sesame chicken.

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Hendrix picks up a tray too, and signals to the woman she wants the same.

I look around at some of the options: Asian, American, a variety of salads, and decide to go for Italian since it makes me feel close to mom.

Her family’s from Calabria.

“Spaghetti, please,” I say to the older woman in front of me, in charge of all the carbs.

Once we have our food, Archer grabs each of us a water bottle and we make our way toward the tables, where I take in the masses. I’m not shocked to see that all the cliques are already in full swing on the first day, taking up the few round tables as if they’re maintaining social order.

There’s the geek squad to the back on their computers, the popular kids to the right, and the jock table is obvious since a couple guys are wearing Letterman jackets instead of blazers. There’s even a surprising amount of punk kids in the far corner.

I can tell by the dramatic makeup and neon hair.

Then it happens, an overwhelming sense of dread takes over—my body reacting to his presence before I even see him.

Goosebumps erupt on my skin like tiny icicles, and my head instinctively turns to where I feel that undeniable heat of his stare. Sure enough, there’s Crayton Shaw, like a god amongst men a couple round tables down from the punk kids.

There’s three other guys next to him, two sporting a Letterman, one in a traditional blazer in the midst of talking and laughing.

He’s not laughing, though, no.

Crayton looks anything but amused as his gaze deadlocks on mine, forcing me to look down to my feet.

Shit, shit, shit.

How the hell does he do that? Make me want to shrink to nothing without even saying a word? Without even being near me?

When my eyes lift again, his stare is even harder than before, like my reaction is pissing him off.

So then why the hell won’t he look away?

Leave me alone.

My breath hitches as he runs the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip, as if contemplating all the ways he can rip me apart limb from limb with his teeth.

It’s scary, as it should be. So why the hell is there this flutter of excitement in my belly with the sight of him so…sadistic?

A hand on my back makes me jump, breaking me out of this twisted bubble I found myself in with Crayton.

I don’t dare to look over at him again.

“Shit, sorry.” Archer laughs. “You okay?”

The apology in that question is proof he knows why I was distracted.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I force a smile, even though all I want to do is steal another glance at Crayton. To feel those flutters again.

“Ignore the asshole. You’re one of us now.” Archer whispers as ushers me ahead, Hendrix following.

“Where’s your group?” I question, noticing everyone’s attention on me again.

“By the entrance, c’mon.” He picks up his pace.

I spot a bunch of guys, even a couple girls in the mix surrounding the table closest to the door, and assume it must be his friends since they’re the only ones who don’t seem to be paying attention to us.

They’re too busy focusing on the guy and girl standing and acting out some sort of exaggerated skit.

The drama club, of course.

Archer did mention he was the leader of it.

I can get on board with the artsy, free spirits for sure. I live with two of the like. It’s probably why I’ve become comfortable so quickly with Archer.

I tell myself “fuck it” and shake off my nerves, the dirty looks, mentally preparing myself to make, what I hope is, the best first impression to more potential new friends.

Smile, be yourself, forget about the jerks. That monster. You got this, Bex.

The pep talk adds a little spring in my step, enough so that I don’t even acknowledge the feminine whispers at the table we’re passing. Which includes Alexis. Instead, I glance over at Hendrix, who’s already plucking a piece of sesame chicken off her plate.

The little spring goes full on flop, though, as I trip on something and pummel to the floor, the contents of my bag flying out as I land on top of my tray of spaghetti.

Effectively turning my white oxford a gross orangy red.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

The entire room erupts into laughter around me, and it isn’t until Archer is helping me up that I process what’s happened.

“You stupid bitch. You tripped her.” Hendrix sneers behind me as Archer steadies me on my feet. My hands are shaking with adrenaline.

“The skeezy bitch should’ve watched where she was going.” Annalie, a girl I share math with also, and one of Alexis’ minion’s, cackles. “Plus, I heard she likes being on her knees.”

A bunch of “dayums” and “ohhh burnnnn’s” follow her dig, and the next thing I know Hendrix is lunging for the redhead, Archer barely making it in time to step between them.

Alexis looks on as if the drama is nothing short of entertainment, but says nothing.

Because she doesn’t need to.

“I will fucking cut you!” Hendrix hisses at Annalie, grabbing a handful of the sesame chicken she dropped on one of the tables and throwing it at her.

“You bitch!” Annalie shoots up, chunks of meat rolling off her and onto the floor, and at this point Archer is dragging Hendrix off kicking and screaming before any of the monitors step in.

I stare at Alexis, her face breaking into a vicious smirk. “Something I can do for you, skank?”

I stay quiet, knowing somewhere deep inside this pretentious snob is a very insecure little girl desperate for attention.

After deciding she isn’t worth a response I turn, sitting down my heels to pick up all the fallen items from my bag.

I’m stuffing a couple folders inside a pocket when familiar black combat boots appear at my side.

I’m on high alert as my gaze crawls to the door, heart rate spiking when I realize Archer and Hendrix are no longer in the room.

I’m alone with these bastards. With him.

“Need a hand?” Crayton’s tone is mocking. He lowers himself to balance on his feet, picking up one of my gel pens, examining it.

“Give it back. Now.” I do my best to sound assertive.

He holds it out as if he’s about to, but when I reach for it, Crayton breaks the pen in half with his thumb. Then throws the pieces on the floor in front of me. Proceeding to grab an orange one, he does the same to it.

If I wasn’t mortified and livid, I’d probably ask him how the hell he does that with one hand.

“Fucking stop it!” I screech, grabbing more stuff hastily and tossing it in the bag.

Crayton stands, looking down on me as if I’m a pathetic kitten. “Fine. How ’bout a truce?” He holds his hand out to help me up.

I look at it as if it’s covered in pig shit.

“Yeah, no thanks.” I go back to gathering my shit.

I’m picking up the last few sheets of paper when Crayton’s thick boot steps onto my hand. Hard. Forcing a yelp to rise from my throat.

What the fuck it he doing?!

The yelp turns to a weep as he adds more weight, the spearing pain becoming so intense I’m sure the bones under my skin are being crushed.

“You were saying?” He tilts his head.

“You’re hurting me.” I wince, trying not to cry while I pull my hand out from under the rubber sole. The movement only makes the stinging worse.

“If I offer you my hand, you fucking take it.”

“Or else what? You break mine?”

His lip curls. “So the new girl catches on quick.”

When he adds more pressure, I hear the sound of joints cracking, making me seconds away from bursting into hysterics. Luckily for my dignity, Archer reappears before that happens, screaming from across the room.

Crayton doesn’t release me until Archer is at our side threatening to call his grandfather.

When I’m free, I immediately rub the sore hand with the other one, Archer’s soothing touches and pleas to leave with him turning into background noise.

Crayton grumbles something under his breath, then kicks my bag over before walking off, making my school supplies spill out again.

Prick.

“See you later, skank.” Alexis stands before me, popping a bubble with her gum and tossing the wrapper on my head like it’s a trash can.

I can feel my face reddening with rage as Archer picks up the tiny papers and launches them at Alexis. He watches her follow behind her master, heels clicking.

I’m too lost in my anger to look anywhere else but down at the floor.

I really fucking hate them.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” Archer collects my things then helps me up gently before checking out my hand.

I’m moving it so I know it’s not broken, unlike my spirit.

I don’t know which hurts worse.

“I hate it here,” I admit, but Archer only nods, wrapping an arm around me as we journey side by side away from the crowds whispering behind us.

* * *

Thank God for physical education, and for the track lines I’m sitting on at the moment.

My research on Riverside told me it’s one of the only schools in Manhattan housing an actual football and track field because of it being built in the 1800s. The school has been updated since, of course, and what was once open land in the back has been transformed into an outdoor sports field many years ago. The Riverside Royals have been showing their gratitude by being one of the best varsity football teams in the country.

They’ve been ranked in the top ten for the past eight years straight. The field may not be as big as some others around the country, but it’s enough to build a very solid team of athletes. Most of which are on the other side of the field right now, wearing black football jerseys and white tights clinging to their legs as the coach goes through some sort of speech.

Very tight leggings, may I add.

That shows all the muscles and goods.

Not that I’m paying attention.

I’m just excited to be able to use the area as a means of exercise. And from the looks of how this day went, stress management.

In less than six hours I’ve become some misfit toy who doesn’t belong.

A reject.

An outcast.

Well, on that I guess they’re right. I don’t belong here any more than I want to be here, and it shows now more than ever.

Especially since I’ve become fair game to every single guy in this building looking for the new girl to cat call, which is not only poor taste, but ridiculous since apparently I have a venereal disease.

Idiots.

We already know how horrible things are going with the females, the new shirt I bought from the school store speaks for itself.

And then there’s him. The sadistic asshole who nearly crushed my hand with his stupid platform boots.

And it’s only the first freaking day.

I want to go home.

And I don’t mean the condo.

I don’t know what the hell I did to any of these people to make them so damn ruthless toward me. Especially Crayton. I don’t even know him, but I do know I never want to.

It’s last period, though, which means after this I get respite from the Crayton and Alexis worshiping sycophants.

The gym instructor, Mrs. Knowles, who also happens to be the cheerleading coach, finally wrapped up her twenty minute speech about code of conduct during gym and different options available for sports and recreation. I’m most excited for the track, obviously, and to use the indoor swimming pool.

Closest I can get to a cove while I’m here.

Mrs. Knowles moved onto cheer sign-up, so those who aren’t interested are using this time to bask in the sun. And by those who aren’t interested—I mean Hendrix and me.

We picked up our gym uniforms in the coaches office in the locker rooms—gray sweats and white shirts—which the both of us immediately tied at our waists because of the heat.

“What the literal fuck is wrong with these people, man?” Hendrix lets out a deep sigh as she outstretches her face toward the sun. “I swear to God I’ll get that bitch Annalie for what she did to you. Crayton too.”

“She’s not worth it. None of them are.” I match her position and lean back on my arms, peering across the field to the dozens of guys throwing a football around and stretching. A few of which I recognize from my classes.

One of which stands out like an Adonis in a sea of Quasimodo’s. Felix Crimson.

We ended up having lab together, too. We were partnered up by our instructor right after that shit went down at lunch, and this guy’s smooth wits and playful manner continued on throughout the entire period. It also managed to settle my nerves from the previous period.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s so easy on the eyes, or that he’s the only other guy, besides Archer, who doesn’t have a hard-on for Crayton or Alexis. In fact, he kind of implied he doesn’t care for either of them at all.

It was refreshing while it lasted, and satisfying now as I’m watching him bend over.

“We have two whole school years here, Bex. Things will likely get worse if we don’t do something about it.”

Hendrix isn’t wrong, and I wouldn’t blame her for wanting to steer clear of the line of fire.

It’s too late for me, but not for her. She’s not the one everyone seems to hate for no reason.

I lean forward, bringing my knees to my chest. “If you want to switch dorms and keep your distance from me, I understand, you know.”

Hendrix looks at me like I sprouted three new heads. “That’s not who I am, jerk. What I’m saying is you need to fight back.”

That’s not who I am.

“I’ve done fine my entire life slipping through the cracks, I’ll find a way to do it here. I’m sure by tomorrow nobody will give a shit about me.”

Now she looks as though I’ve sprouted a fifth head. “They’re not gonna forget, Bex. Alexis will make sure of it. Neither will Crayton. I hear what people are saying.”

I close my eyes, taking a much needed reassuring breath. “If I don’t engage, they’ll get bored with it.”

“Or they’ll up their game.” She counters. “I don’t know what the kids are like in California, but in Manhattan, these bitches can be brutal. Trust me.”

“I have a plan, Hendrix. I just need to get through these two years with solid grades and get my ass into Stanford. I’m not looking to risk that by retaliating against ignorant asshats.”

She stays quiet for a beat, then says, “I think you should at least tell your parents.”

Parent. I want to correct her.

But the last thing I need is to be reminded that I can’t have my dad’s words of wisdom or guidance.

I’ll never have it again.

And I’m sure Roman and my mom would march up to this school guns blazing if they found out what Alexis and Crayton did to me.

Absolutely not fucking happening.

I turn to face her, all business. “Hendrix, you cannot speak a word of this to my mom. She’s been feeling all sorts of guilty about moving me to the east coast, and trying like crazy to make me comfortable. Not to mention it’s costing my stepdad a ton of money to send me to this school.”

“Exactly why they should talk with Headmaster Beaumont.”

Archer’s grandfather? No way.

The vibe I got from the old man on orientation, before Archer took over for the tour, is that money will speak louder than any complaint.

All he could talk about is how important donations are to the school, and how so many of the students' parents here have been so generous already.

I’m sure the Shaw family is one of them.

“No.” My tone is absolute. “Now please, promise me. I don’t want her to worry. Plus, being the new girl who tattled to her mommy about the big bad bullies will only make things worse, and you know it.”

The small wrinkle of her nose tells me I made my point. “Fine. I promise I won’t unless it’s absolutely necessary. And if you let me slap the privilege off Annalie’s face.”

“Yes to the absolutely necessary, no to the slapping.”

Hendrix groans, but doesn’t persist, probably because Archer is strolling over to us next to some really tall dude with cornrows lining his scalp.

“Miladies, this is Sampson, my boy I was telling you about.”

Hendrix shields her eyes from the sun as she looks up at the new guy. “You an asshole?”

Sampson laughs. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m asking,” she deadpans. “We had enough of the assholes today.”

Sampson waves her off as I stand, dusting off my back side.

“Nah, gorgeous.” He winks. “I’m Switzerland, ya feel me? I make it a point to stay out of Riverside politics.” He offers a lazy grin. “I just throw sick parties.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sampson.” I hold out my hand for him to shake, but he brings me in for a tight squeeze.

“I’m a hugger, baby, it’s more personal.”

“See? Told you girls he was cool,” Archer says as we break apart.

Hendrix looks as though she’s not convinced, but stands anyway when Sampson holds his arms open for her.

“Let’s not make this a habit,” she grumbles while offering him the most awkward ass-out hug known to mankind.

She’s at my side as Sampson rubs his hands together. “Now, tell me you fine specimens will be coming to my pool party this weekend. It’s gonna be litttt.”

Not this again.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I shake my head, feeling even more convinced that’s the case after what went down today.

“Oh, no,” Archer cuts in. “I won’t allow you to let that psychopath or psychobitch ruin your time at Riverside. Sampson is known for his parties. You both have to come.” He throws an arm over his friend’s shoulder. “You’ll be our guests and nobody can question a thing because this guy will throw their sorry asses out without question.”

Something tells me it will take more than words to remove a guy like Crayton from any place.

Unless…

“Do you know if Crayton will be there?” I ask in a manner that screams ‘I hope you say no’.

“The Royals come every year”—Sampson shrugs—“but they’ve never pulled any shit at my parties.”

The Royals?

“You mean the football team?” I quirk a brow. “I’m talking about the jerk off with a goat painted on his neck.”

Sampson scoffs. “Nah, baby. I’m talking about the actual Royals of Riverside Prep. Crayton, Saint, Riggs, and Leviathan. You must’ve only had the pleasure of meeting their ring leader.”

What a pleasure, indeed.

The name Saint definitely stands out, since it’s hard to miss, so I’m pretty sure I shared a class with him today but can’t put a finger on which one.

Not that it matters, I’m sure he’s one of the assholes torturing me.

“I’m gonna pass on the party, but thanks,” I say, deflated.

Moments fly by before Hendrix growls at my side, then bursts, “The fuck you are!” Gripping me by my shoulders, she spins me to face her. “Fuck them. Fuck him. Fuck Alexis. We go on principle, and I will make sure you are the hottest bitch walking into that motherfucker on Saturday.” Hendrix raises her chin. “Every guy will wanna fuck you and every girl will wanna be you.”

“Heck, I’d fuck her right now.” Sampson says with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, which Hendrix ignores while Archer shoves him.

Is every guy here this forward?

I’m looking down as Hendrix says, “You were right, Bex. No retaliating, not in the physical sense.”

I pull my eyes up to meet hers. “What sense are you talking then? Because it clearly isn’t common sense if you’re suggesting we walk straight into the lion’s den practically naked.”

Licking her lips, excitement brightens her hazel eyes as she says, “By not hiding, Bex. That’s the only way we fucking win.”

10

CRAYTON

“Missed you today, jerk-off. You disappeared after lunch.” Saint tosses his football at me, slamming our door behind him. “You didn’t even show up to practice to cheer me on.” He approaches me pouting as I lay on my bed, then shoves my legs over so he can sit.

“Had things to do...” I stare up at the ceiling, hands situated behind my head.

“That you did…” I ignore the judgment in his tone. “You and Alexis gave the California girl quite the warm welcome.”

It takes everything in my power not to growl with the mention of this fucking girl, Rebecca. Bex for short.

As she so sweetly explained to that nosey bastard, Beckett.

“Fuck her.” I sit up, reaching for the switchblade in my jeans.

“Who? Alexis? Or Bex.” He says her name through a wry grin. Making it a point to show he’s more than noticed how good she looks.

Which isn’t surprising because it’s impossible to miss.

Rebecca has the kind of beauty you don’t only see but feel right down to your bone marrow. I know because I felt it. It’s also the kind that sends armies of men to war.

Or crashing into cars.

“Both of ‘em.” I flip the knife open, pressing the tip of my thumb against the pointy side, drawing a small dot of blood.

Saint watches with curiosity as I rub the red liquid between my fingers.

There’s a stretch of silence before he says, “She’s in our lab class too, you know. The one you decided to bail on.” He licks his lips. “Girl’s gorgeous, but clearly ruffled by the stunts today. Surprised she didn’t try to dip after what you and Annalie did at lunch.”

That bitch Annalie is always doing Alexis’ dirty work, so I’m not surprised she sent the new girl face planting onto a plate of spaghetti. She’s so desperate for Alexis’ approval, she’ll lick the bottom of her Bottega heels if it means staying relevant.

“Shit was hilarious,” I lie, remembering how much it struck a nerve when Archer swooped in to her rescue…again.

Always the fucking good guy.

Anger rumbles through me, and I don’t know why. It’s not the first time Archer interfered with shit that isn’t his business. So why did the image of the ass kisser comforting Rebecca make me want to throttle him?

“Archer seems to be taking her under his wing. No surprise there,” Saint adds as an afterthought.

That fucking does it.

“That self righteous prick doesn’t stand a chance with her,” I spit, then catch myself when Saint raises an eyebrow.

“Careful, man. You almost seem…jealous.”

The fuck I am, the only thing I care about is making sure the bitch pays for fucking up my car and my mind.

My one goal with this new girl is getting even, which means I can’t have little skanks like Annalie taking what’s rightfully mine.

What this girl Rebecca owes for poisoning my thoughts.

“I’m only interested in sending this Bex back to where the fuck she came from.”

“Look,” Saint turns to me, his irritating voice of reason in full swing, “don’t you think you’re taking this a little far this time? You don’t even know her.”

“I bet you want to though, right?” I snap. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Tryin’ to get your hands on the shiny new toy before anyone else does?”

Saint chuckles, which tells me I’m at least half right.

“Look, she’s hot as fuck. I won’t deny that. And maybe I’ll shoot my shot. But…” He trails off, and everything else he says is a distant collection of muffled words I’m too far gone to listen to.

The blood beneath my skin simmers with the idea of Saint with Rebecca. Her underneath him, all that white hair spread in a mess on his bed as he takes her. It sends me raging so hard that my hand squeezes around the knife, and it isn’t until Saint shoves my shoulder that I realize it’s on the sharp end.

I let go, examining the bright streak of red on my palm, watching as it slowly trails down the skin.

“Look, I know this can’t just be about your aversion to girls with blonde—”

I’m fisting his shirt before he even gets to finish. “You will not. I repeat. You will not stick your dick inside this new girl, Lavell.” My hand is shaking, and I know Saint notices, but as always, doesn’t pry with my random outbursts.

Even though it’s obvious he’s gathered enough theories to never challenge me when it comes to the female gender.

The rules are simple, and he abides by them every time.

It’s one of the reasons I’ve allowed him a glimpse into who I am. What I’ve been through.

Even if he doesn’t realize it.

Saint accepts with a nod, eyeing my heaving chest right before I release him with a shove.

“Levi and Riggs, too. Nobody lays a fucking hand on her.”

Nobody but me.

“You got my word, man. The guys too, no doubt. But I can’t speak for the rest of the assholes in the school. She’s a fresh Kobe steak dangling low now that you’ve made it clear you’re not interested.” He stands, wiping at his red stained t-shirt. “Wait, so, are you interested?”

My jaw hardens from his playful expression, even more with the underlying curiosity.

“I’m not. Fucking. Interested,” I grit out.

If Saint’s not buying it, he doesn’t let it be known. “Well, the lions are hungry and circling fast, my friend. Especially Felix. I watched them flirting in lab.”

Of course that motherfucker wants a piece of Rebecca. He would stick his cock in an electrical socket if it meant provoking me. Just like his douchebag of a father does with my dad.

I point the knife at him. “Yeah, well, then it’s a good thing I’m the king of this fucking jungle.”

* * *

“So, what time are you guys heading to the Harold’s party on Saturday?” Alexis asks as she scoots closer to me on the couch, then checks her fake manicured nails.

We’re in the common room of the male dorms, which consists of several leather couches, a large southern style fireplace, sixty-five inch TV, pool table, a few arcade games, and even a foosball table toward the back. It’s where the boarding kids usually go to chill out when there aren't any parties or plans on the roster for the night.

Our living quarters take up seven floors of a small attached building by the west wing of the main halls of the school, locked at night by a single door. The female dormitories are all in a similar building by the east wing, the same type of door being locked after our so called “curfew.”

“I’m thinkin’ around noon, since I’ll be home with the parents.” Riggs drops into an accent chair, chomping away at a snicker bar.

Saint is sitting on the floor in front of me, too distracted by The Walking Dead on the TV to respond, and Levi, who is next to Alexis on the couch, is too busy staring at her rack to even realize she’s asked a question.

Maybe I should let them have her for a night, so they’ll finally see that huge tits only go so far when the person they belong to has the integrity of a feral cat.

“Crayton and I will probably show up around the same time.” She proves my point by running a lazy pink talon up my thigh, always trying to mark her territory, so I shove it away.

It’s times like these that doing my own school work seems a lot less irritating.

“I’m going with Saint.”

Alexis’ face falls, looking like she’s about to argue but decides against it.

“Car still not out of the shop, Cray Cray?” Riggs tosses the last bite of chocolate into his mouth. “It’s been like a week, man.”

Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you get a custom paint job and have to wait for custom paint.

And a new fucking bumper.

“Some time next week,” is all I can manage without a scowl. Or envisioning the face that got me into this mess.

“I swear those taxi drivers are reckless, man. They don’t give a shit where they stop,” Riggs continues yapping.

I roll my eyes, keeping up with the pretenses of the old senile man since the last thing I need is any of these guys, or Alexis, knowing the real reason I crashed that day.

When nobody responds to Riggs’s comment, he moves back to the subject of Sampson’s party. “I heard from the grapevine that a little out-of-towner will be there. Should make things interesting, huh Lex?”

This finally pulls Levi’s attention from her chest to her face.

Alexis is anything but quiet now. “Fuck that little skank. Who the hell does she think she is?”

Bold choice of words for someone who gets fucked over a toilet at my every beck and call.

“She is fucking h-o-t, that’s for sure.” Riggs spells out the word as if Alexis is an illiterate, then he and Levi high five the air.

My eyes thin to heated slits on both of them, knowing damn well they remember I said this girl Rebecca is off limits, and I can practically hear the wheels turning in Alexis’ head as she studies me.

She’s wondering why the hell the idea of Riggs liking the new girl, even though everyone in this room knows he’s still a virgin, is affecting me the way it is.

She’s wondering if I care.

If I want to fuck her.

I do, but not with my cock.

I want to fuck up her life the same way she seems to be fucking up mine.

Every. Single. Night.

I see my mother in my sleep, when I’m awake. Sometimes a mixture of both. She’s everywhere now that her doppelganger showed up.

Same faces, same smiles, even same fucking scent.

I can still smell the scent of lavender from Rebecca’s hair when I lowered my face to hers.

“Almost eight!” A male voice shouts, pulling me from my thoughts. “Let’s go Alexis, back to the east wing.”

Ethan, our dorm head, must be starting his rounds for the night. Not that I give a shit because he knows better than to tell me to go anywhere.

Alexis, on the other hand, stands with a huff, no doubt coming up with fifty different scenarios as to why I’m showing interest in any other girl besides her.

And if I know her at all, which I do, it also means she has every intention of making sure it gets no further than that.

Little does she know it already has.

11

BEX

Time flies when you’re having fun.

But when you’re not? It locks you in a chokehold, squeezing tighter every time you try to escape.

Let’s just say the students at Riverside haven’t forgotten about me like I so stupidly suggested they would to Hendrix the first day.

In fact, things have gotten even worse as the week progressed. Example being when I walked into the building this morning minding my business, I had Alexis and her posse waiting front and center for my arrival, and she made it a point to talk loud about all the fun she had with Crayton the night before.

So pathetic.

As if I’m supposed to be interested in where he puts his dick. He can stick it up his own ass for all I care.

They then proceeded to follow me all the way to homeroom, commenting on how pale I am for someone who’s been giving blowjobs professionally on the beaches in California.

As if that’s an actual fucking thing.

A “Shore Whore” is the clever name they came up with, and how they bid me farewell as I turned into my classroom.

I ignored them, of course, but I guess that’s what I get for daring to answer Mrs. Clancy, our math teachers, questions about back home yesterday.

Their behavior is so catty and brain numbingly typical for a bunch of girls who are supposed to stand out in society.

So why do I feel like the pathetic one?

Giving the padlock on my locker one final attempt at opening, I spin the combination to the best of my ability since it’s been spray painted black some time between homeroom and first period.

It doesn’t budge, and fury rips through my gut, making me slap an open palm against the locker door, because now I’m officially late to class.

The sound draws attention to the stragglers in the hall, and snickers erupt behind me as I let out a deep sigh.

Resting my head against the locker, I close my eyes, drawing and expelling breaths in slow deep intervals to calm my body.

In, out, in, out until my heartrate settles, along with my anger. I continue this exercise until my mind is clear enough to strategize a plan.

I can text Archer, even Hendrix since I know their classes aren’t far from this wing of the building, but I don’t need them missing their lessons on my behalf.

I can take this to the headmaster, but I refuse to be that girl. The one who’s first line of defense is to snitch on her peers instead of standing up for herself.

And I really need to stand up for myself, damn it, because I don’t see this stopping any other way. Especially if I’m supposed to survive a pool party with these people tomorrow.

Forget about candlesticks and libraries, there are so many worse ways to die in a large body of water.

Dramatic, Bex, but whatever.

I just need a break.

What I don’t need is more laughs on my behalf when I walk into class without any of my books, so I decide to do something I’ve never done before, and forgo this period altogether. Hiking my bag over my shoulder, I take defeated strides down to the nearest back staircase, which, unlike the dormitory hallway, is not being monitored by school security. I intend to remain there for the next thirty-four minutes until the bell rings, or I gain some clarity.

What would dad tell me to do?

Punching a bitch in the jugular would probably be somewhere on the list, that’s for sure.

But before that I know he’d never want me to change to fit in, or to lower myself or my standards.

Dad would want me to continue being who I am but also not a doormat, so he would likely tell me to find a happy medium.

I may miss him now more than ever.

Especially since I know a talk like this would call for a trip to the cove. Or floating atop the waves on our surfboards, dad pretending he knows what he’s doing.

God, I really need him.

His protectiveness, belief in me, ability to put me so high on his pedestal none of these entitled jerkoffs would be able to touch me.

Unlike the nostalgia taking place in my mind, the halls are still and quiet. The only sound coming from classrooms where lectures from teachers are commencing.

When I reach the door I’m looking for, I shove it open with my shoulder, barely looking up as I round the staircase—memories of my dad adding a heaviness to my shoulders I don’t bother trying to shake.

Until the scent of cigarettes wafts in the air, forcing my attention upward. When I find the source of the smell, I stop dead in my tracks, immediately regretting the decision to come back here. What the hell did I do to Karma to make her hate me this much?

Crayton’s leaning with an unlaced combat boot against the wall, tie loose around his neck as he stares out the open window. Smoke expels from those full and stupidly perfect lips, which have been taunting me the majority of the week.

During English.

Lunch.

We even had another scuffle similar to lunch earlier in the week. Except this one involved all the available seats in the dining hall managing to disappear.

The only one left empty was beside him and Alexis at the table, as if he was daring me to sit.

Luckily Archer handled that one, too.

Damn it.

I can not do another standoff with him. Not right now. Not while Dad is lingering in my thoughts and my hand is still bruised from day one.

I’m about to turn on my heels when he speaks, taking another drag. “You stay followin’ me, Little Ghost.”

My blood turns to ice with that comment, and the use of that ridiculous name, because it makes me wonder if he really did see me that night watching him.

I doubt it because he didn’t look back once.

Either way, I’m not about to out myself.

I gather my wits enough to look him in the eye. “Why do you call me that?”

“Because that’s what you are.” Crayton continues smoking out the window, the grit in his voice even deeper from expanded lungs.

“What does it even mean?” I ask, impressed with how easily the words fly out of my mouth.

I’m humbled real fast, though, as his gaze slices to mine, no longer keeping up with nonchalance. “It means you never should’ve fucking come here.” Crayton tosses the cigarette out the window and kicks off the wall, stalking over to me with pure menace in his features.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I take several clumsy steps back until I hit a wall.

Crayton stops abruptly, once again looking disgusted with my response to him.

As if there’s any other sensible way for a five foot three female to react to a predatory giant.

I’m pretty sure an hour passes as we watch each other, my heart beating wildly in my chest and the silence becomes deafening, scarier than any words he’s spoken yet.

Sure enough, I've proven just how wrong I am once he begins talking. “This is your one and only warning to leave this school”—he pauses, to correct himself—“as a matter of fact, this fucking state.”

I blink at him, and when he doesn’t add a damn punchline, I say, “You can’t seriously believe I will be going anywhere for the simple fact that you said so.”

The incredulousness in my tone brings a scowl to his face. “Are you not paying attention? Hard of seeing or hearing or some shit?”

When my only response is teeth clenching Crayton takes it as an invitation to continue another ridiculous show of force.

“Let me offer you a little crash course in Riverside prep, then, yeah?” His question is very little genuine and every bit mocking.

Asshole.

I should tell this guy he needs a crash course in human decency, but decide even a sarcastic version of advice is more than he deserves.

“Pretty sure I got the actual one at orientation, so no thanks.” I take off toward the door, hearing enough of his sanctimonious bullshit.

I don’t get far before Crayton’s in front of me again, blocking my escape. “All you need to know is that my family runs this school. And within the walls of it: I am judge. Jury. Executioner.”

I can’t stop the eyeroll that ensues even if I tried. “Are you done?”

“Not even fucking close. So don’t test me. As you’ve witnessed this week, I’m not known to fight fair.”

Those sapphire eyes are piercing into mine, almost maniacal. I should be scared, but I have my dad to thank for the reason I’m not.

I feel just as protected by him now as I did then, when I was the little girl he’d scoop up into his arms to avoid a large wave hitting the shore.

Crayton is just another large wave.

But I’m no longer that little girl.

“I don’t give a shit how you fight!” I say through a derisive laugh. “I don’t even know you. Other than being a bully, a jerk, and a liar because I met the man who runs this school, and I’m pretty sure he shares the last name as my friend Archer.”

My smile is petty, and I know it. But I can’t stop myself. It feels too good to stand my ground and not yield.

“Ah, yes, the headmaster’s puritanical grandson.” He peers down at my gold cross. “Figures you would surround yourself with the exact type.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll take a puritan over Satan's spawn any day.” My chest heaves like I just completed a five mile dash.

It’s as if all the blood in Crayton’s body rushes to his face with that statement: because it’s red, and hard, as if seconds from exploding.

Except, his words, they’re the eeriest form of calm.

“What the fuck did you just call me?”

“Did I stutter?” I retort, loving that somehow I struck a nerve.

This time when Crayton advances on me, he doesn’t give me the opportunity to try and escape as my back hits the wall. Two his hands slap against it on either side of my head.

“Oh, I can show you the devil.” He mutters. “I can have you screaming his fucking name.”

I don’t know why my stare trails down to that tattoo on his neck, but it does. That’s also when it starts to make more sense.

The horns. The goat.

I’ve learned enough about the Sigil of Baphomet to know what it can mean.

“I’m not scared of you, Crayton Shaw,” I say with very little convincing, still honed in on the two black eyes peering out from his collar.

This has him chuckling under his breath, right before he grips my jaw tight, forcing me to look up at him.

It hurts, and I know that’s the point.

“Who’s the liar now, hm?” Crayton doesn’t even blink as he awaits my response, like the most natural human function is somehow beneath him.

“Leave me…the fuck…alone…you psychopath.” I grit out through a pained jaw, trying my hardest not to appear terrified, even though my heart is pounding so hard it hurts.

The sound of the door opening makes me jump, but Crayton doesn’t budge with the newcomer’s presence. Instead, his face lowers to meet mine, forcing me to hold my breath.

To close my eyes.

“It’s too late for that. You lost your chance.” He says through a deadly whisper, his lips trailing to my ear, making chills erupt down my entire body when he adds, “There’s no escape for you now, Little Ghost.”

* * *

“I’m telling you the truth, sir,” I plead with headmaster Beaumont, who’s sitting with his back straightened in his chair after one of the hallway monitors escorted me to his office for skipping class. “I was only back there because someone spray painted my lock black. I couldn’t open it.”

Did I want to spill the beans about the bullies? No.

Do I have a choice now without risking getting into trouble? Also no.

“Well, Mr. Shaw told Lawrence here that you were the one who convinced him to cut class.”

Of course he did.

The chastising of headmaster Beaumont’s statement tells me this guy already has his mind made up, and it’s fucking unbelievable.

Actually, no, it’s totally believable, I would expect nothing less from a man who has a picture up in his office of him shaking hands with a Cillian Shaw.

Who I’ve learned from Felix is Crayton’s father, a real estate mogul and property owner in the city.

I glance at the framed photo again, rereading the name engraved on the golden plate along the bottom, and piping hot anger zings through me.

It couldn’t be more obvious this man’s got a soft spot for Crayton’s family.

Or at least their wallets.

My anger isn’t enough to miss how stark the differences are between Crayton and his dad, though.

Dark hair, deep olive skin, and much more slender than his son.

Hopefully those aren’t the only differences.

“That is a flat out lie, sir.” I try my hardest not to hiss. “Crayton was already there when I entered the stairway. Smoking nonetheless.”

Fuck him, and fuck not being a snitch. This guy wants to lie to throw me under the bus, I can return the favor tenfold.

“That is quite an accusation, Miss Dawson.” If this guy had pearls he would be clasping them right about now.

“It’s not an accusation, it’s a fact. Just like it’s a fact someone painted the lock on my locker black so I couldn’t open it. Why are we not talking about that?” I fold my arms over my chest.

Because my family hasn’t been shelling out money for this school for God knows how long.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Miss Dawson.” The headmaster’s voice is tired, as if this conversation is one he’s had over and over again. “I fully intend to look into who vandalized your locker. In fact, I will have Lawrence follow you right after this to inspect the damage.”

Both of our gazes rise to find Lawrence, the monitor who found Crayton literally confining me to a wall, and his bored expression has Headmaster Beaumont clearing his throat.

“Isn’t that right, Lawrence?”

Lawrence’s eyes blink rapidly as his focus shoots from the wall to the gray haired man in front of me. “Uh, sir?”

“You will follow Miss Dawson to her locker and check for damage.”

What he really means is validity, but what’s the use in trying to argue? He’s made his stance clear and it isn’t with me.

It’s with that psycho.

“Of course, sir.” Lawrence offers a quick smile.

“Well, since this is your first offense, Miss Dawson, I will let it slide. But cutting class will not be tolerated in Riverside, nor will private meetings with male students in the stairways.”

The bathrooms must be the exception.

I nod, even though I’m mentally cursing his one sidedness. “Of course, sir. It won’t happen again. I take my studies very seriously, as I do with my enrollment in this school.”

“Very well, because I’d hate to see a very bright student like yourself lose sight of your future for a few moments alone with a boy. Especially since Riverside prides itself on our young ladies’ ability to uphold their respectability.” Headmaster Beaumont stands, gesturing to the door, signaling that the conversation is over.

The young ladies respectability. WOW. Talk about double standards.

How the hell is Archer an extension of this archaic mentality?

Without another word on the subject, I stand and force a tight smile. “Thank you for your leniency, sir.”

He waves me off. “Next time will not be as lenient, Miss Dawson.”

Not to worry, because there will be no next time.

Lawrence is quiet as we make our way to my locker, and I want to scream at him for keeping his mouth shut the way he did when Beaumont was accusing me of being the damn aggressor in this situation.

Anyone with eyes could see that Crayton was antagonizing me. But I guess the truth and safety of the female students pales in comparison to the cavalier assholes swinging dicks between their legs.

I should’ve known I was doomed to fail when Crayton pulled him over to the side and started whispering in his ear.

We’re almost at my locker when Lawrence runs his hand through his dirty blonde hair. “Look—” The guy tries to speak but stops, probably deciding against whatever it was he was going to say.

Good, because nothing can justify ignoring the position he found me in with Crayton. Lawrence is a grown ass man, at least early thirties. He should be ashamed of himself.

“Here,” I snap, pointing to my locker without a glance, then lean my shoulder against the one next to it.

“I don’t see the problem.”

Is he kidding me right now?

My frustration with him has me reaching blindly for the lock. “I told you, someone painted—” My eyebrows knit together as I register the unusual shape of it.

Square instead of round.

What the heck?

My gaze shoots to the metal in my hands, which is not only free of paint, but free of a combination spinner all together. It has a keypad.

My mouth falls open as Lawrence raises an eyebrow.

“There’s nothing wrong with your lock, Rebecca.”

“It’s Bex.” I growl. “And this is not my lock.”

“It’s on your locker.”

“I know that!” I release the lock with a huff. “Someone must have changed it.” I pin him with an expression that makes it clear who the culprit is.

“There’s no way to prove someone vandalized your locker without proof.”

Now we’re concerned with fucking proof. Of course. How convenient when the school has no hallway cameras.

“You know who did this.” I reproach.

“Maybe. But what matters here is what you can prove.” I can sense the apology in his tone. Not that it helps. “My advice to you is quit while you’re ahead. This isn’t the place to make enemies. Especially with…” His words taper off, but we both know who he’s referring to.

“That’s your fucking advice?” I scoff. “Stay silent?”

What planet am I on? Better yet, what century am I in?

“You won’t win. Not here. Trust me.”

I know Lawrence truly believes that, but I’m so far past being complacent.

I will not be silenced.

“You can go. I am no longer pursuing the vandalization complaint.” I turn my back to the guy, feeling his presence drift as I make my first attempt at breaking the three digit code.

These types of locks don’t come with a default combination, and even if they did, it’s not like there’s a package or pamphlet anywhere I can use to find it.

Whoever did this made sure it was as inconvenient as possible.

I tap my fingers against the keys again, then again and again, using all different variations of numbers with no prevail.

I do this relentlessly until the joints of my thumbs start to ache. I ignore the pain and push through, typing another, trying the most basic numerical sequences now since the random ones are not helping.

There’s 1-2-3, then 3-2-1, even tripling the numbers for the hell of it.

That’s when it hits me.

Triple numbers.

Of course. It would be the most obvious choice for such a diabolical dickhead.

Also the one that proves the point.

Begrudgingly, my thumb starts tapping the keypad once again, and sure enough, the lock clicks open right after the final dreadful six.

6-6-6

The devil’s number.

By devil, I mean Crayton Shaw.

* * *

Blinding rage engulfs me, so much I can’t even focus on what the hell Mr. Beckett has been lecturing about for the past twenty minutes.

I spent the remainder of second period with the intention of getting my hands on a new lock. But when I stormed inside the school store looking for one, I was told every single one had been bought for “donation” purposes.

Every. Single. Lock.

Damn him, damn him.

Crayton’s swift thinking left me no choice but to try and figure out how the hell to change the code for the lock he stuck me with. But, after ten minutes of Googling the brand, I learned it’s a one time deal. So, the only way to change the passcode was to…surprise…buy a brand new lock all together.

Ugh.

Crayton is a conniving asshole, which is exactly what I’m thinking as I glare daggers at him, watching a proud smirk lifting his lips as he pretends to focus on the lesson.

Saint Lavell, Crayton’s best friend, who I’ve come to learn about from a distance, sits right next to him, typing away at his phone.

“Pssst” Hendrix hisses from behind me. “Earth to angry Bex.”

I blink away the jerk to my left, and turn to face her as Mr. Beckett writes some stuff on the dry erase board.

“What’s up?”

“You tell me,” she whispers, “you look like you’re about to stab someone with that glitter pen.”

I look down at my pink gel pen, the one I use for color coordinating my notes, and realize I’m squeezing it harshly in my palm.

Only a single someone.

“I’ll explain after class.” I say quietly, noting Archer’s curious expression too. “But just know, we are going to slay that damn pool party tomorrow.”

Archer fists the air in silent celebration, and Hendrix’s grin is satisfied as she leans back in her seat.

After she told me her plan about going to the party, I was still walking through skepticism like a tightrope throughout the following days.

Well, not anymore.

Fuck all of these rich snobs at Riverside.

Fuck Crayton Shaw.

I can’t tell if he can hear me from the perch next to his Ice Queen, but I hope he does. And I hope he knows what little effect his scare tactics have on me.

Liar, liar.

I blow out an annoyed breath as I turn around, then a familiar smooth voice snags my attention.

“Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” Felix eyes me over his shoulder, giving me the same flirtatious wink he’s been sporting for days.

“It’s barely ten in the morning,” I say in my best flirty tone, especially since Crayton’s cockiness turns lethal as he watches me encounter Felix.

These two have some bad blood, that’s obvious. Which will work well in my favor.

Enemy of my enemy and all…

“I don’t need to see the rest of the day to know.” His eyes peruse my neck, my chest, all the way down to the pen I’m tapping against my notebook. They bounce to meet mine again when he adds, “What I’m looking at now is all the confirmation I need.”

Damn, real smooth, Felix.

I bite my bottom lip, playing this up as much as I can since for some ridiculous reason I’m enjoying the effect it’s having on my nemesis. “I bet you tell that to all the girls.”

“Never meant it as much as I do now, though.” He turns completely to face me, disregarding the prying eyes as he pulls the pen from my hand to examine it. “Come with me to the party tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at your house.”

I’m about to deny his request when I feel two fingers pinch the back of my neck, making my wince, and I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Hendrix telling me I better not decline.

Felix is popular, not Crayton popular, thank heck for small favors, but he’s still on the football team and has a pretty large following around school.

A popular jock may be just what I need to get out of this persona non grata I’ve been thrown into.

When I look over at Archer, he doesn’t seem as enthusiastic as Hendrix, if anything wary. Probably of Felix’s intentions.

I don’t blame him, but nobody's intentions can be worse than the monster sitting two seats to my left murdering Felix with his eyes.

Knowing my acceptance will enrage Crayton for reasons I can’t comprehend, it’s still not enough to ditch my friends.

But I can find a very happy medium that benefits us all.

“How about—”

“Am I interrupting, Mr. Crimson?” The sharp tone of Mr. Beckett’s voice has my mouth clamping shut, sinking into my chair as Felix turns around without another word.

“Unless the conversation taking place has anything to do with eighteenth century American literature, I suggest you save it for after class.” Mr. Beckett goes back to writing on the board again, just as a classmate coughs out “cockblock” under their breath.

Snickers erupt throughout the entire class, even from Saint as he continues typing on his phone. Everyone but Crayton and Alexis seem amused: since his hard gaze is slicing to me, and Alexis’ is slicing to him.

Awesome. This should make for more interesting stories and fake professions. Afterall, hell hath no fury like a female narcissist not getting all the attention.

Mr. Beckett ignores the childish remark, I’m sure accustomed to the immaturity that oozes off the kids in this school, and continues on with his lecture as if nothing ever happened.

I’m taking down notes for homework when a folded piece of paper drops onto my desk. I look up to see it’s Felix trying to get my attention. He nudges his chin for me to take it, so I do, and when I open the note I find the questions “So, whaddya say? Can I take you to the party?” written in a surprisingly neat script.

I peek over at our teacher who’s deep in explaining the historical importance of poetry from both the loyalists and continentals during the revolutionary war, and quickly jot down a response.

Can I meet you there? I already told my friends I’d go with them.

Folding the paper, I pass it back to Felix who opens it immediately, then whispers over his shoulder, “Let’s meet outside Sampson’s house at one.”

With a nod, I continue writing in my notebook as he shoves the paper in his khaki’s pocket.

“What the hell did you tell him?” Hendrix buzzes behind me, so close I can smell the peppermint from the gum she’s chewing.

Reaching for my green pen, I keep my eyes on Mr. Beckett as I write out yet another silent response. On the palm of my hand this time.

Told him I’d meet him at the party

Not showing up w/o you and Archer

When I hold my hand out for her to read it, she settles back in her seat, writing something onto her hand too. When she lifts it up I find the word “WINNING” in all black capital letters.

The remainder of the class is spent doing a group activity which Archer, Hendrix, and I are getting very little done. Or should I say Archer and Hendrix are getting very little done, since I’m the one doing all the work. They are using this time to get filled in about what went on with Crayton earlier.

“So, what did the headmaster say? Did Crayton get a similar speech?” Hendrix asks as I continue writing up our interpretation of the poem “Song of Marion’s Men” by William Cullen Bryant.

My pen pauses over the worksheet, and when I look up, the expression on Archer’s face tells me what he’s already assuming. His grandfather did nothing.

“He questioned Crayton first as I waited outside, so I’m not sure. All I know is Crayton told the headmaster it was my idea to cut class.” I keep the explanation short and curt, not wanting Archer to feel worse than it’s obvious he already does. “I dropped the pursuit on the lock situation. Since I doubt anything will come of it.”

“I’m really sorry, Bex. Grandpa was good friends with Campbell Shaw, Crayton’s grandfather before he died. The Shaw’s do a lot for the school so he tries to, you know…” Archer shrugs, defeated. “It’s not okay but he’s set in his ways in worse circumstances than this, trust me.”

He’s not kidding, I’m still appalled at his grandfather’s openly sexist remarks.

“There’s no need for you to apologize,” I tell Archer, squeezing his arm, then gesture my pen around the room. “I’m not naive to the order of things in a world like this.”

“I can try talking to him. Explain how Crayton makes you feel threatened.”

“Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “I won’t become a statistic. Plus”—I nod over at Hendrix who’s doodling more of her cartoon characters in a notebook—“we have a plan, remember?”

“With Felix? Really?” He lowers his voice. “He’s not much better than Crayton.”

Well, given the score on the game of “Who Can Be The Bigger Prick To Bex,” maybe it’s a good thing Felix isn’t much better than Crayton at a few things.

He’s been nothing but nice to me, even when I catch him staring at my chest. Felix is your typical hormonal teenage boy, whereas Crayton can pass for a convicted felon hiding behind a fancy private school uniform.

“Felix has done nothing other than show some interest in getting to know me, which is more than I can say for anyone else in this school besides you two.” With that, Archer leans back in his chair, accepting my answer.

“Honestly, anyone is better than that tattooed creepazoid,” Hendrix mumbles without looking up from her notebook. “Who’s still staring at you by the way.”

As if I didn’t already know that, Crayton hasn’t stopped since Felix asked me to accompany him to the party this weekend.

It makes me wonder if his hatred for my new friend outweighs his love for torturing me.

“I don’t give a shit what he does, I only have to be subjected to his shit for eight hours a day, then I’m off to hide out in my dorm.”

“You are aware he lives here too, right?” Archer mumbles.

I pick up my pen and go back to doing our assignment. “That’s what locks are for, Arch.”

“And pepper spray,” Hendrix adds.

The three of us start snickering just as Mr. Beckett calls on our group, asking if we’ve completed the assignment.

By the skin of our teeth, maybe.

“Yup. All done.” I hold up the paper and Mr. Beckett offers a nod of approval.

“Who out of your group would like to present to the class?” he asks, looking between the three of us.

Dear God no, the last thing I need is more attention on me. Or to come eye to eye with Alexis and Crayton.

It’s as if Archer can read my thoughts because he takes one for the team by raising his hand.

Mr. Beckett welcomes him up with a small bow and gesture of his hand, so when Archer reaches out for the sheet, I give it over to him with no hesitation, relieved to not be marking myself an easier target than I already am.

12

CRAYTON

Satan’s spawn.

The words play on a loop in my head, turning my blood from warm to a steady hot.

This name may be a common insult for handsome gentlemen like me, but it’s as if this girl knows exactly how to push every single one of my psycho level buttons.

What is it about this Rebecca that has so much fire blazing inside me when she’s around? Other than who she resembles?

I’ve spent the whole forty minutes in English examining her closely: her movements, body language, the way she chews on her nails when she’s nervous. How she color coordinates everything as if the walls around her will crumble if she doesn’t stay organized. Smiles to herself every time she gets an answer right.

Rebecca is smart, maybe too smart. Like she uses up all her energy studying the world instead of living in it.

All these details were enlightening until Felix decided he had a death wish and started flirting with her in my face. Then all I could focus on was how captivated she was as that asshole eye fucked her from his desk. I couldn’t hear what he was saying to her, but I know whatever it was had venom intertwined with it. Even as he followed Rebecca out of the classroom at the end of the period.

Felix has been moving in hard, even though I know he got the message that Rebecca is off limits.

She’s mine to ruin.

Mine to break.

And I wanted nothing more than to break her in that stairway, so much my cock is going stiff just thinking about it.

It goes from stiff to rock solid as I envision those turquoise eyes and pale skin. The tiny gold flecks in her iris’.

It’s like staring right into one of those Caribbean oceans. Rebecca is perfect, and I fucking hate it.

Because so was she on the outside.

My mother was so gorgeous nobody ever suspected the monster lurking behind the beautiful features.

And this new girl can pass for her daughter.

I hate everything about Rebecca and what she represents: my pain, my past, and now my present. If there was any chance of me easing up on her like Saint’s been suggesting, it turned to dust after that name spat from her lips.

How dare she fucking defy me.

Challenge me.

Make me feel things.

But even worse, make me remember things.

“Stop, mommy! I can’t breathe!”

My head gets shoved under the water again.

“You need this baptism, Isaiah! The longer you stay under the better.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to rid myself of the memory. It’s no use. One minute I’m sitting in an empty locker room, and the next I’m seven, desperate in my attempt to fight my mother off. I can feel her nails biting into my skin, smell that lavender soap, and see her wicked face through the ripples of the water.

“I will force this devil out of you! I will release your soul from his clutches and make you a true child of Christ.”

A hand gets free from Mommy, so I swing it, catching her in the cheek. It’s enough to stun her but not to stop her from holding me under the water.

“You see? This is exactly why the Lord won’t accept you.” She adds, much calmer than before. “It’s why you’re still here.”

There’s blood dripping from the scratch I gave her, but Mommy doesn’t try to wipe it away, she just stares down at me with that scary smile, then pulls me out of the water by my hair.

I cough so much it hurts my throat.

“Mommy…please…no more.” I beg, telling her my chest is burning, but she shoves my head under the water anyway, leaving me struggling for breath again before pulling me out.

“One day you will thank me for these cleansings, Isaiah.” A few seconds pass as she stares down at me, humming the opening of a church song, one I hate the most because it’s what she sings when she does weird things to my body.

“In your name I sing thy praise.” Mommy sings slowly, lifting me up with her hands until I’m standing. “Your faithful servant I remain.”

I shake my head, knowing what comes next and I wish she would stop. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.

“I’ll follow in the pious way,” Mommy continues the song, bringing her mouth closer to my private spot. “Deny Satan until my dying day.”

The sound of my phone ringing catapults me back to the present, to the locker room, where the entire P.E. class is still out in the gymnasium.

I contemplate sending my Dad to voicemail since I’m sure a call at this time means very few things—criticism being top of the list—and I’m in no fucking mood to listen to him complaining about my “indecent behavior” so he calls it.

“Antisocial Personality Disorder” so the bullshit psychiatrist he forced me to see, used to call it.

Despite every impulse telling me to ignore my dad, I reach for my cell off the bench I’m sitting on, and bring it to my ear after accepting the call.

“Crayton, are you there, son?” He asks when I don’t bother greeting him.

“Unfortunately.”

“Shouldn’t you be in gym? Why are you answering the phone?”

I pull out the knife from my pocket, flipping it open to chip at the paint on the bench. “Why are you calling if you know I’m supposed to be in gym?”

“I was going to leave you a voicemail.” The bitter tone in this remark makes it obvious he’s annoyed about something.

“And I’m saving you the trouble.”

A deep sigh ensues before he replies, “I got a call from Beaumont…again.”

Change the fucking channel.

For a guy who caught shit on the news for making homophobic statements in the past, he’s got some impressive hard-on when it comes to me.

“Don’t tell me…” I pause, faking excitement. “Student of the month.”

“You think this is a game? You’ve hit your fifth complaint from a female student since you moved back into the dorms in August. There’s only so many times and so many ways I can defend you until I’m considered an enabler.”

I yawn louder than necessary, flipping the knife closed and shoving it back in my pocket. “Loud and clear, Pops.”

“See? I don’t think it is.” His laugh is riddled with exhaustion. “I’ve been telling myself you’re the product of a very toxic childhood. But that was years ago, Crayton.” If I could see this man right now I’d bet he’s pinching the bridge of his nose, parading back and forth in his office as he contemplates the best course of action for the certified lost cause he considers “his son”.

I’m right, because the assertive tone is up to bat, which means he’s come to some sort of decision. “You’re a man now, and men have consequences to their actions. You need to learn that before it’s too late.”

“This conversation is punishment enough, believe me.”

“If only it was,” my dad shoots back.

“We done here? I gotta call and get an update on Raven.”

I need this car back more than Riggs needs to jerk off every time he’s in the shower.

“I agree. An update is in order.”

“Hanging up then...”

“Which is why…” my father emphasizes, making it obvious he’s not done. “I’m taking the liberty of updating you myself that I had it transferred to another shop.”

Every single cell in my body freezes with that sentence.

“You. Did. What?”

“After the car is fixed it’ll be transferred to a storage facility until further notice,” he continues, ignoring the threat in my voice.

This car was the only thing I’ve been looking forward to for years. My only possession that brought me any form of contentment. Peace. Whether spending the night in it and listening to music when I couldn’t sleep, or just parking along the piers at night to escape my thoughts. Raven is the only object in my life I consider truly mine and not tainted by my past.

Until Rebecca, at least.

“You better be fucking with me.”

“Oh I’m completely serious. I decided it’s time for you to earn the privileges you’ve been so casually taking advantage of. Starting with that ridiculously expensive car I bought you for your sixteenth birthday.”

“Dad…” I warn, because he knows what my Mustang means to me. The lengths I’d go to take back anything that’s mine.

I have very few boundaries when it comes to getting what I want, and hurting another person, even one I’ve learned to care about, is not one of them.

There are a lot of things that have happened to my dad recently, things brutal enough to break a man’s spirit. Reminding him of said things may not be something I enjoy doing to get my way, but I will do it without question if he pushes me too far.

Taking Raven away from me is the literal definition of pushing me too far.

“You want your precious car back, Crayton? You’re going to have to prove yourself worthy of it.” He continues to spite me, and I’m up and off the bench in a flash, slamming my fist into one of the lockers.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?”

What I really should ask is, why won’t you just accept me for who I am?

“Because I love you, and everything I’ve been doing to help you become a better person thus far has failed.”

I think about all the ways this man has proven his love for me, and for some unfathomable reason the harsh words I want to say never come.

My rage turns to exhaustion as I press my forehead against the locker, exactly how Rebecca did to hers earlier.

I blame her for this. If she never came into the fucking picture, my Mustang would never be out of it.

She continues to obliterate every sense of normalcy in my life and I won’t stop until she’s high tailing the fuck out of Manhattan.

Out of my world for good.

The muscles in my jaw tense as I say, “I’ll find out where you’re hiding it. Even if I have to raise hell at every shop in the city.”

“Assuming it’s in Manhattan,” he counters. “So, in between hunting the entire Tri-state area for your car, you will apply yourself in school. Which includes maintaining a healthy average and absolutely no complaints from any students or teachers. Then, if you’re in good standing by midterm ending, I will consider giving you the car back.”

That’s not till fucking December.

“You’re seriously overestimating my ability to control my fists when they feel like flying.”

It’s bullshit. We both know he’s the one and only person I’d never lay a finger on.

Mechanics on the other hand…

Proving my point, Dad responds, “I have faith in you and your fists. I’m doing all of this because there’s so much more to you than what you allow us to see. One day you’ll thank me, Crayton.”

One day you will thank me, Isaiah.

My mothers words come back to haunt me for the second time in this locker room, but I swallow them down.

My father’s not her, but I can’t deny the similarities right now. Even if his new disciplinary methods are nowhere near as sick and, some may even say, overdue.

Fuck those people, though.

I sit back down on the bench, wedging the phone between my shoulder and ear. “You made your point, I’ll stop my shit.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I can video call you right now if that helps.”

“You want me to add on some more months? Or maybe I can save us both the headache and sell the car off to some antique collector. A ‘69 Boss? I bet I can make a healthy profit too.”

He fucking wouldn’t, there’s no way I drove him this far down the road of desperation.

“You’re lying.”

There’s nothing but silence before the sound of a phone ringing on the other end breaks it, followed by an unfamiliar male voice booming through the speaker.

“Bill’s Vintage Cars and Bikes, Bill speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hi Bill, name’s Cillian.” My father greets him all chill and shit. “I’m calling regarding my ‘69 Mustang Boss 429.”

“Hang…the fuck…up.” I try my hardest to keep my cool, but the more he ignores me the more I feel like finding Bill and plucking each of his teeth out with a pair of pliers.

“Well, that’s a beauty. You lookin’ to sell it?”

“I am,” my dad confirms, and nausea stirs in my gut. This guy really has gone insane, enough for me to know not to try and call another one of his bluffs.

“Fuck! Fine!” I bark out as I listen to Bill seeking more information about the car’s condition. “I won’t get any more complaints.”

There’s the click of a phone going back on its holder, effectively cutting off the guy before he even gets to finish his question.

“Not a single one, Crayton. Do you understand?”

When I say nothing, he repeats, “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I growl.

“Atta-boy, that’s the spirit.” His voice turns chipper again. “You’ll have your car back in no time.” I hear shuffling of papers before he adds, “Now let me get going because I have a board meeting in ten.”

And I have a mechanic to pay a visit to.

13

BEX

“Seriously?!” I shout through the door, trying to pull it open. “This again?”

“Alexis sends her regards.” A catty female voice says on the other side of the bathroom door, then the sound of clicking heels descend down the hall, leaving me locked in one of the bathrooms for the second time this week.

I give it one more shot to pull it open, but whatever Alexis’ minion wrenched through the handle on the other side makes it impossible to open.

I thought at least an entire period would go by before she retaliated for those looks her precious Cray was giving me in English.

This is what I get for not waiting twenty minutes for the bell to ring to pee…and leaving my cell phone inside my bag in the classroom when I go to do it.

Slamming my fists against the door for what feels like ten minutes, I shout for anyone who may hear me.

It’s as useless as trying to open it.

The bathrooms by the locker rooms are secluded from the rest of the building, and all the noise from the gymnasium is drowning out my screaming for someone to help me.

I guess this is why they’re a popular spot for sexcapades.

Nevertheless, I give it one final try, and get nothing but the screeching of sneakers and yelling from the gymnasium.

Wheeling around, I press my back against the door and slump to the floor, already contemplating a valid explanation to my history teacher.

Period cramps it is.

If it doesn’t justify the absence, it’ll at least make Mr. Gibson uncomfortable enough to drop the subject.

The sound of something metal sliding on the other side of the door has me springing to my feet, flutters of hope erupting in my belly as I turn and wait for it to open.

Hope turns to dread when it does, because the last person in the world I’d want to find me in here like this is standing in the doorway.

It’s Crayton dressed in all black jeans and t-shirt. Holding a crowbar.

A freaking crowbar.

Real original jerkoffs.

I try to ignore how sexy he looks as he leans his shoulder against the open door, those blue eyes speculating me as I straighten up. “What are you doing here?” I ask, trying not to seem embarrassed by my predicament.

And why the hell isn’t he dressed for school anymore?

He flips the bar up in the air, catching it in the same hand. “You should really start taking a chaperone to the bathroom.”

“Or you and your Ice Queen could leave me the hell alone.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He tosses the metal onto the floor by my feet, forcing me to jump back.

“Asshole!” I bite.

“Been called worse.” His lip twitches, reminding me of the name I called him in the staircase.

Is it still bothering him? If so, good.

“I need to get back to class,” I announce with a fold of my arms. “You know, so I don’t get my head chewed off for making you skip again.”

The insinuation has him chuckling. “You really should. Gibson will be furious.”

Of course he knows my schedule.

“You stalking me now, or what?”

“You showed up at my school, Little Ghost. Or did you forget?”

I am so sick and tired of hearing Crayton refer to a school with well over…I don’t know…five hundred students as only his.

“Would you stop fucking calling me that?” My face contorts into a scowl. “I don’t know what your angle is, but if you think bullying me into leaving Riverside will work you might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

“Is that so?” His eyes turn to slits as he stalks over to me, and I don’t even realize a hand is wrapped around my upper arm until I’m pushed against the wall.

“Get off me!” I try to wiggle out of Crayton’s grasp, my fist flying into his shoulder without quitting.

Crayton doesn’t even wince as I wail on him, probably because the muscles flexing under his shirt are harder than any punch I’d have to offer. I’m also getting a front row seat to the tattoos I got a glimpse of when I followed him to the park. It’s a mixture of tiny quotes and this really intricate dragon wrapping around his entire arm.

Kind of like his hand around mine.

Which is what I should be focusing on, given he’s holding me against my will.

I take a mental note to work on my survival skills, since a swift reaction time would’ve really come in handy the last seventeen times this idiot invaded my personal space.

My heart races as I look up at him, imagining all the ways I’d stab him with my eyes if I could.

“Get the fuck off me,” I demand through a harsh breath.

He does the opposite of course, drawing so close his body squeezes mine, and I try to ignore where his area is pressing into.

“Make me,” Crayton grits out, his masculine cologne intoxicating me in all the worst ways.

I look around the bathroom, finding nothing but the crowbar in close reach. Deciding it’s my only option if I want to escape, I use this time to conjure up the perfect plan.

Which begins with stalling.

“Or I can let the cops.”

A wolfish laugh follows the threat, and I don’t know what enrages me more, the fact he’s mocking me or how he probably has every reason to.

I bet the police won’t do shit about him, either.

This is the first time I’ve heard Crayton resemble something that sounds like an actual laugh—even if it is a maniacal one—and I hate that it has the power to distract me from this wanton aggression.

His teeth are all white and perfect, even with the sharp canines.

I won’t get started on the dimple in his right cheek. Someone this deranged should not look this good, damn it.

If it wasn’t already obvious I’m in the dark about his animosity toward me, what Crayton says next has me downright flabbergasted.

“I won’t let you ruin anything else for me.” He reaches for the lapels of my blazer, attempting to take my jacket off.

Oh, fuck this.

“Funny, I was gonna say the same thing about you.” I raise my knee with a heavy jerk, catching him right in the nuts.

Take that in the dick, you dick.

Crayton hunches over with a groan, so I use the opportunity to side step him and run toward the door. Not bothering with the crow bar.

I hear the heavy thuds of Crayton’s boots hot on my heels, and he slams the door closed the second I pull it open.

“You kneed me in the nuts.” He states frankly, looking down at me with one hand on the door, as if I’m not fully aware of where my leg assaulted him.

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t get the fuck out!”

“So many big demands coming from such a little girl.” If Crayton is in pain, he’s no longer letting it show as he leans his back against the door. “A little girl who insists on staying in places she doesn’t belong.” Crayton’s eyes darken with menace as he pulls a switchblade out of his pocket, flipping it open.

This entire situation has gone from aggravating to terrifying within seconds.

My heart leaps in my chest, fear bringing forth tears to threaten my eyes, but I refuse to roll over, proving even more how much my common sense goes out the window when he’s around.

“Did you need more hugs as a child? Is that what your problem is?” I take slow steps back.

He blinks my way a few times, an unreadable expression on his face right before he reaches for my wrist to yank me in front of him. I tense, expecting the worst, but he surprises me by doing something so uncharacteristically…gentle.

Crayton pulls the sleeve of my blazer up to examine my arm, and his eyebrows draw in, as if the sight of flesh is foreign to him. I try to pull away, but as expected, he doesn’t let up.

“Your skin is so soft.” This should sound like a compliment, but it doesn’t. In fact, it’s as though the words are painful for him to say. “So pale, too.” He adds, still holding on, but I’m no longer fighting, just watching him watch me.

As if Crayton’s pulling me into the same trance.

It’s an odd turn of events for sure, but I’ll accept this over his wrath since he’s still holding a knife.

“I take after my dad’s side.” I don’t know why I’m explaining myself, or reaching for my sleeve to hold it up, but for some reason I want to.

I’ll blame it on fucked up teenage hormones.

Crayton’s lips part as he starts exploring me with his finger, focusing on the small blue veins stretching the length of my forearm. “There’s a lot of bad things that can happen to you in this bathroom, you know.” His blade takes the place of his finger, and grazes a lazy trail down my arm. Not enough to break skin, just enough to leave a thin scratch in its wake.

You’d never know looking at Crayton now that he has the ability to be as brutal as he was two minutes ago.

Well, besides the weapon.

And the way he’s squeezing my wrist.

Seriously, Bex. Survival skills. Get some.

The stinging from the knife has butterflies fluttering throughout my body, turning my conscience to static. From my toes, to my fingers, and when the cool metal reaches that sensitive area of my wrist, tingles surprise me even more by erupting between my legs.

It’s new, and it’s powerful.

Like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and all I can think about is how I want more of it.

“Are you gonna do bad things to me?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the feeling, but it only makes it worse.

Because I’m hoping he’ll say yes.

My breath catches when Crayton’s sapphire eyes look up at me through thick lashes. He seems…caught off guard by my question.

“Do you want me to do bad things to you?” He removes the knife from my arm, making the tingles slowly taper off.

I miss them already.

Pretty sure our definitions of bad are very different, but that damn intrigue, man. It won’t let up.

“No, of course not.” I scoff, but it’s not convincing. “Nobody wants to get hurt.”

Crayton hauls me closer, pressing the knife to my neck this time. Tingles return as full blown sparks, and I’m sure I’ve become the crazy one because the smallest moan escapes my lips right before he says, “Then I suggest you stay the fuck away from Felix Crimson.”

“Why?” I swallow. “He’s the only one in this school who is nice to me besides my friends.”

“Yeah? And what the hell does that tell you?”

A hell of a lot more than your anger does.

“That you’re a self serving tyrant he refuses to bow down to? Or he’s really that interested in me?”

“Oh, he’s interested in something.” I feel a sharp sting on my neck, and when Crayton withdraws the knife there’s drops of red on the tip of it.

“You cut me!” I gasp, pressing my hand to the sore spot.

Crayton brings the blade to his lips, and my mouth drops as his tongue darts out to taste my blood. “Fuck, you taste as sweet as you look.”

I’m stunned into absolute silence.

What he’s doing is vile, and what makes it even worse is the way he’s looking at me.

With both hatred and, maybe even desire?

Yeah, the desire to Hannibal Lecter your ass.

Flipping the blade closed, Crayton shoves it back in his pocket, then lifts my chin. “That’s much better.” He says, running his thumb over my neck like an artist examining his work.

“How the heck is it better if you cut me?”

“Because that’s what I wanted,” he states plainly. “To see what’s beneath all the perfection.”

Crayton thinks I’m perfect?

I should be flattered, but I know that, too, was likely not a compliment. I press anyway, like a typical glutton for punishment.

“What did you find?”

As if snapping out of some internal struggle, cruelty is back to twisting his features when he says, “Everything I detest.”

I don’t even get the chance to respond, because Crayton is pushing past me, storming out of the bathroom leaving me alone with my confusion once again.

It takes me around five minutes to clean the cut on my neck and gather my composure enough to leave the bathroom. I don’t know what the hell just transpired between Crayton and I, but it has me so flustered I’m not even focusing as I head back to my classroom.

“Watch out!” a male voice bellows out, right before I collide into a janitor cart.

Son of a bitch ass.

Taking a step back, I wipe down my blazer and shake the nerves from my system. When I look over to the guy attached to the voice I find no other than Saint Lavell, leaning against the lockers.

He’s smiling apologetically at me, all dark messy hair and crystal blue eyes in his Letterman jacket. Along with a very pretty redhead hanging off it.

Do any of these guys actually go to class? Or do they just wait around for me to make a fool out of myself?

Shrugging the girl off him, Saint takes languid strides my way, leaving princess Ariel to stomp off annoyed.

“What’s up, new girl? We haven’t been properly introduced,” he says when he reaches me, holding out his hand. “I’m Saint Lavell.”

As if he needs an introduction, all the girls seem to talk about in this school is the star quarterback and how eager they are for his attention.

“I’m Bex.” I cautiously shake his hand, still trying to figure out if he’s friend or foe.

“Oh, I know. You’re in my English and Lab class. You’ve been causing quite the stir.”

I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean this in a good way.

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to be.” I can’t hide the bite in my tone, but Saint doesn’t seem to be deterred by it.

“Oh, that choice isn’t yours anymore, sweetheart. Now that you caught Cray’s eye.”

Not this “Crayton rules all” nonsense again.

“I don’t want his eye. Or anyone’s if I’m being honest.”

“Now that can’t be true. I see you getting close to Archer. Even Felix.”

I don’t miss the bite in his tone this time, especially with Felix’s name.

“That’s not really any of your business.” I look away, feeling called out even though I know I shouldn’t.

“True. But as a guy with semi decent morals, and a younger sister, I feel it’s my duty to let you know you should stay away from Crimson. He’s bad news.”

He has a sister? Is she in this school?

And has he met his best friend?

“So your buddy Crayton, is what? A stand up guy?”

He taps his chin. “Crayton’s…misunderstood.”

Says every defender of a sociopath.

“Well, where is Mr. Misunderstood?” It looks like Saint’s been out here for a while, so I’m sure he spotted him barrelling out of the bathroom.

“Running an errand.”

“What kind of errand needs to be done during the school day?”

He winks. “The Crayton kind.”

Must involve torturing people, then.

“Why? You interested in my boy or somethin’?” Saint presses.

The smirk tells me he’s joking, but the hint of determination tells me he’s fishing, too.

“As interested as one is in getting a terminal illness.” I lie through my teeth, because I can no longer deny I harbor more than hatred for Crayton.

Well, at least my body does.

“Right,” he says, riddled with disbelief, but I no longer have the energy to argue with anyone.

“I’m gonna head back to class. Thanks for looking out with that cart.”

Saint shrugs. “Eh. Don’t bother.”

I’m about to question why I wouldn’t bother going to class, but the bell rings, answering for me.

Fucking awesome.

“So, you coming to the Harold’s party tomorrow?” He asks, ignoring the crowds of people mobbing the halls. Most of which are looking on as if they’re witnessing a UFO sighting.

I lift my head high as a silent fuck you to all of them. “I am, actually.”

“Careful, Saint. I’m pretty sure this one has herpes.” A blonde stops next to us, eyeing me up and down. The rest of her posse laughs behind her like a tribe of hyenas.

A cruel smile spreads across Saint’s lips, and for the splittest of seconds I think he’s about to jump in on the joke, but he does the complete opposite.

“Maybe you should let her borrow that vaginal cream you got, Tracy.” He sneers, eyes still on me. “You know, the one Levi was lucky enough to find in your drawer before actually tappin’ that rotten snatch of yours.”

The hallway goes silent, and everyone, including Saint, turns to face Tracy whose face is a deep red from humiliation.

I press my lips together, trying my hardest to bite back a laugh as Saint stares down at her with sheer malice on his face. Should I be concerned with how fast he’s able to go from playing friendly jock to vicious jerk?

Because him being an associate of Crayton isn’t enough?

More of Saint’s icy words breaks me out of my stupor.

“The problem here, Tracy, is that your stifling ass is lying about my friend Rebecca.”

“Bex,” I correct him, holding up a finger, but he’s too focused on Tracy to acknowledge me.

“I’m not lying about you, though, am I?” His question is deadly, and Tracy looks as though she’s hoping it is as she shamefully nods. “Then what the fuck gives you the right to interrupt our conversation when you’re walking around with who knows what growing on that disgusting cunt?” His eyes dip to the area in question, which she’s covering with her bag.

Saint spits at her feet. “Keep it fucking steppin’ before I move on to what you stuff in that bra to make it a D cup.”

My jaw hits the floor as I watch Tracy take off in hysterics, her friends following behind trying to console her.

Saint turns back to me, shaking his head before his face brightens again. “Fuckin’ sophomores, amIright?” He huffs. “Anyway, I’m glad you’ll be at the party. You should come over and say hi while you’re there.”

It takes me a few blinks before I respond, his mood shift giving me a serious case of vertigo.

I should tell him I’d rather stick one of Hendrix’s colored pencils in my eyes, but given what I just witnessed I’m thinking it’s best not to provoke him.

“Yeah, pretty sure I’ll be staying far away from your little group of friends.”

“Why’s that?”

“Seriously?”

“Ehhh,” Saint brushes me off. “Don’t take what he does personally, Crayton’s just got a weird…thing….for blondes.”

I instinctively reach for my hair, twirling it in my fingers. “So, what? He likes them?”

His nose pinches, as if realizing his mistake. “Uh. No. I’m saying he hates them.”

Well, that answers…something I guess.

I’m as blonde as they get.

“So why in the world would you suggest I come over to you guys and say hi?”

He makes a tsk sound with his teeth. “Yeah, good point. Let’s not do that.”

I groan, and am two steps in from stomping off when Saint grabs me by the arm to stop me. Something these guys really need to quit doing.

“For what it’s worth I think you can be the exception.” He says, leaving me even more confused about Crayton than I was before.

“Dude! What the hell?” Hendrix stomps over to us holding my bag. “You disappeared for over twenty minutes. Gibson was pissed.”

Saint’s grin is wide as she stops next to us, and Hendrix returns the sentiment with one of her signature dirty looks.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, either.” He holds his hand out for Hendrix, looking all too satisfied as his eyes peruse her body.

“Uh. Hendrix,” I start the awkward introduction. “This is Saint, Crayton’s best friend.”

She looks down at his outstretched arm. “Gross.”

“Harsh,” he counters, dropping his hand, and I’m relieved there’s a hint of a joke in his voice.

“You’ve been hanging out with him?” Hendrix turns to me. “Seriously, Bex?”

“Hey. What’s wrong with him?” Saint pouts.

“Besides the rumors you’ve slept with the entire female population?”

“Not the entire female population.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “But we’ve got time, Hendrix. It’s only the first week.”

“You’re a pig,” she abhors, and with that I see the first glimpse of annoyance coming from Saint.

“I was in the bathroom, Hen,” I say through my teeth, wanting her to take the hint. I don’t need to know what’ll happen if Saint goes savage on her, too.

A voice clears from behind me, and by the looks of both Saint and Hendrix I can tell I won’t like who it is.

“Miss Dawson,” the headmaster calls, making my shoulders stiffen. “A word, please.”

I turn slowly, coming face to face with Archer’s grandfather.

“Uh. Yes, sir?”

“In my off—” He begins, but pauses when his eyes widen on my neck. “What in the world happened to you?”

Hendrix is already examining my neck, and when I press a hand to the cut, I’m surprised to find drops of blood on my fingers.

It must’ve started bleeding again.

Saint is at my side, also checking out the wound, and panic sharpens his features when he puts two and two together.

He saw both Crayton and I leave the same bathroom.

“What the hell happened to you, Bex?” Hendrix asks.

I could do a tell-all right here, get that asshole in some deep trouble carrying a weapon in school, let alone using it on a student.

But here I am, actually worried for him, knowing if this gets out there’s no going back. Authorities would have to be notified.

Nothing may come of it. Or Crayton could be looking at an arrest. I can’t have that happen, not until I understand what his problem is with me. And more importantly— what my deal is with him.

I don’t allow my conscience to step in before saying, “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

“That does not look like a scratch,” she insists.

“I have to agree,” says Beaumont, “although I don’t think it’ll require stitches, it’s still too deep for finger nails.”

Saint is quiet, the both of us sharing a look only we can interpret, and the begging in his eyes tells me he’s hoping I continue covering for his friend.

“Did somebody do this to you, Miss Dawson?” The headmaster continues his interrogation.

Hendrix folds her arms over her chest, already assuming the perpetrator, and Saint looks even more nervous.

He doesn’t have to be, though.

My mind’s made up.

“Yeah, someone did.” I giggle, pointing to myself. “Me. It’s why I took so long in the bathroom.”

Beaumont doesn’t seem pleased with my response, but he accepts it, probably because he was heading over here to give me shit about Gibson’s class. “Please head straight to the nurse and have her properly clean and bandage it.”

“Will do, sir.” I nod, and Beaumont turns to stroll off as quick as his old legs will allow.

I can sense so many emotions between the three of us. Judgment coming from Hendrix, relief from Saint, apprehension from me.

I don’t care about any of it, though.

I stand by what I did.

I don’t want the headmaster, the cops, or even Mr. Shaw getting involved asking questions about us.

The only person I want Crayton to answer to is me.

14

CRAYTON

The opportunity to catch Rebecca again presented itself around six hours later after I got back to the school, and the majority of the Riverside kids were either in their dorms or off to their extracurriculars.

I spotted her on the track field, slowing to a stop drenched in sweat, wearing a tank top and spandex shorts so tight they would reassure any asshole with a cock that it’s still kicking.

I did my best to ignore the way her skin glistened, watching from underneath the bleachers as she bent over, stretching those toned legs, oblivious to the eyes trained on her ass from the majority of the football team.

Including that asshole Felix who was salivating like a dog out in the heat.

It’s this exact reason I decided against making myself known with another public display of aggression. Not wanting to offer any more of a peep show these assholes were already taking advantage of with my absence.

One that’ll earn them each a tip off to their coach about steroid usage from an anonymous concerned student.

I followed Rebecca off the field as soon as she finished, back to the dorms, all the way to the fourth floor, where of course she insisted on taking the steps.

Always the over achiever.

At one point she started walking the floors as if they would swallow her whole any minute, and a part of me wondered if it was because she could sense my presence.

Watching her. Avoiding her. Following her every move.

I trailed behind slowly like a murderous lion to a gazelle, not easing up until she found safety behind the door of her room. I stuck around long enough to hear her roommate bitching her out for not turning me in about the little scratch on her neck.

The conversation ended rather quickly, Rebecca insisting she needed to shower while Alexis and her group of “twats” so she called them, were still busy at cheer practice and couldn’t mess with her.

Fast forward twenty minutes and it brings us here, to the female bathrooms, ignoring my best friend on the phone as he continues to talk up the girl I’m trying to bring down.

“I’ll admit man, I expected Bex to fold like a cheap corner hoe when Beaumont showed up.” Saint continues rambling. “And you’re lucky she didn’t. I don’t think your pops would’ve been able to get you out of that one.”

I lean my shoulder against the overpriced tile wall, listening to the running water behind the glass, rolling my eyes to whatever pop song Rebecca is blasting on her phone.

I keep my voice low, just enough for Saint to hear me say, “Isn’t she just full of surprises.”

The sound of the bathroom door opening comes from behind me, followed by a surprised feminine voice. “Excuse me, you can’t—” Whoever it is starts, but when I look over my shoulder, the girl clamps her mouth shut and turns to rush out of the bathroom, towel in hand.

“So, did you convince the guy to tell you where your dad took the car?” Saint asks on top of the shouts from his teammates in the locker room.

I look down at my flexed knuckles. “Oh, yeah, he told me.”

“So you know where it is?”

I say nothing, annoyed with how clever my father’s gotten since he decided to attempt the upper hand.

When I arrived at the shop, it took less than five minutes for his mechanic to confirm Raven was picked up. He even showed me the receipt where my father wrote down the name of the place he’d be taking her for repair.

Which, turns out, closed down in May.

He knew exactly what he was doing lying on that paper.

“No. I don’t.”

“But…you just said—”

“I got it under control, Lavell,” I mutter. “Stop with all the fucking questions.”

Rebecca starts humming along with the music from where she’s hidden in the stall, her silhouette through the frosted glass clear enough for me to know she’s busy washing her hair. It’s also clear enough to outline her petite frame.

So. Easily. Breakable.

I watch as her body sways to the beat, the lyrics to “Entertain You” by Within Temptation rising above the sound of the water.

I don’t know what’s got her spirits so high, especially since the Riverside bathrooms haven’t been a sanctum to her.

“Bex confirmed she’ll be at the party tomorrow.” The slam of a locker follows Saint’s statement.

I hate how excited he sounds about this. As if the two of them are asshole buddies and he can’t wait to shoot the shit. The idea brings forth a wave of anger I’m barely able to contain.

Is Saint the reason she’s so cheery all of a sudden?

“Why are you so determined to be her fucking friend?”

“Why are you so determined not to be?” he counters, right before the shower water stops, along with the music.

Hanging up on his annoying ass, I shove my cell into the back pocket of my jeans and wait.

There’s movement behind the door, and I watch as my Little Ghost’s silhouette gets covered up with what looks like a huge towel.

When the glass finally opens, Rebecca is holding a shower caddy, wearing hideous flip flops on her feet that match a pink robe twice her size. Her hair hangs long and soaked by her sides as she squeezes the strands with a towel, still unaware of my presence until I clear my throat.

Rebecca jumps, dropping the towel and caddy. “What the shit?” She clutches her chest. “What the hell are you doing in here, Crayton?” Looking around frantically, she adds, “Seriously? You have a thing with bathrooms or something?”

I stay watching her, unable to deny how absolutely stunning this girl is.

Even with the ratty hair and big ugly bathrobe.

From day one I’ve seen what everyone else sees, the problem lies with the things I see in her they don’t.

That she doesn’t.

That no one ever will.

At this moment, though, I’m finding nobody else but Rebecca looking back at me, and the vibrant blues and greens of her eyes get me all sorts of tongue-tied.

All sorts of fucked in the head because I’m not supposed to find her attractive.

I’m only supposed to hate her. Get rid of her.

“Hello? Earth to psycho.” Rebecca calls out, and for a few moments more I examine her.

Until she lets out an exacerbated breath and bends over to pick up her belongings, breaking me out of my daze.

“Why didn’t you sell me out?” I ask as she gathers the towel off the floor.

“I’m asking myself the same question.”

“So answer us both.”

Rebecca straightens, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “You almost got me in trouble again.”

She’s one to talk.

“Why didn’t you sell me out?” I repeat, my eyes dipping to where wet hair is sticking to her neck, covering the mark I left there.

“Why did you storm out of the bathroom?” Rebecca shoots back.

“I’m asking the questions.”

She brushes past me, but doesn’t get far before I’m snatching her arm to pull her to my chest. She looks down at where my hand is, then angry turquoise irises rise to meet mine.

There’s heat in her gaze, and I know it’s not only from anger, because I’m feeling it too.

I felt the same when she asked if I was going to do bad things to her. There was something about the innocence of that question, I found myself not only wanting to hurt Rebecca, but wanting to protect her, too.

Keep her for myself, even if just to destroy her.

I swallowed that shit down real fast, but it’s creeping up on me like acid reflux.

“Stop fucking touching me.” Rebecca flares her nostrils, which is when I notice the small scar on the side of her nose. Like it was sliced somehow.

“What happened to your nose?”

Her face contorts. “You’re seriously asking me about my scar right now? While I’m practically naked?”

My dick twitches with the reminder, but I ignore it, nodding once.

She tugs her arm. “I scraped it against some coral. Can you get off?”

“When?”

“I don’t know, when I was like seven.” Another tug.

“How?”

Rebecca takes another minute, and I watch as she clutches the cross around her neck with sadness glistening her eyes. She doesn’t attempt to get away this time, but I still grip her tighter.

“How?” I repeat the question through clenched teeth, feeling like maybe someone hurt her, and maybe I should kill whoever the motherfucker is.

The urge to know the truth overwhelms me, in more ways than one. I don’t want to give a shit about this girl, not even as I watch a tear fall freely down her cheek. I should be enthralled by her sadness, but for reasons I can’t fucking comprehend, it enrages me seeing her this way.

Rebecca notices my agitation, and studies me briefly before swiping away the tear. “I fell off my father’s surf board.”

There’s an awkward silence when I realize it was an accident: the both of us trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. I don’t give her an inch, though. I won’t even give it to myself.

“Why didn’t you tell Beaumont what I did to you?” I release her, needing to change the subject, and Rebecca tightens the robe around her chest.

“Because I’m a good person.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The disgust she retains for me is back on her face. “You’re no one to judge me, Crayton Shaw, not after the shit I’ve seen you do.”

Oh, she hasn’t seen anything yet.

“Careful, Little Ghost. I’m trying to be nice.”

“By crushing my hand under your boot? Leaving me bruised? Tormenting me just to end up hiding in the bathrooms like a creep to watch me shower?”

“Who’s hiding?” I look around. “In case you haven’t noticed, I care very little for repercussions.”

“Then why are you so worried about what I said to Beaumont?”

I take several steps back to lean against the wall. “I’m curious. There’s a difference.”

“Or you’re scared of what he thinks.”

Rebecca’s pushing me and she knows it, the proud smile breaking free on her face makes it obvious.

“I’m not fucking scared of what he thinks.”

“Then you’re scared of what he’ll do.” She lifts her chin defiantly. “It’s one or the other.”

I pull a cigarette out of my pocket, placing it between my teeth when she speaks again, sharper this time.

“Look, Crayton. Riverside is a huge opportunity for me. One I intend to see through. And I’ll die before allowing someone like you to fuck up my future.”

I fish for the lighter next, bringing it to the tip of the cigarette. Rebecca watches me closely as I take the first pull, propping the bottom of my boot against the wall. “That can be arranged, you know.”

Pale cheeks turn red as she marches over, her expressed anger as comical as the slapping sound she’s making with those flip flops. “So can the truth.” Rebecca stops in front of me, jabbing a thumb into her chest. “And I can still speak it.” She pops a hand on her hip. “You got plans to kill me, Crayton? Bring it on. Just know, I won’t be going down without a fight.”

Her robe has loosened again, and the glimpse of a perky breast diverts my attention, which isn’t brought back until Rebecca realizes and quickly tightens it behind the straps.

“Good, I enjoy a little struggle.” I inhale another drag, blowing a cloud of smoke directly at her.

“Spoken like a true sadist,” she says, trying to appear unaffected by the stench.

So diligent, even in her visceral reactions.

When I do nothing but chuckle, she finally drops the tough girl facade.“What do you want from me, Crayton? Seriously? Why are you so hot and cold?”

The fuck if I know.

A loud chime goes off in her pocket, interrupting our conversation.

Or lack thereof.

Rebecca reaches into her robe, pulling out her phone. When she opens it up, I look down quick enough to see it’s a text, stealthy enough to also see it’s from Fucker Felix.

Fury thunders through me, but I stay calm at the surface, knowing whatever needs to be settled with this piece of shit cannot be done inside this bathroom with her.

I told him to stay the fuck away from this girl, and it’s obvious he’s got a death wish.

Rebecca closes the phone without replying, then stuffs the device back in her pocket, still waiting for my response.

It’s too late. I’m too angry to give her anything.

All I can see now is a river of red.

And Felix’s body drowning in it.

“Well, if you have nothing to say, I’m going back to my room.” She pauses, adding, “Alone.”

I look for any change in her voice, excitement that Felix texted her, discomfort, anything. There’s nothing but resolve.

And usual abhorrence for me.

Rebecca seems surprised by my lack of fight as she makes her way over to the door, but doesn’t even look back as she exits into the hallway.

Yes, I’m allowing her to leave this time.

To think she ended the conversation.

But only because she just waged another/different war.

The locker room is almost empty by the time I reach it, the trek here taking longer than expected since I had to stop and tell Alexis to fuck off in the girls common room. The last thing I need when I’m blinded with rage is a needy, whiny, brat looking for my attention or for me to stick my cock in her back hole.

Only a couple stragglers are left getting dressed after practice, along with the janitor cleaning out the garbage pails. I breeze past the rows of lockers and coach Balkan’s office, where, as usual, Saint is sitting in there going over offensive strategies with him. Without taking his eyes off the coach, Saint holds up a finger for me, as if he’s the reason I’m being subjected to seeing a defensive lineman’s bare ass.

I’m not here to pick up my best friend. No.

Who I’m looking for will only be found in one spot, as predictable as he is a fucking prima donna.

Turning toward the showers, I make a quick left to where the sauna and bath are, my boot colliding with the door, making it fly open.

There lies Felix Crimson, in the middle of the room, submerged in the ice bath. He jumps from his position, looking back to find me standing in the doorway.

His eyes widen when he notices my expression, and I don’t give him the chance to speak before I’m at his side with my hands around his throat.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” I seethe, tightening my fingers around his carotid.

“Get off me you piece of shit.” He chokes out, right before I dunk his entire head under the water.

He struggles, trying like hell to loosen my grip, but I’m too strong and too furious.

I pull him out of the water. “I’ll try this again, what the fuck did I tell you about staying away from the new girl?”

“Wasn’t listening, maybe you should repeat it.” He spits in my direction, earning another plunge.

This time as he’s under the icy water, Felix attempts to reach for my neck to pull me in with him.

I’m quick and rear my head back, leaving him kicking and swinging to get me off him.

I lift his head out of the water for the second time, and Felix gasps for breath, his face blue from the cold and lack of oxygen.

“She’s off limits to you motherfucker. How much clearer do I have to be?”

“I don’t know,” he breathes harshly, “but my guess is a lot clearer than your dad was about his ex wife.”

I’ll fucking kill him.

Dragging him out of the tub, I leave Felix stumbling to his feet stark naked right before I punch him in the stomach.

“Say a word about my father and I’ll hang that three inch dick of yours from the school’s flagpole.”

Felix hunches over, blowing out a breath. “First of all, it’s called shrinkage. Second. You can’t do shit to me. Not unless you want everyone to know the real reason your horseback riding stepmommy went looking for another saddle to straddle.”

I can feel all the blood rush to my face, and with a knee to his gut, I reach for his jock strap on the floor, and wrap it around his neck to strangle him. He fights to loosen it with his back flush to my chest, but it does him no good. After a few seconds of him tussling, Felix begins to fall limp, the life slowly draining from his body.

We’re standing in a school filled with teachers and students, obviously not the best place to live out one of my fantasies, but here I am.

It’s hard to think logically when you crave the death of someone as much as I do Felix.

The door swings open, both ruining my fun and revealing a frantic Saint.

“Hurry the fuck up, Coach is coming.” He looks quickly out the door, then back at me. “Subtly is not your strong suit, you know.”

Neither is patience.

“This shit ain’t over, Crimson.” I release him, making the asshole collapse to the floor. Peering down at him, I watch as the fucker attempts to catch his breath, his body weak.

“You’re damn right it isn’t, Shaw,” he says in a daze, rubbing at his neck. “We’re just getting started.”

15

BEX

The rest of last night was pretty uneventful. Ever since Saint boldly defended me in the hallway, I’ve noticed a lot of students back off. Other than Alexis of course, who had her minions doing her dirty work. Which included making sign-up sheets for an appointment with “The Shore Whore” and hanging them on all the boys dorm rooms.

Hey, at least they got creative.

Archer, Hendrix, even Felix helped me take them down before curfew last night, which proves to me even more that he’s ten times the guy Crayton is.

I’ve been talking to him most of the night through text, hoping my refusal to meet up with him yesterday wouldn’t dissuade him from being my friend.

I wasn’t ready after all that shit went down with Crayton, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on getting to know Felix with the devil still whispering in my ear.

Crayton kept his distance after I left him hanging in the bathroom, only smoldering looks in the hall, even though they seemed to be more directed at Felix. Other than that, similar to the essence of evil in an old building, I could feel him in every corner.

Like I’m being watched everywhere I go. Even though it’s probably all in my head.

Correction: he’s all in my head.

And what better way to get the asshole out of it, than attend a pool party where he’ll be sitting on top of some throne like an evil patriarchal deity.

Which is exactly what I’ll be doing today.

I actively shake my head at the stupidity as Hendrix goes through the bathing suit options she took upon herself to buy me.

Apparently a Speedo one-piece isn’t culturally approved by teenagers on the east coast.

“You should definitely go with the red one.” She suggests, already dressed in a black criss-cross concoction of fabric covering her heavy chest and shredded blue jean shorts.

Every one of her curves are hugged perfectly in this outfit, and I admire how comfortable she is in her skin. I wish I had that confidence in mine.

I glance down at the strings she calls bathing suits and reach for the single exact opposite. An aqua bandeau bikini.

“Fine.” Hendrix groans as I hold up the strapless swim top, unwilling to compromise since I already agreed to wear wedges instead of flip flops.

Only because she sidelined the Converse for a pair of platform strappy sandals.

It takes me around forty minutes to get dressed, between my unwavering nerves, which even a walk with Potato couldn’t cure, and Mom finding every reason to come into my bedroom to spy on us as we get ready.

Thank God Roman decided to head to the gallery early, all I’d need to add to my day of reckoning is my stepdad seeing me dressed like this and wanting to paint a damn portrait of us before we go.

Potato is at my side the entire time I flat iron my hair, assisting me in making sure I don’t miss any wavy spots since Hendrix disappeared to eat some of Mom’s pancakes. I’ve never been the type to want to impress, but damn these Riverside kids make me want to prove a point.

I won’t back down. I won’t let them win.

Especially him.

I may not fight back or raise my voice or curse them out like I want to ninety-nine percent of the time, but I still have my dignity. And it will be coming with me to this party today.

A ding goes off on my phone, and I don’t even have to look to know it’s Archer because he said he would be here at noon sharp.

It’s eleven-fifty-five.

Sampson’s house is in Alpine: an area of New Jersey around forty minutes outside Manhattan where the houses are known to be compared to celebrity mansions.

Shooting Archer a quick text letting him know we’ll be down in five, I put the phone in my clutch and take in a deep refreshing breath.

So what if I’m wearing short jean shorts and a freaking strapless bra over my chest? Heels on my feet?

I’ll be eighteen in two weeks. It’s not exactly taboo to dress this way in the summer. Especially when the summers feel more like walking through Hell’s exhaust pipe.

Not to mention, where I’m from, girls my age dress this way in the winter, too.

“Archer’s here.” Hendrix pops her head in, mouth still filled with pancakes as she bites another chunk off the one in her hand. “Hope you shaved your cooch.”

She’s such an idiot.

“Or at least left a landing strip for Felix.”

Okay, now she’s gone completely insane.

“You done?” I ask in a bored tone, trying my best not to walk awkwardly in Mom’s black wedges. “Felix will be getting nowhere near my cooch.”

“That’s right, I forgot. You’re saving it for a psycho.” She rolls her eyes, disappearing into the hall.

Hendrix has not let up about me covering for Crayton, even though I still haven’t admitted to her it was him who left the gash on my neck. The one that’s covered up neatly with concealer not to draw any more attention to the high school pariah showing up at a party.

Mom is standing by the front door as we reach it, with a broad smile on her face and Potato in her arms.

“You girls have a great time today! I love that the school gives you the option to go off campus on the weekends.”

Yeah, well, I won’t be making this a habit that’s for sure.

“Thanks Mom.” I kiss her cheek, and then Potato’s head as he looks up at me. “I’ll see you later, my Chunky Muffin. Mommy misses you so much.”

“Alright, Chicka, that’s enough talking to animals, let’s go.” Hendrix pulls my arm, dragging me out the door she did the honors of opening. “I’m pretty sure we don’t need to add a weird animal fetish to our peers’ arsenal of rumors, do we?” She whispers as we exit into the hall, leaving Mom behind in the doorway using Potato’s hand to wave good-bye.

“Stay safe, girls! If you need anything just call me and I’ll be right there.”

Pretty sure nobody but God himself could save me from the shit storm I’m about to walk into.

She can go ahead and try, though.

I could use all the help I can get.

* * *

Most of the ride to Sampson’s house is spent blasting the radio with the top down on Archer’s very impressive Porsche Panamera.

There’s something freeing about speeding down a highway with strong gusts of warm air hitting your face. A view of a coastline, even if it isn’t La Jolla. The adrenaline spiking my heart rate as Archer’s engine accelerates. It’s helping me breathe for the first time since I woke up this morning.

It almost feels like home.

“Whooo!” Hendrix shouts with her hands up in the air, as if in the front seat of a roller coaster. “This is fucking amazing!” She shakes her head, embracing the wind that has her dark hair dancing wildly behind her.

Archer grins proudly from behind the wheel, in sunglasses and white tank, and it doesn’t take long before the both of them are cheering together.

I watch from the back seat—trying to forget where we’re headed, forget that, for all intents and purposes, I’ll be going on my first date with a boy I barely know and forget the brooding boy who lingers in the darkest corridors of my mind.

Crayton is a shadow I can’t outrun, a bad omen, like the appearance of a black cat or a crow.

The epitome of wrong in the form of carved stone, danger, and raw sexual magnetism.

You can’t help but want to get closer.

Maybe that’s why I’m so reactive to him, his chemical imbalances are somehow balancing mine.

“Yo, Bex!” Archer’s deep voice breaks me out of my stupor. “Shut up, you’re talking too much.”

The both of them laugh together, and I join nervously, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You doing okay?” Hendrix asks.

“All good.” I smile. “Just hoping this doesn’t backfire in my face.”

“Dude.” She turns to face me, the car still going at full speed. “You have us there the whole time, plus Felix. He seems to be really into you.”

And sweet too, texting me last night with a “goodnight beautiful” and the same this morning.

“Yeah, well, if he or Crayton pulls any shit just let me know. I’ll get their asses booted quicker than you can say ‘take two’.”

Always a drama club reference.

“Thanks, guys. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Crayton will probably be too busy with his Ice Queen to even notice me.”

The two of them share a look that we all know calls bullshit, but nobody speaks a word about it again, and before I know it, after a few more miles and lane changes, we’re getting off the exit for Sampson’s neighborhood.

His house is set in a private development, rows like an exhibit of outrageous homes built for royalty. We pull up to a paved road, and when Archer makes a quick right, a huge colonial mansion comes into view.

Lush green gardens, fountains, colored flowers and stone architecture line the rounded driveway to the front doors, which are hidden behind huge marble pillars. The glass is all blackout, each intricately designed in different shapes, some arches and some square to highlight the grand white mansion.

Cars line the entire way leading up to the house, making it clear the party started much earlier than one o’clock.

A red Maserati is parked at the front with Felix’s tall handsome figure leaning against it, bare chested in blue swim trunks and an opened short sleeved button down.

My heart rate jumps the closer we get to him.

Archer parks in a spot right in the front of the house, as if it was reserved for him, and after killing the engine he turns to face me.

“Bex, seriously,” he says in a tone that screams protective big brother. Even though I’m technically older than him. “If anyone bothers you, ruins your day, I will make sure they regret it. Even if it means going to my grandfather.”

I appreciate his candor, but I don’t want a target painted on his back too.

“Thanks, Archer, but I’m sure it’ll be okay.” Pretty sure even Felix can hear how unconvincing this statement is from outside the car.

Archer eyes Felix warily, while Hendrix, in turn, eyes Archer the same. As if she’s trying to figure him out.

Movement at our right stops us from discussing any further.

“You made it.” Felix holds his arms out wide, giving me a healthy view of the angles on his sun kissed torso.

Archer unlocks the doors and Felix wastes no time opening mine, holding his hand out for me.

I oblige, allowing him to help me out of the car.

Felix’s eyes go from my face down to the heels on my feet before widening. “You look…” He rubs the back of his neck which I realize is bruised, and adds, “Just…wow. Gorgeous.”

Felix sneaks in a quick peck on the corner of my mouth, a bit abrasive and unexpected, but I keep this thought, along with one about the black and blue on his neck to myself.

“Thank you.” I tell him, trying to control the increasing heat on my face.

Archer and Hendrix make their way out of the Porsche, Hendrix offering Felix a wave and Archer that weird chin jut guys do when they’re unsure if they should shake hands.

Or simply don’t want to.

We stand in awkward silence for a beat before I say, “Well, shall we do this?” Looking around at all three of them.

When the hell did I become team leader?

“Absolutely, we’re gonna have a great time.” Felix sneaks a hand around my lower back without an ounce of hesitation. Not that a guy like him has to worry about first date jitters.

Where girls like me are already sweating at the palms, wishing they could turn around and run.

We walk up to the house this way, Felix holding onto me and Archer flinging a casual arm over Hendrix’s shoulder.

If ever there was a time I felt small, it’s now, because the further we get up the steps to the front door, the bigger this house looks. The pillars alone look like they belong in Olympus, not the state of New Jersey.

“Yo, yo, yo fam whaddup?!” Sampson stands in the doorway with music blasting behind him, his golden brown skin dripping with water as he holds a drink in his hand. “Welcome to mi casa, which of course, is su casa for the day.”

I can tell he’s already tipsy, and a part of me is jealous at how relaxed he is as he ushers us inside the foyer.

Which can easily be mistaken as a grand hotel.

Chandeliers, white marble, gold banisters, and an overhead skylight that looks more like a planetarium than a damn window. Even the furniture has gold accents which may very well be real gold.

All this for a bunch of donuts. Huh. The more you know.

“The party is in the back, but feel free to look around.” Sampson announces, probably for me since I haven’t stopped doing just that.

“Nah nah, I’m ready for a drink.” Archer rubs his hands together, and Hendrix holds up a finger.

“Yup. Or five.”

Felix brings his attention to me, I guess assuming I would be interested. “Want a tour?”

That’s ludacris. Exactly what I want, but ludacris.

“No, no. Let’s head out back.”

With a nod, all four of us make our way through the corridors of the house until we reach glass doors that open onto a several acre backyard. I don’t miss how Felix’s hold on me tightens when we step out onto the paved deck.

The loud music surrounds us, along with dozens of boozed up teenagers practically naked.

Some dancing, some drinking, some laughing. Some doing all three at the same time.

Nobody seems to notice I’ve arrived, which is a relief, and may work in my favor if I continue to keep a low profile.

That is not why you’re here. My conscience reminds me. You’re here to win.

To win. To win. To win, damn it.

“You want to get a drink?!” Felix yells into my ear over the music, but a small prickle riding up my spine has me freezing in place, unable to respond. It’s the same feeling I get when my body senses his presence, followed by the deep chill that still flows through me regardless of the heat.

Crayton is here. And he’s watching me. I would bet any amount of money on it.

“Hey, Bex.” A hand touches my shoulder and I jump, recovering as quickly as I can. “You okay?” Felix asks, and I laugh it off.

“Yeah, sorry. Just zoned out for a sec. I’d love a drink, actually.”

With his hand resting on my lower back again, Felix turns us toward the bar and guides me to it, through the crowd as my two friends and Sampson follow next to us.

Right there.

In a secluded area off the side of the bar I notice Saint first, reaching over a coffee table to pick up what looks like a vodka bottle. There’s Levi and Riggs standing around too, as expected, each with a girl under their arm.

Like a moth to the flame my gaze gravitates to the left where Saint’s body was blocking, and finds his hard as steel frame stretched out in a chair. Crayton’s got an elbow resting on the armrest as he leans back, legs spread wide in that seductive guy way. He’s in his usual black jeans and tee; the only indication he’s affected by the sun is the dark frames covering his eyes.

I may not be able to see what he’s glaring at, but the slight twitch of his lip makes it undeniable that it’s me.

And he’s not happy to see me.

Contrary to her precious Cray’s subtle expression, the Ice Queen makes sure I can read her evil grin perfectly.

It’s telling me she’s been waiting for this very moment.

That I just put the proverbial ball in her court and she’s ready to play.

But little does she know I’m ready to win.

Fuck Alexis, the skank squad already rallying behind her, and the devil in black who’s fist is turning white.

Crayton can take them all to hell with him.

With a flip of my hair I keep walking, holding strong to the cool facade as I pretend to listen to whatever it is Felix is saying to the group that makes them laugh. When I join in he instinctively pulls me closer, his arm sliding up my back to rest across my shoulders in an openly possessive way.

I don’t necessarily want Felix to have his arm around me, what I do want, though, is Crayton’s jealousy. And to my delight, he surrenders it.

There’s commotion in my peripheral, and I steal enough of a glance to see it’s my tormentor being held back by his friend Saint.

Like a ferocious beast Crayton bares his teeth, Saint whispering in his ear with his back to us, and whatever he says must be convincing enough for Crayton to relax his shoulders, even sit back down next to the wannabe Regina George in a gold bikini.

Cold stares follow us until we stop at the bar Sampson has overseeing the pool. Hendrix eyes me with trepidation, being the only other one of us who witnessed Crayton’s reaction to seeing me with Felix. Thankfully the guys were too caught up in conversation.

‘I know’ I mouth under my breath as I lean against the bartop, knowing there’s no turning back now that I’ve provoked the beast.

After all, I did come here to play.

So might as well let the games begin.

16

CRAYTON

I’ve spent the majority of the night on a fucking inquisition to find my Mustang. I snuck into my father’s office, both home and at work, but it seems as if he’s smartened up enough to know not to make it easy.

Easy things never interested me anyway.

I’ve grown too comfortable in madness.

With failure comes knowledge, though.

And I sure did learn a few things about Rebecca this week.

For example, she’s on medication, which I doubt is recreational since that involves actually being rebellious. A good girl like her probably never even scribbled outside the lines of her coloring books. Nevertheless, I’ve been catching her sneaking a pill by her locker at the same time each day, which means I was right, behind all the perfection are demons she’s masking with beauty and morality.

I wonder if they’re as dark as mine.

Or if that cross around Rebecca’s neck holds all her dirty little secrets.

I’ll find out soon enough because I know the Little Ghost is on her way to Sampson’s house with Archer and her friend. A bold move on her part.

Still no sign of that asshole Crimson, but if I had to guess he’s busy drowning his sorrows in a cheerleader’s pussy from what I did to him yesterday. He’ll make his grand entrance as every female vagina’s chivalrous hero soon.

The party is in full swing, people showing up as early as nine in the morning to get the best seats in the house, which means around us Royals. The drinks have been flowing for a while, and my cup hasn’t been empty since I walked in an hour ago, so I’m feeling pretty fucking good.

The kids at Riverside take the Harold’s pool party very seriously. It’s considered a rite of passage for those who get an invitation. In this very backyard the fates of the general population will be decided for the rest of the school year.

Who will move up on the societal food chain, who will fall. Romances will start, friendships will end, some will explode all over the concrete for us to judge. It’s like a circus and the Royals are the ring leaders, using Sampson’s house as a stage for desperate rich kids to fight for a spot at the top.

It’s also the one day that I allow myself to enjoy being around people.

“Fuck took you guys so long?” I ask as Levi and Riggs plop down in two lounge chairs soaking wet, double fisting the beers I told them to go get over ten minutes ago.

Levi hands me a Bud Light, and then one to Saint before snatching a bottle for himself from Riggs. “Christa Laquoix needed some help putting on her sunscreen. I was gentleman enough to assist.”

Riggs smiles wickedly. “I was gentleman enough to watch.”

As if he’d go any further than that.

“And how does this explain why you’re both wet?” Saint asks, bored, before taking a long sip.

“She needed to cool off, so we helped with that too.” Riggs counters. “Levi threw her in the pool, and I threw him in.”

“Still doesn’t explain how you are wet, jackass,” Saint argues, and I chuckle, popping the beer open with my teeth and spitting the cap onto the ground.

“We got good ol’ Cray Cray to thank for that one.” Riggs raises an eyebrow at me. “The boys are still salty about having to piss in cups next week. Thought they’d show it by tossing me in.”

Okay, so I may have had time for one other task yesterday, and it was executed perfectly.

“Roids are bad for you, man. Shit gets shriveled up.” I throw back the Bud Light. “Plus, I left your names out of it, so, technically, your ungrateful ass should be thanking me.”

“Coach said the whole team has to do six laps around the field on Monday,” Levi chimes in. “I already can’t feel my legs.”

“You’re welcome.” I grin before taking another slug. “You bitches could use a leg day.”

“Was that…an actual joke coming from Crayton Shaw?” Saint pretends shock. “A smile too?”

“Fuck, no it wasn’t.” I slam the bottle down on the table and turn to slap his thigh. “There’s nothing funny about those chopsticks you call legs.”

Riggs and Levi burst into a fit of snorts and howls, while Saint shoots up with his hands in a fighting stance. “I’ll show you what these chopsticks can do, let’s go.” He bounces in place. “I’ll Mister Miyagi your grumpy ass all over the pavement.” He chops at the air, and the sight of him so ridiculous has a deep laugh rising from my chest. “Let’s go, Shaw. Nobody keeps the star quarterback waiting.”

A crowd forms around us even though it’s obvious Saint is fooling around, and for some reason I feel like humoring all of them. I stand to my full height, swiping at my bottom lip before matching Saint’s stance.

“Let’s go Mister Star Quarterback. Come teach me a lesson.” I jab the air, getting in character with Saint, and everyone around us eats the performance up with whistles and howls.

The next couple minutes we dance around the open space pretending to fight, Levi and Riggs hollering for Saint to kick my ass, and the rest of the party rooting for me. I catch Saint in a chokehold and fake punch his ribs, leaving him crying out begging “Daddy Cray” to go easy on him.

The entire crowd erupts in laughter when Saint bends over for me to smack his ass, which I make sure to do extra hard.

When the commotion dies down Alexis appears, sauntering over to us in a gold bikini with some random bleached blonde at her side. I’ve never seen this girl before and I don’t know what Alexis is smoking to think it’s okay to bring strangers around us, especially ones that look like that.

“Hey boys,” she waves, the masses of people splitting like the red sea so she can pass. I don’t even spare her a glance as I reach for my shades on the table, covering my eyes before sitting.

I’m leaning back in the chair as she approaches me. “Cray, baby, this is Gabby, she’s—”

“Turning the fuck around and leaving.” I snarl, not even allowing Alexis to finish the introduction, she knows the rules as well as the guys do.

Her friend looks like a deer caught in headlights, and Alexis crosses her arms.

“Seriously? She’s my—”

I stand abruptly, the chair I was sitting on skidding back and toppling over. “I don’t give a fuck if she’s your conjoined twin, she ain’t welcome here.” The entire area goes quiet, only the music playing on the speakers can be heard as Alexis turns red with anger and her friend white from embarrassment.

Alexis has no idea why I dislike blondes, and never felt the need to ask since it was always less competition for her. Right now she’s challenging me, though, and I don’t know why but she better put down the crack pipe and fall in line.

Or else she’s going to be brought to her fucking knees in front of everyone.

She swallows, contemplating how far she wants to go with her little experiment, but before she can say anything the friend intervenes.

“It’s fine, I’ll go.” Blondie squeezes Alexis’ shoulder and turns to walk away like anyone with a decent brain would in this situation.

Alexis keeps her angry gaze locked with mine, and for a second I think she’s going to be a decent human and march off in protest with her friend, but her queen cunt mask returns to her face the instant she strides over to the seat next to mine. She sits calmly in the chair, crossing her legs and ordering some random sophomore to fetch her a drink.

I begrudgingly sit next to her, unable to wait for the day I can kick her trashy ass to the curb.

“So what time did you guys get here?” Alexis asks, as if nothing happened.

Levi whistles, calling over a couple girls waiting on the sidelines to be noticed.

Two brunettes head over to our spot, tits bouncing in their tiny bathing suits, holding some type of fruity drinks in their hands as they slide onto his and Riggs’s laps.

“Since eleven-thirty,” Saint answers, because I’m still too fucking annoyed with what she tried to pull.

People who know me a lot less know better than to try me the way Alexis just did. She’s getting too comfortable with our arrangement and it’s about time she gets a reminder of where her place is. Which is under my boot on a good day.

Around twenty minutes pass, more people show up, including Beatrix and Annalie. The passing time gives me the chance to cool off, but not enough to join in one of the many useless conversations taking place.

I’m back to smoking and drinking, catching bits and pieces of Saint going on about football and Riggs going on about, well, Riggs. I keep to myself as I wait for Rebecca to show up, and every minute that passes increases my hunger to fuck with her.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about the question she asked me the last time we were alone together, and why I’m growing this fierce obsession with the girl.

I’ve never given a shit when chicks ratted me out to Beaumont, so why do I care so much that this one didn’t?

Why do I feel this weird connection to a girl I should be revolted by?

Why does the curve of her breast behind a stupid robe entice me more than any of the bodies I’ve ravaged at school?

My emotions are all jacked up, but the one constant is this need to be close to her. To know where she is and what she’s doing at every second, and it no longer has anything to do with my mother haunting me.

One moment I hate Rebecca, the next I can’t stay away from her, and all I can think about now is what I’ll do when she arrives.

Corner her. Scare her. Reassure her. Breathe her in. Ring my hand around her throat and squeeze. I want to do each and every one of these things simultaneously, and if anything makes me a fucking lunatic, it’s that.

There’s a whirlwind inside my head, and I’m unable to contain it until I smell the lavender scent from her hair or sense the judgment from those turquoise eyes.

The thrill of it has my adrenaline spiking and I lick my lips, knowing it won’t be much longer till I get to have my fill of Rebecca again.

I’m envisioning my finger sliding down the curve of her neck, along my mark when Alexis nudging my leg makes the perfect picture go poof.

“Well, look at that. Shore Whore actually showed up. Her fat friend too.” Alexis sneers, just as Saint reaches over me to grab his drink off the table.

“Seems she’s got a date,” Annalie adds, as usual, stirring the witch’s pot.

Blood rushes my veins like a tidal wave, and my eyes dart to where the girls are looking, even though my body doesn’t dare to move a muscle.

There’s my Little Ghost dressed in a bright strapless bikini, wearing jean shorts so tight they look painted on her skin. Her white hair hangs straight and long down her back, with all eager eyes on her as she walks past us to the bar.

It’s not the eyes on her that has the blood in my veins go piping hot, it’s the hand on her lower back. Felix is clinging to her like he owns her. Like she’s his. This mother fucker keeps knocking at the devil’s door, and he’s going to wish it was the devil who answers.

There’s a twitch to my lip as I watch them, and my eyes lock with Rebecca’s from behind my sunglasses. She’s trying so hard not to seem phased by my presence, but I can tell she’s squirming from here.

How the hell did I not know he was coming with her?

Saint’s defenses are up when he sees what I see, already anticipating my reaction. He’s right to be on alert, because I’m out of my chair to eviscerate him before I can contemplate how doing so will make me look. Like the usual consigliare, Saint’s out of his chair too, holding me back.

“Not yet, Shaw.” He states firmly. “Not here. Not till you get your car back.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him.” I seethe, not giving a shit that Alexis is watching, speculating. Along with everyone else.

“I got you, bro. I’ll handle it.” Saint urges. “I’ll take care of him, aight? Just chill.”

My chest heaves as I shove him off me, but his word is enough to keep this from escalating.

If Saint says he’ll handle something, consider it already done.

Point proven, I watch as he whispers something to Levi and Riggs, nodding toward the house before they take off inside it and I drop into the seat. Then he tells everyone else, including Alexis and her friends to fuck off and get lost.

Alexis obliges, but there’s an expression on her face that means only one thing, she feels threatened.

Alexis should be, not only by Rebecca who has to do so much less than her to get my attention, but because there’s a powder keg ready to explode in this house, and Fucker Felix just lit the match.

I give it an hour for Rebecca and Felix to let their guard down, observing from our section as he escorts her around the rectangular pool, introducing my Little Ghost to his lame ass friends like it’s a game of show and tell, and she’s his new polished trinket.

Rebecca goes along with it, smiling and drinking her third Sex On The Beach but I can tell by the way she looks aimlessly around the backyard she’s not invested in what the asshole has to say. Archer and her roommate are drunk and dancing from a short distance away, trying to be decent wingmen, when they should really be doing the opposite.

Especially good guy Archer, he’s just as aware as I am of how sleazy Felix is, why he’s not keeping his friend away from a dick like that is purely stupid and reckless.

Neither of which Archer ever is, so seeing him care so little about Rebecca’s well being pisses me off even more.

I’m not a good person by any means, but I don’t pretend to be. Guys like Felix are wolves in designer clothing, and Archer is throwing his new friend into the arms of the worst of them.

Too bad for Felix he was never a great catcher, especially when I’m the one doing the intercepting.

The best laid plans are calculated, not hasty. Something I’ve had the chance to remind myself of since Rebecca showed up wearing practically nothing to cover her slender body.

I look down at my cell phone, then cast a glance over to Levi who’s got a new girl on his lap kissing his neck. He simply nods my way, not needing words to know what’s being asked before going back to sucking face.

It’s only a matter of time, now.

Felix is alone with Rebecca again, standing underneath a canopy as he goes on being the sole speaker in their conversations. I watch as he rambles, a hand to his chest here, two hands up in defense there, proving whatever story he’s telling revolves solely around him. He polishes off the last sip of his vodka tonic, placing it down on a server’s tray without skipping a beat.

That’s when I catch her, Rebecca’s back to me as she looks slowly over her shoulder, wondering where I am and what I’m doing even though I haven’t taken my eyes off her or moved from this spot since she walked in.

Not yet, Little Ghost. I want you to think you’re winning.

She then glances at her friends, who are too busy dry humping each other to Drake to even realize she’s bored.

There’s the anger again, rising up like an overflowing river in the pit of my stomach.

If it was me over there I’d be asking all the questions, each and every one of them being about her.

Like why does she fiddle with that cross when she’s sad? Take medication? Need to be so in control?

Or a persistent pain in the ass?

All questions a decent date should be asking, but Felix is a tool, and it’s only a matter of time before Rebecca sees it.

I won’t be waiting too long, though, since I can spot her excusing herself when the Royal’s wide receiver gets the fucker’s attention.

I pin Saint with a look and rise out of my chair, winding over to the bar where Rebecca is headed without removing my eyes from her body. She sees me advancing but pretends she doesn’t, nervous hands running through her hair being the dead giveaway.

I park right next to Rebecca when she leans her elbows on the bartop, the rest of the kids waiting for the bartender scampering off without drinks.

I eye her from head to toe, taking in her bare skin already turning burnt from the sun—her shoulders, cheeks, the tip of her nose—all tinged with red giving Rebecca this doe like appearance.

A true semblance of a good girl trying to blend in a bigger, badder world.

I reach over the bartop, grabbing the bottle of Jose Cuervo and two shot glasses on the other side. “You enjoy making me mad, Little Ghost?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Crayton?” She huffs, staring straight ahead.

I slam the glasses down in front of her. “Did you show up with Fucker Felix in this little outfit to piss me off?”

“I look no different than any other girl here.” She states plainly, leaving out the part about her lame date.

It’s the lack of self confidence in her statement that has me fisting the tequila bottle as I pour it into two shots.

“You look nothing like any of the girls here.”

Rebecca stares at me like a puzzle she can’t find the pieces to, but says nothing.

“I told you to stay away from him. Seems you have a hard time listening.”

“Nah, just a hard time letting go of my standards.”

Her bravado riles something inside me.

“Fucker Felix meets your standards, huh?” I pick up a shot, grab her hand, and slap the glass into it. Most of the liquor has spilled over the sides, but I don’t need it to make my point. “They must be pretty fucking low then.”

“You’re insufferable!” She shoves the shot into my chest, where I do the honors of drinking what’s left. “If you have nothing but insults to waste my time with then I’ll be getting my drink and back to the party.”

“With Mr. Standards?” I raise an eyebrow.

“If by that you mean Felix Crimson, then yes.” She shoots back, then asks the bartender politely to make her a Sex On The Beach.

“How ironic, the only virgin in the house is looking to have sex on the beach.”

Her face blushes from either embarrassment or anger. Either way proves true.

“Fuck you.” She leers at me. “Where I put my mouth or vagina is none of your damn business.”

This has a mirage of images with her and other guys appearing in my head. I’m 99.9% positive Rebecca has never been dicked down before, and 100% positive it will never happen with any one of these assholes at Riverside Prep.

Especially that piece of guzzling cum buckets Felix Crimson. I’ll willingly join the Peace Corp before letting him have the satisfaction of taking her virginity.

Rebecca Shaw’s standardized twat will be drier than a Saudi desert in August if I have anything to do with it.

“Oh, I’ve already made it my business, Rebecca.” Her name comes out like sulfuric acid on my tongue.

“It’s Bex.” She growls back. “Now excuse me, I have people actually worth my time and energy waiting for me.”

Rebecca peeks over my shoulder, her eyebrows knitting slightly before reaching for her freshly made drink.

“There a problem?” I ask, sporting a satisfied grin.

“Not at all.” She takes several long gulps of the alcohol as her eyes search every corner of the backyard.

Leaning down close, close enough to smell the salt on Rebecca’s skin and the lavender in her hair—I breathe in deep to savor the scent until I decide to get close to her again.

Devil’s are stingy with their attention.

I can hear trembles of Rebecca’s breath as the tip of my tongue licks the bead of sweat forming by her neck. Pretty sure people are watching, also pretty sure I no longer give a fuck. If a public display of ownership is what all these less than average punks need to know she’s not for them, then so be it.

It’s better than carving their small cock sizes into each of their foreheads and risking another complaint to Beaumont.

“Crayton…” Rebecca says my name breathlessly, both afraid and aroused.

It’s everything I wanted out of this moment.

I run a thumb down the length of her neck by the mark I left, ignoring the gasps surrounding us as I say, “You’re lookin’ a bit anxious, Little Ghost.” My lips find her ear and whisper, “Need me to take out my blade again so you can settle down?”

17

BEX

Son of a freaking bitch.

I hate Crayton. Detest him.

Loathe him.

Wish a plague on his entire dorm room.

Sorry Saint.

How the hell did he know? How the hell did this bastard know I was turned on when he had his knife to my throat?

If there was ever a time I regret not throwing his ass under the preparatory school bus it’s right now as he swaggers into Sampson’s house drinking the rest of my drink.

“Leave the sex to those who are actually allowed to have it” is what the asshole told me before stealing my glass and handing me a damn Shirley Temple.

One I didn’t even hear him order.

Ugh.

Why the hell did I come here? I should’ve gone with my first instinct and steered clear of this party like I intended.

But Hendrix and Archer had to go and give me hope that I can actually one-up this teenage monster with short shorts and a hot guy.

Who is nowhere to be found, by the way. Along with my two traitorous friends who aren’t even answering their phones.

What the hell is happening?

I’m almost to the edge of the pool, Mom’s wedges dangling from my hand and the clutch in the other when a familiar deep voice calls out for me. “Yo, Bex! Wait up.”

I turn to find Saint meandering toward me with Levi and Riggs soaking wet at his side. My frustration won’t allow me to do anything but curtly wave when all three of them approach.

“What’s up, new girl?” Riggs holds out a fist to pound, which I reciprocate before dropping to the pavement and dipping my feet in the pool. The water is just cool enough to ease the bottom of my burnt feet, the concrete scorching from how hot it is today.

For a “pool party” very few people seem to be utilizing the actual pool. There are maybe ten people in the water, that’s including the two drunk guys playing chicken on donut floats.

Chocolate for the win.

Other than that everyone else seems too worried about ruining the outfits they tried so hard to impress each other with.

The boys hover around me, with Saint at my hip and Levi and Riggs hopping into the pool to stand in front of me.

That makes twelve.

This is the first time I’ve come up close and personal with the last two factions of royalty in Riverside Prep, not sharing classes with either boys since they’re a grade lower.

You can tell Levi and Riggs are younger, not by their bodies since both are incredibly tall and fit with cuts for days, but by their juvenile demeanor. From what I can tell around school, besides the clean-cut features and sharp jawlines, the both of them seem to be the comedic relief of the crew.

I take in Levi first, who’s yet to say anything, his hair a straight texture compared to Saint’s waves, but their styles are very similar. Short on the sides, longer on the top, except Levi’s ashy hair hangs in wet strands down his forehead, almost covering his hazel eyes.

“Sup, girl?” he finally smiles, his teeth a pearly white.

There must be something in the water of Manhattan because, damn, each and every one of these four boys are breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Hey.” I offer him a small wave.

“You havin’ a good time?”

“Hardly,” I mutter, swirling my feet in the water.

“That’s ‘cause you haven’t hung out with us yet.” There’s a rasp in Riggs’s playful voice when he cuts in. “A party ain’t shit unless we’re there.” I look over to find him running a hand through his sun kissed hair. “Heard a lot about you, Bex.”

“Does it have anything to do with blowjobs on the shore?” It wasn’t meant as a joke but that’s how he takes it.

“Ha. Nah. All good, dickless things.”

He’s lying, but I don’t care enough to call him out on it. What the hell does it matter anyway? Their opinions of me are only as good as their leaders, and all four of us know Crayton despises me.

I sure as hell don’t know why other than the color of my hair. Xenophobic prick.

Then again, these guys are here next to me extending what looks like an olive branch in the form of a joint from behind Saint’s ear, and white powder from Riggs’ open stash necklace.

“Want a smoke?” he asks, holding the white folded paper out to me.

“A bump?” Riggs offers, doing the same with a miniature spoon.

“Uh, no thanks.” I shake my head. “And don’t you guys get tested randomly?”

Riggs mumbles something like “or when someone calls in a tip off” but Saint simply shrugs, as if it wouldn’t matter to them regardless.

Probably because it doesn’t.

“How about a swim?” Levi suggests, holding his arms out wide. “The water feels great.”

Suddenly, my senses overload, feeling like I’m being goaded into a trap.

Why are they here?

Offering me drugs?

Where the heck are my friends?

And why the hell does this DJ not believe in pop music? I am so sick of hearing Drake.

I’m feeling the paranoid effects of marijuana that I’ve never even smoked before, along with the eyes of everyone around us except for the three pairs I want to see.

“Have any of you seen Felix?” I ask, scooting away from Saint.

“Probably balls deep inside a cheerleader by now.” Levi chuckles, and Riggs joins in, shoulder bumping his friend after snorting whatever it is inside that necklace.

I ignore the fact it’s wildly insensitive to suggest such a thing about a guy to his current date, knowing it’s coming from a place of sheer ignorance and adolescence. But then there’s the reminder that the moral philosophies of the world I come from and the world these people come from are poles apart.

So anything is possible and it’s infuriating.

“Have you seen Archer or Hendrix at least?” I try for the eerily unreadable guy next to me, who’s lighting the joint.

“Last I saw them they were dancing by the outhouse.” Saint’s response is grim, like something I said pissed him off, and the last thing I need is another case of whiplash from his Jekyll-Hyde impersonations.

“Yeah, where Archer was violating Bex’s friend with his shitty dancing.” Riggs cackles, sealing his necklace shut. “I’ve seen better moves come out of a toaster.”

That metaphor doesn’t even make sense. Jesus.

Where the hell are you Hendrix?

I scan the perimeter once again for my friends, and just like earlier, they’re nowhere to be found.

Well, fuck it. If I’m flying solo for the rest of the day, I might as well do it in a way that doesn’t continue to burn my ass.

“You know what Levi? Fuck it. I will take you up on that swim.”

“Yeah you will.” Riggs lips widen into a boyish smirk. “Atta girl, come play with the big boys.”

Levi crosses muscular arms over an even muscular chest. “Riggs talks a big game, but chances are he couldn’t find your G spot with a road map.”

Real…romantic.

The two of them start wrestling in the water as I look on, and it’s not long before Levi has Riggs in a chokehold.

“Smoke too?” Saint holds out the joint, sliding closer to me again.

“That’s still a no.” I push his hand away and stand, unbuckling my shorts and shimmying out of them, then placing the jeans on top of my bag to hide it.

Riggs and Levi’s hands drop to their sides, not hiding their intentions as they watch me bend over. I can tell Saint is trying hard not to, though.

Maybe he has a girlfriend I don’t know about.

The second my belongings are hidden I waste no time diving into the pool, my body immediately relaxing once it hits the water. When I break through the surface, I inhale a deep breath and run my hands over my hair, imagining the scent of salt wafting in the air. The infinity pool and the view of the hills from Sampson’s backyard feels a lot more like home than the Riverside pool.

And right now all I want is to pretend that’s where I am.

I don’t pretend long, mostly because Levi and Riggs start splashing each other, and I get caught in the crossfire.

Saint is laughing again, crisis avoided, and before I know it I’m joining them in the water fight. Then one thing leads to another and we’re taking shots together.

Until finally we end up dancing—all four of us in the pool like a bunch of drunken…well…teenagers to Kesha’s “Take It Off.”

I don’t know how long we stay here, but enough time passes for more people to join us in the pool. What was once a neglected body of water with floating donuts, is now the base of the party because of the three guys surrounding me.

I have no idea where the fourth one is, and quite frankly don’t give a damn.

I’m lying, both to myself and the universe. Nobody but myself and the universe needs to know that, though.

“Yo, Lex!” Riggs shouts across the pool, and at first I don’t realize who it is he’s calling, until the Ice Queen herself appears through a crowd. “There’s still some space left in front of me.” He taps the water. “Why not come fill it with your fine ass?”

Alexis lowers her humongous Chanel sunglasses, glaring down at me. “I’d rather chew on glass.”

And I hope you swallow it.

“Your loss. My boner reaches nine inches and I’m a fantastic dancer.” Riggs fists his package under the water, thrusting it back and forth to the beat of the song. “And like Shakira said, what’s between these hips don’t lie.”

“Fuckin’ hell. No wonder you never get laid.” Levi smacks the back of Riggs’s head. “You joke as bad as you flirt.”

For some bizarre reason, I find what Levi says downright hysterical. Likely a reaction from all the tequila.

I’m doubling over in laughter, unable to contain the ugly snort that vibrates the inside of my nose. Alexis walks away with her usual mean girl eye roll, which only intensifies the drunken giggles.

Oh, boy I’m a mess.

A very…relaxed mess.

A two seconds shy of doing the running man kind of mess.

The original version of course, I’m not a poser.

“Unless you drop the P for an L!” I throw my hands up over my head.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Saint chuckles.

Okay so I said that out loud. Good to know.

“Nothing! What time is it?”

Saint looks down at his watch. “Almost four.”

We’ve been doing this for over an hour?! Where the hell are my friends? My date?

My antagonist?

I would be more concerned if I had the ability to feel anything other than tingly and giddy all over.

I guess Saint didn’t realize how long we’ve been indulging in drunken shenanigans either, because when he looks up from his watch he’s whistling for both Levi and Riggs to get out of the pool.

“No, I don’t want you guys to leave. I actually like you.” I whine.

This makes him smile. “You ain’t too bad yourself, Bex. We’ll be right back just gotta handle some Royal business.”

“Are you referring to the team or your little tribe of stupidly hot guys with a God complex?”

One a devil complex.

“Aww, you think we’re hot, Bex?” Levi swings his arm over my shoulder and pulls me into him. “I speak for all of us when I say you are by far the most fuckable Cali girl here.”

I’m also the only Cali girl here.

It’s Levi’s turn to get smacked upside the head. By Saint this time. “Let’s go, dick.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few, Bex, just hang tight here and I’ll keep an eye out for your friends to let ’em know you’re looking for them.”

With an “okie dokie” I turn, and hoist myself out of the pool to park my ass right where we started. At the edge of it. I squeeze out my soaked shorts, courtesy of Riggs trying them on in the pool, and lay them out on the concrete next to my bag so they can dry.

Most of our peers remain in the water, but are back to ignoring me since their rulers disappeared inside Sampson’s house. Which is perfectly fine as long as they aren’t locking me inside any bathrooms or photoshopping my face on a porn star.

Candy Mandy to be exact.

Which was one hell of a coincidence when I saw the paper taped to my locker.

After throwing my wet hair up in a pony, I take a sip from the hour old iced tea I’ve been using to wash down the alcohol, and try my best not to gag with how warm it’s become.

A server comes over, offering to take the glass and I’m more than grateful when she does, because I am way too drunk and lazy to get up and fetch a new one.

It’s not until she’s already ten feet away that I realize I never asked for another drink.

Well, shit.

The music is blaring through the speakers as I bop my head along with it, leaning back on my hands to soak up the sun. I keep my eyes closed, feeling the heat kiss my skin, slowly drying the beads of water running down my stomach.

I stay like this, relaxed and content as I wait for any of my people to show up.

Can “my people” actually consist of three quarters of the Riverside Royals? I mean, Saint, Levi, and Riggs seemed to genuinely enjoy our time together, so maybe. Hope floods my chest, and I finally feel like things are turning around.

That’s when there’s a snapping sensation at my back, and my eyes fly open to find the top of my bathing suit sliced and laying on my lap.

What the hell?

My body is in a fleeting state of shock before instinct kicks in and I’m covering my exposed chest with my arms.

It’s too late, though, the damage is done, and every single person in the pool is pointing and laughing.

Some even whistle and toss money at me like I’m a stripper. It all happens so fast my mind can barely keep up.

As carefully as my embarrassment and drunken state will allow, I manage to keep an arm over my chest and climb to my feet. Only to come head to head with the Ice Queen dangling a heavy duty scissors from her finger.

“This is my fucking kingdom, Shore Whore. And it only has room for one queen by Crayton’s side.”

Angry tears fill my eyes as I say, “You are such a fucking bitch.”

“The baddest bitch, get it right. You and your fat friend don’t belong here. Just because her mommy won the lotto and you got a new rich daddy doesn’t mean this world is meant for you.”

A new daddy. As if I chose the life I’ve been thrown into.

I want to swing at Alexis so badly, to cut that stupid smirk off her face with the scissors in her hand, but the reminder I’m still naked has my breath seizing.

“You’ll pay for this.” I warn, right before running toward the house, past the onlookers and Saint who appears as if he’s about to commit murder. He tosses me the closest towel asking if I’m okay.

No, I am not okay. Nowhere on the same realm as okay given I just flashed the entire school my boobs against my will.

I catch the towel and cover myself, but am too mortified to respond, leaving behind him and the rest of the kids still laughing at me as I enter the mansion.

I do my best to hold back the tears, my legs not slowing down until I’m at the top of the grand staircase, in search of a room I can hide in. Or at least find a shirt. I journey down a long hall, soaking the very expensive rug under my feet, something I would usually feel guilty about, but right now there’s nothing but anger.

Humiliation. Defeat.

I find a door labeled “Sampson’s Room” and beeline for it, hearing a mixture of voices at the bottom of the steps.

I’m relieved to find the door unlocked, so I twist the knob and push it open, sliding inside and making sure to lock it.

That’s when I finally allow the tears to fall, freely down my cheeks all the way to my neck, looking down at my bare breasts as if they’re the ones who betrayed me.

Shoulders shake as I collapse to the floor, dropping the towel and covering my face with my hands.

I don’t even have my bag to call Hendrix or Archer since I forgot it by the pool. It’s just me, alone in this room, brought to my knees by the bullies that have occupied my life.

I thought I could be strong, fight back, but it seems I’ve been doing this all wrong. I can’t win by joining them, the only way to win is avoiding them completely.

Maybe even leaving Riverside completely.

No fucking way, Bex. Get the hell up and remember who your father is.

Dad would never want me to surrender my self respect. He’d tell me what he always used to when something bad happened…to keep my head held high and remember who I am. He’d want me to show these assholes they do not define me. No matter how hard they try to break me.

I am my father’s daughter, nobody can change that.

After kissing the cross around my neck, I dry my cheeks with the back of my hands, looking around Sampson’s large basketball themed bedroom. There are several trophies decorating the wood furniture, and at least five different NBA star posters on the wall surrounding his king sized bed. I stand, making my way across the room to his closet, and no matter how far I get from the pictures, I feel like they’re watching me.

Guess I’m giving out free titty shows to everyone today, even Labron and Curry.

Sampson’s closet is a large walk-in (surprise) and just as I expected, all of his t-shirts are hanging neatly in a row along the walls. I grab the first one that meets my eye, a black Jordan tee, and throw it over my head.

It’s more like a dress on me, falling below my thighs, but anything is better than the birthday suit I was previously wearing. I can smell the scent of cotton and freesia on Sampson’s shirt, and bunch the collar up in my hands to bring to my nose, taking a closer sniff.

I remember all the times I did laundry with Dad when Mom was working at the salon, and the detergent we used smelled so similar to this. It’s the only comfort I have being alone in this closet, so I sit myself down on the rug and continue to breathe in the past I miss so much.

Time passes as I sit here, growing comfortable being on my own. I don’t think about my bullies, my humiliation, my missing friends.

Not even the bag I’m pretty sure has been stolen by now.

I continue being alone, feeling as whole as I’ve felt since moving to this side of the country.

All I ever needed was my Dad, and even though he’s gone that still hasn’t changed.

I’ll stay here until the music dies down, the people go home, and Sampson comes looking for a change of clothes.

He’s a nice guy, he saw what happened and would understand my need to escape.

Not my need to rearrange his shirts into color coded sections, though. So I’ll need to bury the thought no matter how much this sacrilege offends me.

Obsessive compulsive Bex is about to win the argument when I begin to stand, but the sound of keys twisting the lock of Sampson’s bedroom door has my entire body freeze mid ass lift.

I quickly shut the closet door and cower into a corner, praying like hell it’s Sampson, or even my friends.

Of course, because the universe wants to retaliate for lying to it about Crayton, his gruff voice rises with the opening of the door.

“Did I give you permission to pull that shit?”

“Uhm, no. But you’ve pulled worse pranks, baby. What’s the big deal?”

Oh, great. The leader of the Twat Squad is with him.

Seriously, universe? A bit harsh.

There’s a small scuffle and the slam of a door before Crayton hisses, “I’m not your fucking baby.”

“Holy crap, what is your problem?” Alexis screeches. “You said it yourself, this girl needs to go. I’m trying to help make that happen.”

“Since when do I need your fucking help?”

“Since you’ve become more obsessed with keeping Felix away from the commoner skank than trying to keep her away from Riverside Prep.” There’s a brief pause before Alexis adds, “Don’t think I didn’t hear about what you did to him in the recovery room yesterday.”

What the hell did Crayton do to Felix? And why didn’t Felix tell me?

I crawl closer to the door, pressing my ear against it, even though I can hear what they’re saying clearly.

“He’s defying me. Fucker is lucky I didn’t drown his ass in that tub.”

“Are you sure it’s because he’s defying you?” she questions with a condescending tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ve gone soft.”

I can feel the tension in the room grow thick with Crayton’s malice, so much it has me actually fearing for Alexis’ safety. Well, that is, until I remember how much of a thunder cunt she can be.

Which only takes like…I don’t know…a second.

“Soft huh?” The question oozes animosity, even danger. “That’s quite an accusation coming from the queen.” He emphasizes the role she threw in my face.

“Crayton, I—” Alexis tries, but even I know she’s got no shot of finishing her statement.

“You know what’s the most dangerous part about being queen?” I hear what sounds like strangled breathing come from Alexis before Crayton adds, “Answering to the king.”

Tiny cries escape Alexis’ mouth, mixed with some pleasure…but mostly pain.

Does she actually want his anger?

“Bend that ass over the bed. Now. So I can show you how soft I’ve gotten.”

Alexis must oblige, because the sound of a zipper opening follows shortly after, and then a soft feminine croon.

“I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, baby.”

“I said…I’m not your fucking baby.” The distinct sound of a hand slapping bare flesh reverberates across the room. “You are nothing but my little whore, a warm cunt to fuck the way I want to. Got it?”

“Yes.” She moans.

That renders another slap.

“Louder.”

“Yes!” Alexis shouts, right before her cries of passion become muffled by something, maybe Crayton’s hand.

“Moving forward, you will not breathe around the new girl unless I allow you to. Fuck that, you won’t breathe at all unless I allow you to.”

Another stifled “yes” proceeds that demand, along with a louder slap.

Then another, and another whip of Crayton’s hand until sobs rise out of Alexis.

Holy shit, this is insane. She’s actually letting him degrade her this way. In fact, she’s encouraging it.

The bed starts creaking between grunts and heavy breaths, both Alexis’ and Crayton’s.

I listen intently, my mouth going dry when I picture the gorgeous scowl that’s been haunting my nightmares.

And my wet dreams.

What I’m about to do is no doubt a terrible idea, but my intrigue for Crayton just turned into full on neurosis with his guttural noises.

I reach my arm up as slowly as my eagerness will allow, and twist the knob millimeter by millimeter until the door opens just a crack. I peek through the opening, and watch Crayton with his back to me as he viciously fucks Alexis from behind.

Contrary to my distorted psyche, there’s nothing appealing about what’s transpiring between them. It’s cold, hard, and ruthless. And although Alexis looks like she’s enjoying it with her hands locked behind her back, Crayton is downright maniacal as he plunges in and out of her.

He’s angry. No, raging as he slaps her again with an open palm. Alexis looks back at him with a grin, not an ounce of surprise with his aggression as steady tears run down her cheeks.

Her ass is red enough for me to see from here, and the bright blue cloth stuffed in her mouth looks…extremely uncomfortable. Also kind of familiar.

My eyes widen with realization and I have to cover my mouth to stop it from gasping. No fucking way.

Crayton’s using my bathing suit top to gag her.

This isn’t a teenage fuckfest, this is purely a consequence for her defiance.

In Crayton’s sick twisted way.

I adjust myself as I continue to spy on them, thinking about all the times I’ve watched similar scenarios on my phone, even though none were this depraved.

I wish they were, though.

Because I’ve never felt as aroused as I do now watching Crayton fuck Alexis so rough. The real thing is nothing like the porn I watch, I don’t even think the real thing is like this.

The sex they’re having is purely dark, degrading. Hateful. And, God, I think there’s something broken inside me because I like it.

So much my thighs are spreading on their own accord, and my hand slides between my legs, behind my bathing suit to rub my clit. I immediately jolt from my touch, the nerves so sensitive I feel like they may combust.

This is…wow.

The tingles I felt with Crayton’s knife was a meer prickle compared to the throbbing I’m experiencing now.

I rub my clit in faster circles, my heart dancing in my chest as I watch Crayton’s muscular ass flex with his movements.

My fingers are soaked, along with my vagina as I slide two fingers inside. There’s no stopping the low moan that rises out of my throat, and the second I hear it I freeze, turning stone cold sober.

Shit, shit, shit.

I examine Crayton frantically, but he doesn’t let up, continuing to punish Alexis with his cock without pause.

Holy shit that was close.

As good as it feels, I stop touching myself and quickly wipe my hand on my thigh before closing the door in silence.

They go on like this as I try to think about anything other than what it would feel like to have Crayton fuck me the same way. Alexis’ strangled moans stop, and the bed dips before Crayton tells her to get the fuck out.

“I wish for once you’d at least let me finish.”

A selfish lover, what a shock.

Not.

“That would imply I fuck you for your benefit.”

That usual bratty scoff is back. “Do you always have to be such a dick?”

“Only on the days that end with Y.”

“Whatever, I’m out. I need a smoke.”

With that, I hear the door open, allowing the music banging downstairs to drown out the angry sexual tension that congested the room.

I wait what feels like a millennium after the door closes, settling my heartrate with slow even breaths before checking to see if I’m in the clear. Same as before I turn the knob carefully and peek through the opened crack of the door.

The room is empty from what I can see, not a trace of Satan’s spawn or the Ice Queen, but I still give it a minute before pushing the door wide open.

With a clearing of my throat, I rise to my feet and tip toe out of the closet. Not that it would add to my stealth because I’m walking on a carpet.

Dumb ass.

“Going somewhere?” Crayton’s rough voice shoots out from my right, making me jump and scream as I turn.

“What the hell, man? You scared the shit out of me!”

He taps at his phone with his shoulder against the wall. Which means the jerk was standing behind the door the whole time.

“Did you enjoy the show?” He still doesn’t look at me.

The realization hits me all at once. Crayton knows I was hiding in this closet, he also knows I was listening to him and Alexis go to pound town. Which means he may also know what I was doing to myself as I listened.

Fuckity, fucking fuck.

My mouth opens and closes like a fish before I stutter, “I-I didn’t hear anything.”

Smooth, Bex. Real smooth.

“Oh, but I did.” Crayton eats up the distance between us, the confidence in his stride suffocating whatever’s left of mine. “Wanna know what I heard?” He asks when he reaches me.

Oh, God. Out of all the potential scenarios that take place in this room, none of them end well for me by answering “yes” to this question.

But here I am, forever the walking contradiction to common sense.

“Yes.”

Crayton seems impressed by my candor, even as he lunges for my wrist and yanks my hand up to his nose. I fumble forward, knocking into his hard chest, the same way I did the first time we met.

“I can still smell your arousal on your fingers.” He inhales deeply. “Fuck. You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you, Little Ghost?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

My hand is shoved into my face this time, and without question I can smell the earthy scent of my female essence. “You still want to try and deny it?”

Until I die.

“You should be a lot more worried about what Alexis may or may not deny after what you did to her.”

This has an evil chuckle exposing one of his peculiar canine teeth, all while he runs the tip of my finger across my bottom lip. “Alexis is…not like other girls.”

Yeah, because she’s a witch.

I don’t say that, mainly because I can taste myself on my finger and I’m trying not to make my feelings about it noticeable.

I rear my head back, not because I don’t like the taste, I’ve done this before, it’s because I’m afraid of what will happen if Crayton knows how much I do.

“Whatever. I’m not gonna go around boasting about your BDSM lifestyle, so don’t worry about it.”

“Did I give you the impression I was?” He raises a thick groomed eyebrow. “Let me clarify then.” Crayton releases me and shoves the phone into his back pocket. “I’m not worried about what you will or won’t say because you’re the type of person to see around corners, where I’m the type who gets the bird’s eye view.”

I’d take Riggs’s stupid metaphors over Crayton’s ominous ones any day.

“What were you doing with your phone?”

“I’m afraid that information is also over your head.”

I bite so hard on my inner cheek the warm, metallic taste of blood mixes with saliva inside my mouth. “Good-bye Crayton.” I turn to walk away, but am devoured by his ungodly frame and slammed face first into the wall. Crayton speaks, and I can feel his voice everywhere, down to the tingles in the tips of my toes.

“What makes you think you’re allowed to finger fuck yourself to me without my consent?”

Everything: from Crayton’s hips pressing into my back, to the wisps of his breath in my ear has those undeniable flutters returning with a vengeance.

“Tsk tsk, Little Ghost.” My cheek is smashed against the wall as he reaches for my cross, fiddling lazily with it. “What would your God think?”

“Don’t talk to me about God you sick piece of shit.”

“Oh, no need for that, God abandoned me a long time ago.” Crayton’s hands slap against the wall, right before pushing himself off me.

“There won’t be any talking at all, actually. In fact, you’ll be doing the exact opposite.”

I turn to find him holding his phone again, typing something into it.

“So, you’re what? Going to make me shut up?”

“Among other things.”

Crayton is still under the influence of this warped sense of reality. As if I will bend to his will because he says so.

“Oh yeah? And how, pray tell, do you expect to do that?”

“Well, first, it starts by making you run.” That knife appears again, straight out of his pocket but this time there’s nothing enticing about it. The devoid of life look in Crayton’s eye is not only uninterpretable, but I’m pretty sure that’s dried blood I see on the weapon.

This time I know it’s not mine.

My hands rise in defense, as if being approached by a wild animal. “Crayton, who’s blood is that?” I ask through a terrified breath, eyeing the red tinged metal.

“You really want to find out?”

There isn’t a question whether the answer is no. If Crayton did something to another person at this party, even Felix, I do not want to be considered an accomplice. What I need to do is get the hell away from Crayton, find my friends, including Felix, and get as far away from this place as possible.

“I’m feeling generous.” Crayton wipes the knife clean on his shirt. “Even though I’m aware of how fast you can run, I’ll still give you a head start.”

Jesus Christ he has been watching me during my runs, I wasn’t crazy.

I would be right now if I stayed in this room with him.

Fuck pride, I can survive without it. Unlike my carotid artery.

Crayton’s amused grin is the last thing I see before spinning on my heels toward the door, swinging it open and flying across the hall and down the steps as fast as I can.

I scan the house for my friends while sprinting, deciding they’re safer wherever the heck they are since it’s not with Crayton.

The foyer is packed with people, and I skate between them, not shocked at all that no one bats an eye to a distressed female running desperately for her life.

Luckily for me, the front door is open because I’m sure that would scratch at least six seconds off my time clock. I cross the threshold, skip down the steps and reach the driveway, where my feet instantly heat from the sweltering ground.

I spot Crayton turning a corner of the house from my peripheral, stalking toward me like a madman on a mission. I don’t know how he got outside, but however the hell he managed it didn’t even cause him to break a sweat.

There’s not a pant or any sign of exertion as he closes the distance, yet another humanly function that seems to be solely for us mere mortals.

The driveway is empty of people, because God forbid anyone would decide to leave this death trap party early. So, once again, it’ll be this female David against the angry Goliath.

I dodge between two cars, and Crayton matches my movements on each side, fast enough to block any way my bare feet try to turn.

Finally, as if having enough of our little cat and mouse game, he charges for me and I stumble trying to run, giving him advantage to capture me.

“What are you doing?!” I screech as Crayton spins me around, pinning my chest against the car I used to separate us.

“Exactly what you want, Little Ghost.”

His rough hands snake up my thigh, behind the shirt, and before I know it, his fingers are toying with my bathing suit bottoms.

“I don’t want this,” I state firmly, trying to wiggle out of his grip.

Crayton pauses his invasion, seizing both my wrists and locking them behind my back.

“You and your lies,” he rasps, “you’re becoming quite the sinner.”

He holds my wrists steady with one hand, pressing his hips into my ass, caging me against the car.

I don’t miss the very impressive hard-on poking into my back.

“I’ll fucking scream,” I warn, even though I know it’s bullshit. Some deep, dark, and twisted place inside me has been dreaming about this moment for nights now.

Him. Me. At odds.

At each other’s throats.

His knife on my neck.

What the hell has gotten into me?

Girls are not supposed to pine after their bullies.

Negotiate with terrorists.

Yet here I am, sucking in a sharp breath as he pushes his erection into my ass, and I want nothing more than to push back—to feel it in my most private places.

That’s it, I’m done with the bad pornos.

“What’s that, Rebecca? A curse this time? You’re three for three with the big guy upstairs.” Crayton taunts me, and I like it, but like making him think I hate it even more.

“Screw you!” I try to push off the car, but we end up in an awkward tussle until finally I’m bent over the side of the hood.

Crayton lowers his mouth to my neck, his lips a breath away from my skin. “You askin’, or tellin’?”

There’s a threat lining this question, and it sends a chill down my spine.

“Neither, you psycho!” I keep wiggling my ass in a feeble attempt to free myself, but the more I do, the more I feel his cock rubbing against my backside.

I squirm again, telling myself it’s one last-ditch effort, but I know what it really is.

Curiosity.

Defiance.

The need to know what he feels like when he's completely out of control, like he was with Alexis.

I’ve been fantasizing over a guy I hate, which makes me think I've been using the action to counteract the feeling.

“That the best you can do?” His hand is on my thigh again and I whimper, hoping to God it comes off as revulsion.

“How about I finger fuck you like you did to yourself in that closet, make you come all over this pretty Mercedes? Hm?” Crayton runs his nose along the length of my neck. “Then I can see what you're really made of.”

Is he fucking serious? Would he really do that in the middle of Sampson’s driveway?

Then again, this is Crayton Shaw; his family practically runs our damn school. Along with almost everything else in our neighborhood. I doubt he bats an eye at voyeurism.

“Get. The hell. Off me, Crayton.”

My words crack in desperation, but I know what it’s really for, and it has nothing to do with wanting him to stop.

And everything to do with what I felt in the closet, wanting him to make me feel it again.

“Last time.” He grits out, pinching my sensitive area over the bathing suit, and I yelp in response. “Do you want me to make you come with my fingers?”

“Good luck with that!” I spit out, outraged with him being a psycho, and me for fucking liking it. “Because I can’t!”

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

I might as well have poked the bear with a ribeye.

I leave out the explanation about how I’ve never been able to experience an orgasm, how I’ve tried every toy known to man, or have watched porn more than your average fourteen year old boy.

None of these facts are passed between us, not only because I know it would only add fuel to the fire, but because this asshole doesn’t even bother asking why.

“Is that a challenge?” Crayton says instead, his warm breath on my neck making my insides hotter than the concrete under my feet.

“It’s a fact.”

“We’ll see about that.”

The next thing I know my bathing suit is shoved to the side, and I can feel his smile on my skin when realizing how wet I am for him.

Traitorous body.

“Oh, Little Ghost, this is gonna be fun.”

“Please stop.” I beg, but the words are hollow.

There’s the slightest bit of hesitation as his fingers hover over my slit.

Crayton stays quiet, maybe even thoughtful if he had a decent bone in his body.

But he doesn’t; I’m proven right when he plunges two fingers inside me and stills.

Seeming pensive again.

“You’re gonna scream for me,” he says calmly, despite the threatening undertone.

“I’ll never give you the satisfaction,” I lie. Since I know I’ve done worse for him in my dreams.

“You love this, don’t you?” His fingers move again, uncharacteristically steady for the force he’s shown not a minute ago.

Yes.

“No,” my jaw clenches, eyes rolling back as he scissors both fingers inside me.

Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck.

It’s secluded where we are, so nobody can see, and a sick part of me can’t figure out if I’m relieved or disappointed with the idea.

“The guys will be heading right for us any minute.” Crayton picks up his pace, using his thumb to circle my clit. “So you may want to scream for me, Little Ghost.” I feel the tip of his tongue trail a line up my pulse point, right by his mark like he’s claiming me. “Unless you’re in the mood to prove me right.”

I let out a strangled sigh, the thought of each of his friends watching him take me this way has me biting my lip with unexpected excitement.

“Over my dead body,” I breathe, moving with his hand to feel more of him.

“I prefer your spent one.” Crayton bites down on my shoulder, so hard the pain feels like a slice to the skin.

I would know because I’ve felt it.

“Ahhhh!” I cry out, but clamp my mouth shut in surprise.

The sound of chatter drifts in the distance, but it isn’t coming from the front door. I can’t even see anyone.

“Time’s ticking…” He pauses. “You got about thirty seconds.”

Crayton plunges his fingers in and out of me so hard I can barely stand on my two feet, my thighs trembling as another unfamiliar sensation seeps up from my gut.

It’s as if butterfly wings are swarming my insides.

Oh my God.

I feel myself tightening around him as the male voices grow louder, my moans rising along with it.

“Fifteen seconds,” he grits out, agitation laced in his words. I wonder if it’s because he’s worried I’m right. He can’t accomplish the impossible.

“Wait…oh yes…” I’ve gone completely other dimensional as the flutters intense. “Fuck…Crayton.” My hand slaps the hood of the car, unaware of when Crayton released my wrists, and the butterfly’s shoot straight for the area he’s assaulting with violent strokes.

I’ve never in all my experiments have ever imagined a world where I would want to feel…powerless.

The idea thrills me, so much there’s a dip in my stomach, like right before the drop of a rollercoaster, and then my insides erupt on his hand in a rush. A wave of pleasure engulfs me as the coaster descends, my thighs twitching as I cry out helplessly from the first time high.

But not for long, because a palm covering my mouth muffles the sound.

I’m so drunk with euphoria, I don’t even realize it’s Crayton’s hand until he pulls the both of them from me.

My chest heaves as I turn on shaky legs to face him, finding his fingers wrapped tight around his lips.

Crayton Shaw is tasting my first orgasm. After nearly ripping it out of me.

Maybe I do need a priest. Or an exorcism.

“I thought you wanted me to scream.” I lift my chin, trying to come off confident, eyeing the hand he used to silence me.

Crayton takes a daring step toward me, his cock still bulging by the thigh of his jeans as he reaches past me to wipe what’s left of his messy hand on the car.

Dick.

“I said you were going to scream for me.” He corrects me, just as the guys appear behind the same corner he did. I watch Levi hold Riggs in a headlock as Crayton adds, “I said nothing about allowing you to scream for them.”

“You’re certifiable!” I hiss as the boys approach him from behind.

“Oh, I can sense the tension around my Benz.” Riggs chuckles as Levi releases him.

This is Riggs’s car? And Crayton just wiped…?

Riggs’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Did you piss off Cray Cray again, gorgeous?”

The twitch is back in Crayton’s eye, and I’ve been watching him enough to know it means he’s angry.

At what? The world, perhaps.

“I was just leaving.” I glare at the bane of my existence, trying my hardest not to show the effect he has on me.

The effect of what he just did to me.

“Nothing exciting then, huh?” Levi chimes in with a frown.

As if they didn’t get enough drama between Alexis and my boobs. I know Saint did, he’s holding the shoes, shorts, and bag I left trying to escape it.

Crayton’s eyes peruse my body, disgust lifting the corner of his lip. “Nothing exciting at all.”

The words sting, but I’ll never let him see how much.

I swear hell must be empty, because all the devils are here at this godforsaken party. The most vile of them in front of me.

My eyes thin to slits on Crayton, but he remains unaffected.

“I’m gonna get going.” I say to the boys, but keep my attention on their leader. “I have to find my date.”

“I’m right here.” Felix’s groggy voice has me whipping around to see him approaching us with Hendrix and Archer.

I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not seeing things, but if I’m not, then he has a serious shiner over his left eye, along with a scribbled penis on his cheek. “What the hell happened to you?!” I rush over to him, pushing Crayton out of the way to check Felix’s bruise.

“Ask that asshole.” He points to Crayton, who’s got his mouth open as he jerks his fist back and forth, mimicking a blowjob. “He had me locked in the basement and a dick drawn on my face.”

“Don’t forget about the shiner.”

“You beat him up?!” I stomp over to the asshole, shoving his chest. “Why?”

“Because I fucking can. That’s why.”

Hendrix is uncharacteristically quiet, along with Archer. I’ll deal with them later, right now all I want is to strangle the arrogant jerk in front of me.

“Stay the hell away from me, Crayton. I mean it.” I try shoving him once more, but this time he snatches both my arms to bring me closer.

“Tread very lightly, Little Ghost.” He says low enough so only I can hear, reaching with one hand into his pocket to reveal his cell phone, which is open and actively voice recording. There’s over half an hour of play time, which is a dangerous amount since so much has been said between us. Done between us. “I’ve got video of you leaving the closet, too.”

Hence why he was holding the phone.

I. Am. Fucked.

And never drinking again.

Crayton leans down to whisper, “Moving forward, I own you. In every possible sense. Now leave this fucking party and enjoy your last night of living as a free woman.”

The guys step away nonchalantly, giving us space when I shout, “You are the epitome of fucking evil!”

That’s when Hendrix and Archer drag me away from Crayton, Hendrix cursing him out and flipping Saint off as he hands her my shorts and bag.

This entire day turned into nothing short of an existential crisis, our plans for revenge crumbling the second we entered the mansion, and I’m still not even sure how.

What was the point of setting a trap when I’m the one who walks into it?

I was wrong; hell isn’t empty. It’s not even a pit filled with fire and brimstone.

Hell is wherever Crayton Shaw is.

18

BEX

The drive back to the dorms was deathly quiet. Between the fire in my belly I was trying to contain—filled to the gills with animosity and the overwhelming need to kill Crayton and Alexis—and the weird awkward silence between Archer and Hendrix that no one, especially me, had the energy to try and unpack. Barely a word was said between us until we reached the parking lot of the school, and that was only to say good-bye to Archer.

It wasn’t until we were back in our dorm room that I was finally able to unleash the hell I’ve been through at the party, and once I started, I wasn’t able to stop. Not even now as Hendrix stares at me with her mouth agape as I tell her how Crayton recorded everything that happened between us at the party.

“How the hell could you let this happen, Bex?!” Hendrix pinches the bridge of her nose, then stops to raise an eyebrow. “And I can’t believe you’re into voyeurism.”

“I am NOT into voyeurism!” I exclaim. “And how the hell could you let this happen? Where did you and Archer go for almost two hours?”

This has the impressed look on her face turn into a big fat gulp of guilt. “I-I’m so sorry, Bex. Seriously.”

“Well, where were you guys? I turned around and you were gone. I needed you.”

Hendrix looks everywhere but at me. “I swear it wasn’t intentional, I just lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”

Why the hell is she evading the damn question?

“Can you just answer me? After all, it was you and Archer who convinced me to go to that stupid party. Then you disappear and leave me to fend for—”

“Archer and I hooked up!” She blurts out, then covers her mouth with her hands.

Wait…

“You mean…”

She blinks. “Yes. We had sex. I’m really sorry we disappeared but we both had a lot to drink and one thing led to another and before I knew it we were hooking up in one of the guest bedrooms.”

I…am at a loss for words. I never ever pictured Archer being Hendrix’s type, and vice versa. They’re like night and day. If night and day was posing as an introverted pencil artist and drama club enthusiast.

The resentment I felt toward them melts away with the look of pure regret on my closest friend’s face. If anyone knows about being swept up in the moment, it’s me.

I just wish my moment didn’t have the ability to become everyone’s moment.

“So…are you guys like a thing, now?” I ask carefully, not wanting her to feel judged, even though she didn’t offer me the same courtesy when I told her about Crayton.

“Nah, it was just a hookup.” Hendrix shrugs, back to being unbothered. “Shit like this happens all the time. We already agreed it was just the heat of the moment and want to remain strictly friends. We just…took a while to finish if you know what I mean.”

Almost two hours straight? Kudos to Archer. Damn.

“Uhm, okay I guess. I don’t want this to mess up our friendship with Archer, though.”

Hendrix reaches over to where I’m sitting next to her on my bed and squeezes my knee. “Trust me, it won’t. I’m not a stranger to casual sex, Bex, neither is Archer.” She pauses. “Things will not be any different as they were before we got to Sampson’s house.”

I feel a bit more relieved knowing that because the three of us have grown extremely close in this short period of time. I don’t want that to be jeopardized by teenage hormones.

Says the girl who jeopardized so much worse for a guy she hates.

“Well, thanks for telling me. I feel better now knowing you two didn’t abandon me.”

“I’m so sorry, Bee. Really.” She pulls me in for a hug. “And I’m sorry for being a judgy bitch about your feelings for Crayton. It was shitty of me. I just really really hate that guy and what he’s been doing to you.”

Join the damn club.

I squeeze her back. “I know you didn’t mean it, emotions are running high today for all of us.” When we break our embrace I reach for my phone on the mattress to text Archer. “Plus, I’m pretty sure having any feelings toward Crayton, other than homicidal ones, makes me a full blown masochist and idiot.”

“You are not an idiot, Bex. You can’t help who you’re attracted to. Even if it is a younger, hot, evil, version of Eminem before he went back to brown hair.”

That comparison really isn’t helping because Eminem is the only rapper I can tolerate, and it’s solely because of how sexy I think he is.

Especially at the 2022 Super Bowl, ugh.

Getting off track again, dumb ass.

“Thanks…I guess.” I continue typing on my phone.

“What are you doing?” Hendrix asks after I press send on the message.

“I need Archer’s brain. Since mine is clearly broken today.”

Broken…

SHIT.

I slap myself on the forehead and jump out of bed. I forgot to take my second dose of meds. I never forget to take my meds. No wonder why I was so impulsive and off kilter at the party.

This has to be it. My ADHD took over and made me think I’m attracted to an evil spawn obsessed with goats and BDSM.

Not quite how ADHD works, Bex.

Let a girl live, conscience, damn.

I snatch the clutch off my desk and pull it open, knowing taking a dose so close to my evening one is a bad idea, but I’m doing it anyway.

I’ll do anything to stop my brain from malfunctioning the way it did today.

Except, when I open the clutch the small bottle isn’t inside. It’s gone. How did I not realize my medicine is missing? I went through this bag several times in the car.

Even though I know the bottle isn’t in there, I empty the contents onto my bed anyway, hoping like hell my mind is still defective.

It’s not. Of course it’s not. Why would it be defected when I actually want it to be defected?

A small piece of paper catches my eye, one I know for sure I didn’t put in my bag, so I pick it up to see what it is.

The words “Ghost’s don’t need medicine, they’re already dead” are written in black ink, with the numbers 666 underneath it.

As if the digits became his stupid trademark.

A mix of outrage and panic has my hands shaking as I crinkle the paper.

Since I’m always one to have a back up plan for all my plans, I dart over to my dresser where I keep the spare bottle Mom convinced Dr. Lance to prescribe me for scenarios similar to this. Not that I could’ve dreamed of being in a situation like this before moving to Manhattan. I pull open the drawer and push my white tanks to the side, only to find a single tablet sitting on top of another random note.

No. Fucking. Way.

I pick up the medicine and paper to examine it, ignoring Hendrix as she asks me what’s going on. I can’t answer her, not only because I’m still astonished by how low that spawn of the devil stooped, but because of how much worse my predicament actually is.

Crayton stole both of my fucking medicine bottles, and now the only way for me to take my morning dose is by finding him.

Which is exactly what the asshole wanted because he has “see you at 7:30 A.M.” written on the back of a random CVS receipt, the exact time I take my first dose every morning.

Not only has Crayton been watching every move I make throughout the day, but he broke into my dorm room and rummaged through my shit.

This invasion of my privacy takes his stalker vibe to a whole new level. One I refuse to tolerate.

Oh God, what else did he find?

My mind switches into full panic mode as I eye the area under my bed that I keep my special bag of goodies.

I’m about to check and see if it’s still there when a knock at the door makes me jump.

Hearing Archer’s voice calling out for me settles my nerves enough for me to rush over and let him in.

“What the hell, Bex? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Archer steps inside our room, keeping a dubious eye on me.

A ghost.

His Little Ghost.

“Please do not use that word in my presence ever again.” I demand with a slam of the door.

He sits stiffly next to Hendrix on my bed. “Uh, what word? I said a few.”

“Ugh, never mind, Archer.” I pause, noting the way the two of my friends are staring uncomfortably at each other. Exactly how two friends who just had sex would look at each other if they regretted it. “Your random sex fest can wait, guys. This is serious. I need your attention.”

“Sex fest?” Archer furrows a brow.

“Go ahead, Bee.” Hendrix holds a hand over Archer’s mouth. “We’re listening, don’t worry about our shit, this is about you.”

Appreciating the effort, I go on and repeat to Archer the exact same story I did a half hour ago to Hendrix, not leaving out a single detail. I figure what the hell, I can’t be any more embarrassed than I already am, and it’s very likely Archer will find out what I did in that closet anyway when Crayton decides to broadcast that recording.

I don’t come up for air until I reach the part where Archer, Hendrix, and Felix showed up in the driveway, figuring Archer knows enough about what happened then for me to not have to repeat it.

When silence finally lingers between the three of us, Archer’s expression turns pensive.

“Wait, so Crayton fingered you?”

Is he serious right now?

“That’s what you’re stuck on after everything I just told you?”

Archer shakes his head. “No, no. It’s just that—“

“It’s just that Crayton’s a damn sociopath who is stalking and threatening our friend!” Hendrix bursts out, throwing her hands up in the air.

“Archer, what he was doing to Alexis in that room was brutal, regardless if she liked it. It’s the reason why he was doing it.” I stand up from the bed and start pacing back and forth. “There’s something seriously fucked up about this guy. He obviously hates women.” I point to my head. “Especially blonde ones.” After a deep breath I stop in my tracks, eyeballing Archer with so much fervor it makes him swallow hard. “You know everything about this school and the people in it, Archer. You have to know something about Crayton I can use to get out of this. Or at least understand him.”

“Understand him?” Hendrix scoffs. “You are under no obligation to understand him, Bex. He’s a terrible person.”

Or he’s someone in an immense amount of pain. I saw it in his eyes the first day we met. I can’t ignore the tiny voice in my head trying to convince me there’s more to Crayton than he lets on.

That he hides this pain behind his anger like a dark cloak.

Ugh. Why do I have to be such a damn empath?

“Listen, I don’t know much about the Shaw family. Everything has always been very hush hush.”

The Shaw family. That reminds me…

“His dad! Crayton looks nothing like him. Not even his grandfather Campbell that I saw a picture of in your grandfather’s office.”

There’s that swallow again. “Bex, my grandfather was very close to Campbell Shaw. But he’s never mentioned anything about them other than the bare minimum.”

“Maybe Crayton takes after his mother’s features? What was she like?” I press on.

Archer shrugs. “I only know of Crayton’s ex step-mother, some successful equestrian. Crayton’s biological mom wasn’t in the picture ever since I’ve known him. He started coming around when I was like six years old. It just wasn’t something I thought about because we were never close.” He taps his chin. “Although I did overhear my grandfather on the phone the other day with Crayton’s dad. Apparently he took away his Mustang as punishment and Crayton won’t be getting it back for a while.”

This is something, I guess.

“I can’t believe he fingered you, though.” Archer adds, not with judgment, but with shock.

Which I think offends me even more.

“Seriously? You’re still on this?” I snap. “Am I gross and un-fingerable or something?”

Archer’s eyes widen. “Fuck, no Bex that’s not it at all.” Archer stands before me, resting his hands on my slumped shoulders. “I’m shocked because it’s so out of character for him. Crayton never goes out of his way to pleasure a girl. The entire school knows he only fucks them from behind and never even allows them to finish. He doesn’t even allow girls to give him a blowjob.”

Alexis did mention something like this to him in Sampson’s room. “So he’s selfish too. Got it.”

“No, that’s not it.” Archer counters. “He doesn’t even allow himself to finish.”

“How the hell do you know this?” Hendrix questions.

“Girls in this school talk, duh. I’m not even sure the guy ever received a blowjob at all.” He puckers his lips. “At least not from a girl…”

Not from a girl?

“So he’s what? Been with guys?”

“It’s all speculation. I’m telling you, everything about Crayton is a mystery, other than being a psychopath. I don’t even think he has sex to feel good.”

My entire body freezes as I remember what I watched today in Sampson’s room. He wasn’t having sex with Alexis, he was punishing her.

Maybe he was punishing me, too.

“That’s why I can’t believe he actually tried to please you.”

Quite the understatement, what Crayton did to me was more like an out-of-body-experience. It doesn’t help my confusion, though. None of this does.

“You think you can do some digging? Try and find some information on him?”

Archer nods. “Of course, but listen, Crayton is merciless to those who defy him, and by that I mean he will not hesitate to burn your entire wardrobe for accidentally spilling a drink on his boot.” There’s something about this revelation that makes me feel like he’s speaking from first hand experience, but I don’t bother trying to find out, mostly because Archer is not done offering his impossible advice. “The best thing for you to do right now is not ruffle any feathers. You may even find out more about him by playing his game.”

Something about what Archer says sparks a realization inside me. As fucked up as Crayton is, he could’ve told everyone in that driveway about what I did with him, or taken all of my medication and left me with nothing for tonight. But, instead, he left me one more dose. I wouldn’t go and nominate him for a Nobel Peace Prize, or even a merit badge, but it at least proves he has some decency mixed with all that diablerie.

Crayton wants something from me, and if I have to get what I need from him by pretending to submit, well, then so be it.

* * *

I tossed and turned all night anticipating what I had to do this morning. It sucked. But I won’t let lack of sleep stop me from making sure I look damn good when I confront my tormentor and get my medicine back.

I took the time to curl waves into my hair this morning, making sure they are smooth and bouncy in all the ways I hope pisses Crayton off.

If it’s blondes he hates, I want to make sure to flaunt every single strand on my head in the most noticeable way possible.

I expected to spend my Sundays at Riverside catching up on school work, relaxing, or even doing some extracurriculars. Never thought my extracurriculars would involve trying to hunt down a madman with a thirst for blackmail and habitual violence.

Not much hunting is needed, because as much as Crayton’s been learning a slew of secrets about me, I’ve been picking up on some of his behaviors as well.

For instance, he’s a creature of habit.

Which is why I’m stomping down the hallway to the bathrooms by the lockers, dressed in a brand new pair of red Chuck Taylors, courtesy of Hendrix again.

They’re actually really cute, especially with the pair of jean shorts and white tank I’m wearing.

Just another way to piss off Crayton, since it seems this devil is part caveman too.

Pushing the bathroom door open, I fight back the urge to pat myself on the shoulder as Crayton leans against the wall by the window, smoking a cigarette of course.

“You stole my fucking Adderall?!” I screech when the door closes behind me.

“Good morning to you too, Rebecca.” He blows the smoke lazily out the window. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” I lie.

“Science says an orgasm can do that.” His smug grin has me tightening my fist.

“Can you give me back my medicine you dick?”

“I don’t know.” He takes a pull. “You didn’t ask very nicely.”

“How dare you break into my dorm room and go through my things.” I march over to him and rip the cigarette from his mouth, throwing it down on the floor and stomping it out with my sneaker. Crayton watches me with a bored expression as I kick the dead bud across the room. “That is the ultimate invasion of privacy and I’m two seconds away from heading straight for Beaumont and letting him know what you did!”

He turns, leaning his back against the wall. “Funny, I thought you’d consider me recording you moaning my name the ultimate invasion of privacy.”

He is not allowed to make semi-valid points right now.

“Just give me back my medicine, Crayton.” I clench my jaw, holding out my hand. “It’s very important that I take them at the same time every day, and denying me access to my medication is going way too far.”

He smiles wickedly down at me. “Oh, Little Ghost, when did I imply I would deny you your fix?”

“I’m not addicted to Adderall, you idiot. It’s prescribed by my doctor, so hand them over right now.”

“Ah, yes. Dr. Lance from La Jolla Neurology and Associates LLC.”

He’s stalking my doctors now too?

“How the hell do you know my doctor’s name?”

Crayton gives me a look, as if the answer is obvious. Then I realize it is, because Dr. Lance’s name is on the bottle, along with the name of the office.

“Let’s just say a little birdie told me.” He muses instead.

“Whatever, you had your fun now give me the damn bottles back.”

“I’m not even close to being done with you, Rebecca. In fact, our fun has just begun.” Crayton ambles over to me in the exact, if not the same, shredded black jeans from yesterday, only this time he’s wearing a military style vest over a white tank top. I can see the entirety of the creepy goat’s face when he stops in front of me, along with the rest of that arm tattoo. “Here’s the situation.” Crayton pulls a single pill from his vest pocket, and holds it up for me to see. “I got myself into a tiny predicament with my bleeding heart of a father.” He examines the pill in his fingers. “See, Papa Shaw has this incessant need to fix me, make me a better person.” Crayton doesn’t seem angry by the idea, only mildly inconvenienced. As if his father trying to help mold him into a decent human is considered infra dig, or unbecoming of his nature. “He thinks taking away something very important to me will teach me some sort of life lesson.”

His car.

Archer was right, keeping your enemy close can be beneficial to the cause.

“And what the hell does this have to do with me?” I ask with a fold of my arms.

“Everything.” He responds coolly, waving the pill in front of my face. “It has everything to do with you because it’s your fault I lost it in the first place.”

Having this conversation is like trying to navigate through a labyrinth. Your body may be moving, but you’re still not getting anywhere. In fact, that goes for every conversation I have with Crayton.

“How the heck is it my fault you lost your car?” I swipe for the pill, but Crayton is quick and pulls his arm back.

“How’d you know I was talking about my car?” He questions, fisting the pill in his hand to protect it.

“I’ve got birdies too.”

Crayton licks the bottom of his full lip, seeming impressed with my response. “The details are classified. But here’s how this is gonna work.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Since you’re the one responsible for making me lose my most prized possession, it’s only fair I become responsible for yours.”

“Crayton, you are seriously delusional if you think I had anything to do with your father’s decision to take your car. I’ve never even met him.”

He ignores my comment and continues on as if I’m nothing more than an ear for him to chew. “My father has given me a six week sentence for my…minor transgressions. During this time I have to not only search for the car he’s hid so expertly from me, but I also have to prove I’m behaving in school and staying on top of my work. That’s where you come in.”

Oh, a big flipping hot hard pass, buddy.

“Again. You’re delusional. I have my own work to stay on top of. I won’t be adding yours to the list. Why don’t you ask your little Ice Queen Alexis, I’m sure she’d be happy to do it for you.” I roll my eyes. “Amongst other things.”

There’s that grin again. “Green is not your color, Little Ghost. Besides, Alexis has become more trouble than she’s worth.”

I stare blankly at him. “Nice try, Crayton. But I can easily call my mother and ask her to get me a refill from my doctor. In fact, maybe I’ll tell her the truth about how I lost my medication. Or better yet, I can go straight to Beaumont and tell him myself.”

Crayton shrugs. “Go right ahead, I bet your mother would love to hear how her daughter sounds when she comes all over my fingers. Along with our headmaster, we both know how much he loves a good scandal between the sexes.”

He would not.

Then again, this is a guy who’s threatened me with a knife on several occasions. It’s pretty safe to say his moral compass only points south of the theological border.

“I’ll call the doctor’s office myself then and get another prescription.”

Crayton nods. “It’s a solid idea. For two weeks from now.”

My gaze darts back and forth, trying to comprehend what the hell he means by that. Unfortunately nothing comes to me until I hear him say, “September thirtieth to be exact.”

My eighteenth birthday. Of course. A doctor’s office can’t fill any prescription of a minor without parental consent. This fucking guy is always twenty steps ahead of me and I hate it. I cannot go two weeks without my meds, not only because it’s dangerous, but because it can seriously hinder my ability to learn.

I look down at the time on my phone, then pull at the roots of my hair, panic creeping up my spine yet again because It’s already twenty after seven. “Give me my damn medicine, Crayton!”

“Not until you agree to be my b—”

I hold my breath, imagining I look something like a rabid dog as I silently dare him to finish that sentence.

“Brain. Duh.” He corrects. “So whaddya say, Little Ghost? How far are you willing to go to secure your future?”

If this was any other person asking me this question, I’d say to the ends of the earth, but this is Crayton Shaw, my bully, my tormentor, and he feeds off my surrender.

The last thing I want to do is hand it over on a silver platter. So I hold my ground.

“I won’t be your little bitch.”

“Fine,” he says, pulling out both bottles from his pocket and trudging over to the nearest toilet. I hear the pop of a lid and the splatters of tiny pills hitting water.

“No!” I screech, running over to find him tossing the first bottle into the toilet. “Oh my God, stop!”

Crayton opens the second bottle, smiling as he responds, “I’ll make sure to let your mother know about the special bag of toys you keep under your bed too.” He sucks air through his teeth. “And here I thought I was the kinky one.”

Oh holy hell. He did see my goody bag.

Crayton’s hand rises slowly over the porcelain seat, watching me, and when I say nothing he begins tilting the bottle over the water inch by taunting inch. When I continue my silence he allows a single pill to fall into the toilet, along with my last ounce of hope.

“Fine!” I cry, blowing out a defeated breath. “I’ll do your school work just please give me back my medication.”

“Good girl.” He quickly turns the bottle upright. Reaching into his back pocket, Crayton pulls out a spiral notebook and presents it to me as an offering. I’m yanking it from his grasp as he adds, “I have all of my assignments listed in here. Most are due by tomorrow. Some on Tuesday.”

“You really are despicable,” I say through a hollow breath, but again, he ignores my jab.

“You will come to me whenever you need to take your medicine. As long as you’re doing as you’re told and not pissing me off, I’ll make sure you get your dose.” He pulls out a pill from the bottle, holding it out for me to take. “And since I pity you as much as I do, I’ll keep our dirty little secret under wraps and delete the recording after I get my car back.”

I swipe the pill from his hand, examining it briefly to make sure it’s mine, then pop it into my mouth, not bothering to look for water. “Crayton, you can’t be serious. That’s three times a day.”

“Let me stop you right there, Rebecca. I care more about Saint’s occasional bout of athlete’s foot than I do your inconvenience.”

And there’s not a doubt in my mind he means that.

“Oh, and I don’t need to remind you that pissing me off goes hand in hand with Felix fucking Crimson. So it’s in your best interest to stay away from him.”

“Anything else you’d like to add to the list of things I need to do to keep you satisfied?” I pop a hip, securing his book under my arm.

The question is a sarcastic one, but of course Crayton uses this as an opportunity to demand the unimaginable.

The smile spreading his lips is all but sweet as he says, “How do you feel about being friends?”

19

CRAYTON

Running a hand over Rebecca’s desk, I do my best not to disturb any of her things as I look around.

The pens, the notebooks, even the staplers are perfectly arranged over a daily planner, which is covered in tiny Post-its with daily reminders written on them.

6 a.m. wake up

6:15 a.m. make the bed

6:30 a.m. meditate

6:45 a.m. shower (don’t forget your caddy again)

She’s got her entire life mapped out in glitter, highlighters, and thumbtacks.

And I’m the psychotic one?

This girl’s panties are squeezing tighter than a virgin cunt, it makes me wonder what she’s compensating for.

The room is dark as I meander through it, only light coming from the moon and the lights over her bed. Thank fuck for small favors the ugly palm tree in the corner is turned off tonight.

What kind of nineties bullshit is that anyway?

Tiny snores disrupt the intrusive thought, and when I turn I find the sound expelling from Rebecca’s lips. Her head is tilted toward me, mouth parted and hair a disheveled mess surrounded by all my school work.

I take steps toward her, stopping at the side of her bed with my arm outstretching slowly to fondle some of the white strands.

Her hair’s got a silkiness to it that tells me she takes her time maintaining it.

Leaning over Rebecca, I examine the silhouette of her face, so lost in sleep she doesn’t even flinch when my fingers ghost over her lips.

Every part of her is soft, gentle, meek.

Peppered in innocence I want to rip out of her.

I bring my nose to her hair, inhaling the lavender wafting from it.

It’s like a soothing balm to a broken mind.

She stirs a bit so I pull away, going back to standing over her, making sure not to move abruptly.

When Rebecca stills I continue my usual routine: eyes perusing her body…which is fully exposed because she fell asleep on top of the blanket. My fingers graze the surface of her supple skin—just enough to get my fix.

Tiny boy shorts that kiss her hips, a tight pink tank top hiding the taut nipples pressing against it, all components that have my dick hardening in my jeans.

I know I shouldn’t, but I reach a thumb out anyway, brushing it over the small peak to see what it feels like on top of those C cups.

Absolute perfection, just like everything else.

Rebecca licks her lips, as if sensing the caress, and barely five seconds later she’s mumbling words so faint I can’t understand.

She lets out a small moan, which has my dick stirring even more, because now I know she’s dreaming, and I’m imagining it’s of me.

Am I haunting her the way she does me?

Ravishing her?

Making her scream?

It’s a visceral reaction when I lean over her and bring my lips to her chest, my tongue darting out to flick the pointy bead.

Another moan escapes her lips, and I don’t budge, reveling in the precious sound. Inhaling it.

When I finally move my lips again, they go down her stomach, all the way to her panties where I breathe in her natural scent.

It’s more intoxicating than any drug, and I want so fucking bad to get high from it.

I can’t, though, because my mission is clear. Break this beautiful girl before she breaks me.

More movement ensues as I’m slipping a steady finger behind Rebecca’s panties, this time from her sassy little artist friend, who’s doing more than stirring. She’s waking up.

Fuck.

I use stealth mode to sneak into Rebecca’s open closet behind me, to close myself in, which isn’t hard thanks to the contact lens case on the nightstand next to Hendrix’s bed.

Bratty and blind…

Exactly how Saint likes ‘em.

I hear her shuffling through the room, cursing the need to pee when she’s so tired, and in a moment or two she’s opening the door to head into the hall, closing it quietly behind her.

I didn’t want my night to be over so soon, but it’s too much of a risk with her friend awake.

So I open the closet door, stepping out to round Rebecca’s bed, snaking a finger down her slender neck before turning and making my way to the window.

Rebecca

Leaves crunch rapidly under my feet, the muscles of my legs burning with need to rest.

I can’t, though, because I can feel him gaining traction.

I dodge a tree, and then another before looking quickly over my shoulder.

It’s so dark I can’t see more than ten feet behind me, but I can hear the sound of impending doom through the life of the forest.

Crickets chirping.

Owls hooting.

Wind blowing in sync with the whistles from his lips.

I’m the helpless mouse being chased by a starving cat.

Or are we equally as hungry?

Him for his meal and me for an escape.

Salvation appears as headlights in the distance, and I push through the searing pain and move my legs even faster.

“How many times do I have to tell you there is no escaping me, Rebecca?” Crayton’s voice appears all around me, like a deity in the sky.

“Leave me alone!” I shout desperately into the night.

“Never.” The voice hisses, so close it feels like a slap in the face.

I stumble back and fall onto my ass, crawling backwards away from the dark shadow looming over me.

“What do you want from me, Crayton?”

“That’s easy. Your screams. Your surrender.”

Tiny sticks and rocks puncture the skin of my palms as I scoot desperately away from him.

“Haven’t I given you that already? I agreed to your terms.”

“That’s not surrender, it’s collateral.”

“So what the fuck is it?” I breathe harshly. “Just tell me so you’ll finally leave me alone.”

Hands are squeezing my throat, but I still don’t see his face. Only a faint blur of flesh, ink, and those deep blue irises.

The only clear picture in front of me is that God awful goat staring like death into my eyes.

This man is horrifying.

But so fucking beautiful in spite of it.

“I want to own your mind. Your body. Maybe even your soul.”

True words of a devil in disguise.

“So take me whichever way you want me. Claim me, own me. Take my surrender like you have everything else.”

There’s a guttural sound erupting from the blur of flesh.

Along with tightening around my neck, slowly stealing my ability to breathe.

Not that Crayton needs his hands to succeed at that.

“What if I want you like this? At my mercy?” He asks in a threatening tone.

“What if I don’t want your mercy?”

There’s that sound again. Jesus. A growl like that should not be this enticing.

“Oh, you’re just as twisted as I am, Little Ghost. Aren’t you?”

We are not going there.

“I’m nothing like you.”

“You’re right, you just ‘like me’, right? How I make you feel? The chills I cause to rise up your spine?”

I clench my teeth as he tightens his grip.

“Denying the darkness doesn’t mean it’s not inside you.” There’s a wisp of cool breath by my lips when he adds, “C’mon Rebecca Dawson, I dare you to show me yours.”

There’s a strangled cry rising out of me so loud I can hear it drift off into the night. Crayton’s other hand starts perusing my body, right around the area where my boy shorts meet my thighs.

“There it is,” he croons. “That perfect sound.”

“You want me to tell you how bad I want your cock inside me? Is that it?” I ask right before Crayton loosens the hand around my throat a miniscule amount. The other hand, though, it’s slowly toying with my undies. “Fine. I do. Every single fiber of my being wants to know what it feels like to be ravished by you. Degraded. Taken roughly.”

“But?” He intervenes, expectantly.

“But…I’ll never do it. I’ll fight the urge even if it kills me, because what you’ll do to me after would be even worse than death.”

“And what, to you, can be worse than death?”

That’s easy.

“Love.”

My eyes spring open and I gasp, as if breaking through the surface of water. Jolting up out of my bed I look around the dark room, shivering from the cool air whirling through the open window.

Hendrix forever complains she’s hot at night, and I suffer because of it.

My chest is still heaving when I reach frantically for my neck, as if making sure it’s still there, and am surprised to find the skin tender to touch.

What the hell? I ask myself, before jumping out of bed and tiptoeing over to the window, closing it with a low thud.

Sorry Hen.

Feeling like I just walked out of an alternative dimension of fucked up proportions, it’s impossible to ignore the other sensation overwhelming another area of my body, specifically between my thighs.

When I run a finger along my boy shorts, I’m not shocked to find them damp and warm, putting a nail in my psychological coffin.

I’ve been dreaming about Crayton since I first laid eyes on him in the bathroom, but this one felt too real for comfort.

So much I can feel his presence in every dark corner of this room. Like I just missed his physical form but his spirit is lingering.

That must be my crazy talking, obviously I would know if a whole entire person is watching me sleep.

Or at least Hendrix would.

I look over at my friend, sound asleep on top of her drawing pads and stencils, and when I glance back at my bed, I realize it’s not much different.

Mine is filled with Crayton’s notes, laptop, and books, which he did the honors of sending Riggs to drop off.

In a fit of annoyance, I toss all his finished work on the floor, sans the laptop which is placed on the desk next to mine.

It felt like I spent more time explaining myself to Hendrix and Archer than it took to complete Crayton’s assignments, but I stood my ground, and decided to keep my enemy and his school work close.

I will figure a way out of this, I know it.

Dragging my feet toward the small vanity, I switch the light on dim to examine myself.

What I see before me has a sharp breath expanding my lungs.

There’s a patch of redness spreading around my throat. As if somebody scratched or squeezed way too hard.

I blink rapidly as I stare at the marking through the mirror, feeling shocked and alert at the same time as I think to myself who the hell would’ve done this.

20

CRAYTON

Rebecca kept it cool this morning when she met me by the bathrooms. She was dressed in uniform and right on time for her medication, I expected nothing less.

Other than her usual scoffs and dirty looks thrown my way, she was uncharacteristically quiet as she handed over my work and I gave over a single pill.

Even as she stormed off into the hall, not a curse or middle finger to be found.

Shame.

For a second I thought maybe she caught me watching her last night.

But I’m pretty sure she’d have curse words to say if she did.

Walking into third period class, I sneak a glance around the room, finding a full house.

Saint on his phone.

Felix brooding at me through his shiner.

Next time I’ll take the whole fucking eye.

Sliding into my desk, I make sure to shoot Rebecca a wink, a move that has Alexis shifting angrily in her seat.

A move that has me wondering how pretty the bitch would look with two slashes across her cheeks. Hell, I’ll do even worse if she dares to lay a hand on Rebecca again.

“Welcome to the party, Mr. Shaw, only ten minutes late today.” Mr. Beckett announces with undeniable sarcasm. “I guess it’s an improvement from the usual twenty.”

Saying nothing, I take out the essay Rebecca typed up for me and lay it flat on the desk.

“What the fuck is that?” Alexis sneers, handing me the paper she completed on my behalf.

“Your services are no longer required.” I state without a glance, sliding a cigarette behind my ear. “So kindly fuck off.”

“You’re replacing me with that fucking whore?” She accuses me through a stage whisper, loud enough for the back of the room to hear. I know this because several students, excluding a stiff Rebecca, turn around.

I face her, expression bored. “We all know about your need for attention, Alexis, so if you’d like a scene, I’m happy to provide a nasty one.”

Saint chuckles next to me as Alexis whips her hair around, mumbling whatever skanks do when they’re denied regular dick.

It’s probably not the best idea to provoke her this way, given the family ties and Mr. Clean looking fucker following her all the time. But, after what she did to Rebecca at that party, sage choices that were dwindling to begin with have gone completely out the window.

Nobody hurts her but me.

“So we’ll be working on something different today.” Mr. Beckett starts his usual Monday morning rant. “Instead of focusing on poetry based around the Revolutionary War, we’ll be diving into a work irrelevant to it, but one of my absolute favorites.” I can feel the impending dread before he even says the name I know is coming. And when he says it, I can’t help the bitter laugh that slips past my lips.

Gotta love a bit of irony.

I lift the sleeve of my arm, peering down at the first tattoo I’ve ever gotten.

leave my loneliness unbroken

I inhale a harsh breath through my nose, shoving the sleeve of my jacket down to cover the words.

“You’ll also be working with a partner, who I will decide, this way you can bounce opinions off each other. Learn to do what us old timers refer to as ‘communicating’.”

Mr. Beckett is already announcing partners when I reach for my phone, swiping through the pictures.

They’re all of Rebecca: some running, some walking to class, laughing with her friends, even sleeping.

She’s taken over every wicked thought in my head, most of them surrounding the bad things I’d do to her.

The rest is made up of the bad things I’d do to other people who try to take her from me.

“Miss Dawson will be working with…”

Beckett doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before I intercede. “Rebecca will be working with me.”

A hush falls across the entire room.

Beckett takes a step back, taken by my command, and Felix’s face twists with aggravation.

Rebecca’s too if I’m doing the honest thing.

Gross.

“Hm, you know what?” Beckett chirps, holding up a finger. “I’ll allow it. I think a mind like hers will be a great challenge for you, Mr. Shaw.”

He’s not wrong there.

This girl challenges every bit of my fucking insanity.

“Mr. Beckett!” Rebecca raises her hand, already rattled by the idea.

“Yes Rebecca? Will this be an issue for you?”

All eyes are on my Little Ghost, waiting for her response, to see if she’ll take the bait.

Rebecca seems to be contemplating the meaning of life before she finally makes her decision and shakes her head. “No, sir, it won’t be.”

“Perfect, so Felix can partner up with Miss Ivanov then, leaving Miss Montgomery and Mr. Lavell to work together.”

I can hear the groan of disapproval come from Rebecca’s sidekick, Hendrix.

Not a sound from Saint, which says a lot more than her friend may think.

Interesting.

Hendrix better be careful, Saint’s bites are almost as lethal as mine.

Everybody stands, shifting around the room to their partners, and Rebecca has her head down as she makes her way over to me, squeezing several books to her chest.

“I’m not doing all the work this time, I’m exhausted because of you.” She says, defeated, as she slides into the seat next to mine.

I’m tempted to ask if it’s because of my assignments or her dream, but decide that might scream stalker a little too loudly.

I like my right to privacy.

“There’s not much work to do, so don’t get your virgin panties in a bunch. It’s obvious what ‘Alone’ is about.” I reach for the lighter in my pocket, flicking it on and passing my hand slowly over it.

Rebecca looks on as if watching an extraterrestrial moonwalk, then shakes her head to snap out of it.

“First, don’t talk about my damn panties.”

If she’s offended by that, wait till she finds out I’m carrying a pair of them in my pocket.

“Second, if it’s so,” she air quotes the word “obvious”, then adds, “why don’t you tell me what the meaning behind it is?”

I lean in to Rebecca slowly, replacing her sudden boldness with tense shoulders and a deep held breath. She’s nervous, which is exactly how I want her.

“That would require me making this tolerable for you.” I whisper, adding, “We can’t have that, now can we?”

With a disgruntled moan, Rebecca scrapes her desk away from me, then lifts the paper and begins to read “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe out loud. All the way to the very cryptic end.

When I say nothing, she takes it upon herself to form her own opinion.

“I think it’s about the death of the women in Poe’s life. His mother, adoptive mother, even his wife.” Rebecca remarks evidently as she places the paper back down on the desk. “Hence the heaven at the end.”

Wrong.

“If you say so.” I go back to flicking the lighter on and off, no longer caring enough to argue.

Rebecca begins fiddling with her pink pen, bugged by my lack of rebuttal. Until it makes her unsure of herself.

“Or maybe it’s about his father who abandoned him?” She stares at the paper, rereading the poem I had memorized at thirteen.

“Sure.” Is all I respond with, which, of course, turns her doubt into infuriation.

“Will you please participate in this damn assignment, Crayton?”

I offer her a sideways grin. “Careful, Little Ghost. Hearing you beg makes my cock hard.”

Rebecca huffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck this. I’m going back to my desk.”

Before she can stand I swipe the paper from her, folding it into an airplane. “This poem has nothing to do with anyone else but Poe himself. The demons inside him he constantly fought but never conquered, the ones that darkened him beyond repair.” I toss the paper Felix’s way, and it soars right into the back of his head.

Bullseye.

Rebecca pays no mind to my aviation skills or Felix’s glare on me, instead, she becomes intrigued.

“Huh, I didn’t think of it that way.” She crinkles her nose. “What the heck do you know about poetry?”

I ignore another one of her endless questions and go back to playing with the lighter.

“Do you read it often? Have a favorite?”

Why the fuck is she so interested in what I read?

“I do not,” I lie. “Poetry is nothing but a compilation of painful tragedies. I have enough of my own.”

Why the fuck did I say that?

And why the fuck is she looking at me like she’s telling herself “I told you so”?

“Well, maybe poems like these were made to release that pain.”

That one felt personal.

I don’t do personal.

I give her my best rancid smile. “Maybe you should worry about dealing with your own pain.”

Rebecca instinctively reaches for her necklace, like she’s protecting it from me. “Do you always have to be so volatile?”

That would be a yes.

“Do you always have to be so fucking irritating?”

“Screw. You.” Rebecca flips me off, turning on the desk to write down whatever the hell poetry discussion she’s pretending we had.

I look over to find her friend Hendrix’s angry gaze on me, pretending to slice her neck with her thumb in threat.

I’d probably do the real thing to her if I didn’t find her lack of fear of me entertaining.

“Times up!” Mr. Beckett shouts after about fifteen minutes of silence between his new star student and I. “Now before class ends I want to remind you about the project due in less than two weeks. If you need a reminder it’s the one costing you a quarter of your grade, which I also want done before the homecoming dance. This way I know who’s actually allowed to go.”

Unhappy groans and huffs fill the classroom after Becketts announcement.

Well, fuck. There’s no way I can get Rebecca to write a poem on my behalf. Especially not one based around what inspires me.

Beckett would know in a second it’s not mine, because it’ll probably be about the beach or some pop star wanna-be.

Looks like I found the first assignment I’ll have to actually do on my own, luckily for me it’s the kind that I just so happen to have a knack for.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day skipping classes, the mood Rebecca put me in during English having me flip two middle fingers up at my father’s good boy contingencies. I left Saint with a single pill to give her at one o’clock, and used this time to do more digging into potential hideouts for my car, having only a single lead to follow after hours of rummaging through dad’s home office.

I guess something is better than fucking nothing.

I returned to Riverside just in time for Rebecca’s final class to end, which was P.E. swimming. The class has been over for well over ten minutes, but, of course, she continues to work on her sidestroke.

I stay watching her from the far end hallway, leaning against the wall as I breathe in the humidity and scent of chlorine overwhelming the large basement natatorium. Two guys from the swim team make their way over to me soaking wet, goggles still tight around their faces as they laugh quietly between themselves. I don’t need to hear what they’re saying to know exactly what they’re laughing at.

Better yet, who they’re laughing at.

The glares over their shoulders at Rebecca may just cost them the entire body part. I ignore the two dick bags as they pass me, and dick bags do the same, disappearing inside the boys locker room.

I quickly scout the area, making sure nobody else is around to make her feel uncomfortable.

Besides me, of course.

The only person left besides Rebecca is some chick in a swim cap climbing out of the pool, reaching for a towel to wrap around herself.

Rebecca has her cap thrown onto the edge of the pool, not giving a shit about messing up her hair, once again defying the typical teenage girl persona.

Her body moves like air through the water, all slender limbs and long hair wading across the Olympic sized pool in precise strokes.

She has a way of perfecting everything, the complete opposite of me.

Rebecca is kicking off the wall for another lap when I turn to make my way into the locker room, carefully opening the door.

It’s relatively quiet when I step inside, the only voices in the distance are the same ones who were stupid enough to speak Rebecca’s name without my permission.

I whistle the beat to the song “One, Two, Freddy’s Coming for You” as I pull out my trusty switchblade, striding past the rows of lockers and scraping the sharp end of it along the sides to get their attention.

It works because the room falls deathly silent.

“Who’s there?” One of them asks, but I say nothing, because the fear in his tone already tells me he suspects the answer.

Yet still the guys look surprised as I turn the corner, holding towels tight around their waists to hide their four inch peckers.

The blonde one, I think his name is Joffrey, speaks first through an uncomfortable chuckle. “Oh, what’s up, Shaw? Didn’t hear you come in.”

Precisely the point, needle dick.

I take lazy steps toward him, eye on my blade as I toss it in the air and catch it by the pointy end.

“Heard you guys laughing out there…” I say, still focused on the weapon. “What was so funny?”

“What-why do you wanna know?”

I pin him with a venomous smile. “Maybe I feel like laughing too.”

They look nervously between each other until the other shorter, punier one speaks up. “Just an inside joke, you know?”

I take one final step over to them, the three of us forming a human triangle. “Well, I’m inside now, wouldn’t you say?” My gaze slides to Joffrey, who’s swallowing hard.

“C’mon man, it was just a harmless joke.”

“Doesn’t seem so harmless now, does it?” I point the blade at him. “What the fuck did I say about the new girl?”

“To-to act as if the incident at the party never happened.” Puny stutters.

I turn my attention to him, running the tip of the blade up his lanky torso, making him squirm from my touch. Tingles flutter throughout my gut with his nervous reaction. “Kind of hard to do that when you’re laughing at her, isn’t it?”

“It won’t happen again!” Joffrey announces, desperate. “I swear man, moving forward we will pretend like the girl doesn’t exist.”

“How well am I known for my second chances?” I press the blade harder against his friend’s skin, making the guy bleed and whimper like the little bitch I know he is.

“C’mon, man. It’s not that serious.” Joffrey pleads.

“Defying me isn’t serious?” I raise an eyebrow, finally halting the blade’s movement when it reaches Puny’s collar bone. “I don’t share what’s mine to tarnish. And make no mistake, Rebecca is mine to tarnish.”

“You’re right. Of course you’re right, man. I promise we won’t say a word about her again.”

Damn fucking right they won’t. It’s bad enough knowing these assholes live with the image of her tits in their heads.

If plucking out their eyes would alleviate that it’d already be done.

I pull my hand away from the withering teenager, wiping the blood staining the blade across his chest. “I know you won’t, but I prefer not to leave things up to chance.”

Reaching for the friend first, my hand slaps around his neck as I force his back on the bench, his towel opened completely as I straddle him, locking his hands between my legs.

Most men would be repulsed at the thought of sitting on a another dudes Johnson, but I don’t give a homophobic fuck. I’d shove my shit down his throat right now and have him choking on it if I felt it would suffice.

I do what I want, and what I want right now is to make this piece of shit pay. But that particular punishment doesn’t fit the crime.

“What the hell are you doing, man?!” Puny shrieks below me, trying everything to escape my hold on him but it’s useless.

“Making sure Rebecca’s name never comes out of your fucking mouth again.” I hold the blade to his lips, and press down until I hear a strangled cry. “Open up buttercup.” I pry his mouth open with the metal, the other hand squeezing his neck tighter.

Kid’s not even bothering to put up a fight anymore. He sealed his fate and he knows it.

A squeaky pathetic version of “please” escapes his bloody lips, but there’s no going back, I’m having too much fun.

“You better learn to tolerate pain fast, because screaming isn’t an option.”

“Cray, c’mon, he’s had enough.” Joffrey stands beside us, trying to reason with me one more time, as if I’m someone who resorts to boring things like rationale.

Fucker knows better than to make a run for safety, though, because if there’s anything I enjoy more than fear, it’s the thrill of the chase.

“Don’t worry, Joff, you’ll get your turn.” I smirk at him before focusing back on his friend, releasing his throat to slide the blade inside his mouth. “Now stick out your tongue like a good little boy. And remember, the more noise you make, the harder I slice.”

Gurgling sounds erupt from Puny as I hold his tongue out, carving a smile into it, making blood spill down my fingers, all the way to my wrist.

Then I add two X’s as eyes for good measure.

The sound of the locker door opening has me putting a momentary freeze on my masterpiece, but when I hear Saint’s voice calling out for me I go right back to it, topping the face off with a tongue as Puny holds back his screams.

I tilt my head to the side to examine what now looks like the Nirvana logo.

Huh, that wasn’t even intentional.

When Saint appears, his face is unbothered by the bloody scene before him.

“So, is this part of your new…hobby?” He asks as he stands over us. “I mean, if you’re going for the serial killer look, it's already been established man, trust me.”

I smile with his remark, but don’t turn around, keeping my focus on Puny’s tongue.

“Need a hand?” Saint offers, looking over my shoulder. “Could use a little fine detailing.”

“Fuck off.” I bite back, smacking Puny’s cheek in an adoring, friendly fashion once I’m satisfied, then climb off the guy in one fell swoop.

“Get lost,” I demand as I haul his ass up with one hand, “And not a fucking word about what went on here, or else your cock is next.”

Puny reaches for his clothes in record time, running off without even looking back at his friend.

How quickly loyalty flies out the window when a little torture is involved.

My gaze darts to Joffrey, whose face is turning paler by the second.

“Doubt this one’ll put up much of a fight,” Saint shrugs. “But I’ll help anyway. I feel like channeling my artistic side.” He takes two long strides over to Joffrey and grips him by the back of the neck, dragging him closer to my makeshift workstation.

“Please, please, please.” He begs as Saint forces him down onto the bench, then onto his back where I, in turn, sit cowboy on the second naked cock of the day.

Not bothering to wipe off the blade, I hold it up and ask, “So what’ll it be Joff? A puppy? Kitty? Maybe a snake like you?”

“I say a wink face.” Saint shrugs. “ Y’know, stick with the theme.” He pauses. “It is Emoji’s right?”

With a shake of my head, I bring the blade inside Joffrey’s mouth, pressing deep into the tissue, and the fucker doesn’t stop crying until his entire tongue looks like a chart of smiley faces.

When we finish with Joffrey, Saint and I leave him to clean up the mess so I can go back to keeping an eye on Rebecca.

Saint stays mostly quiet as I do my thing, leaning his back against the wall opposite of me, unaffected by the silence between us because he’s used to it.

I never was much of a talker, and Saint is really the only person in the entire school I make a priority to try.

He’s chuckling at something, and when I look over I find him staring at his phone, probably at another naked pic from one of his conquests. Naked girls never interested me, so I go back to studying an oblivious Rebecca as she floats on her back in the pool.

There’s something uncomfortable about watching her this way: still as a statue, breathing slowly and steadily to stay afloat, unaware of how easily I can drown her with such little force. Just these two determined hands that want to see her suffer.

Nevertheless, I can’t look away, not even when she sinks beneath the surface and spins her body like an underwater ballerina.

Her hair sways slowly as she moves, somehow managing to remain that white shade even wet. Most hair changes, but no, not Rebecca’s.

There’s not a thing about her that distorts.

Not a feature that flaws.

It’s. Fucking. Irritating.

Even my mother’s hair, as light as her blonde was and as perfect as she kept it, would seem darker all those times we were in the shower together.

Then again, everything about her turned darker when she took me into the bathroom.

“Did you figure out who else is still talking about her?” I turn and ask Saint, needing a break from the memory.

Saint shrugs, still focusing on his phone. “Mostly Alexis’ crew, and I heard a couple assholes in the locker rooms during Phys-Ed.”

My jaw tenses. “Names?”

“Chase McAffrey, Owen Anderson.”

I run my tongue along the top row of my teeth, sucking air through them. “They’re roommates, no?”

“Yeah, a few doors down from ours.”

I know those pricks. Their family comes from new money, no class, and are known for running trains on all the new girls.

Seems they, too, need a little lesson on the dangers of running their mouth. Especially when it comes to this particular new girl.

“Make sure they don’t leave their dorm rooms tonight.”

“On it.” Saint nods, already typing to who I assume is Levi. I turn back to the pool, finding Rebecca sitting at the edge of it with her feet dangling calmly in the water.

It’s a naive, child-like gesture I’d imagine she’s done a million times before. The same for every other kid with a normal upbringing, who, unlike me, had the luxury of experiencing the innocence of youth.

“Why don’t you go talk to her, man?” Saint whispers, adding, “Well, nicely this time. You’ll see she’s not that bad.”

We’re all bad here, some of us are just better at hiding it. Saint chooses to hide his darkness behind a playboy smile and star quarterback ego.

I chose a long time ago to let my freak flag fucking fly.

“Oh, she’s bad,” I tell him.

At least for me.

Because I’m torn between the devil inside who wants to torture this girl, and the one who wants to save her.

“Care to test the theory then?” Saint smacks my shoulder before wrapping an arm around it, dragging me into the big open steamy basement.

Rebecca goes on high alert immediately when we appear in her view, squeezing the edge of the pool with her hands as if it can help her.

My response is not much different, hands balled into fists as we walk alongside the opposite end. Then, in one second Saint is whispering “Make it look real”, the next a hand in my pocket pulls out my cell phone, until finally I’m being shoved into the water.

21

BEX

I’ve never come across another human being who enrages me the way Crayton does.

The boy who bullies me into submission.

Threatens my wellbeing.

Who also opened me up to this version of desire I’m eager to explore, but afraid to admit.

There’s a fire burning inside me only the devil can stifle, and this devil of mine has no intentions of putting it out.

In fact, I’m pretty sure his intentions are far more nefarious.

Why else would Crayton hold my medicine hostage and not even have the decency to be the one to give me the doses like we agreed?

Instead, he has Saint waiting for me in the bathroom earlier with a sorry look on his face, probably because there’s no denying he’s aware of the situation I’m in with his best friend.

Besides that brief awkward encounter, I have to say the day hasn’t been as bad as I expected it to be.

Then again, Crayton went missing after our little tiff in English class, and to my surprise barely anyone in the school made comments about what Alexis did to me at the party this weekend.

She hasn’t stopped reminding me of it, of course.

Whispers in English, taunts during lunch, titty jokes from her minions in history.

But nobody else has even looked at me strangely, mockingly. It’s almost as if they’re actively trying not to.

At least from what I can tell.

I’m sure I have Saint to thank for that.

Which is why I decided to splurge and take a little extra time after my final class to enjoy the pool, the only place besides the track that makes me feel content in this school of teenage hell.

It’s also why I was able to convince Hendrix to head back to our dorm room without me.

I continue working on my side stroke, because, thanks to a wet kitchen floor and broken shoulder in ninth grade, my right arm is still stiff and the technique is not up to par.

Swimming has always been important to me, since I had every intention of becoming a lifeguard when I turned eighteen.

That, along with almost every other plan I had for myself in La Jolla, has been squashed like a bug under the universe’s feet.

Shitty turn of events won’t stop me from enjoying the water however I can, though.

A scream from the boys locker room doesn’t even phase me as I continue gliding across the pool, assuming it’s the two guys who just left horsing around in there. After a few more strokes, I dip beneath the surface to feel the pressure of warm water against my face and continue to swim this way, only coming up for air when necessary.

When I’ve gotten my fill of practice, I switch to floating to settle my heartbeat, something Dad taught me to do at a very young age as a safety precaution. He would always say the ocean may not be as beautiful as the women in his life, but it was definitely as temperamental.

It was his running joke for me and Mom.

But the technique was also a great way to help someone like me shut my brain off and focus. Ease my anxieties.

Center myself.

I needed to learn how to do that more than survive in the ocean if I’m being honest.

For me, survival instinct was always a lot less natural outside water and even worse after I lost my dad.

Tidal waves, undertows, tsunamis.

None of them frightened me as much as what one clogged artery was capable of.

Blinking away the tears I can’t feel but know are there, I replace them with a deep inhale, slow exhale. I do this until there’s nothing but the sound of my breathing and underwater acoustics in my ears.

Humming, sloshing, whooshing.

My version of peace and quiet.

I rub my fingers together, and a sad smile ensues as I find tiny wrinkles at the tips, remembering all the times Dad would tease me and say I’d turn into a prune if I didn’t get out of the water.

Another rush of nostalgia has my body tensing, feeling as though it’s gone from light as a feather to heavy as a freight train with reminders of him.

I sink beneath the surface one more time and spin until I’m dizzy, hoping to shed the sadness engulfing me.

It works for the most part.

Deciding to call it quits on the aquatics, I make my way over to the edge of the pool, lifting myself up onto my ass to sit down and air dry.

I look down at my feet, circling them, forming endless spirals that spread wider across the pool until finally, they vanish into steady water.

The sound of footsteps break my gaze, and when my head darts up I find my nemesis being dragged in the room by a laughing Saint.

There’s not a smile to be found, or any sign of life coming from Crayton’s expression. It’s cold, hard, and irate as his fists ball at his sides. That’s when I realize mine are squeezing the edge of the pool so hard my nails start to ache.

How does this guy always find me?

I try my best not to make eye contact as they cross the other end of the pool, Saint whispering something in Crayton’s ear right before he…

What the heck?

Saint shoves Crayton in the pool and takes off out of the natatorium, probably afraid of what the hell his friend is going to do to him.

My mouth falls open, slightly shocked but also amused that something inconvenient has finally happened to the asshole.

And that I’m here to witness it.

My delight takes a slow turn when I realize Crayton still hasn’t come up from under the water.

Confusion sets in when I notice he isn’t moving at the bottom of the pool.

Is this a fucking game?

What are they trying to pull?

“Saint! What the hell?” I call out for him, but get no response. “This shit isn’t funny. Stop fooling around!”

Still nothing but the echoes of my concern.

My head swivels back to Crayton, noticing he still hasn’t moved a muscle, and his body has turned face down.

Oh my God, did he hit his head or something?

Thinking this may be a prank gone south, I waste no more time and jump to my feet, diving into the water.

I hate the jerk, yeah, but not enough to want him dead.

Wonder if I can say the same for him?

It doesn’t take me long to reach Crayton, who’s around a foot from the floor of the deepest end.

I grab his face first to check if he’s fucking around, but true fear grips me when I find him unresponsive to my touch.

Holy shit.

I snatch one of his arms and wrap it around my shoulders, the weight of his frame making it that much harder to maneuver him in my hold, but I manage. His head dangles as I kick off the floor, needing a stronger boost to get us both to the surface, but at this point my adrenaline has completely taken the wheel.

That is, until I’m jerked back and startled, which forces my mouth open and oxygen to escape in tiny bubbles. I quickly close my lips as my head shoots to the side, finding Crayton’s eyelids springing open, his eyes stone cold and unbothered by the fact he’s on the brink of drowning.

He’s gorgeous like this, jaw tense and lips pressed together, his black shirt rising enough for me to catch more tattoos painting the skin of his torso.

Crayton Shaw is pure artistry. Dark and mysterious with so many wicked stories untold. Ones I’ll never learn about if we both die in this basement.

I push him off, wriggling out of his embrace when he snags my wrist and pulls me closer to his chest. He studies my face like I’m the one who’s the unsolvable puzzle.

I give him a look that asks “what in the actual fuck are you doing” but Crayton has no response other than to gaze at my hair.

Not this again.

I attempt to kick him and free myself, but don’t get far before he’s level with me, doing that staring thing again.

But this time his expression has a dare wrinkling the corner of his eyes.

He wants to see if I’ll be the first to surrender.

To what? Lack of oxygen? The will to live?

I shake my head desperately, letting him know he’s crazy, and Crayton shrugs, releasing me and staying right where he is—feet kicking slowly like mine to stop himself from floating to the surface.

I have no reason to stay down here with him, but then I remember the games this boy plays feels a lot more like falling under a spell.

I look around the entire pool, then up at the bright ceiling lights dancing through the water, knowing safety is just a few strokes away. But, instead of accepting the invisible outstretched hand, I turn back to my tormenter with determination in my eyes.

And something else entirely in my heart.

There’s no denying I’m drawn to his darkness, like a bee is to nectar. But Crayton’s nectar is anything but sweet.

It’s lethal.

The road to my undoing.

I feel it even more as we spin around each other, our limbs swaying softly to keep us from the outside world.

Something changes in this moment, a softness to Crayton’s features as he reaches out for my hair, twirling it in his fingers. I watch him, not realizing how close I’m drifting to his body until our chests are brushing.

He doesn’t protest, not even when I lift my hand up to caress his face. He watches too, as I run my thumb across his cheek, surprised by how soft his skin is.

Crayton allows me to keep exploring him, his eyes closing for the briefest of seconds before they’re open again, glancing down at my lips.

We’re still spinning, still touching, still so close the texture of his black jeans rub against my bare legs.

I can’t remove my eyes from his, and he can’t seem to look away either. I don’t know how long we’ve been under the water but I know it must be at least a minute because I’m starting to feel the effects of not breathing.

Or maybe it’s the way Crayton’s looking at me.

Like he’s been needing this break from the war between us just as much as I have.

Both my hands rest on his cheeks, and there’s something about the relief etching across his face that entices me to do the unthinkable.

I bring my lips closer, and closer until our noses touch and Crayton’s arm is secured around the small of my back.

Then, I stop.

I watch.

I wait to see if he’ll give in to this temptation.

Silently beg him to not take this moment away from me because I think it’s the most beautiful one I’ve had since my father died.

The two of us, caught up in a dance so haunting it forms tiny prickles on my skin.

The song of the ocean appears distant but I can hear it.

I’m no longer in a pool.

I’m home.

And I think it was this cruel boy who brought me there.

We stay this way, not breathing air but taking in each other, both reluctant to take what’s happening between us further for so many different reasons. Crayton draws closer, ignoring all of them, and ghosts his lips over mine painfully slow.

His eyes are open, barely blinking, and I couldn’t move a muscle if I tried.

I’m grateful because, right now, I want to taste his lips more than I want to taste air in my lungs.

I need to know who Crayton is behind all the cruelty and hatred for women.

Hatred for me.

The pain I know he masks with all of it.

I don’t get the chance to, though, because at breakneck speed after closing my eyes, the mood shifts, and instead of going the full one-hundred, Crayton is pushing me away and swimming to the surface, leaving me embarrassed and full of shame once again.

* * *

Not much could make a girl’s day worse than almost kissing the boy she hates but instead getting rejected by him.

Probably because girl’s shouldn’t be kissing the boys they hate.

Internal eye roll and slap to the forehead.

Ugh.

I fall back on my bed, still in my bathrobe as I stare at the ceiling. Hendrix and Archer are going on about who knows what as I try desperately to forget how stupid I was earlier.

How could I honestly think Crayton would want to kiss me? Kissing is personal, intimate, everything the asshole is not.

Archer said it himself, Crayton doesn’t even bother to pleasure the girls he’s…with.

Which means he only fingered me to prove some twisted point.

Then there’s the fun fact he blackmailed me and stole my medicine. All great traits you want in the guy you’re kissing.

Fuck what happened earlier, I need to forget about Crayton completely. Which is exactly what I’ll be doing once I get my medicine back and he deletes that damn recording.

“Dude!” Hendrix hollers. “Where are you right now? I’ve been calling your name like five times.”

I sit up, adjusting the towel on my head. “Sorry, just lost in thought.”

“Did something happen while you were swimming?” she asks with a raised brow, and Archer does the same.

“No,” I shake my head, trying my hardest not to flinch. “Why would you say that?”

“You've been off since you got back.”

Obviously I didn’t tell them what almost didn’t happen with Crayton in the pool.

I carry enough disappointment for all three of us.

“Nah, all good. Just tired from the long weekend.”

“Well, Bex,” Archer cuts in, “if it helps, things are about to get a lot crazier with homecoming week just on the horizon.”

Fantastic.

“Doesn’t really help, Arch, given I’ve already made a spectacle of myself enough. Not looking to add any other major events to the repertoire.”

“Wait,” Hendrix stands, making her way over to my bed. “Don’t even think about telling me you’re not going to the homecoming dance.”

“Fine, I won’t tell you.”

“Bex.”

“Hen.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Standing, I untie my bathrobe and walk over to the closet, shrugging it off and draping it over the holder on the door. I’m in nothing but a camisole and boy shorts, which quickly became the norm for Hendrix and I in front of Archer.

Her, for the obvious reason I guess, he’s already seen everything. And for me, I just don’t feel the need to hide in front of him.

It’s like Archer has become one of the girls in the room without actually being one of the girls in the room.

I don’t know why it’s that way but it is.

“Serious as a heart attack, babe. That Friday is my birthday and I don’t want to spend it dealing with drama. The dance will be the breeding grounds for more Bex traps. I prefer not to walk into another one of ’em.”

Archer shakes his head. “No way. It’s the perfect opportunity for us to celebrate your day of birth, we’ll already be dressed to kill. Plus, the homecoming dance is one of the most pivotal events of the year.”

I cross my arms. “You said the same thing about Sampson’s party. Look how that turned out.”

He holds his hands up in defense. “Okay, that’s fair, but there will be adults at this party. Teachers, alumni, volunteers. Nothing will happen. And don’t forget the after party in the Pit is even better.”

Oh, yes, what a way to convince me. Getting drunk in an eight hundred year old tunnel under the school.

Apparently this has been a custom for years, and till this day the headmaster is unaware of it.

Archer makes sure of it.

As did his older brothers when they attended Riverside.

I run a hand down my face and fall back on the bed. “Don’t push it guys, not this time. I don’t know how much more I can take from these heathens.”

“Crayton’s Dad will be there,” Archer practically sings. “What better way to get the four-one-one on the douche than to meet the man who raised him?”

If there really was a lightbulb inside people’s heads, I bet mine would be lighting up the night sky.

Cillian Shaw? Here at the school?

Forget about insurance, the curiosity alone is enough to have me debating my decision.

I’ve been wondering how Crayton is with his Dad. Wanting to see if his hostility passes onto the man who’s most likely the only person in the world capable of loving him.

“We’ll have to find another way,” I say with a lot less conviction.

The smirks on their faces tell me they already know they’ve won.

And why wouldn’t they? I’m the only one here who continues to lose every round of whatever game the kids of Riverside are playing.

“I already have the best idea for dresses.” Hendrix announces, and my head turns to the side to find her swiping through her phone next to my bed.

“I haven’t agreed to anything, Hen.”

“Wanna know what they are?” She ignores my comment and smiles, biting her bottom lip as she balances on the heels of her feet. It’s a coy gesture I find adorable since she’s always so reserved.

I let out a deep breath. “Sure, why not.”

“I’m thinking teal blue for you. Purple for me. Strapless, midi, tight and sexy. Here look…” She holds the screen of her phone out for me, and I find two models wearing dresses, fitting her exact description, staring down at me.

They are pretty, but also too easy to pull down, and I’m not in the mood to become a trendsetter on my eighteenth birthday.

Enough people already got to see my boobs.

“Nuh-uh, I won’t be making it that easy for them.”

Realizing what I mean, Hendrix shakes her head. “Fine, they have a spaghetti strap option for you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I need sleep. Leave me alone.”

“It’s only five-thirty.” Archer sounds appalled by the idea.

“Fine, a nap then.” Rolling over on my side, I scoot up to the head of the bed and punch the pillow a few times before getting comfortable. Then, I reach for my throw blanket and cover myself with it, closing my eyes. “Wake me when it’s time to get my medicine from the asshole.”

“Will do, boo.” Hendrix says, her voice further away. “Although I’m more than happy to meet the son of a bitch and kick him right where the sun don’t shine.”

“Yeah, that won’t be easy. Even the sun tries to avoid Crayton Shaw at all costs.” Archer adds, right before the sound of the window opening reminds me of last night.

The dream.

The chill in the room.

What I found on my neck.

“No, and no!” I burst out of my blanket, turning my head to face them.

“Pretty sure I only offered one thing.” Hendrix retorts.

“No Crayton kicking and no window opening.” I say clearly. “You had that shit open all night last night, I refuse to freeze during my recovery nap.”

Surprise! I do have limits.

“What the hell are you talking about, Bee?” Hendrix squeaks.

“I woke up in the middle of the night and had to close the window.” I blow out a long breath. “Let’s just say if I was wearing a glass bra, my nipples would’ve cut straight through them.”

“As funny as that visual is, you psycho, I didn’t open the window.” She pauses. “I mean, yeah, I usually do, but last night I know I didn’t.”

“You must have forgotten.” I breathe.

“Did not,” she insists.

My eyes turn to saucers. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not?” She says through a question.

“What the hell is going on, Bex?” Archer asks, baffled too.

I shoot up in bed. “I had to close the window last night.”

Hendrix’s face contorts. “Well, I didn’t open it. Shit, it was chilly, even for me.”

Heat fills my cheeks as I reach for my bruised neck, which I still have covered in concealer.

There’s no way.

It can’t be.

I remember feeling his presence, but I figured it was because of that damn dream.

Damn him.

It’s one thing to break in when you know nobody is here, it’s a whole other level of fucked up to sneak in through a window during the night when two girls are unconscious.

Is Crayton that sick he would actually strangle me while I slept? Then almost kiss me less than eighteen hours later?

I have no idea anymore.

But I do know there’s only one way to find out.

And that’s from the Spawn of Satan himself.

“Bex,” Hendrix beckons, amused by my antics. “Lost you again.”

Blinking away thoughts of Crayton I clear my throat. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“I said…it must’ve been you, silly.”

I chuckle, trying my best to hide my disgust as I lay back on the bed. I reach for the blanket again and bring it up to my chin, staring at the ceiling for the second time as I say, “Yeah, you’re right, Hen. It must’ve been me.”

22

BEX

FALL

One week.

It’s been one whole week since the—almost—kiss with Crayton.

And I haven’t seen him since.

In fact, nobody has seen him.

Later that night, regardless of my embarrassment, I went storming into the bathroom, ready to demand an explanation for the bruise on my neck, but found Saint waiting for me once again.

Same as the next morning.

And the morning after that.

I received strict instructions from Saint on Crayton’s behalf: that he’s the one to give me the meds each day, and I was to keep collecting all of Crayton’s work from his teachers, complete it then drop it to Saint every night in order to receive my evening dose of medicine. Effectively continuing this ridiculous arrangement between his best friend and I in his absence. Other than those fine details, it’s the most I’ve heard from Crayton.

And not a peep from the school.

No teachers, no Mr. Beaumont, not even Beckett has had much to say about Crayton’s absence while I was collecting his weekly classwork.

It’s as if his vanishing act is nothing new to them.

It’s new to me, though.

And it angers me even more being denied the answers I need.

“Mornin,’ gorgeous.” Saint smiles as he opens the door to his room, squeezing his way out into the hall and closing the door behind him, as usual. “Sleep well?”

Accepting another day of defeat on trying to sneak a peek into the room he shares with Crayton, I fake a smile. “Splendid.”

Saint hands me a pill and a bottle of Smartwater, a routine we developed since he’s taken over this hostage situation.

“Ready to go?” He asks, regarding another routine we’ve started since Crayton has gone AWOL.

Egg sandwiches and coffee in the morning from this fantastic bagel store everyone goes to.

“Yep, got the full order from the troops.” I hold out my phone, which has a lengthy description of what both Hendrix and Archer want for breakfast.

They may not like Saint, but they sure do like this bagel place enough to have him fetch them food from it.

“Will there ever be a day your sassy little friend decides to take the ride?”

“Doubtful.” I shrug. “She really doesn’t like you.”

“Everybody likes me.” Saint grins as we start moving. “It just takes some people longer to realize it.”

The journey to the bagel store took a lot longer than expected, the trip costing us fifteen minutes into first period due to rush hour traffic. I’m running like a chicken without a head into the building, holding several coffees and bags of sandwiches as Saint leisurely strolls behind me.

Must be nice to not have to abide by any rules.

We share first period together–one small show of mercy from the universe–so I at least have the option to ride my excuse on the coattails of the star quarterback no teacher dares to question.

As I race down the halls, I try to ignore the banners and decorations aligning most of them in preparation for homecoming week.

It’ll be one party, one rally, one guest speaker after another every freaking day, but I stick with my decision to miss the homecoming game even though Saint is sour about it.

Especially since Hendrix is going with Archer and joining the after party.

Not me, though.

It’s bad enough they have me going to this dance on Friday. That’s already pushing it, so neither of them are really giving me shit for staying in.

Walking into the classroom goes as planned, our history teacher Mrs. Fairly barely blinks our way as I stick side by side with the Golden Boy.

“What the hell took you so long?” Hendrix whispers as I settle into my seat.

“Traffic was bad today,” I say back, pulling out my books.

“I was about to call out a search party to find your remains.”

Rolling my eyes I continue rummaging through my bag, placing all of my green history supplies neatly on top of the desk.

Green pen, green notebook, green covered textbook.

It may be ridiculous for some—by some I mean Hendrix—but color coordinating each of my supplies with specific classes makes me happy.

And I need all the happiness I can get in this place.

“He’s actually pretty cool, you know,” I mumble back to her, “I think he may even have a thing for you.”

A scoff follows that revelation.

“You really aren’t from around here…” I can sense the shake of Hendrix’s head without even turning mine.

I freeze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Boys like that don’t like girls like me, Bex.”

“Girls like what?” I bounce back through a whisper.

“Who’s body mass index comes with a side order of french fries.”

Her comment makes me angry for so many reasons.

One, my only female friend in this school has obviously gone insane.

Two, I would kill to have curves like Hendrix.

Voluptuous thighs and a thick sexy waist.

I’ve tried everything to gain weight, but thanks to the meds I’ve been taking for years, it’s incredibly difficult.

Three, there’s the fact she’s absolutely stunning in all her chic blunt bangs and cheeky attitude.

Confidence.

Most of the things I lack.

“You better stop talking about my best friend like that, I may just have to punch you.” I turn to her and warn, semi seriously.

There’s that small smile I know is there.

“I’d love to see you try, California.”

“You’re beautiful, Hen, don’t you dare think otherwise for even a second.”

“You too, Bee.” She manages to say with a squeeze to my shoulder right before Mrs. Fairly calls for us to stop the “chit chat”.

I guess it’s back to being a nobody now that Saint is halfway across the room, casually eating his sandwich as I’m forced to wait until I’m hauling ass to second period to enjoy mine.

* * *

Half the day has passed and, as usual, the void in the four walls of this building grows deeper with the absence of Crayton. The whole school can feel it, even though no one seems to be talking about it. Not even the Ice Queen herself. She doesn’t have much to say at all, really. Especially not to me. There’s been an unspoken ceasefire between the two of us, and I can’t deny it’s felt good to not have to always be on high alert.

Being seen with the Royals at my side sure does have its perks. Even if they’re only hanging around to make sure I hold up my end of the bargain with their leader.

Their leader.

Crayton always finds a way to claw his way inside my head.

I’m enjoying a delicious eggplant parmesan hero for lunch, which will likely be ruined in a matter of seconds after I ask yet another question about the guy my friends have demanded I stop thinking about.

It seems like everyone around me is relieved by a missing Crayton except for me.

I’m still trying to convince myself it’s because I want answers, but deep in my gut I know it’s so much more than that.

Answers, yes. Reassurance, even more.

I need to know if I’m repulsive enough to scare off the devil in disguise.

“So, Archer,” I smile nervously through my bite of sandwich. “Any whispers in your grandfather's office?”

Archer groans, and Hendrix drops her burger onto the plate midway to her mouth.

“You are literally the only person who gives a shit that Crayton’s gone.”

I smile, my mouth falling aghast. “Not true. I overheard the janitor talking about it.”

They both look at me like they call bull shit.

“I’m serious.” I lie.

“I told you, Bex, this is pretty typical of Crayton to disappear at some point during the year. He’s probably off collecting the souls of the damned or some shit.”

“Doesn’t he get in trouble?”

“Not if his Dad can help it.”

“What about his Dad? Have you heard any details that can help me?”

Archer shakes his head. “Not much, really. My grandfather’s office isn’t exactly easy to snoop around in.”

I smile genuinely at him. “I appreciate you trying.”

Archer nods. “And I promise to continue doing just that.” He takes a bite from his salad, then adds, “But you should be happy Crayton’s not here. You can actually relax.”

That assumption has my eyes dragging to the table barely ten feet from us seating three of Crayton’s closest friends.

Otherwise known as my current babysitters who are never more than meters away.

“Not really,” I argue, “because I’m still doing double the school work, and he has Saint carrying out his debauchery.”

Archer pops a crouton in his mouth, raising his brow. “It must be real grueling, since you willingly take rides to the bagel store with him every morning.”

I glance over at the table again, locking eyes with Saint who nods at me in acknowledgement.

Ugh. Fair point, but it still doesn’t change the fact I feel like he’s only smothering me for his friend. Even though Saint makes it a point not to talk about said friend.

I don’t get his relationship with Crayton any more than I get my relationship with Crayton.

Or lack thereof these days.

I’ve become so obsessed with knowing where he is I wake up during the night to check if he’s there, watching me.

And when I come up empty every time—somewhere deep inside me feels a bout of disappointment I can’t ignore.

I don’t feel his dark presence around me anymore, and it’s something I would never imagine actually missing.

I push my plate of food away, just as I expected I would after opening this can of termites.

“Whatever. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Gladly.” Archer raises his chin. “Thought you ladies would like to know my tuxedo has finally finished being tailored, and is now ready for me to slay it on Friday.”

I’m trying to avoid the nausea, not shove a proverbial finger down my throat, Archer.

Damn this dance.

“That’s awesome Archer,” Hendrix smiles through a mouthful of burger, “we’re gonna make one hell of a trio walking into that bitch.”

Archer wiggles his eyebrows. “I’d never deny the opportunity of escorting two beautiful ladies under my arm to a dance.”

Hendrix shakes her head in jest. “You know damn well this is a lifeline you’re throwing us.”

“Call it what you may, Hen, but we’re gonna party hard at that dance. Especially since a particular tattooed psychopath is nowhere to be found.”

* * *

“Miss Dawson!” A male calling out my name makes me jump as I make my way out of last period lab.

I turn around to find Mr. Beckett rushing over through the crowd of student traffic waving papers in his hand.

“Yes Mr. Beckett?” I squeeze the handle of my bag, eyeing Saint who’s staring curiously at us as he leans against the lockers across the hall.

“I apologize, I forgot to give you Crayton’s rubric for the essay due Wednesday.” Mr. Beckett hands me the paper and tries to catch his breath, as if he’s been running a mile.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

He collects himself with a wave of his hand. “Oh, I’m fine. Just wanted to make sure I caught you before I left for the day. Give Mr. Shaw as much time as possible to complete his work as he gets better.”

There’s that lightbulb again.

An open window…I think to myself.

It’s the first time anyone besides me has drawn real attention to Crayton’s whereabouts.

“Gets better?” I ask, seeming genuinely concerned. “I didn’t realize he was sick. Nobody has mentioned anything about why he’s missing so much school.”

Mr. Beckett visibly swallows. He knows he’s said something he shouldn’t have, and the way his eyes dart to Saint proves just that. “Oh, yeah. I believe the flu.”

What a steaming crock of shit, but I don’t call him out on it. Chances are he’s just another lower link in this hierarchical chain we found ourselves connected to.

I glance over at Saint who seems as though he’s contemplating approaching us, unsure how far I want to take this conversation since it’s clear Beckett is already regretting saying anything.

The debate gets cut short by the guilty party. “I know I should’ve said this sooner, but I think it’s really nice what you’re doing for Crayton. Stepping up to make sure he gets all of his work.”

It’s nearly impossible to hold back the laugh that’s threatening to break free, but I manage, remembering I have only myself to blame for getting into this situation.

“Yeah, it’s nothing really.” I tell him, ignoring the regret laced in the words.

“It’s something, trust me. Not many people in this building have a lot of faith in Crayton. But I do, so it’s nice knowing you do too.”

I want to throw up. Physically throw up.

Not only because of how wrong Mr. Beckett is about my intentions, but because of how wrong he is about Crayton’s.

It’s sad that a decent guy like him is trying so hard to help someone who would probably walk right over his corpse on the floor without a second thought.

I choose to be honest with him also, because I am who I am. “I guess I feel like everybody deserves a chance until they prove they don’t.”

Mr. Beckett seems impressed by my statement. “I couldn't agree more. It’s why I push my students as hard as I do. Especially Mr. Shaw.” He winks, nodding his head Saint’s way. “That stays between us peasants, though, yeah? I don’t need the vultures thinking I have a chink in the armor.”

I like seeing this side of Mr. Beckett. Outside of his strict classroom demeanor and much more playful.

It reminds me there are other actual humans existing inside this building.

“Deal.” I tell him, holding up the paper he gave over to me. “I’ll make sure to get this to him.”

“Perfect.” He gleams. “Because I’m working closely with Cillian, his Dad, who’s making sure every assignment is completed.”

Interesting.

“Sounds like Mr. Shaw has high expectations for his son as well.”

“Oh, yes. He sees his potential just as much as I do. We’re doing everything we can to make sure he passes junior year.”

It’s about time the universe throws me a damn bone.

Seems to me like Cillian Shaw is taking Crayton’s car hostage situation as seriously as his son is taking my medicine.

And I may have just found a way to use that to my advantage.

23

BEX

Some say magic can be found in madness.

Mercy in malice.

They come in the form of lessons learned which help you avoid these circumstances in the future.

Cruel people teach you about your expectations and how high you want to raise them.

Fits of rage help find your center which leads you back to your humanity.

But what about those who lack both?

It’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about the past few days.

Humans are not born evil or sinful, they’re driven to it.

It’s one thing about Catholicism I’ve never agreed with.

To believe an innocent baby can be born from sin and need to be washed of it in order to be seen as a child of God.

I don’t consider myself an overly religious person.

I believe wholeheartedly in God, and went to church every Sunday in the past, yes, but it was mostly because my Dad was a devout Catholic and I always wanted to feel close to him. It became another thing, like the ocean, that the two of us shared.

Eventually the church pews became part of another lesson my father tried so hard to teach me: be the better person no matter what.

The good we do for others is never between us and them, but between our soul and the God who created us.

I found the idea to be so beautiful I eventually felt comfort in it. Until the man who made me believe in God’s mercy was taken from me by him.

Since Dad died I haven’t been able to step foot in a church, let alone try to understand why the same God who gave me the gift of a father like Andrew Dawson, would also take him away.

I never had the heart to take off the cross Dad gave me, though, because it’s all I have left of him.

I made a decision last night as I laid up in my bed, trying to not only figure out when Crayton will return, but what the hell inspires me enough to write a whole poem about. One that will also grant me Mr. Becketts approval.

Then it hit me…Dad.

So, I decided I will visit a place this weekend that I haven’t dared to even walk past in over two years.

I just have to get through this Friday first.

“Penny for your thoughts, California?” Riggs plops down in the chair next to me, holding a Gatorade and protein bar, which he rips open with his teeth. Levi follows behind him clutching a turkey sub.

It’s about ten minutes into lunch as I sit here waiting for Archer and Hendrix, who had to stay behind in a class they share.

I stir the contents of my veggie noodle soup. “Just thinking about an assignment I have to complete.”

Levi scoffs. “That’s what the geeks are for.”

I roll my eyes, knowing to them, I’m most likely considered just that.

“Yeah, not in my world.”

“Where’s copper top and your curvy friend?” Riggs takes another bite of his bar.

My head whips his way. “Seriously?”

He holds his hands up in defense. “What? I meant it as a compliment. I prefer more cushion for the pushin’ y’know?” He shrugs. “The only bone I want to feel during sex is my own.”

Being considered the “bony type” my entire life has me taking a plethora of offense to that.

Not enough to argue, though, and thankfully I don’t have to, because Saint’s deep tenor comes from behind me. “Must be why the only sex you ever had was between you and your hand.”

Levi cracks up, slapping his knee as he points to his friend. “Fuck, man, you walked right into that one.”

Riggs tries hard not to seem affected by Saint’s comment, but I’m an expert at hiding embarrassment, and it looks a lot like Riggs’s dismissive laugh.

“Fuck off, assholes, we all know I can get any bitch in this dining hall.”

“Except…you don’t.” Saint taps his chin after he sits at my side.

I don’t want to laugh, but for Hendrix and my sake, I do.

Nothing like watching someone get a taste of their own shallow medicine.

Saint falls silent, swiping through his phone as the three of us share a laugh at Riggs’s expense.

“Someone important?” I jut my chin to his phone, where Saint immediately shoves it in his pocket.

“Nah, never.” He winks, reaching for his bottle of water and chugging it in a few gulps. “What are your plans for this weekend, Bex?” he asks, tossing it right into the trash like a basketball.

“I’m gonna visit my Mom and stepdad. See Potato.”

“Potato?” His eyebrows form a deep crease.

“That’s my Chihuahua.”

Saint lets out a hefty chuckle. “Of course you have a damn Chihuahua.”

I shove his arm. “Shut it. He’s my pride and joy.”

“You shoulda brought him with you.”

I huff. “Yeah, no dogs are allowed in school, you nutcase.”

“Says who?” Riggs cuts in, and I turn to find him and Levi looking as if I’m the crazy one.

“Uhm, says headmaster Beaumont, and the actual school guidelines.”

They both wave me off, with Riggs adding, “Eh…rules were meant to be broken, California.”

Maybe by the people who are above them.

I am not one of those people.

A throat clears behind me, and I find Hendrix and Archer standing there with caution hardening their expressions.

“What’s up, guys?” I scoot over, forcing Riggs and Levi closer to the end of the table. “Pull up some chairs.”

Hendrix looks between all three boys at the table and her lip twitches. “I prefer to keep my appetite.”

“Oh, we can tell.” Annalie’s snides from the table next to us, and Alexis’ minions all snicker at her fat girl dig.

Hendrix flips her the middle finger, pretending it’s lipstick and smiling callously at the bitch as she runs the finger over her lips. As usual, not letting the opinions of the mean girls seem like it gets to her.

We both know it does, though, how could it not?

When Annalie flips her hair, Hendrix turns back to me and pops her lips. It makes me smile.

“Anyway,” she says, “me and Arch are skipping lunch, gonna make a Starbucks run. You down?”

“Sounds like an open invitation to me.” Levi stands, tossing his sandwich in the garbage.

“It wasn’t.” Hendrix smiles coldly at him.

Riggs stands then, wrapping an arm around Hendrix as she burns a hole through his head with her eyes. “Oh, quit playing the bitchy friend, Hendrix, we all know that’s Archer’s job.”

“Takes a bitch to know a bitch, right Bishop?” Archer doesn’t hesitate to strike back, which has Riggs smiling wickedly as he releases Hendrix.

“You guys continue your bickering,” I suggest, “but I’m gonna use the bathroom before we go.”

Hendrix denies my offer to join me, not wanting to leave Archer alone with three quarters of the Royals.

Last I remember Archer could hold his own against the worst of them, but I take the hint and scurry off to the bathrooms at the other end of the dining hall.

The door to the boys bathroom opens just as I’m about to pass, Felix striding through it, who’s barely even looked my way since the pool party.

“What’s up Bex?” He asks, looking around to see if any of my unsolicited bodyguards are lurking in the background.

“Hey,” I smile softly at him. “How are you?”

Felix shrugs. “The usual, busy with classes. Football, etcetera.”

I nod my head, pursing my lips with discomfort. “That’s good…” I look behind me, finding Saint, Riggs, and Levi watching us like hawks. One wrong move on Felix’s behalf and I know Saint will be up and out of his chair ready to carry out Crayton’s wrath.

I keep things quick and simple, because I do want the guy to understand it wasn’t his fault I never reached out after the party.

“Hey, sorry for not like, texting you or anything after Sampson’s house. Things just got really complicated.”

“I can see that.” He glances over my shoulder. “I guess you belong to the Royals now.”

I rear my head back, appalled by his insinuation. “I don’t belong to anyone, Felix.”

His expression falls. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not your fault. When those assholes stick their claws into someone it’s nearly impossible to get ’em out.”

“You got it all wrong, Felix, trust me. I just want you to know it’s not personal. I think you’re a great guy, but I’m not really looking for anything serious.”

His lip twitches slightly with annoyance, and I don’t blame him; rejection can do that to a person. But he recovers quickly, and smiles. “No hard feelings, Bex. You’re a great girl, just be careful because those guys are bad news. Especially—”

“Especially who?” Saint snarls from behind me, pulling me into his chest with one arm.

Riggs and Levi surround us next, with similar scary faces.

Felix watches as Saint’s hand tightens around my waist, and his face is an unreadable mask.

Saint’s move is possessive, but not Crayton possessive.

This feels more protective than anything, but why would I need protection from Felix? The idea is absurd knowing how their best friend treats me.

Felix breaks his gaze from my waist. “I’ll catch you later, Bex.” He grins, ignoring Saint’s question. Felix attempts to pass us, but a growling Levi and his large body doesn’t budge for him.

Jesus. Why the hell do they hate this guy so much?

Leaving Felix no choice, he turns around and makes his way down the hall toward the kitchen, where we all know the back door is.

“Seriously?” I turn to Saint and fold my arms. “It was an innocent conversation. One I’m entitled to fucking have.”

“She curses.” Saint feigns shock. “Impressive.”

“I’m serious, dude.” I blink. “What’s the deal with Felix? Why do you have so much beef with him?”

Saint’s jaw tightens as he contemplates something. “Listen, trust me when I say he’s not who he seems to be. Guy’s a grade A piece of shit.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word on it because?”

“Because…I like you Bex. I don’t want you getting mixed up in some shit you can’t get out of.”

I let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, like being blackmailed into being someone’s bitch? Being followed around by a bunch of guys to appease their psycho leader?”

“Hey,” he pouts as Riggs and Levi head to the table laughing, like they didn’t just morph into scarier versions of ‘Predator.’ “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Friends don’t hold friends' vital medication hostage.”

“Bex,” he rolls his eyes. “You really think I’m not gonna give you your ADHD medication? C’mon. I’m loyal to Crayton, yes, but I know you’ll hold up your end of the bargain. It’s why I don’t even bother looking through the work you turn in for him.”

Which is exactly what I’ve been counting for the past three nights I’ve delivered Crayton’s assignments.

“Make it up to me by telling me what Crayton’s deal is with Felix.”

He blows out a breath. “Fine.” Saint looks behind him to see who’s around, and chuckles when his gaze stops on Hendrix tapping her foot. “Long story short,” he faces me again, “Felix’s dad fucked Crayton’s dad’s ex wife. It’s why they split. It was the talk of the entire school for a while, thanks to Felix, until Crayton silenced him.”

“How did he do that?”

“How do you think?” He points a brow.

Not needing to hear more, I nod. “Fine, that’s a start. Now tell me where the hell Crayton has been.”

Saint wraps an arm around me. “That’s enough information for one day, gorgeous. Let’s get going before your impatient friend over there implodes all over the dining hall floor.”

24

CRAYTON

I never understood what the appeal was about dive bars.

They’re over crowded, outdated, and most of their patrons smell worse than the vomit crusted single bathroom crackheads use to get high.

Yes, yes, I may be biased because of my dislike of anything involving the general population, but it still stumps me why a person would actually choose to drink in a place like this.

Nothing good ever comes from a room filled with dirty drunk old men and a group of underage girls with no choice but to party at the only bar in the city who doesn’t ID.

Safe to say I’m not here for the ambiance, even though the lighting is the one thing about this place that actually impresses me.

It’s dim, easy to blend in which is exactly what I’m counting on as I sit at a small round table in the back, sipping on a warm Coors Light.

I watch my newest target of the week, all of five foot eight with short graying hair and stubble on his jaw, sitting at the bar with another guy that should’ve been cut off from the Tequila over an hour ago.

He laughs quietly with the other drunk dude, both of them stealing glances over their shoulders at the seventeen year olds in tube tops taking shots.

When one teen cheers, the piece of shit raises his beer and cheers along with her, as if being a part of their little girls’ night out.

The girls pay no mind to the fifty year old pervert, instead they start dancing to an ACDC song after one of them plays it from the jukebox.

This has the asshole turning in his stool, watching them shake their asses with unrepressed hunger in his eyes. It’s the typical creeper scenario, where eventually he’ll stand up and try to make his way over to the drunkest girl, tell her how pretty she is as he cops a feel of her ass in skin tight jeans.

It’s boring, predictable, and all I want is for this piece of shit to leave already so I can do what I came here to do.

I look down at my phone, checking the time, grumbling when I realize it’s three in the morning and I’ve been here watching him for over two hours.

That’s a hundred and twenty minutes I’ll never get back, so this fucker better make my night worth it.

Finally after a few minutes of circling the young girls like a lion does his prey, one of the only smart bitches of the group walks over to the bar and complains, forcing the tired old man behind it to order the bouncer to kick his ass out.

Hallelujah. It’s finally play time.

The second the door closes behind the irate drunken mess, I’m up out of the seat and throwing my hood over my head as I follow behind.

The entrance to this bar lies deep in an alley in one of the sketchiest neighborhoods in Manhattan.

You won’t find any tourists with cameras on a corner in Borden Heights, that’s for sure. There’s nothing but dingy bars, bums, and the occasional hooker looking for her loving John.

In other words, walking along these streets can quickly result in a tetanus shot if you’re not careful enough.

I kick a stray can at my feet as I follow behind the swaying Tom, who’s currently stumbling into the wall to take a piss.

I look to my right to find a passed out homeless dude covered in tin foil, holding an empty bottle of Bud to his chest like a child does a stuffed animal.

Deciding he’s comatose enough to not be a problem, I keep moving and reach into my pocket, pulling out my ski mask and shoving it onto my face, returning the hood to my head right after.

By the time I reach my target he’s still got his cock out.

“You Timothy McGee?” I bark with a deepened voice, which makes the guy spin around during a flimsy attempt to zip his pants.

“Who the hell’s askin’?” He sways, squinting to get a better look at me.

He can’t because I’m dressed head to toe in black and it’s dark as shit in this alley.

“The motherfucker who heard you got a habit of touching little kids.”

I reach him and waste no time shoving the piece of shit against the wall, my hand tight around his neck as I pull out my knife from my back pocket.

“Heard you like to make ’em beg, too.” I flip the knife open and plunge it into his side…once, twice, three times until there’s blood dripping down my gloves.

The guy cries out, but is too inebriated by the alcohol to fight back. It’s never as fun, but I’ll take what I can get to purge these feelings for Rebecca from my system.

“You son of a…” He chokes as I squeeze his neck tighter, kneeing him in the groin then letting go, leaving him to collapse to his knees holding his side.

I drop to my haunches, close enough to smell his rotten stench and booze.

“Did you think your actions would go unpunished?” I whisper so deadly as he whimpers.

“I didn’t do nothin’ to those kids. I swear.”

He tries for the first time to fight me off, but the asshole couldn’t handle my wrath on a sober day.

So when he swings I rear back, then offer a strong blow to his face, leaving him dazed and falling to the ground.

I straddle him, switching the hand holding my knife. “Photos don’t lie, you piece of pedophile shit.” I tear into his stomach over and over, then lift him up to do it again, this time face to face. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head when I’m done, letting him go to hit the concrete with a low thud.

He’s still and silent but alive, which makes the next part much more fun. I unzip his pants, fishing for his small cock behind his boxers.

“Please…don’t kill me.” Pedo’s voice is faint as he pleads, but he doesn’t know who I am.

He doesn’t know I don’t stop until I make sure they can’t hurt anyone else.

“Did those kids beg for the same thing?” I squeeze his cock tighter and he groans. “Did they cry too? Were they too weak to fight back? I bet you loved having them drugged and at your mercy.”

“I told you I didn’t—”

“That’s enough out of you.” Dropping my knife for a second, I pull the bandana from my hoodie, shoving it into his mouth. Snatching my knife again, I bring it to his dick, wasting no time slicing back and forth, and his muffled cries are between us as blood spurts out in buckets. Then when I’m done, I toss the dead tiny cock into the shadows.

I don’t realize the guy passed out until I remove the bandana from his mouth, stuffing it back into my pocket.

It’s time for the finale, so I lift his shirt up to carve my trademark into his ribs. He reacts, but barely, likely on his way to meet his maker.

The sound of voices in the distance has me wrapping things up faster than I intended, because the last thing I need is to get locked up before the fun times end.

Timmy boy is bleeding out as I climb off him, treading the rest of the way down the alley, ripping off my mask and gloves and shoving them into my jeans pocket just as I turn onto the empty street.

My heart is racing with adrenaline as I reach for my cigarettes, bringing one to my mouth with unsteady hands, nowhere near ready to come down from this invigorating high. It’s been the same story every night for almost a week—and as satisfying as it is to take my anger out on pedofucks like Timothy, Alice, Gordon and Theresa—the dismemberment of male genitals and female pouty lips are still not enough to rid me of my thoughts about Rebecca.

About what I almost did with her.

What I wanted to do with her.

It’s as irritating as it is confusing trying to understand what the hell is going on with my mind.

Why it’s bringing forth these feelings I don’t recognize.

For a girl who should disgust me.

Except she doesn’t, well, not anymore.

I’m so fucked up in the head there’s not enough pedophiles on this planet to satisfy the hunger I have to take every bit of innocence from this girl and consume it whole.

It’s why I have to stay away from her.

At least until these urges are under control.

I’m huffing and puffing as I jog down the steps to the near empty subway station, and it isn’t until a train speeds past the terminal that I let out a guttural roar, ignoring the two homeless fucks as I pace back and forth. Not stopping the routine until the train I take to get home arrives.

* * *

I barrel into my bedroom, stripping out of my bloody clothes to toss into a black garbage bag. My heart is still racing by the time I’m completely naked, kicking off my boxer briefs and tossing them, along with everything else but my knife into the bag.

Entering my en suite bathroom knife in hand, I switch the light on, making the entire space glow a dim red just how I like it.

Placing the weapon on the edge of the tub, I fill it to the brim with freezing water, stepping into it without a flinch from the temperature.

I can finally breathe steady as the water engulfs me, so I rest my head back and embrace the cold until my heart’s beating at a low rhythm.

Going over my actions from the night, I actively try to search for remorse or regret about what I just did.

As always I find none.

None, except for those kids who were subjected to that piece of shit’s depravity.

Visions of my own torment start to swirl in my head, increasing my breathing as I close my eyes.

Her hair.

The softness of her hands.

That evil smile.

Slicing the knife across her neck.

All of it plays like a skit from one of those vintage movie projectors.

Black and white and full of horrors.

Especially her words which play on repeat in my head, branding me until this day:

You’re riddled in sin, Isaiah.

Cut from the cloth of the Devil.

The likes of you need nothing more than to be scourged from the earth.

I seethe, slamming my fist into the tile wall beside me, again and again until my knuckles bleed.

Then I reach for my switchblade, flipping it open with one push of the little silver button.

Holding my arm over the tub, I start carving into my skin the same words I’ve been trying to convince myself of since I was ten years old. A broken kid trying to find his way in a big world, but never convinced he ever really belonged in it.

My skin is so damaged from scar tissue I barely feel pain as it breaks open again, bleeding crimson lines down my forearm.

I can breathe now, but not as freely as when the blood from the words “still bleeding” are dripping into the tub, adding tiny specks of red into the water.

The heavy reminder I’m still human despite what my mother has always said.

“Stop fighting me, Isaiah! This is the only way.”

Mommy holds my arms in place as I scream.

“I don’t want to go with you!”

“You have no choice.” She lowers the knife toward my neck, making me cry out in fear.

“Please stop!”

“It’ll all be over soon, then we’ll be together again.” She draws closer with the blade, making me squirm for safety, but it’s useless.

Until the knife drops out of her hand, lands at the side of my head and she goes to reach for it, I finally get the chance to break free and grab the weapon before she can.

I do the only thing that comes natural and slash it across the side of her neck, making Mommy reach for it and squeeze, eyes bulging and mouth falling open in shock.

She coughs, falling off me onto the bed and I drop the knife, crawling to the edge of it and curling into myself as I watch her struggle for breath.

“I knew I was right.” Mommy chokes out. “You really are a product of the Devil.”

I cry uncontrollably as I watch the blood pour out of her, soaking the already dirty sheets bright red, until finally she goes limp and blinks slowly at me.

“I’ll see you in hell,” she whispers, right before her dulling blue eyes stop moving and the life that was left in them is nowhere to be found.

“Crayton Shaw!” My father booms, breaking me of my stupor.

“Son, what is this?” He looks appalled as he gapes down at me in the tub, which is stained with so much red it looks like paint.

“You’re home.” I grunt as I stand, reaching for the towel hanging from the wall before stepping out.

“This is getting out of hand.” He peers down at my arm and shakes his head. “That’s it, I’m calling Dr. Fenley.”

Dr. Fenley was my court ordered psychotherapist I was forced to see for a year at sixteen, after being arrested for beating the shit out of a neighbor in our building for complaining about the loud music playing from our penthouse balcony.

It didn’t last long, but Dad threatens to call him every time he feels like I’m going off the deep end.

Little does he know I live there every day.

“I’m fine, stop being dramatic.” I wrap the towel around my waist as I pass him, a trail of blood following me into my bedroom.

“You’re cutting again, I will not stop being dramatic.” He reaches for my shoulder and spins me around to face him.

Except I can’t.

I never can when I’m like this.

Because the guilt I mentioned earlier? The one I lacked for my latest victim? Well, I lied, I don’t only feel it for those kids Timothy abused, I also feel it when I look at him.

My father expects too much good from me, regardless if I’ve proven time and time again I’m anything but.

Granted, he doesn’t know about my random vigilante escapades, but he does know about everything else I’ve been caught doing.

It’s a long list, one I doubt needs to be explained.

“The scars were fading, I was just freshening them up. Like I do for my tats.” I toss the towel on my bed and reach for a pair of boxers in my drawer, putting them on one leg at a time as Dad looks away.

“Stop fucking around, Crayton. I know something is going on here, and I want to know right now what it is.”

“You’re right.” I cross my arms. “I’m being thoroughly interrupted from enjoying my ‘me’ time.”

His lips form a straight line. “You’re better than this—I know it.”

I run a hand down my face, so tired of the same conversation over and over again. “So you keep trying to convince me.”

“Yes, and I will continue to convince you until you finally get it through that thick stubborn skull of yours!”

I have no fucking doubt in that statement, and it’s what gets me the most frustrated with this man.

This man who seems so tired all of a sudden, his eyes sunken in more than I can remember, and I have no doubt it’s because of my return home this past week. The gray’s on his black hair somehow seem brighter, too, despite the dull look in his eyes.

If that’s not proof I bring out the worst in everyone I don’t know what is.

“Then you’re gonna die trying, Dad.”

“So fucking be it!” He hollers. “I refuse to believe there’s only bad in you.”

“Believe what you want, doesn’t change the fact I am who I am.” I reach for the towel, wiping the blood off my arm. “Either you accept it or drive yourself to madness trying to change the unchangeable.”

I don’t realize my father is holding my knife in his hand until he flips it open.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He holds out the knife. “Trying to prove a point.”

I stalk over and snatch it from his hand. “And what point is that?”

“Stab me and you’ll find out.”

“I’m not gonna fucking stab you.”

My father shrugs. “Why not? Someone pure evil wouldn’t hesitate for a second to shed the blood of an innocent man.”

What the hell kind of game is this guy playing?

My thoughts are interrupted by my father’s shove to both my shoulders, making me stumble slightly. My nostrils flare as I catch his determined gaze.

“You fucking pushed me.”

“Damn fucking right I did, son.” He cracks his neck. “Now tell me, what are you going to do about it?”

I stay silent, clenching my teeth.

So he pushes me again.

“Stop.” I warn, balling my fists.

“No. Go ahead Mr. ‘I’m Full Of Pure Evil’, do your worst.” He slaps his chest. “Stab me right here. Prove to me how bad you are.” He hits his chest again, working himself up. “Do it!”

I push him. Hard. Which isn’t difficult since I’m two times the size of the guy.

“Get the fuck out of my room before you force me to do something I’ll regret.”

He pushes me back. Provoking me further. “Not until you teach me a lesson.”

I want to. I want to slug him so bad my fingers tingle with the need to collide with his flesh.

Watch him bleed from his lips.

Keep swinging until his skin turns dark shades of purple and blue.

But…I can’t do it.

Not to him, and he goddamn knows it.

“Get the fuck out!” I point to the door. “Now!”

“You see…” He smiles maniacally. “You prove me right every time.”

My chest heaves. “Get. The hell. Out of my room.”

Dad advances on me, but no longer in a threatening way. His hand falls on my shoulder as he says, “ Like I said…a man made of pure evil wouldn’t hesitate to unleash it. Even on the father who loves him unconditionally.”

My lips are sealed tight but moving, no words capable of being said. To my father I look like I’m drowning in anger, but in reality I’m trying to find a way to tell him I’d burn the world to the ground before I ever let anyone hurt him.

I wonder if he knows, because he says, “It’s alright, son. One day you’ll be able to admit it.”

It could go both ways, considering what we were just arguing about, but I no longer have the will to fight.

He’s depleted me of all the anger that was filtering through my veins.

“I should get some work done.” I point to the pile of papers on my desk Saint delivered to me earlier in the day. The ones Rebecca got a jump on for next week.

Dad’s gaze drifts to where I’m pointing, then shoots back to me, filled with authority. “That reminds me…I received a call from Beckett earlier today. Any reason you didn’t turn in one of your assignments for his class?”

My face contorts, knowing Saint insisted everything from this week has been completed. “What are you talking about?”

He folds his arms. “Apparently you had an essay due. Which you did not complete, even though Beckett said he made sure the girl who’s collecting your work received it.”

And just like that the anger seeps into my bloodstream again, accelerating my breathing as I realize the grave mistake my Little Ghost made.

She defied me.

And there’s only one reason she’d do something this stupid when she’s got so much to lose.

She’s looking for answers.

Well, then it’s about time I give them to her.

25

BEX

It’s been a long Saturday morning to say the least. Roman has been rearranging furniture in the living area since the sun came up to make room for the painters Mom convinced him to hire.

Like I knew she would.

She stood out of his way mostly, overseeing operations with a demanding finger and a saccharine smile.

It amazes me how much patience Roman has for the woman, as loving as she can be, she’s a bigger pain in the ass.

I took no part in the physical labor, steering clear of the living room completely and laying up in bed with Potato by my side. It’s pushing noon, though, and if I want to make it to my destinations today, I need to get my behind moving and out of this crazy house.

Which is why I’m already dressed in a jean skirt and black cropped tee, holding Potato in my arms as I dare to enter the room, where I hear Roman finally getting fed up with Mom and telling her to butt out.

“Alright alright, I’ll let you handle it.” Mom holds up her hands and circles into the kitchen, finally putting a lid on the twenty-seven “suggestions” I’ve heard her offering Roman through the walls.

“Hi baby!” Mom beams as I join them. “You slept late. Want some breakfast?”

Roman turns to me after securing the couch in the middle of the living room, wiping his brow. “What’s up, Bex? You headed out already?”

I look down at my outfit. “Uh, yeah, I have that project I need to do some research on, remember?”

He taps his forehead. “Ah, yes. That’s right. Need some money for lunch?”

I smile uncomfortably, knowing the debit card they gave me needs some replenishing, but I haven’t had the heart to tell him. “Uhm, if you don’t mind.”

“Not a problem, let me grab my wallet.” He starts walking toward the bedrooms, adding, “I’ll fill your debit card too while I’m at it, I think I forgot last week.”

Mom blows him a kiss before he disappears down the hall, then turns to me. “So what do you wanna eat, baby, some pancakes?”

“Yeah, sure.” I place Potato on the floor with a smooch, then climb on one of the stools in front of the kitchen island.

Mom reaches for the remote, turning on the TV she insisted she needed in the kitchen for when she cooks, and gets to work on my pancakes.

Potato watches me at my feet, never leaving my side when I’m home.

“I think I can squeeze in a quick walk with my Chunky Muffin.” I bend over and pet his head, making his tail wag. “But first…breakfast.”

After one more pat on the head, I straighten, reach for the orange juice Mom placed on the island, and pour myself a glass. I take several long sips as the voices on the TV screen pull my attention.

“Police presence has increased in the Borden Heights area of Manhattan, where a man was brutally attacked last night leaving a local bar.”

Mom stops pouring the flour into a bowl and turns up the volume on the TV.

“Sources say the fifty year old man, who’s name has not yet been released, was leaving the Stale Goat around three thirty in the morning, and was stabbed multiple times and castrated before the perpetrator took off on foot. The victim was brought to New York Presbyterian Hospital where he succumbed to his wounds.” The female caster folds her hands on the table, adding, “According to local authorities, the deceased was on the sex offenders list, which leads authorities to believe this act of violence may also be related to the four other attacks to known offenders in the past week. Although it has not been confirmed if these attacks are linked, the authorities say it is likely. Police do not yet have any leads on the suspect…”

“Jesus.” Mom shakes her head, switching off the TV. “I don’t know why I bother watching this crap anymore. There’s nothing but bad news on every channel.”

I reach for the orange juice, and pour myself some more, sarcastically singing, “Welcome to New York City.”

“Oh, honey, please. You’re naive to believe none of this crap happened on the west coast.”

Of course it did, but now I feel like I’m living in the epicenter of chaos. Especially at Riverside.

“Here you go.” Roman appears, handing me a couple twenties. “Your cards all filled up too.”

“Thanks, Roman.” I take the money from him. “This means a lot.”

“Eh, no problem, kiddo. Keep up the good work, we’re proud of you.”

The compliment stings, even though I know it shouldn’t.

Roman means well, as well as any father figure would.

But all his kind words manage to do is remind me of who should be the one saying them, and how I’ll never get the chance to hear them from his lips again.

“So proud.” Mom reaches for me and squeezes my hand.

I manage a smile and stand, knowing if I stay here any longer these two will sense my sadness.

“Actually, I’m gonna take a raincheck on the pancakes. I’ve got a whole list of places I’ll be touring today.” I gesture to the TV. “And it looks like I should make sure to be back before it gets dark.”

I kept my word to Potato and did take him on his walk, but made my way out of the house in full stealth mode as Mom and Roman argued about wall colors in their bedroom.

You never truly know how good you are at running quietly until you’ve tried it in flip flops.

I visited two out of the three places I intended. A local beach and The Museum of Modern Art, which I was really hoping to gain some inspiration from for this poetry project. But, as beautiful as the museum was and as bizarre as that poor excuse of a beach was, neither have sparked anything inside me besides utter disappointment and a newfound respect for squiggly lines.

The beach hit the hardest.

I mean, who throws some boulders along a shore and calls it a damn beach? I could barely walk without cutting my feet.

I hold my notebook and pen close to my chest as I make my way through the street…adjusting the bag over my shoulder as I breathe as evenly as I can the closer I get to my final Hail Mary.

Stay tuned for the pun.

This area of Manhattan is busy, but not quite as much as Midtown where tourists swarm the pavement.

It seems to be a much more residential area as I look around, mostly apartment buildings and some smaller carriage houses, all pretty quiet even though they’re only around six blocks away from the bus stop.

I continue strolling the neighborhood, stopping to pet a couple dogs being walked by their owners.

What can I say?

I’m better with animals than I am humans.

I’m a mere block away from where I need to be when tiny hairs on my neck stand at attention, and suddenly I feel this chill down my spine, as if my body’s telling me I’m being watched.

I stop, turning quickly to find nobody but two old men sitting on a bench, and scan the street on the other side. But, other than a black cat, I come up empty on anything conspicuous.

My mind must be playing tricks on me because of what I heard on the news this morning.

Shrugging, I begin my trek again, finally getting to the corner of Droyer Street, where my destination stares me right in the kisser.

The Church of St. Michael the Archangel.

I chose this one because it was ranked the oldest and least visited in the city.

Google did not lie. It looks straight out of the renaissance.

It’s half the size of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, but still has its charm with the stone arches and columns built into the front.

I’m staring up at the cross on the dome when a frail voice disrupts my gaping.

“It’s quite a beauty isn’t it?”

I look to my side and find the cutest old man in priest attire smiling kindly at me.

“Uh, yeah, it sure is.” I tell him, looking down.

“My name is Father Stanley. Come on inside, all are welcome here.”

I lick my lips, feeling my feet cementing into the ground. “Uh, if I’m being honest, it’s been a while since I’ve gone to church.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m holding confession tonight.”

Oh, great. Confession.

I wonder how many “Our Father’s” have to be recited for pining after evil incarnate?

“Mind if I just look around first?” I ask, and the Father nods.

“Of course, I’ll give you your privacy. Come find me in the office to the right of the altar when you’re ready.”

The old man walks off with his hands folded behind his back, disappearing behind a large wood door he struggled to open.

I take a few more minutes of contemplating before I make my way inside, passing a woman in a headscarf leaving. I smile politely at her, then stop hesitantly in front of the small wooden stoup.

After checking for any sign of the priest, I dip two fingers in the basin, swirling them slowly in an attempt to become familiar with a process that’s become so foreign to me.

“This waters not for playing, Bex.” Daddy scolds me gently, removing my hand from the pretty bowl. “This is holy water, meant to cleanse a person before entering a holy place.”

“I can’t take a bath in that. It’s too big.”

Daddy scoops me up in his arms and places a kiss on my nose. “That’s right, you can’t. Because you, my beautiful girl, are full of light, therefore don’t need cleansing.”

“So why are you doing it?” I ask as Daddy dips his fingers in the bowl, then does that tapping thing to his head and shoulders.

“Because I need cleansing, baby. My light isn’t as bright as yours.”

Pressing my hands to Daddy’s cheeks, I whisper, “Here, have some of mine.”

Daddy runs his fingers through my long hair, kissing me again. “Hold onto that light, baby, don’t give it away for just anyone.”

I smile with the memory, watching my fingers create gentle waves in the water.

Closing my eyes I hold my breath and make the sign of the cross with my hand, reaching for my cross to place a gentle kiss on it for Dad.

I peer up at the arched ceilings as I make my way through the nave, taking turns between admiring the stained glass windows and running my hand over the old wood pews.

It smells just like the church me and Dad went to in La Jolla, a mix of frankincense and myrrh, and I can’t help but breathe both earthly scents in deep.

When I reach the front row before the altar, I take a seat, half expecting my Dad, or anyone really, to sit down next to me.

Nobody does, though, and I’m grateful for it because my eyes are already watering as I take in the large suspended cross over the table.

My hands fidget with my bag, trying to control my emotions so I can attempt inspiration to write.

It comes in the form of sniffles and blurry vision, and when I put my pen to paper the only thing staining it is my tears.

I became an outsider to a place I once held so dear to my heart.

Wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand, I decide to take advantage of the offer I was given before I stepped foot inside the past. Maybe getting this guilt and grief off my chest will give me a sense of catharsis.

Or the very least, forgiveness from my Dad.

Leaving only my book behind, I rush through the crossing, finding the only door at the right of the altar, and knock gently on it.

“I’m ready for confession, Father.” I announce, quietly.

“Very good, my child, I will be right out.” He says from the other side of the door. “The confessional is to the right of the sanctuary.”

My feet are moving swiftly before I can change my mind, and it only takes me a couple dozen steps before I’m standing in front of the unexpectedly huge double-door booth.

Pulling the one on the left open, I step inside to find it more than spacious for a confessional.

There’s a red padded chair facing the entrance door, which I close, turning the space a darker hue as I sit and wait, securing my bag on the floor.

A few moments pass as I dance my fingers along my thighs, wondering what, besides old age, is taking the priest so long to get here. Doesn’t he realize there’s a holy war taking place in my mind?

The sound of the door opening has my back turning steel rod straight, and I watch the shadow that enters the other side of the booth through tiny holes of the metal partition.

I instinctively drop onto the kneeler and interlock my hands on the small ledge, awaiting instruction.

But I don’t get any.

I try peeking again, but the holes are too small and it’s too dark in here to see anything on the other side.

I purse my lips, waiting a beat longer, and when the priest offers no greeting, I take the initiative to begin.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” I let out a shaky exhale. “It’s been over two years since my last confession and attending mass.” I swallow, my chest rising and falling deeply with unease. “I have no excuse, other than the hole in my heart left by my father’s death that has kept me away.”

I dig through the corners of my brain, trying to think of what to say next. It’s not like I prepared myself to be stripped of sins today.

“I’ve consumed alcohol several times the past couple of weeks, and lied to my mother on numerous occasions.”

Lied to myself too…

“I’ve partaken in a scenario that I’m not entirely proud of. The kind that invades someone's privacy.”

And masturbated in the process.

Yeah, let’s leave that little detail out.

“I’ve also had intense…feelings…for a boy I know isn’t good for me.”

There’s movement on the other side with that confession, but the priest still remains silent, allowing me to continue.

“I’ve been having darker thoughts than usual, too, and desires I’m not at all familiar with, but am guilty of exploring. I’m a sinner in all aspects of the holy decree, but I have not found myself feeling any regret with my actions.”

A loud screeching of metal makes me wince, and rear my head back. “Father, what was that?” I ask when the noise subsides.

“Oh Rebecca, do you not recognize the devil’s hymn?” A low grit that can only belong to one despicable human says, making my entire body freeze with horror.

Except my heart, it’s pounding so hard I hear thrumming in my ears.

What in the actual hell?

How in the actual hell?!

“You’ve been a bad, bad girl, Rebecca Dawson.” The callous voice adds, amused.

I’m at my feet in record speed, about to escape when the door flies open, revealing Crayton Shaw darkening it in all black, that damn goat on his neck peering out of his V neck as usual.

Crayton shoves me deeper into the booth.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He grimaces, shutting the door behind him, leaving me alone in a tight space with nowhere to go.

“Where the hell is the priest?” I cry out in panic.

“Afraid Father Stanley is…indisposed.”

I blink several times, still in shock. “What the hell did you do with him?!”

“Nothing he won’t be able to escape from with a little muscle and might.”

“How the hell did you know where I am?” I screech, taking as much of a step back as I can.

Crayton leans down close. “I’m everywhere, Rebecca. I told you there’s no escaping me.”

A sudden heap of anger builds in my gut, reminding me of how he left things last week.

“You disappeared. Tell me why.” I demand.

“Aw, you missed me.” He mocks me with a few bats of those long eyelashes.

“No. I’m abhorred by you!” I shove him in the chest, unaware of where this bravery is coming from when we both know he holds all the metaphorical cards.

Crayton chuckles at my attempt to move him. “Most people are. Yeah.”

So many questions filter through my mind, but only one makes it out the gate.

“Why are you here?”

“You know exactly why I’m here.” He growls.

“I can promise you I do not.”

He shakes his head, like a parent does when disappointed. “Tsk tsk, Little Ghost, weren’t you just seeking absolution for those lies?” His eyes lower to slits. “So, tell me, why didn’t you complete Beckett's assignment? Did you want my attention so badly you’d risk invoking my wrath?”

“Maybe I did.” I bite out, right before I add, “But not for the reason you think.”

Crayton snatches my wrist, squeezing it as he lurches me forward. “So it’s not because you wanna know why I refused to play tonsil hockey with you in the pool?”

It takes everything in me not to flinch at that question.

Show my hurt.

“No, believe it or not my entire world does not revolve around whether or not some asshole wants to kiss me.”

I think I succeed because Crayton stays silent, his lip twitching.

“So, we’re doing this again?” I look down at where we are connected. “You looking to leave more marks on me like you did Sunday night?”

Crayton lets go, tilting his head to the side for a few beats, then says, “Trust me, Rebecca, when I hurt you, there will be no question.”

“Explain this, then.”

I wipe away the concealer covering remnants of my wounded neck, then reach down for the phone in my bag, turning on the flashlight. There’s not much discoloring left, and I’m not sure if Crayton can even see it, that is, until the look of pure unadulterated rage spreads across his face.

“Is that a bruise?” His question comes out as a low rumble, then he cups the back of my neck to bring me closer. “How the fuck did that happen?”

I’m taken by the honesty in his question, his shock being as genuine as mine when I found it.

Could it really be it wasn’t him? Who else would break into my dorm room to hurt me?

I doubt Alexis would waste her time or a manicure to climb in through the damn window.

“I woke up from a…” I swallow, catching myself before looking away. “I took something to fall asleep on Sunday, and when I woke up Monday morning I found it.”

A cheshire grin spreads across Crayton’s lips, as if he’s realized something.

“What’s that look for?” I ask nervously, since Crayton’s face is drawing closer to mine, the previous anger dissipating into thin air.

“So…you were dreaming about me that night.”

My eyes turn to saucers and I break free of his hold. “So you were watching me sleep!”

“I plead the fifth.” He steps closer, and I instinctively take a step back, falling into the chair. Crayton lowers himself until he’s crouched before me. “Now tell me, Rebecca,” he grazes his thumb across my neck, “were you dreaming about my hands around your throat? Is that why you did this?”

I squirm away from him, more so when his hands find my exposed knee, spreading my legs.

How the hell did he know I was dreaming about him?

“What are you doing?” I yelp, pushing them closed and trying to pry him off me, but he’s too strong. All Crayton does is spread me wider, forcing my jean skirt to rise up my hips.

Oh, this is fucked up.

So, so fucked up.

Fiery pits of hell level fucked up.

Yet here I am, at this guy’s mercy once again and not even asking for it.

“You’re full of surprises aren’t you?” He muses, focused on the area between my thighs.

The temperature in this booth is rising fast, the devil’s presence is bound to do that.

Either way I can’t stop it, which isn’t surprising since that deplorable place inside me doesn't even want me to try.

My mouth runs dry so I attempt to swallow, watching as Crayton pulls something out of his pocket.

Oh no.

The knife gleams in the dark when he flips it open, that grin nowhere to be found.

In its place is unchained lust, and a glint of hatred.

“I listened to your confession,” Crayton runs the tip of the blade up my inner thigh, the sting from skin breaking making me hiss. “Now tell me more about those desires you spoke of.” The blade slides behind my skirt, and I can feel it toying with my most private places. “Do they include something like this?” Crayton lowers his face to where he cut me, running his tongue along the streak of red.

“Fuck…” I breathe, licking my lips as his suction reaches the tender area.

I’m on fire in every sense of the word.

And my body may combust if it doesn’t get some sort of release soon.

Now that I’ve experienced a real orgasm, I’m desperate for another one and am still unable to attain one myself.

It’s as if my body needs his corruption to find pleasure.

A guttural sound erupts from Crayton’s chest right before my panties rip in one swift motion, my skin unscathed but exposed completely to him.

My dirty thoughts have included so many scenarios just like this, sans the holy grounds it’s taking place in.

I really am going to hell.

Well, at least I know the keeper there.

“We are in a confessional, Crayton.” I try to reason with him, but I can’t even convince myself to put an end to this.

“I’ve done a lot worse in one of these, trust me.” He continues exploring me with his knife, turning it around to run the back of it along the slit of my pussy.

It makes me needy, and wet, and certifiably insane.

“You’ve been bad, Little Ghost.” He circles my clit, then presses the metal harder against it.

I wince from the pressure, which is mixed with a pain that’s intoxicating. I wiggle in the seat, chasing more of the feeling.

Crayton can sense it because he lets out a deep chuckle.

“God is watching you now, Rebecca. Show me what a bad girl you really are.”

“You are not God, Crayton.” I bite out through a moan.

“You’re right.” Crayton slides the handle through my entrance, making me stifle another. “But I am yours.”

I can feel the cold metal against my inner walls, but it’s not long before my arousal warms it completely, embracing the foreign object.

My entire body ignites when the handle nicks my insides, and the pinches feel like zaps to my core.

Crayton’s fingers squeeze my thigh, with the weapon sliding in and out in deep meaningful strokes.

I glance down to find Crayton fisting the blade completely, making sure not to expose me to the sharp end.

Which may be the nicest thing he’s ever done for me.

And that’s saying a lot, given he’s fucking me with his favorite weapon.

“You’ve taken over my mind…you know that?” He says tightly, picking up speed. My pleasure comes out as a whimper, and I throw my head back, closing my eyes.

“Yeah? And you’ve poisoned mine.”

Moisture forms on my inner thigh, and when I look I see blood staining my skin.

From Crayton’s hand.

He’s squeezing the knife so hard it’s breaking flesh, but he’s so engrossed in what he’s doing, I don’t think he realizes.

“Crayton, you’re bleeding.” I reach for him, but he interjects my touch with his free hand.

“I know,” he says, thrusting harder, angling the object perfectly to find that special spot, and it’s like every star in the sky bursts before me when he does.

“Ahhh!” I cry out, watching him work me as I slap a hand against the wall. My insides clench tight around the handle.

“Come all over this knife, Little Ghost, go ahead. I want you to bleed for me like I am for you.”

His words have my abdomen tightening and my thighs twitching as I ascend that roller coaster once again, the same one I rode last time Crayton had his way with me.

I fly even faster over the hill this time, the drop a million times more intense than when he had me against Riggs’ car.

I come, hard, all over his knife and hand that’s now mixed with his blood and my orgasm.

My legs are still twitching as he removes the knife, which is when I truly realize what the fuck just happened.

“What the hell did you just do to me?” I pant, watching Crayton as he examines his injured hand.

“I made you mine.”

His eyes rise to meet my spent ones, then Crayton reaches for my face, drenching my lips with his bloody thumb. “Which means nobody else can ever have you.”

My tongue darts out to taste him: all metallic, salt, and sin.

I’m appalled by the action, no matter how much I’m enjoying it.

“You look so beautiful colored in blood.”

He lifts the knife to my lips this time, coaxing me to taste the handle too. “Go ahead, understand my obsession. See why I hate you as much as I do.”

I ignore the contradiction in that statement, doing as he asks and opening for him to run the knife along my tongue.

I taste the sweetness mixed with copper from his sustenance, the concoction nothing short of deadly.

My finger lifts to caress his lips, and Crayton, like the time we were under the water, allows me to touch him.

“Did you disappear from Riverside because of me?”

His answer is instant. “Yes.”

“Why? Because of what happened in the pool?”

“Yes.”

“So I’m good enough for you to do this, but not enough to kiss?”

Crayton stands, wiping the blood off my face with the bottom of his shirt, another form of tenderness he’s not conscious of. “I thought you don’t care about whether or not assholes want to kiss you.” He says, cleaning my soiled leg too.

“Well, maybe this asshole’s starting to prove different.”

He wipes his hand along his jeans as he says, “Trust me, he’s not.”

“Let me out of here!” Father Stanley’s voice bellows out in the distance, bringing fear back to the surface of my mind.

“The priest!” I hiss, gathering my things.

Crayton reaches for my hand and pulls me to my feet, barely allowing me to adjust my clothes. “Let’s go.” He says right before he throws the door open, dragging me through the church to escape.

“Wait, my book!” I tell him, pulling out of his hold and running back for my things on the front pew.

“Let’s fucking go before you get caught.” He starts moving again, his boots thumping loudly against the floor.

“Uhm. Don’t you mean ‘we’?” I retort, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

“Just shut up and move.” He grates, not looking back.

I can hear Father Stanley shouting again, slamming on the door this time.

“The priest!” I shout, finally catching up to Crayton and gripping his shoulder. “Stop.” I pull him back, and he turns around with a dramatic eye roll.

“What about him?”

“We can’t leave him there.”

“Yeah, we actually can.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “I’m not moving until you release him.”

“It’s your funeral.” Crayton turns and storms off again.

Letting out an angry breath, I turn on my heels and head toward the front of the church, regretting it more with every step. I may get in heaps of trouble but at least I’m not leaving an old man stranded.

I just reach the crossing when a hand clutches my arm.

Crayton spins me around, cursing under his breath.

“Wait outside for me by the bus stop.” He reaches in his pocket for a pair of sunglasses, shoving them into my chest. “Put these on and pretend you’re waiting for the bus.”

“Only if you promise to—”

“I’m freeing your fucking priest, now go!” He points behind him to the door. “Before I change my mind.”

* * *

Crayton kept his word and freed Father Stanley.

Somehow managing to remove the chair he jarred against the door, he snuck out back, and appeared out of a set of bushes beside the church without being seen.

We’ve already sped—walked three blocks by the time a police car blasts past us, lights blaring.

It was hostile between us mostly—Crayton dragging me through the streets as I spit every curse word under the sun at him—until finally we were far enough away to slow down.

We stopped in front of a dollar store, where I did the honors of buying a cheap pair of underwear to replace the ones Crayton so expertly ripped.

Now that I’m no longer going commando and the excitement has died down, all that’s left between us is awkward silence as we try to figure out where we go from here.

Literally and metaphorically.

My stomach grumbles as the two of us sit on a bench, a painful reminder I skipped lunch.

“You’re hungry,” Crayton says, not asking—straight telling.

“Yeah,” I respond, clearing my throat. “May have gotten too distracted during my tour and forgot to eat lunch.”

“What about your medication? Kinda hard to get it from Saint when you’re marching through the city.”

Shit.

Sorry Saint, you stand more of a chance surviving his wrath than I do.

“Yeah, uhm, Saint gave me enough pills to last me the weekend.”

Crayton’s lip twitches. “He did, did he?”

“In his defense…he truly thought I did all your work.”

Crayton cracks his neck then stands. “You need to eat. Get up.”

And people say chivalry is dead.

I lean back and cross a leg over my knee. “Are you asking me to share a meal with you?”

Crayton shadows over me, slapping two hands on the back of the bench beside my head. “Did it sound like I was?”

I tilt my head. “Not sure. It was hard to hear over all your compensated superiority.”

Another friendly growl. “You will get something in your stomach because if you pass out I’ll have to threaten some asshole into carrying your scrawny ass back to Riverside.” He leans closer. “I don’t do well with inconvenience.”

“Real charming.” I fake a smile and push him away to stand, making sure to shoulder bump him too as I pass.

“You’ll get a hotdog or some shit.” He nods toward the small silver cart on the far corner.

“I’ll eat what the hell I want.” I shoot back, adding, “And what I want is to try one of those falafel things Mom always talks about.”

I order myself falafel and green tea, trying not to cringe when I see it’s in a bottle, and Crayton gets himself a hotdog.

“That’ll be fourteen-fifty.” The middle eastern man behind the cart says, and I reach into my bag for one of the twenties Roman gave me…then hold it out for him to take.

Except he doesn’t, because Crayton shoves my hand away.

“Here,” he says, handing the guy a twenty.

“So he does have some manners.” I lift my chin, smirking, hoping it’ll lighten his mood.

Of course it doesn’t.

“I pay out of pity.” He collects his change from the man.

“Asshole.”

“Oooh…I love a good compliment.”

“Some honey roasted peanuts for the lady?” The cart guy asks before I can think of a rebuttal.

“Never had ’em. They any good?” I ask him curiously.

Crayton grumbles some curse word under his breath and snatches the two small white bags from the man, throwing a few more singles on the counter. “Who the fuck has never tried a honey roasted peanut?”

Come to think of it, it is pretty odd I never have, but screw him and his rhetorical judgment.

“I don’t know, maybe the same person who never tries wearing a different shirt?” My eyes dart to the overworn black tee covering his furry black friend.

Crayton looks down at his attire, then shrugs. “It matches my mood.”

“And your soul.” I stroll past him, leaving his grumpy ass behind as I go back to the bench we were previously sitting on and take my first bite of the spicy fried chickpea concoction. I can barely contain the moan when the flavors explode on my tongue.

It’s really freaking good.

Crayton joins me shortly after, already halfway through his hotdog, and just as I suspected, we spend the majority of our meal, and then some, in silence and stolen glances.

“I heard you were sick.” I note after the quiet becomes deafening.

“From who?” He shoves his hand inside my bag of peanuts.

Not wanting to throw Mr. Beckett under the bus, I respond, “Some girls were talking about your disappearance at lunch.”

He tosses a couple peanuts into his mouth. “Doubt they were complaining.”

“Nobody cared, really. It was business as usual.”

He barely reacts as he reaches for the umpteenth cigarette since we sat down, seeming so much less hostile it’s dizzying.

Crayton came for blood when he showed up at that church, but the only real blood he seems to be spilling is his own.

I’m over the pretenses.

The tit for tat and mixed signals.

The time for answers is now.

I turn to face him. “What are we doing here, Crayton?”

He secures the cigarette between his teeth, saying, “I don’t know, taking in the view?”

“Cut the shit.”

He grins at me as he lights it. “Lick the knife.”

“Crayton, stop fucking around. Why did you really follow me to that church?”

“Because you wanted me to.”

“I wanted you to pop out of the blue other days too, yet you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“Why?”

“Because I had things I needed to handle. Shit to get off my mind. Couldn’t do it at Riverside.”

“Do you really hate me?” I ask.

“Yes. I really do.”

“Why?”

He lifts a boot onto the bench, resting his elbow over his knee as he smokes. “I ask a question now.”

“Fine.” I lean my shoulder against the back of the bench.

“Are you a virgin?”

Of course that’s the first question he wants to ask.

Typical caveman.

“I thought you were already convinced I was.”

“Just answer the question.”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On what your definition of a virgin is.”

He flicks the cigarette onto the sidewalk. “Pretty sure there’s only one.”

“Pretty sure you’re wrong.”

Crayton whorls his hand, as if saying get on with it.

“Well, if your definition of a virgin is a hymen being intact, then no I’m not. If you’re referring to whether or not I’ve ever had a man’s penis inside me, then, yeah, I guess I am.”

“I’m referring to the dick.” He retorts. “And good, because I won’t have anyone else inside you.”

I let out an incredulous laugh.

“Are you saving me for you or some shit?”

If his eyes were daggers they’d slice me like a damn cucumber. “If I feel like it.”

And….I’ve had enough of this psycho babble bullshit. Fuck this guy. I was stupid to believe we can actually get along.

When he’s not making me orgasm, that is.

“That’s it, I’m done.” I spring out of the seat. “I refuse to entertain your chauvinistic crap any longer.”

Spinning around I march off, tossing the bag of peanuts in the trash, buried in so much anger I don’t see the guy I’m walking into until I’ve already collided with his chest.

I stumble back, collecting my bearings.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going blondie.” The stranger snaps, wiping a hand down his shirt.

I feel the heat of an angry body approaching my back, and in a split second Crayton is barreling past me, driving the stranger into a brick wall with his chest.

“You got a prob—” The stranger attempts to say, but Crayton beats him to the literal punch.

To the guy’s face.

“Crayton! What the hell are you doing?!” I scream.

True to form, Crayton ignores me, wrapping a hand around the guy’s throat and lifting him slowly.

My eyes widen when I see the guy’s feet leaving the ground, completely flabbergasted by Crayton’s strength.

Granted, the guy is pretty skinny, but still.

Crayton steps closer, his face inches away from the dude trying to pry him off his neck, but he doesn’t say a word. Which I think is freaking me out even more.

The stranger’s face turns a deep shade of red as Crayton tilts his head back and forth slowly, like a beast examining its prey.

The image makes my blood run cold, but someone needs to help because not a single bystander is. I stomp over to them both, trying to reason with Crayton, but he won’t even look at me.

I try calling out his name and snapping my fingers, even trying to break them apart with my hands. Still no response…and it makes me wonder if Crayton can even hear me.

It makes me wonder if he’s even conscious.

I swallow, not realizing how violent silence could be until now. As I look into Crayton’s desolate eyes.

I’m literally scared for this guy, even if he’s kind of a jerk.

“Crayton, let him go.” I demand, but that just makes him squeeze tighter. “Crayton!” I shout, “you’re going to seriously hurt him.”

His head finally swings my way. “That’s the fucking point.”

If I had any doubt in his mental fragility, it’s completely gone now. I know Crayton is crazy, and I know he will seriously injure this guy if I don’t put a stop to it.

“Please…” I blurt out, racking my brain for what the hell to say that will convince him, and even the guy seems like he’s counting on me to keep him alive. “I’ll do anything.”

Crayton’s eyes twitch a bit, but his hands still hold the guy's life in the balance.

“You’ve won, okay? I’m fucking scared of you.”

I’m unsure of what the hell it is about this comment that convinces him, but it does so I’ll take the win. Crayton lets the guy go, and he nearly collapses while trying to catch his breath.

I’m trying to catch mine too.

He pulls out another cigarette and lights it, not even acknowledging the man running away from us.

“I’m taking you somewhere. Get your shit.” He states, taking a pull, making me realize I left my bag on the bench.

I really shouldn’t go anywhere with this madman, but somehow I know, despite all the scowls and threats and wanton aggression, Crayton wouldn’t hurt me.

Not physically anyway.

“Where?” I ask, still unable to shake the hesitation.

“No more questions.” He’s moving again, stopping at the bench to toss my bag at me.

I catch it and follow behind, hoping like hell wherever we’re going doesn’t include some Satanic church or sacrificial gathering in the woods.

* * *

So it wasn’t a church.

And I wasn’t sacrificed…yet.

But we did end up in the woods of Central Park.

It took a crowded twenty minute train ride to get us here, which, to my surprise, we didn’t end up killing each other.

Instead, Crayton sat next to me the entire time, elbows on his knees as he surveyed every single person around us. Only speaking when I pried a conversation out of him, which mostly consisted of questions about different areas in the city.

He even managed to laugh when I asked if there was a canal near Canal street.

There was no talk about what we did in the confessional or what he did to that stranger for what he said to me.

A part of me thought if I ignored the red flags waving in my face, I could pretend they’re not there and just take in the time I’m spending with the guy I’ve been desperate to see for a week.

Crayton can lie all he wants, but we both know something shifted between us when we were at the bottom of that pool.

And someone who truly hates another person, doesn’t react the way Crayton did with that guy earlier.

“It’s just along the bend.” Crayton points ahead of the trail we’ve been walking for about ten minutes, which is extremely dark.

Note to self: never go hiking through the woods with flip flops and bad boys.

We trek about a quarter of a mile more, passing colossal sized trees housing some very noisy animals.

The only light we’re exposed to is the distant buildings and sheer glimmer of the moon.

That’s when I hear it…

Water babbling in the distance.

Maybe a brook?

“It gets rocky around here.” Crayton points at the ground, where the dirt quickly shifts into pebbles and the sound grows louder.

“What is this place?” I ask, balancing myself on a boulder.

“The North Woods.” He responds, jumping off a rock and out of sight.

“Crayton!” I shriek. “Where the heck did you go?”

I’m moving as quick as my leather sandals will allow, praying I don’t fall into some hidden ditch or break an ankle.

I reach the area he jumped from just as Crayton says, “I’m down here. Stop panicking.”

I look over the edge and about eight feet down stands the man in question, glaring up at me with his hands raised.

“Jump, I’ll catch you.”

“Or you’ll let me plunder into the ground. Call it a hiking accident. Leave me for the wolves to finish off.”

He lets out a frustrated breath. “For someone who has all these ominous suspicions about me, you sure do have quite the imagination.” He widens his stance, waving me on. “Besides, if I wanted to kill you I’d do it in a much less cliché place than the fucking woods.”

Begrudgingly, I sit my bottom on the edge of the rock and prepare to hop off it.

With a quick count to three I propel myself off and into the strong arms of a madman.

Both of Crayton’s hands are secured under my ass, allowing them to slide up my back as he lowers me to the ground, his sapphire eyes connected with mine the entire time.

“Thanks.” I smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear when he releases me.

Crayton nods, passing me slowly as he goes back to leading the way.

Which isn’t much further because within a minute we're standing at the side of a waterway that leads to a crosstimber bridge hovering low over it.

Crayton gets us there in no time and finds an opening in the middle to sit. Then, he takes off his boots and sets them aside. I do the same with my bag and flip flops, even though my feet are already exposed, the last thing I need is to lose them in a mini river.

We sit shoulder to shoulder with our feet dangling in the water, and I won’t lie and say it doesn’t feel amazing.

The night is warm, only a gentle breeze blowing through the air which tickles my neck.

“Why did you jump in the pool after me that day?” he asks, feet swirling against the current.

“Because I thought you were drowning.”

“So?”

“So…I wasn’t gonna let you die.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because that’s who I am, Crayton.”

He shifts in place, the expression on his face unrecognizable, other than it being the most boyish he’s ever looked.

“Why did Saint throw you in the pool?”

“To prove you would try to save me.”

“Did you really need him to do that in order to believe I would?”

“Yes.”

I roll my shoulders, attempting to prepare myself for the heavy conversation I know is coming.

“I’m not evil, Crayton. I mean, I make mistakes like everyone else, but I’m not a bad person. Only a bad person would allow a person to drown.”

His gaze drifts to meet mine. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

What the fuck is happening right now? Is this Crayton’s version of opening up? And how do I answer a question that has two valid answers?

I go with the one that feels less likely to prove him right.

I know people believe Crayton is crazy.

Hell, I know Crayton believes he is crazy.

A huge part of me does, too.

But here’s the thing about crazy people, they’re almost always driven to it by some catalytic event. And if an entirely different person existed before, chances are this person still exists after somewhere deep down.

In Crayton’s case—deep deep down.

“I think you’re a guy who has a lot of demons. Who’s in pain and takes it out on the world instead of remedying it.”

He’s back to playing the silent role.

“Why did you attack that guy earlier?” I ask after a few more beats of silence.

“Because of how he spoke to you.”

“Why do you care how someone speaks to me if you hate me?”

“Fuck if I know.” He huffs.

“I think it’s easier for you to believe you don’t care than actually face the fact that you do. That you’re not all bad.” I shrug. “Just like I’m not all good.”

A muscle in his jaw tightens. “Is this you admitting you’re bad?”

“This is me admitting I’m human. Just like you are.” I kick my feet in the water. “I don’t believe our worth is measured by what’s good about us or bad…I think it’s measured by what we do with that good and bad.”

If I had to guess he doesn’t like the answer, because his nose does that flaring thing. “That’s easy for someone like you to say.”

“Someone like me, how?”

“Who has the perfect life.”

I let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Trust me…if I did I wouldn’t be here.”

“Where would you be?” He asks, casting a glance ahead.

“I’d be in San Diego, finishing out my high school years as I had planned, working my ass off to get into Stanford.”

“What do you want to major in?”

“Psychology, with a minor in Religion and Cultural Studies.”

He lets out a low scoff. “Of course you do.”

Unsure of what he means by that, the sense of his tone tells me it’s better to not find out if I want him to continue peeling those layers.

“Why did you follow me today, Crayton?” I ask for the second time, hoping it garners a different result.

“I don’t know.”

Well, it’s different, but not any more insightful.

“Liar. Tell me.”

His chest rises and falls in haggard motions.

“No.”

“Tell. Me.”

“Because I’m fucking drawn to you, okay?” He runs a hand over his head. “ I don’t know why, since every cell in my body urges me to hate you, but I can’t fucking stay away.”

“So don’t, Crayton. We don’t have to be enemies.”

I watch intently as he fights some battle in his head, his hands squeezing his knees in frustration.

In fear of this night turning to shit and Crayton going back to spitting verbal venom, I make a bold move that I hope will snap him out of the internal war.

Lighten the mood.

And not make me painfully regret it.

“Fuck it.” Jumping to my feet, I pull my T-shirt over my head and toss it on the ground, then quickly shimmy out of my skirt.

Crayton drags his gaze from my feet up to my breasts hidden behind a black bra. His expression is unreadable, but not leaving my body nonetheless.

Not sparing him a glance, I jump off the bridge into the water, grateful it’s deep enough to reach my boobs.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He leans back on his hands.

I spread my arms wide and spin. “Pretending I’m home.”

Crayton doesn’t seem as enthused as he watches me. In fact, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, blowing smoke casually into the night sky.

Damn it, man. Don’t make me do this for nothing.

“Come in, it feels great.” I grin suggestively, trying to coax him.

“No thanks,” he grunts. “I don’t come here to swim, I come here to think.”

“No more thinking, let’s just enjoy the moment.”

Since the good ones between us are fleeting.

Crayton takes another long drag, his eyes perusing the area where the water meets my chest. “I’ll consider it if you take that bra off.”

“I’ll consider it if you smile.”

Totally a lie.

He flips me off, so I turn it up a notch, splashing Crayton with both hands, effectively wetting him and putting out his cigarette.

“Seriously?” he throws the butt, and I try to hold back a laugh.

“As a myocardial infarction.” I throw water at him again.

“Rebecca,” Crayton warns, but I can see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

Butterflies erupt inside me because of it.

Crayton wants to let his guard down, he’s just had it up for so long it’s become a second skin.

So this is my attempt to shed him of it.

“You better not do it ag—”

I take two hands and make a mini tidal wave, soaking him completely. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you!” I shout. “What’d you say?”

“That’s it.” He reaches behind his back and pulls off his shirt in that sexy guy way, then stands and unbuckles his belt with one hand, pulling the jeans down and kicking them off.

He stands bare before me, only tight briefs covering a very impressive bulge between his legs

The goat tattoo is exposed completely, reaching the bottom of his sternum, and for once I don’t get creeped out by it.

In fact, it’s the opposite. I’m enamored by the art covering his flesh.

I’m distracted from my gawking by Crayton leaping off the bridge, springing to a chase, making me turn and run as fast as I can against the current.

Rocks prick the bottom of my feet as I wade through the water, it hurts, but the anticipation of getting caught trumps it tenfold.

I look back and splash Crayton in an attempt to slow him down, but he doesn’t skip a beat, not even when he sends water soaring my way.

For the first time since I’ve met him we’re actually acting like two teenagers together. Not at arms or at odds, or a care in the world.

A smile finally breaks free on Crayton’s face, bright like the moon, resulting in the same reaction from me. Suddenly I no longer want to run away.

I want to be as close as possible to his light.

I stop dead in my tracts and prepare for impact.

Which touches down seconds later when Crayton lunges for me, picking me up and dunking us both under the water.

I break through the surface and suck in air, pushing my soaked hair out of my face with my hands.

Crayton does the same, sans the hair, and the both of us stand opposite each other as we share a short-winded laugh.

“I knew I could get you to come in.” I sigh, lowering myself to the neck in the water.

Crayton drifts closer, his expression much more serious.

I’m standing at my full height by the time he reaches me. Towers over me once again.

“You can get me to do a lot of things.” He brushes my wet hair behind my shoulder. “That’s the problem.”

“Crayton…” I blink up at him, trying to ignore the carved muscles of his torso.

He keeps his focus on my shoulder, specifically where his fingers are grazing. “Yeah?”

“Your smile is really beautiful, you know.”

And I really want to see more of it.

“It’s not my most well known feature.”

“Well, it should be.”

His lips curve upward as he removes his hand from my body. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

We share a lingering glance, the sexual tension between us thick enough to taste.

Until I awkwardly cut through it like a knife.

“This probably wasn’t one of my best ideas.” I hug myself, looking around as the creeping of a chill rises up my arms.

Crayton eats the space up between us completely, his body brushing with mine before he hooks two arms behind my legs and lifts me up, making me wrap my legs around him.

It amazes me how heat still manages to emanate off him, warming me up the instant my arms dangle behind his neck.

“What are you doing?” I meet his eyes and ask, breathier than intended.

He begins moving us toward the side of the waterway. “You said you were cold.”

If a human heart had the ability to smile, mine would be gleaming right now.

Even more so as Crayton lays me down onto one of the large boulders, my thighs parting for him as he climbs over me and settles between my legs. His weight is heavy on me, and I can feel his cock pressing against the cotton of my panties.

If I wasn’t already soaked down there, I know for damn sure I would be right now.

Excitement and nerves flood my belly when he intertwines his fingers with mine, securing both hands over my head.

Crayton starts at my neck, his lips hovering so close to it the warmth from his breath kisses my skin.

It heats my insides like a furnace.

He releases my wrists so both hands can travel downward, as does his mouth, tiny wisps of heat radiating down my body until he reaches my navel.

“Crayton…” I whimper his name, my stomach dipping as his tongue grazes my dampened skin.

He releases a low contented growl that reverberates off the waistline of my underwear.

As much as I love all the things he’s doing to me, I need to feel his lips on mine so much more. To be connected in the most personal way, so neither of us can deny the sparks that fly between us. Ignore the pull that brings us closer each time we’re alone.

“Please kiss me…” I whisper, my tone needy and desperate, but I no longer care.

That’s exactly what I am for him, and I’m no longer ashamed to admit it. Because what he’s proven to me tonight is so much bigger than feeble emotions.

Drops of water are sliding down his forehead when he hovers over me once again, a single bead passing the lips I’m so eager to taste.

Crayton runs a lazy finger down the valley of my breasts, which is rising and falling at record speed. He examines the area closely before turning his attention back to my eyes, then to my lips.

Then back up to my eyes, wary.

‘It’s okay’ I mouth to him when a look of pain flashes across his face.

For reasons I don’t understand, intimacy with women is hard for him. But it doesn’t take a genius to know it must be related to something awful.

I cup my hands over his cheeks, my eyes fluttering closed when he inhales sharply.

I breathe as evenly as I can when I sense Crayton descend, the both of us falling right back into the same place we were in the Riverside pool. And my heart nearly bursts out of my rib cage when his breath is on my lips.

This is it…I think to myself. This is where he ruins me for all other guys.

“We should probably get going. It’s getting late.” Crayton says through a thwarted breath.

The words don’t fully process until I sense his warmth drifting away, my eyes flying open to come face to face with a blank mask.

The rejection hits me like a punch to the gut once again, but I keep my composure for my ego’s sake.

At least he hasn’t gone back to playing the asshole.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I sit up, instinctively covering my chest when he climbs off me, and jumps to his feet.

Crayton helps me once again as we hike over the rocks back to the bridge where we both get dressed in uneasy silence.

A twig snapping makes me jump as I slide on my flip flops, and I whirl around in a panic that someone’s out there in the darkness watching us.

Then I remember that’s impossible, because I was almost stripped naked with my stalker.

“What’s the matter?” Crayton forces out a laugh. “You scared of the things that go bump in the night?”

Reaching for my bag, I offer him a hesitant smile. “Only when the things that go bump include some rando going around mutilating people for the past week.”

It was meant as a joke, but Crayton doesn’t seem to take it that way. Seriously, I’d trust his skill with a knife over any crazy serial killer.

I can feel it the moment he goes back to withdrawing into himself, something about what I said shifting the mood from awkward to heavy.

“C’mon, I’ll order you an Uber.” He fords toward the trail, and my shoulders sink as I do the same.

It’s like no matter what I do I can’t win for more than a few moments with this guy.

“Crayton, is everything okay?” I ask after he helps me down from a rock.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t it be?” he huffs.

Great. We are back to playing the asshole.

“Just asking.”

“You want the Uber to take you to your Mom’s or Riverside?” He swipes through his phone.

“Mom’s.” Is all the will I have left to respond.

So that’s exactly what happens. By the time we leave the park there’s a car waiting for me, and the second I step foot in it Crayton closes the door without even a good-bye.

I peer up at him through the window as the driver pulls out of the spot, and he holds my gaze as we start moving down the street. Crayton’s got his hands in his pockets, and stays that way until we’re turning a corner and he’s out of sight.

26

BEX

I could barely sleep when I got home Saturday night, my mind spinning with thoughts about Crayton and where we stand.

I’ve been contemplating my next move the rest of the weekend, during dinner at some fancy restaurant with Mom and Roman, to the nail salon where Mom and I got pedicures, even while showering I had Crayton running rampant through my thoughts.

Will he return to school?

Will he be a dick if he does?

How will the rest of the guys treat me if their leader returns? Will Crayton be upset to know I’ve gotten closer to his friends?

Hey, maybe we can actually become friends.

My heart squeezes in my chest with the idea…not only because he would likely relinquish me from the pansy duties and give me my medicine back, but we could actually start building a real relationship.

Whatever that might look like.

I mean, how can we go back to enemies after he laid himself bare the way he did?

It wasn’t much for most people, but for a troubled person like Crayton, it was a lot. He indirectly told me he has feelings for me, albeit complicated ones.

That’s got to stand for something.

The first and most important question I’ve been asking myself all weekend is answered during third period as I sit in the back, waiting for Mr. Beckett to begin his lecture.

I’m going over what I have written so far in my poem when a very loud classroom falls silent.

As usual, I feel Crayton before I see him.

The chills I once felt have officially turned into flutters with his presence.

“Welcome back, Mr. Shaw.” Beckett greets him with an arm directed to Crayton’s desk. “We’re about to begin so please find a seat.”

Crayton’s jaw is locked tight as he signs the tardy sheet on the teachers desk, and I can’t help the smile spreading to my lips.

It’s a visceral reaction, likely because of all the pent up anticipation, and honest excitement to see him.

“Sorry we’re late!” Alexis enters the room a few seconds after, popping gum and running lip gloss over her annoyingly perfect lips. She’s staring into a compact mirror as she adds, “Crayton and I had to get caught up on some school work.”

My smile falls, along with the organ in my chest when she runs one of her acrylic nails down Crayton’s back.

Crayton doesn’t react to her touch, he just tosses the pen on the desk and treads down the row of desks, making zero contact with me even though his seat is next to mine.

Alexis smirks at me as she slides in behind him.

Bitch.

I blink several times Crayton’s way, waiting for him to turn his head, offer one of his cocky grins, hell, even acknowledge me at this point.

He does none of that.

All he manages is a scowl that carves me right open.

Cuts me deeper than his knife ever has.

I flinch from the look, redirecting my attention on Mr. Beckett even though it’s absolutely impossible to concentrate with a slew of new questions invading my mind.

Saint peers at me from Crayton’s opposite side, stretching behind him to offer me a friendly wink.

It’s nice to know he’s at least still acting himself.

“Dude…” Hendrix nudges my shoulder, whispering low enough for only me to hear. “What the fuck? I thought you said you two ended the night on good terms?”

Technically, I said “decent” terms…but there are too many eyes and ears around to correct her. All I can offer is a rueful shrug of one shoulder.

Archer reaches over, squeezing the hand on my lap discreetly, letting me know it’ll be okay.

Will it, though?

I feel so thrown off guard, even though I know I shouldn’t.

Crayton is almost as unpredictable as he is conniving.

The entire forty minutes pass with Mr. Beckett going over our lessons for the week, handing out a pop quiz no amount of medicine would be enough to have me focus on, especially since all I can hear is Alexis ranting quietly with her cronies about some party they all went to with the Royals on Sunday. Including Crayton.

My heart aches so bad I can’t rein in the frown on my face the entire time, I know this because Felix keeps glancing my way with a concerned look plastered on his.

Before I know it the bell is ringing, and I’m two steps delayed in comparison to everyone else as they gather their belongings to leave.

That’s when Crayton delivers the final blow, standing and making his way into my space, leaning over me just to slap a pill bottle on my desk.

“Deals off.” He announces right before traipsing down the aisle, meeting Alexis at the door.

I watch as she rises up on her tippy toes, exposing the bottom of her ass, whispering something in his ear, making Crayton nod before they walk into the hallway.

Tears well in my eyes, and I reach for the bottle with a shaky hand, stuffing it quickly inside my bag.

Saint reaches my side, silent apologies rolling off him in waves. He kneels down until we’re eye level, sliding his hand behind my neck and squeezing it, then pulling me closer for a quick kiss on my cheek.

“Mornin’ gorgeous.” He smiles and rises, squeezing my neck once before sliding his hand to my shoulder for support.

“Get your grimy paws off my best friend.” Hendrix sneers, hip checking Saint. “And tell your asshole friend he can choke on a twelve inch dick.”

Saint chuckles, unmoved and unoffended as he stands. “Mornin’ to you too spitfire.”

Hendrix eyes his fancy dress shoes. “I’ll be spitting loogies in a second if you don’t move your ass.”

Saint shakes his head, turning and meandering out of the room without a second glance.

“You okay, Bee?” Hendrix looks me over, as if I’ve been punched.

I’d sure prefer that pain over this.

“What the hell happened?” I bury my face in my hands, feeling Archer’s hand rubbing my back.

“We told you, Bex, you can’t trust him.”

But they don’t see what I see in Crayton.

They don’t know what he’s like when he’s vulnerable.

It’s the most honest response I’ve ever witnessed.

“Get me out of here,” I mumble to them both when Mr. Beckett asks if I’m alright.

So they do, Archer and Hendrix walk arm in arm with me to my next class, and continue to do this for the rest of the day until I finally make it back to my dorm and bury myself underneath my blanket.

* * *

The next few days are pure torture to say the least.

Although Saint, Riggs, and Levi have pretty much kept up the tempo, Crayton has disregarded me completely.

I should be happy, he gave back my medication.

I should be grateful, I no longer have to keep up with his work—I know this because Saint came to pick up his computer and books the same day.

I should also be relieved because he hasn’t even shared the recording he has of me.

So why am I none of these things?

Why does the twisted part of me want to go back to doing these things?

Because then I can go back to being relevant to him, I guess.

It’s two days before my birthday and the homecoming dance, and I’m looking forward to neither.

Especially since I found out Mom is coming to chaperone.

I’m slamming the door of my gym locker when I hear giggling in the row behind mine.

“He told me she’s got a rotten twat, too.” Alexis says through a cackle. “Bitch couldn’t possibly believe Crayton was actually interested in her. So fucking pathetic.”

Anger rumbles through me like a storm as my eyes slide to Hendrix, who’s also listening to the bitch.

“Looks like the Shore Whore lost her mojo.” Annalie pipes out.

My hands squeeze to fists at my sides, all of the pent up rage from this week overflowing like a damn river.

“Fuck this.” I march toward the end of our row and make a quick turn, feeling Hendrix right on my tail as I stop in front of the Twat Squad.

“What the fuck is your problem?” I glare razors at Alexis, who looks as if she’s been itching for me to confront her.

“Oh, nothing.” She shrugs, still in her bra and underwear, and damn do I hate how nice her body is. “I was just updating the girls on your pathetic attempt at landing Crayton.” She chuckles under her breath, and so do her friends. “A little birdie even told me you had to beg him to touch you.”

Tears threaten my eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s from anger or hurt. Did Crayton really tell her about us?

It could easily be a typical dig, but if it isn’t…

I blink away the thought as I take a step toward Alexis, and her daring expression heightens. “Wow, you finally did it.” I clap my hands, mocking her. “You can finally go back to being Crayton’s ‘My Size Sex Doll’.”

Her face contorts into a wicked scowl. “How does it feel knowing every guy in your life can’t stand to have you around?” She frowns. “I mean, even your own Daddy dropped dead to get away from you.”

The roar forcing its way up my chest is unrecognizable as I charge for Alexis, tackling her onto the floor.

She screeches beneath me, shielding herself with her forearms as I offer blow after blow to her face.

I pull her hair, slap her, do whatever I can to release this inferno blazing inside me.

How fucking dare she bring up my Dad.

“Get this bitch off me!” She shrieks, but most of her friends are too in shock to try, and Annalie, who finally attempts to help Alexis, has just realized I’m an immovable object.

“I can’t get her off!” She shouts, right before the sound of a body slamming into a locker rings through the room. Followed by Annalie shouting for someone to get Hendrix off her.

I’m not surprised, Hendrix has been waiting with bated breath for this moment.

“If you ever,” my palm connects with her cheek with a loud thwack, “ever,” I repeat, “speak a word about my father again I’ll fucking kill you!”

Two years worth of grief tears through me like a wrecking ball, and my cheeks stain with uncontrollable tears.

It’s like losing him all over again.

My vision goes hazy, everything around me fading to black as I continue my assault on Alexis, and I don’t realize my hands are around her throat until Hendrix is prying them off her.

“Alright, Bee, you made your point!” She yells, making me blink away my second fog.

Alexis is crying beneath me, like the petulant child she is, and I climb off her with wobbly legs before Hendrix drags me out of the locker room.

“Holy shit!” Hendrix jumps up and down with adrenaline. “I can’t believe you just fucked that bitch up.”

I did what?

“Huh?” I turn her way, still a bit hazy.

“Bex! You just beat the heck out of that thunder cunt! And I finally got to coldcock that fat shaming skank Annalie.”

I look down at my hands, which are blotchy and red and streaked with Alexis’ pink lip gloss.

Satisfaction washes over me as I flex my knuckles, but it’s quickly replaced with remorse for what I’ve done.

Since when do I wake up and choose violence?

I’m unrecognizable, and as much as I enjoyed giving Alexis what I know she deserves, I can’t shake this feeling that the people in this school are changing me.

And not for the better.

* * *

“What’s up, California?” Riggs drops into the seat next to me, wiggling his eyebrows. “I heard it’s been quite the exciting day for you.”

I’m sitting across the table from Hendrix and Archer, who still share polar opposite opinions about the brawl that took place in the girls locker room.

Hendrix is ecstatic.

Archer, not so much. Since apparently Alexis’ family is known to be bad news. You know, exactly like ninety-eight percent of the population at this school.

“It’s been a day, that’s for sure…” I stir my chicken soup, which I didn’t even really want, and add, “one I’m not entirely proud of.”

He waves me off. “Oh, please, you just had the balls to do what eighty-five percent of the school population wishes they could. Alexis is a spoiled cunt, the people will thank you for it, trust me.”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” Hendrix drawls as she takes a sip of her iced tea.

“Look at that, Hen, we’re already halfway to besties.”

“Do not call me that.” She strikes him with a fierce glare.

“Can we help you?” Archer leans back. “Your clique is that way.” He points to where Saint, Crayton, and Levi are scattered around their usual dining hall table.

Saint is buried in his phone as always, Levi tossing his water bottle in the air, and Crayton is staring anywhere but at me as usual.

At least I don’t have to watch Alexis hanging all over him. Word around the halls is she disappeared after our fight.

Probably to the make up store to hide her face.

“I’m just saying hi to my pal, here.” He refers to me. “And please, Beaumont,” the corner of Riggs’ lip quirks up, “we both know exactly where you’d prefer I be sitting.”

He winks, and Archer’s face turns cherry red.

What the hell is that about?

“Tell me, Bishop,” Archer recovers at lightning speed, and rests his elbows on the table, “how many girls do you need to lie about having sex with before it becomes pathological?”

Riggs lets out a burst of laughter, slapping his knee before he stands. “Oh, Archy boy, you are one to talk about lies.”

“Am I missing something here?” I look between them both.

“No.” Hendrix grits through her teeth. “Good-bye, Riggs.”

Riggs ruffles my hair before blowing my friends a kiss, then meanders back to his table.

“What the hell was he talking about, guys?”

“Nothing, Riggs is an idiot.” Archer insists.

I don’t get the chance to press further, because I catch Crayton in my peripheral stalking toward us.

Well, me.

My stomach dips with nerves the closer he gets.

Excitement too, of course, because I’m a bigger idiot than Riggs.

“Get up.” Crayton grates, stopping at my side. These being the first words he’s said to me since the day he gave me back my meds.

“The fuck she will!” Hendrix snaps.

“What do you want, Crayton?” I glance up, my heart lurching in my chest at the sight of him looking so good in his school uniform.

I remember every dip of those muscles underneath his button down and jacket.

The beautiful ink surrounding them.

We were so close.

“Either you get the fuck up and come with me, or I embarrass you in front of the entire dining hall. Your choice.”

My eyes are pleading, asking him why he’s doing this. He responds with an odd sense of urgency he clearly doesn’t want people to notice.

Namely me.

Or maybe that’s just what I want to see.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell my friends, and both of them stand in disapproval.

“Bex,” Archer implores, and Hendrix does the same, her version being a snarl.

“You’re not making me want to kick him in the testis any less.” She smiles mockingly at Crayton.

Crayton ignores her. Shocker.

‘Trust me’ I mouth to them, and they don’t like it but concede, sitting back in their chairs.

Crayton is already taking off toward the double doors when I grab my bag and follow him out of the dining hall.

Through the halls.

Into a back staircase.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He seethes after we’re both alone behind closed doors.

“What the fuck am I doing? Seriously?”

He backs me into a corner. “Going after Alexis?”

“Fuck her!” I spit. “And fuck you, too, for telling her about us.” I push him, so mad I could explode right here.

How dare he defend his stupid girlfriend after what she said about my dad.

Crayton studies me, plotting his next move with a swipe of his tongue along his bottom lip.

“This can end peacefully, or in violence. Choose wisely, Little Ghost.”

“What the hell happened?” I ask in a tired voice.

“Besides you gunning for people who only shoot to kill?”

I gesture a hand between us. “I mean with you and me.”

“There is no you and me.” He says the words like they’re acid on his tongue. “I tried for a piece of virgin cunt, but decided you weren’t worth the hassle.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He slams a palm into the wall next to my head. “Yes I fucking do. You’re nothing to me, Rebecca. Nothing but a needy bitch who can’t take a hint when she’s not wanted. Who doesn’t even have enough fat on her ass to make the idea of fucking her enticing.”

Crayton is taking every single insecurity of mine and using them like a knife to flay me open.

“You’re heartless.” My voice cracks. “A fucking monster.”

He leans down close, close enough to make my eyes squeeze closed as he whispers, “Don’t you mean a fucking ‘devil’?”

The correct term I used was the spawn of one, but if the shoe fits…

“You’re dead to me,” I tell him, forging ahead to the exit.

“Before I die,” he announces, making my hand freeze on the door. “Let me remind you of what I’m still in possession of, and what I can do if you don’t obey my rules.”

“Nice try, you already took back all your school shit.” I pause, looking over my shoulder. “I’m sure Alexis is already using her twat to write your essays.”

There’s a glamor of amusement in his gaze before it turns lethal again.

“That wasn’t the only condition and you know it.”

“I will never be your friend.”

“You will never be his friend either.”

Of course this all filters back to Felix somehow.

“Maybe I no longer give a shit about what you do with that tape.”

“You and your lies…” Crayton tsks. “We both know how badly you want to get into Stanford, and how bad it would look if the school found out you’re a closet voyeurist.” His lip curls. “Pun intended.”

I turn to face him, throwing my hands up in the air. “What the fuck do you want from me, Crayton?”

Besides not fucking Felix, which is looking more appealing by the second.

“You know exactly what I want, Rebecca. Just like you know exactly what will happen if you don’t give it to me.”

The sound of metal sliding has me spinning around, finding Saint standing in the doorway. “What’s up, guys?” He asks, wary eyes darting between us.

My only response is to blow past him, holding my bag to my chest as I race down the hall.

27

CRAYTON

“Dude.” Saint falls back on his bed. “What the hell is going on between you and Bex?”

I pace back and forth, trying to contain the fiery rage searing my insides. “Mind your fucking business, Lavell.”

I blow out a breath, scrubbing a hand down my face as I try to comprehend what the fuck Rebecca was thinking going after Alexis the way she did.

What the bitch said was fucked up, yeah, but Rebecca just put a bounty on her own head.

Here’s the thing about Alexis…she may be all bark no bite…but she’s resourceful. And holds a nasty grudge.

Which didn’t matter when Alexis believed Rebecca was off limits, but now that I publicly snubbed her, she’s become ripe for the picking.

And if I want to keep up this facade with Rebecca, keep her from getting tangled up in my destruction, the last thing I should be proving to her is how bad I want to protect her.

This girl, man. Now she decides to grow a backbone.

“Bex doesn’t deserve the shit you’re pulling with her,” Saint rumbles. “She’s a good girl and you know it.”

Of course I fucking know it, now at least.

Saint was right.

Rebecca may look a fuck of a lot like Miriam Thatcher, but she’s nothing like the bible slewing extremist cunt.

In fact, I think the busted up organ in my chest managed to grow a soft spot for her.

Which is exactly what every motherfucker in this building can never suspect.

She’s my blind spot.

My weakness.

And, fuck, staying away from her has been like trying to resist a gravitational force.

The moon, the earth, and the axis all revolve around Rebecca’s light, and I’m a single man trying to stop this cosmic order.

But here’s the thing about having a weakness like that, it can quickly turn into another man’s bargaining chip.

Especially that asshole Felix who I’ve been watching try to crawl his way back into her graces with concerned looks and fleeting whispers.

There’s no way he wants Rebecca more than his pride needs to get back at me.

“All I’m sayin’ is, you better not pull any shit at the dance, bro.” He sits up shaking his head. “You put this girl through it.”

My spidey senses twitch, picking up on something peculiar. Saint always tries to play the voice of reason in my diabolical head, but lately it seems a little too personal.

“Since when do you give a shit what I do with the bitches in this school?” I eye him through slitted lids. “And you got the name, motherfucker, but you’re no saint.”

Saint jumps to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Those bitches are just that…bitches. We both know Bex ain’t one of ’em.”

I let out a bitter laugh, the pieces slowly coming together. “You got a thing for her, don’t you?” I swipe my thumb across my bottom lip, already imagining the ways I can carve his face with my knuckles. “You want Rebecca.”

It’s Saint’s turn to laugh. “Trust me, asshole, if I wanted her, I’d already have her.”

I swing my fist hard and fast, connecting with his jaw. Saint’s head swivels to the side, and smiles as he rubs the reddened area.

“So, we’re doing this, then?” he chuckles, his gaze darkening, turning into the vicious motherfucker I know he really is.

Good, because I need that asshole now more than my best friend. I slap two hands against my chest. “Looks like it.”

This wouldn’t be the first time we came to blows, living together for three years will do that to any two hot heads.

Saint’s punch is just as powerful as mine, and I eat up the sting that comes with it like a vacuum.

My chest heaves, and so does his as we size each other up.

“Is that why you gave her those meds behind my back?” I shove him. “’Cause you were trying to get your dick wet?”

“You know damn well I don’t see her like that.” He shoves me back. “I did it because she’s been working her ass off for you, and deserved the break.”

I don’t realize my knife is in my hand until it’s at his throat. “So your loyalty lies with her then?”

There’s a glimpse of offense flickering in his gaze before it goes back to stone cold. “You know damn well where my loyalty lies.”

I press the knife harder into his throat just as something sharp stings my ribs. Saint smirks. “I got trinkets too, motherfucker.”

Looking down, I find his stun gun wrapped around his knuckles, the spikes at the joint end of it pricking my side.

Huffing out a breath, my lips form a grin. “You seriously whippin’ out Halo on me?”

Yup, the dick’s got a name for his souped up brass knuckles.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Like I said, we’ve been here before.

I pull back my knife at the same time as he removes the sharp points from my side, the mood shifting immediately back to normal.

“You done now?” He pops a brow

I flip the knife closed. “Yeah, whatever. You’re still a dick.”

He fists said dick with his hand. “A big ole’ one too.”

I blow out a breath, collapsing onto my bed, burying my face in my hands. “Fuck, man.”

Saint sits down next to me. “Talk to me, bro. What’s going through your head?”

How can I tell him for the first time in my life I feel affection toward a chick? Possessiveness? I never thought I’d be able to. Especially to someone like Rebecca.

I have to say none of this, though, because Saint can always read the room we’re in. “It’s alright to care about her. In fact, I’m first in line to ship the both of you.”

I’m already shaking my head when he claps me on the back. “I know you don’t like to talk about the shit that goes on in your head, but know this, Rebecca cares about you a lot. Anyone can see it. She was the only one sniffing around for you when you left.”

If this guy only knew how much I hated being away from her. If she only knew.

They can’t know, though. Because the only way to protect Rebecca is to trust nobody.

Unfortunately that includes my best friend.

I’ve done too much bad, got too many skeletons in my closet ready to jump out.

Made too many enemies.

Her God being one of ’em.

My jaw ticks. “Don’t matter, I’m finished with her.”

Saint’s features turn suspect. “Dude.”

“Enough with the fucking third degree, Lavell.” I stand, making my way to the door, needing to get the fuck outta dodge, but first I have to find a way to run damage control.

* * *

“What do you want, Cray?” Alexis sighs, admiring her newly painted nails.

Annalie shuts the door behind me, then plays guard of it as if she could actually stop me from leaving. “What part of ‘leave Rebecca to me’ did you not understand?”

She exhales a long sigh. “The bitch hit me first, which she’ll pay for naturally.” She grins, locking eyes with Annalie who looks just as devious.

“She’s mine to fuck with, or did you forget?”

“Fuck with? Or fuck? It’s hard to tell these days.” Her lip curls as she gives me a once over.

I want to bash her fucking face in, but judging from the bruises she’s trying to hide behind concealer, I can tell Rebecca already did it for me.

I’d be proud of her if she wasn’t so fucking stupid.

“What I do is none of your fucking business. All you need to know is that I’m handling her. I’ll destroy her on my terms and no one else’s, got it?”

I sneak closer to her, and Alexis’ eyes hood with arousal, wanting what I usually end up giving her when she’s misbehaved. Except the thought of it now makes my stomach violently ill.

The coy smile she’s throwing my way vanishes in an instant, replaced with a shrug. “It’s too late, I already called Daddy. He promised he’d handle it.”

Motherfucker. This is exactly what I didn’t want.

Her father’s moral compass makes mine look like the Ten Commandments.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” I grind out, my molars turning to shavings. “Because she beat your ass in a fight?”

“See!” Alexis slaps her knee. “That right there is what I’m talking about. Since when do you give a shit how I handle the bitches below me in this school?”

This conversation sounds eerily familiar to the one I just had with Saint, and it takes everything in me to ignore the irony.

“I care when they’re only mine to punish. For reasons you don’t need to understand.”

She seems to think about it for a second. Then says, “Prove it to me.”

I know exactly where this is going. She wants me to publicly claim her like I did Rebecca. Something I’ve never granted Alexis. The entire football team could fuck her and I wouldn’t even give it a second thought.

Other than wanting the bitch to get tested.

Alexis knows this, that’s why she’ll want me to make a bold statement.

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll go to the fucking dance with you.” This wouldn’t even be a consideration if she hadn’t already spoken to her Dad.

I may be dangerous, but even a crazy motherfucker like me knows not to fuck with Bratva.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She licks her bottom lip. “But not quite there yet.”

I’m about to ask her what the hell else she could want that’s better than being under my arm in front of the entire student body, but then she spreads her legs on the bed, revealing red lace underwear.

“Annalie…” Alexis summons her, keeping those heavy brown eyes on me.

“Yeah, Lex?” She chirps over my shoulder.

“Get out.”

So she does, the door shuts quietly behind me and Alexis’ smile brightens.

“Prove to me how much you don’t want that skanky whore.” She slides out of her underwear and throws them onto the floor.

“Fuck me like you want me.”

“I don’t have to prove a fucking thing to you.” I tower over her on the bed, wrapping her long brown hair around my fist and pulling. “I call the shots here, not you.”

Her smile turns wicked. “That’s because I never would’ve imagined telling Daddy how the big bad boy in Riverside took advantage of me.”

She’s a fucking liar and she knows it. Everything I’ve done with Alexis, no matter how depraved, has always been because she craved it.

I formed a chink in my armor by drawing attention to Rebecca, now this bitch thinks she has leverage on me.

In reality, she does, because her Dad can have anyone up and disappearing by making it look like an accident.

Or self induced.

Have I killed before? Yeah.

But this time I’d be a solitary lion up against an entire pride. And Rebecca a helpless gazelle.

Alexis has given me no choice but to bend to her will for the first time.

But a lion never forgets.

Neither does a devil.

“What do I get if I give you this?” I ask through a snarl.

“I’ll call Daddy off on your little whore.” She muses.

Deciding this is as good of a reassurance I will get, I slide out of my blazer, and toss it onto Annalie’s bed.

“Bend that ass over.” I spit out, unbuckling my slacks and sliding them down.

Alexis does so with pleasure, winking at me as she slides out of bed, folds in half back onto it and sticks her bare ass out for me under her skirt.

She looks over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip as I settle behind her.

Every devious feature on her face has my muscles tightening with disgust.

I fucking hate her. And I plan to show her how much.

“Punish me, baby.” She croons, in an attempt to turn me on.

It doesn’t, never did, but I will make sure she gets what’s coming to her for threatening me. Right now and when she least expects it.

28

BEX

“Remind me again why I agreed to this…” I groan as Hendrix zips up the back of my dress.

“Because you’re a bad ass bitch who won’t let some asshole keep her from having fun on her eighteenth birthday.”

I’d much rather be celebrating it in our room with Chinese takeout and binge watching Netflix.

This entire week has been nonstop events, games, rallies, parties, and even guest speakers taking us out of class to crowd the auditorium.

Instead of the syllabus we should’ve been focusing on, several alumni from as far as decades back came to stand before us and describe in great detail all the ways Riverside changed their lives.

I’ve done the bare minimum required for school spirit, listening to the extensive speeches and mock cheering during morning announcements every day when the person on the other end of the mic would scream “Go Royals!”

I stuck with my decision to avoid the homecoming game, where Saint ended up calling the winning play for The Royals, and he may still have a grudge against me for it.

Oh well.

Archer and Hendrix tried once again to make me go to the after party, but were understanding when I declined.

This dance tonight is more socializing than my fragile ego can handle.

We spent the majority of the time after school doing as many of my favorite things as we could: went walking by the pier, got some Starbucks, and even made a trip to Harold’s Donuts. I got the most delicious fudge chocolate donut, which Archer put a candle in so they can sing “Happy Birthday” to me.

I guess it was Hendrix and Archer’s way of buttering me up for right now, as acid and the fudge donut creeps its way up my esophagus.

“You look amazing, Bee.” Hendrix smiles at me, holding my arms out and looking me over. “Crayton is gonna wish he wasn’t such a colossal dickwad fucktart.”

That is a lot of made up insults.

I give my best attempt at a smile as I reach for my clutch off the bed and hike the strap over my bare shoulder. When I look in the mirror, I won’t lie and say I’m not impressed with the girl looking back at me.

Hendrix for sure being right, teal is my color.

The dress fits my frame like paint, even the apex of my hip bone prominent through the thin fabric my long blonde hair is falling over in waves.

I look beautiful, but what I feel is the polar opposite.

Until Hendrix jumps in the mirror with me, squeezing my shoulders. A true vision in purple. “Eek! We’re gonna have the best time celebrating you, boo!”

I grip her hand as she kisses my cheek, strutting off in a pair of heels matching mine that neither of us should be wearing.

If you have to practice walking daily in a pair of shoes, chances are they don’t belong on your feet.

“Promise me I’ll be okay.” I blink at her through the glass.

She returns to my side holding her bag, reassuring me with a slap to my ass. “You’re gonna be fantastic.”

The both of us are snickering when a knock erupts from the door, Archer’s gallant timbre calling out to us as if he’s our charming prince.

“Come ye beautiful ladies, your chariot awaits!” He sings in a Shakespearean tone. “It is I, Archer Beamont, your fearless knight here to whisk you both away to the ball.”

Hendrix and I roll our eyes and chuckle at the same time, still somehow finding his dramatic demeanor amusing.

When Hendrix opens the door, Archer takes up most of the frame, dressed to the nine in the navy Dolce & Gabbana slim tuxedo he hasn’t shut up about for two weeks.

He looks gorgeous as usual, his russet hair styled to perfection and a clean shaven sharp jaw with natural highlight to extenuate his other handsome features.

“Who’s ready to party?” He whips out a silver flask and twists the cap in his hand. “It’s time for some pregaming.”

After about an hour of indulging in whatever delicious liquor Archer had hidden in his flask, a bottle of Tito’s and cranberry juice, bad jokes and a random dance off between Hendrix and Archer, we’re finally heading down the elevator toward the dining hall.

Nerves set in once again, which I will admit is thwarted a bit from the two drinks and a shot I’ve already consumed.

But still, fuck me, here we go.

When we reach the doors to the hall, I can already hear the music thumping off the floor—making it that much harder to walk without busting my ass.

Thank goodness for my trusty flip flops shoved in my clutch.

Archer opens the door for us, and it’s like entering into another dimension. The entire room has been transformed into a stunning reception. So elaborate it’s unrecognizable.

Colorful lights, a red carpet, tables draped with golden runners and gorgeous flower centerpieces. A DJ taking up the far end of the hall which already has students moving to the music on the makeshift dance floor. Servers going around with hors d'oeuvres and sparkling drinks.

This place looks more like a wedding reception to fit a king than a high school.

“You coming?” Hendrix nudges me, and that’s when I realize her and Archer are already inside the room.

Archer holds out his elbow for me to take. “You got this, Bex.”

With a deep breath I take my first step inside, gliding my arm through Archer’s before we start moving again.

“Say ‘Go Royals!’” Some chick with a camera shouts over the loud music when we reach the ornate rose covered archway leading to the dance.

We all smile and take the picture, my arm tightening around Archer when I catch sight of Riggs and Levi in the distance, taking sips out of a cup I know must be filled with something strong. I instinctively search the room for Crayton, to no avail.

He’s not here…I think to myself, feeling the smallest pang of relief. Maybe he isn’t coming.

I scan the room again, looking for the Ice Queen, and can’t distinguish whether I’m sad or relieved at the idea they’re both missing.

Probably screwing.

Comparing demons.

“Let’s hit the punch bowl!” Archer howls like a wolf, taking off to give some guys a pound, and I love watching him in his element.

“I hope the punch is spiked.” I whisper-shout to Hendrix when she curls her arm around mine. “Lord knows I’ll need more alcohol if I’m going to survive tonight.”

As if proving my point, my mother’s saccharine voice beams from my side.

“There’s my beautiful eighteen year old baby girl!” She squeaks, holding her arms out for me, and when she touches down she squeezes me tightly in her arms.

“Okay Mom, I love you too.” I wriggle out of her grip and she takes the hint, holding her hands up.

“Of course, no PDA from the parentals, that’s never cool.” She nods her head like a genie and offers a quick hug to Hendrix before heading back to her post by the drink table.

“Make that a lot more alcohol!” I yell to Hendrix, making her laugh.

“Dude, my mom is on her way, so I’ll be walking the same plank as you soon.”

We both pout, then get distracted by Archer returning with our drinks.

“I put a little special something in there.” He winks and hands us fancy glasses that are a recipe for disaster given the obnoxious teenagers in charge of holding them.

“We’re dancing!” Hendrix nods toward the dance floor, already pulling me and leaving me no chance to argue.

Archer doesn’t look like he’s going to either since he’s already broken out into the moonwalk, sliding backwards toward the DJ.

Some techno song is blaring through the speakers when we reach the main attraction, and Hendrix wastes no time bouncing to the beat.

I’m not a bad dancer, per se; Mom and I had several dance parties throughout the years in our living room, and man could she move.

My favorite was the slow songs her and Dad used to dance together to, swaying so close to each other they nearly kissed.

It was gross to me, then. Nostalgic to me now.

Especially as I think about all the times Dad would scoop me up and sandwich me between them, always needing to include his ‘little girl’ in their loving moments.

“Move it, Dawson!” Hendrix grips my hips, trying to sway them.

The memory of Dad turns to smoke as I blink it away.

I try to live in the moment, knowing my friends are doing their best to make sure I enjoy my birthday, so I give in and start dancing to what sounds like a Halsey remix.

Why anyone feels the need to turn a masterpiece into a disaster is beyond my comprehension.

But I continue vibing, hopping along to Hendrix and Archer’s excitement, spinning and bobbing my head with my hands in the air.

It does feel good to let loose, given how miserable I’ve been all week being ignored by Crayton, then threatened by him, just to be ignored all over again.

But there’s something eating at me, this idea I can’t curb, that there’s a reason he’s acting the way he is.

Some may say it’s naivety, but I’ve already made enough of a fool of myself to not give a shit if anyone thinks I’m in denial.

They didn’t see the Crayton I saw.

Hear the words he told me.

They were heavy, deep, very hard to pretend.

The way he breathed me in was so intense, as if he was trying to leave my carbon footprint on his lips.

You can fake a lot of things, but you can’t fake the chemistry we share.

Because it could set the world on fire.

Yes, what we had was flawed, and fleeting, but it was real. I can’t stop believing that without falling apart.

A few songs pass before my feet start to ache and I feel a presence at my side, swooping in as the distraction I didn’t realize I needed.

“Damn, gorgeous, look at you!” Saint grabs my hand and lifts my arm over my head, twirling me around. “Gahdamn!”

I can feel a blush heating my cheeks, and it worsens when I realize how strikingly handsome he looks.

Similar attire to Archer, only his tuxedo is black and white.

The only bright thing about him is his smile on me.

“You look so good!” I tell him over the music. “Like really good.”

He pulls at his lapels. “Why, thank you.”

“Gag!” Hendrix appears next to me, sticking a finger in her mouth. “Fuck boys are riding that way, Lavell!” She points to where Riggs and Levi are still drinking, but this time with two girls grinding on them.

There’s parents around for Pete’s sake.

“I’d love to see you riding my face in that dress, Montgomery.” He shoots back, biting his bottom lip as his eyes peruse her body. “’Cause I’m pretty sure this little number of yours is what got Jimi caught up in that purple haze.”

I think Hendrix may actually throw up because her face turns ghostly white.

“Relax, I’m jokin’!” He cackles. “But I’m not against finding out.”

With a flare of her nostrils, Hendrix grips my arm so tight I think it may break, then drags me off the dance floor and back into the hallway we entered from.

“Ugh!” She groans when the door closes, shaking her shoulders off like there are bugs crawling on them. “Saint is such a pig.”

“I told you he has a thing for you.” I bump her with my hip.

“He does not—”

“Who has a thing for my girl?!” A voice that sounds exactly like Hendrix’s mom makes us both jump and turn around, finding June standing there with some incredibly hot older man, who seems to be moonlighting as a George Clooney double.

“Henny, baby, this is Vic Lavell.”

Both of our eyes widen as she continues.

“He also has a son that goes to this school, and he was nice enough to offer me a ride here in his limo to escape the rain.”

Hendrix looks as though she may be sick again, so I respond for the both of us. “Hi, sir,” I reach my hand out to shake, “nice to meet you. I’m Bex, this is Hendrix.”

“It’s wonderful meeting you, Bex. Do you know my son Saint?”

“I do, sir, he’s actually become one of my friends.”

This seems to please him, until he takes another look at Hendrix.

“Is she okay?” he asks me through a mumble.

I offer him a thumbs up.

“Are you girls having fun?” June asks. “You both look absolutely beautiful.”

“They sure do.” Vic rests his hand on June’s back, ushering her forward. “Now let’s go see what good use they put all our money into.”

“We’ll be there in a sec.” I chirp, knowing Hendrix needs a minute.

June and Vic nod, disappearing behind the door.

“Fucking really?!” she runs a hand down her face, and I slap it away.

“Makeup, Hen!”

“Right.” She rolls her eyes.

What a plot twist. I’m the one doing the comforting.

After a literal minute, I say, “We better go in before my Mom decides to kick it with Mr. Shaw.”

Which reminds me, I haven’t seen him either.

* * *

“You look beautiful, Bex.” Felix says, startling me as I continue my search underneath the table.

I finally escaped Hendrix and Archer, who literally have not tired out from dancing for over an hour.

I, on the other hand, have throbbing feet that have been crying for relief, so I finally swapped the heels out for flops fifteen minutes ago.

Problem is, I can’t remember where the heck I put said heels. Hence the flamingo stance.

My head darts up from behind the table cloth, barely missing the wood.

“Hey, Felix.” I breathe uncomfortably, knowing I look crazy. “Thank you so much, so do you.” I shake my stupidity away with my head. “I mean…handsome…obviously.”

And of course he looks phenomenal. The guy is one of the hottest in the school, pretty sure he can wear a dirty garbage bag on his head and the girls would still flock to him.

Felix in a slim fit tuxedo and slicked back raven hair?

He’d have a full on sex congregation.

“Why are you sitting here alone?” He asks, a bit hesitant to park next to me.

I don’t blame him since the last time he dared to say more than five words to me in public, Saint, Riggs, and Levi went all Tarzan on him.

We have been talking a bit here and there through text messaging, though. Nothing too serious, mostly him asking how I’m doing and me responding “living the dream”. Swapping plans for the night and some answers for class work.

I didn’t forget the threat Crayton bid me adieu with a few days ago, but what Crayton doesn’t know won’t hurt…well…me in this case.

Besides, he’s been sucking heaven knows what with the Ice Queen, why should I ignore someone trying to befriend me simply because Crayton doesn’t like him?

Fuck Crayton and his sexy abs…

Angry beautiful eyes…

Gorgeous lips…

Nope, not doing this shit again.

“I’m over the dancing.” I raise my feet, showcasing wiggly toes in flip flops.

Felix gets the point because he gives me a knowing “Ahhh”.

I steal a quick glance around, making sure the Royals are still engaged in whatever is going on in the circle of people at the other end of the room.

When I realize they are, I internally curse myself for even caring if they see me with Felix, and invite him to sit next to me.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He says, smoothly sliding into the chair next to mine.

“Having fun?” I try to hide my rising nerves with small talk.

“Eh, it’s alright. I look forward to the after party more than this.”

Ah, yes.

The infamous “Pit”.

“You coming?” He asks, almost hopeful.

“Definitely not.” I shake my head. “This is my limit on celebrating for the night.”

Felix slaps his forehead. “Duh, how can I forget? Today’s your birthday.” He leans in close, a little too close for comfort because my entire body tenses.

I brush it off as the nerves of being seen.

Felix kisses my cheek slowly, as if he has no care in the world about being watched doing so. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”

Heat rises to my neck, and settles to where his lips were just touching.

“Uh, thanks.” I chuckle nervously.

“Want a drink?” He asks, right before a light hand settles on my back.

I already know it’s mom by her squeeze.

“I’m gonna head out, baby.” She says loudly, making me crane my neck to look at her. “Mr. Beaumont said there are more than enough parents here, and it doesn’t really seem like you need me.” She gestures discreetly with her eyes to the guy next to me who’s checking his phone. She gives me a thumbs up for approval.

Hallelujah, she’s going, because it’s only a matter of time before she starts interrogating Felix for no reason.

“Okay, Mom! See you tomorrow.”

“Dinner and cake at Larousse!” She cheers, and I humor her by cheering back.

“Larousse!”

Mom ambles off after a parting kiss to my hair, and I take in a deep breath when I see she’s gone for good.

God I love that woman but she knows no boundaries.

“Your mom seems cool.” Felix announces, putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Yeah, she’s definitely something.” I smile.

“Wanna da—“ Felix attempts to say, but stops dead in his tracks as he peers over at the entrance.

Those familiar tingles rise on the back of my neck, like the presence of an evil spirit, telling me all I need to know about who just walked in.

I tell myself not to look, because it’ll be like a knife to the chest if I do, but the masochist inside me needs to see him.

So my eyes trail reluctantly to the rose archway, where Crayton is dressed in an all black tuxedo, Alexis hanging off him like a flimsy tie.

If the tie consisted of a red bodycon dress that kisses her feminine curves in all the best ways.

Twankie skank.

Now I feel like Hendrix with the not-a-word names.

I look down at my hands, the nerves turning into a sharp pang to the heart.

He brought her to the dance.

Of course he did, why wouldn’t he? She’s his now.

“There goes the night…” Felix grumbles, shaking his head.

He’s not wrong.

And I’m not about to start the fuckery early.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom.” I tell him, standing to my feet with shaky legs.

Felix doesn’t believe me, because all I get is a gruff “yeah, no problem.”

I’m taking off within seconds, speeding past the servers, dance floor, even Hendrix and Archer who are having their second dance off of the night.

Hendrix locks eyes with me for a beat, though, and hers are asking if I’m okay.

“I’m good” is exactly what my eyes tell her back, nodding to the bathroom hallway.

I could use her right now, but I’m not trying to be a Debbie Downer.

“Excuse me.” A man says, making my head swivel to the side to find another ridiculous hot dad dressed to impress, holding a glass of something amber and liquid.

This DILF is in a sleek gray suit with brown shoes.

It doesn’t take long for the lightbulb to go off in my head: tan skin, dark hair, dark eyes, tall but thinner than his son.

I remember his face in the picture in Beaumont’s office.

It’s Cillian fucking Shaw.

When the hell did he get here?

“Uh, hm, yes?” I babble, unable to deny the angst taking over.

“Are you Rebecca Dawson?” He asks loudly, taking a step closer so I can hear him.

“I am?” I respond with curiosity.

“My name is Cillian, I’m Crayton’s dad.” He points to something behind him, and I follow his finger only to find someone instead-—Mr. Beckett waving at me from one of the tables. “Angelo told me you’re the sweetheart who made sure my son got all his school work in his absence. Thank you for that.”

I’m about to say how it was not at all my pleasure, when Crayton’s voice booms behind me like thunder. I mentally prepare for the blast I know is coming.

“What are you doing?” He pushes past me, and his Dad looks appalled.

That’s when I realize he wasn’t referring to me.

“I’m saying ‘Hello’ to this lovely young lady who was nice enough to help you out when you missed school. Angelo says she’s his star student.”

Crayton grunts something under his breath before strong hands bite into my arm, dragging me closer to the bathrooms.

“Crayton!” Cillian barks, making his son freeze in place.

Holy shit.

That has never happened before.

I never thought Crayton respected anyone enough to actually respond to their authority.

Even if it’s just a tone of voice.

There’s no denying Cillian means business, and for whatever reason, whether it be the respect I’m assuming or something else entirely, he turns begrudgingly and faces his father.

“Raven misses you…don’t you think it’s about time she comes home?”

I’m perplexed as I look between them, wondering who the hell this Raven person is. Then, realizing Crayton is still squeezing the life out of my arm, I pull out of his hold. Crayton doesn’t react, because whatever conversation he and his father are having silently is too important for him to care.

Some agreement must’ve been made because Cillian claps his hands. “Oh, this is a fantastic song.”

I blink a few times before the beat registers, and when it does I hear the opening piano to Conor Maynard’s slowed version of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody”.

Cillian’s not wrong, I love the original song, but this haunted version is beautiful.

“Ask the girl to dance, son, we both know she deserves it after all she did for you.”

Crayton looks like his ears are about to sprout steam as he stares, full of contempt, at his Dad.

This guy must be smoking something serious to think his son would ever dance with me in a room full of people.

I’m not even sure Alexis would get that treatment.

Then I feel Crayton’s fingers link around mine, and this time when he touches me…it’s much more gentle.

“What are you doing?” I squeak as we walk together toward the dance floor, reaching it way too quick for me to attempt an escape.

“Getting my car back.” Crayton yells as he pulls me into him, already swaying slowly back and forth as I rest a cautious palm against his shoulder.

My heart drums wildly in my chest as I inhale his bergamot scent, and my feet move with him on their own accord as I scour the room for Alexis, who’s nowhere to be found.

Crayton continues holding my hand, the one he brought me over to the dance floor with, pressing it against his chest, guiding his free one to the arch of my back.

In line with his crude features, Crayton doesn’t dance like a typical teenager, either. As opposed to the kids around us with hands locked on hips and shoulders, he’s holding me like a true man does a woman.

Like my Dad held my Mom.

I look up at him, tilting my head as I take in his hardened jaw, always so chafed.

I can feel eyes on us like lasers, and for a second I contemplate running off the floor, but Crayton’s thumb caressing my back has me inhaling a sharp breath, and chills shooting up my spine.

He’s electrifying as always, and doesn’t even know it.

“You came here with her…” I think very out loud.

He doesn’t make eye contact, just continues swaying and spinning us to the song.

“Are you really doing all this to hurt me?” I ask, trying to goad him further.

“Yes.” Is his response, short and sour as always.

“Why?”

Silence again, and I feel tears threatening my eyes, but I push harder. Needing the Crayton from the waterway, not the Crayton from Riverside.

“What you said to me in the staircase…” I swallow, trying not to appear affected by the skinny girl insult he spit at me the other day. “About my…”

“You’re beautiful, Rebecca.” He interrupts, finally connecting his gaze with mine.

“Wha…” My eyebrows cinch together, so thrown by his curveball I nearly topple over. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is…” His nose brushes the shell of my ear, teasing yet purposeful. “In a room full of planets...you’re the fucking sky.”

He pulls me tighter to his chest, dipping me slightly until we’re face to face. Until there’s nobody left in our world but him and me. I can stay this way forever, and it still wouldn’t be enough time with this version of Crayton.

My version of Crayton.

I swallow the dryness away in my throat when his lips hover over mine.

“Do you really mean that?” I breathe, grateful for the song’s lower registers.

“I do.” He responds honestly, but there’s disappointment in his answer.

“Why is that a bad thing?”

Pain flickers in his gaze when he says, “’Cause the Devil’s no longer meant to touch the sky.”

My hand finds his face, his skin always so soft against the chiseled bone. “You’re not the Devil, Crayton.” I stare right into those beautiful sapphire eyes, imploring him to understand.

Crayton is so much more than his insecurities lead him to believe. I’ve seen it, I’ve felt it.

I know it.

And if I’m the sky, then he’s the sun, burning me, lighting me up.

Torment wrings his gorgeous features, as if recalling a terrible memory. “You’re right,” he straightens me so we can continue dancing, and his voice grows louder over the music. “I believe you said I was Satan’s spawn.”

“That was before I got to know you.” I match his tone.

“You still don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

An ice cold presence at our side pops the tiny bubble I’ve safely stowed us away in.

In a split second we’re back in the dining hall, on a dance floor surrounded by nosey peers.

We’re no longer alone.

He’s no longer mine.

Alexis is standing there with a sardonic smile, attempting to come off friendly for the adults. “Get your skanky hands off my man, bitch.” She says, still trying to appear cool. “Or I’ll make you fucking wish you were still gagging on west coast dicks.”

I gauge Crayton’s reaction, but he’s back to that blank mask I can never interpret.

I’m digging into my shallow arsenal of comebacks when something Archer said has my lips curling into a vicious grin.

“At least the west coast dicks actually wanted me gagging on them.”

I don’t need to elaborate further, because the scowl marring her face tells me the dig did the job.

Archer was right, Crayton doesn’t allow her to suck his cock.

“Cray, baby,” she runs a finger down the chest I was just pressed against. “That was Daddy on the phone, he said he’ll be here in five and can’t wait to catch up with you and Cillian.”

I’m silently begging Crayton not to do this to me again, not to turn me into the doormat I’m sure everyone thinks I am.

Begging him to be my sun.

Because the sun could never turn its back on the sky.

Except that’s exactly what he does as takes off with Alexis on his arm, leaving me in tears and running off into the bathroom.

29

CRAYTON

The look on Rebecca’s face when I left her for Alexis managed to form a tiny crack in the organ I thought was too fucked up to feel an ounce of remorse for a woman.

But Alexis’ message was loud and clear, getting her precious “Daddy” involved with what went down with Rebecca is not off the table.

I’m not afraid to die going toe to toe with a mob boss, or whatever goon her dad would hire to teach her a lesson.

I’ve seen it too many times before.

But if I’m dead, who will be here to watch her? Keep the wolves at bay?

And even if I do manage to survive a launch against the Bratva—keep Rebecca from danger—what’s to stop Nikolai Ivanov from going after her family?

Rebecca already lost her Dad, and it’s clear her pain still lingers. She doesn't need her Mom getting hurt because I got her daughter tangled up with lowlives.

That’s the only fucking thing stopping me from telling Alexis to jump off a cliff; I have to find a way to reason with her to let this shit go.

In a way that no longer involves my cock or my time.

Until then, she gets this small bit of control over me for Rebecca’s sake.

I wanted to burn every article of fabric on that teal dress she’s wearing, down to those stupid flip flops she loves so much, and bite down on her thin waist, drawing blood on every inch of her milky skin.

I could no longer lie to her and tell her she’s not the most beautiful girl in this room, because I know that shit I spewed to her earlier in the week was more brutal than I intended.

And a complete lie.

I needed to keep her away, though. And I knew hitting her where it hurts would be the poison to do it.

There’s something about her fragility that I find so much more enticing than what most guys look for in a girl.

I know this because she’s literally the only girl who’s ever enticed me.

Curves, big tits, a thick round ass, it all pales in comparison to Rebecca’s doe eyes, light skin, and those thin legs.

Every bit of her needs to be protected, because if anyone dares to try and vilify her, I will not hesitate to eviscerate them.

“So much for not giving a shit about her.” Alexis sneers as we leave the dining hall.

I whip out a cigarette and trek down the hall for a much needed smoke. “That was for my dad’s entertainment.”

Alexis’ heels clack from behind me. “Right. His entertainment. Annalie told me she saw you two almost kiss.”

Sounds like there’s a vermin that needs an exterminator.

“Annalie’s a fucking liar, and wouldn’t hesitate to jump on my dick the second you turn around.”

I know this because she’s tried on multiple occasions.

“The only liar here is you.”

I whirl around, forcing Alexis to ram right into my chest.

“Don’t think for one second just because you have a little bit of leverage over me I won’t hesitate to knock you the fuck out. Russian Mob Daddy or not.” I grip her hard by the chin. “I may have my reasons for placating you right now, but make no mistake, I care more about your friend’s underlying STD than I do your opinion of me.” I squeeze Alexis’ face tighter, making her flinch. “Now shut up, look pretty, and if you’re lucky I’ll allow Riggs to kick his virginity with your cunt tonight.”

“But, baby,” She bats those fake eyelashes at me. “You know I only want you.”

And I only want you dead.

“Fuck. Off.” I shove her, and turn around, barging out of the front door of the school.

* * *

“You want to tell me what the hell that was in there?” My father’s irritatingly caring voice breezes in from beside me. “You got a thing going on with this Rebecca girl?”

“What the fuck do you think?” I shoot him a dubious look when he settles beside me.

“I think you finally met your match.”

Don’t fucking remind me.

“Do you need something?”

He brings the glass of Brandy he’s holding to his lips. “Nope. I just know how hard it is to be involved with a dangerous woman.”

Is this guy serious? I’ve seen kittens who were more threatening than this girl.

“Are you blind? Have you seen Rebecca?”

“I did. All of her in fact.”

The innuendo here does not go unnoticed. My dad is fully cognizant of my aversions to blondes.

I ignore the shit-eating grin staring me in the face.

“Then you know she wouldn’t bat a fly.”

“There are many ways for a woman to be dangerous. It doesn’t always involve a loud mouth like Alexis, or a sneaky one like…” His voice trails off, but we both know who he’s referring to. His cuntified ex. My father clears his throat. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is…sometimes the most dangerous thing about a woman is what they’re capable of making us feel. Judging by what I saw earlier between you two, she’s got you feeling something.”

I don’t know what to say to that, because any response I give him will be proving his point. If I get pissed, I’m guilty. If I act dismissive, I’m in denial.

I choose silence, my old friend.

Darkness’ cousin.

“I think it’s good that you’re finally engaging with women who look like her.”

My eyes are like fire as they shoot to his apologetic ones.

“I meant a blonde.” My father holds up his hands, as if de-escalating an argument with a wild animal. “I made you a promise never to speak of that woman again, and I don’t intend on breaking it. Even if the resemblance is uncanny.”

My anger subsides just enough to take another pull, and my father another sip.

“She’s a nice girl,” I admit, looking down at the ground by my boots.

“I can see that…” he says through a refreshed sigh.

“It’s why I can’t—”

“It’s why you should!” Dad throws his head back and laughs. “Danger isn’t always a bad thing if it comes from a trustworthy person. And by the way that little thing was looking at you on the dance floor, it’s pretty obvious she’s only got eyes for you.”

“I’m bad for her.”

For anyone.

“Or she can be good for you.”

“You recently got dumped, shouldn’t you be spewing all anti-romance propaganda?”

My father huffs lightly. “Maybe. But that’s not your burden to bear. Just because I went through a bad experience with an untrustworthy woman, doesn’t make it a rule for all women. If I’m meant to find my person, then she’s out there somewhere, waiting for me too.”

I should be projectile vomiting with this sappy bullshit, but there’s something about the spark in my Dad’s eyes that tells me I should allow him this small moment of clarity.

I definitely shouldn’t remind him that the last woman he thought was “his person” ended up telling her new piece of shit stepson that she left my Dad because he can only shoot blanks.

It was true but fucking cruel.

Even though the reason behind her cheating wasn’t exposed to the public, Rosalind’s infidelity was the talk of the hallways for a week straight, between the faculty and the students alike. It wasn’t until I put an end to it with Felix’s head against a wooden desk that the whispers stopped.

My dad still hasn’t gained his mojo back, but at least I saved his dignity.

Especially now that the bitch is pregnant.

“My offer still stands.” I shrug, inhaling again. “But you insist on being the ‘better person.’”

“Not allowing you to kidnap and torture my pregnant ex wife has a lot more to do with keeping you a better person than keeping me one.” He smirks. “Even if it does sound a bit enticing.” His eyes dart to my pocket, where he knows I always carry my knife. “All you’d have to do is slice some chunks out of those five-thousand dollar hair extensions I paid for. She’d be squealing like a pig.”

Our ideas of torture are poles apart. But if that’s what tickles his pickle, so be it.

“Just say the word, old man.”

He punches my shoulder. “Who the hell you callin’ old? I got more stamina than half those nitwits in there right now trying to get laid.”

I chuckle, flicking my cigarette.

My father and I go on like this for I don’t know how long, staring out into the city nightlife and talking in ways we haven’t in what feels like forever.

I won’t lie and say this amount of tête-à-tête doesn’t seem foreign to me, but after my third cigarette and my father’s rehash of the crazy shit he did as a kid, I start to become much more comfortable with the back and forth.

But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t use every scenario to my advantage.

“So, does this mean I’m getting Raven back?” A grin teases my lips as I turn to face him. “Or do I have to keep assaulting every body shop owner in the tri-state area until I find her?”

His eyes widen on me. “You better be joking, Crayton.” He pauses, contemplating. “You are joking, right?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?”

He massages his temples. “No, please don’t.”

“So? What’s the verdict?” I push with a raised brow.

“And here I thought we were having a father-son bonding moment.” He mutters, adding, “I’ll give you your answer by the end of the night. For now, go find that pretty young lady and fix whatever it is you did to make her cry and run off the way she did.”

If I know Rebecca, she’s probably already in her dorm room Amazon Priming a voodoo doll in my name.

I clap my Dad on the back. “I’ll meet you at the dance in a bit.”

“Where you going?” he asks as I walk off.

“The dorms.”

“For what?”

For her.

Because it’s safer that way, less eyes, even if her spitfire- of-a-friend is there daggering me with her green ones.

“To be the gallant knight you insist that I am!” I mock him over my shoulder, and almost laugh at the visual of me on a fucking horse in armor when my father’s next words have my body humming with fury.

“Well, you better hurry up then, because it seems like that little asshole Felix already swooped in to play that role.”

I stop. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“I saw him earlier walking out of the bathroom holding her hand.”

Rage blinds me as I move again, barreling into the dining hall where the dance is still in full effect, my head darting all around the room for any sign of Rebecca.

I spot Saint with the guys, drinking and hanging off some girls without a care in the world. I trudge over to them, shoving Saint from behind. “Where the fuck is she?!”

“The fuck, man?” He turns and yells, wiping down whatever liquid spilled onto his jacket.

“Where the fuck is Rebecca? Why aren’t you watching her?”

Saint points his head toward the other side of the room. “Last I saw she ran into the bathroom, Hendrix followed behind her.”

I look hastily around for her again, the nerves vibrating off me has all three of the guys on high alert too.

“There’s Archer!” Riggs shouts, pointing to a group of guys at the edge of the dance floor.

I’m at his side in less than ten strides.

“Beaumont, where the fuck is Rebecca?” I chest bump him, and as usual the hero pretends not to be afraid of me.

“Why do you care, asshole? All you keep doing is messing with her head.”

Somehow the crack of my knuckle colliding with his jaw is loud enough to be heard above the music.

Archer hits the floor like a sack of shit, but I don’t care. All I care about is where the hell Rebecca is, and why this girl refuses to fucking listen.

Saint goes for one of his nerdy drama club friends, and Riggs and Levi do the same with the rest of the assholes gaping down at a disoriented Archer.

All of my guys are gripping Archer’s guys by their throats as I ask them where Rebecca is in the calmest tone I can muster without slicing three carotid arteries.

Then I hone in on the closest one to me. “You get one shot to answer. So choose your words wisely.” I snarl, pulling at the long hairs on his head. Saint squeezes his throat tighter as I yank him toward me. “Now where the fuck is Rebecca Dawson?”

Arms are attempting to pull me off the guy, but when I turn around and find Beckett’s hands on me, the glower I shoot his way is warning enough for him to back off. So he does.

He returns to the rest of the adults pretending they have any control of this situation from several feet away.

My head swivels back to drama boy, and the look in my eyes tells him all he needs to know about what will happen if he doesn’t start yappin’ through that trap of his.

“I saw her take off with Felix!” He shouts as loud as his asphyxiation will allow. “He took her toward the kitchen, so my guess is they’re heading for the Pit!”

Motherfucker.

Of course he is.

I have to play this very carefully, because even though we all assume Beaumont knows about the Pit but receives too much of our money to give a shit, it’s still not something I want to draw attention to right now. Especially since what I’ll be doing to Felix for taking what’s mine is not something my dad can erase with his wallet.

I release the guy with a shove, and so do Saint, Riggs, and Levi, leaving the drama kids huffing for breath and rubbing their necks.

Levi is already taking initiative to create a diversion, and the one thing I can really appreciate about the guy is his ability to think fast.

Riggs follows behind him, signaling with a rise and fall of his arms for the DJ to hype up the crowd.

The DJ starts spewing some shit about getting the party poppin’ as Saint’s dad and mine make their ways to us.

“What the fuck is going on?” Vic grates, crossing his arms.

“Nothing, just a misunderstanding.” I raise my shoulder in a shrug.

At this moment Archer comes to, sitting up holding his cheek. I look back and jut my chin at the carrot top on the floor. “See, he’s fine.”

“Crayton, when the hell will you learn?” My father hisses. “You can’t go around punching every person who pisses you off.”

Oh, how much more tolerable the world would be if I could.

“It’s fine, Mr. Shaw.” Archer appears at my side, still laggy. “I provoked him.”

Why the hell is good guy Archer covering for my ass?

My gaze tightens on him, and he silently tells me to go along with it. So I do.

I pull him into my side, resting my arm around his shoulder. “See, we’re besties again.” I rustle his hair with my knuckle, and Archer slaps my hand away.

Saint wraps his arm around Archer’s other shoulder, pulling out his charming smile that woe’s the ladies. “Just a misunderstanding between peers, Pops one and two. Go get yourselves another drink.”

The both of them look between the three of us, and reluctantly turn to head back to the bar.

“Start talking, Beaumont,” I grit out, ripping my arm off him.

“How about a damn ‘Thank you’ for not fucking you over?”

“I’m not punching you, am I?”

Archer rolls his eyes. “I told Bex not to go with them, that Felix and his friends are players and she especially shouldn’t trust him. But she was too mad at you to think clearly. Said something like ‘Can’t be any worse than the games Crayton plays’.”

“Them?” Saint growls. “Who the fuck is ‘them’?

“Felix and Stevenson. They took off with her and Hendrix.”

I let out an aggravated breath. “He took them to the Pit?”

Archer nods. “Bex told me not to follow, that she had Hendrix and they’ll be fine.”

At least my Little Ghost is smart enough to keep a girlfriend by her side.

But that snake will for sure find a way to get rid of Hendrix. He’s thirsty for revenge and for Rebecca, and he will stop at nothing to get a taste of both.

“You shouldn’t have let her fucking go.” I push past him, and Saint follows, his shoulders as rigid as mine.

“Hold on, I’m coming too!” Archer bellows out from behind us, causing Saint to spin on his heels.

“Stay the fuck here and keep an eye out. Make sure nobody sees us.” He says, his orbs glistening with rage.

“But…”

“But nothing you dick,” He spits, adding, “you’re the one who let them both disappear with the sleaziest motherfucker in this school.”

Archer looks as apologetic as Steve Harvey did when he announced the wrong winner for Miss America.

Which is likely the reason he listens, knowing me and Saint stand a hell of a better chance at going toe to toe with fucker Felix than he ever would.

30

BEX

“Here, have a beer.” Felix smiles and hands me a bottle I don’t recognize. Probably some hoity-toity brand the lesser folks aren’t cool enough for.

I try my hardest not to seem scorned as I take the drink from him. After all, he was nice enough to risk trouble sneaking into the girls bathrooms to comfort me, and then offer me an escape without anyone seeing.

“Thanks, Felix.” My lips curve the slightest bit to show appreciation.

I look around the literal cave we’re standing in, the tracks under our feet stretching into the unknown.

It’s creepy, but it’s empty of any Riverside students besides us, so to me it’s a win.

Stevenson hands Hendrix the same beer they have stashed in one of the coolers lining the walls of the cul-de-sac we’re huddled in.

“So this is it?” Hendrix asks, seeming very underwhelmed. “This is the Pit?”

“It’s part of it.” Stevenson grins at her. “There’s a huge opening down the tunnel this way.” His head juts to the nothingness that is before us. “It’s an intersection that leads to several different corridors going further into the city. Some even lead to the subways.”

“This looks like a place serial killers take their victims before killing them.” Hendrix takes a sip of her beer. “Or buries them after.”

“Shit, anything’s possible.” Stevenson blows out a breath. “The Pit’s been around since the eighteenth century. Who the hell knows what really went on down here.”

I stare blankly at my beer, not in the mood for conversation, especially ones as grim as theirs.

“Hey,” Felix calls out to me quietly. “You okay?”

I give him my best fake smile. “Yeah. Totally awesome.”

He looks between Hendrix and Stevenson, then says, “C’mon, let’s go for a walk. Seems like you can use an ear to vent to.”

I shake my head when he grips my arm gently. “No, really, I’m okay.”

“Okay, no problem.” He holds up his hands, probably afraid he went too far.

I’m about to apologize about my candor when something Stevenson says makes Hendrix laugh, the both of them in deep conversation about some new Netflix documentary. I look on, wishing I could feel as free as them at this moment.

Maybe Felix is right—getting these feelings off my chest can help, and then we can attempt to have fun like they are.

I say “we” because any sane person knows the last thing a teenage guy wants to do is listen to boy problems from some girl. Which is even more of a reason I appreciate Felix’s attempt to make me feel better.

It’s more than Crayton’s ever done for me.

“You know what?” I perk up. “A walk down a sinister tunnel sounds great.”

Felix nods, his mood already brighter as he reaches out his hand for me to take. “Let’s do it then.”

I take his hand as he mouths off to Stevenson that we’re gonna take a walk and for him to take care of Hendrix.

“Bee.” Hendrix reaches for my hand. “Where you going?”

I squeeze hers. “Just for a little stroll, it’s fine. Have fun. Stevenson seems really nice.”

Hendrix bites her bottom lip, trying not to seem obvious as she mouths, ‘I know, right’.

I nod enthusiastically, whispering, “Exactly, have fun. I’ll only be a few feet away.”

She seems skeptical, but ends up letting go, respecting my decision. But then Stevenson says something else about this show that makes her chuckle, falling right back into the conversation.

“C’mon, she’s in good hands.” Felix tugs me, his voice like a soothing balm to my pain. “So are you.”

This is the first real smile I offer him since he found us in the bathroom, and I don’t even realize we’ve started moving until a shadow forms over his face. “Thanks so much for being a good friend to me.” I tell him, and truly mean it.

I don’t know why everyone seems to put Felix down the way they do, he seems to really care about his friends.

He waves me off. “Psshht. It’s not all selfless. You’re fun to be around. Add on a gorgeous face like yours? I’d be stupid not to take advantage.”

To take advantage, the idea of how many times Crayton’s done just that makes me inwardly laugh at myself. I was such an idiot to keep trusting him.

Lights flicker in the distance—sconces I think—and it makes me wonder if they were here from the beginning or if someone installed them.

“Well, in case there is a serial killer down here, at least we can see where the hell we’re going.” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

“Ha. Like that crazy guy running around the city mutilating people.”

My head tilts his way. “You heard about that?”

He doesn’t seem intrigued. “Yeah, apparently dude thinks he’s the Devil. My Dad heard he goes around carving 666 into his victims.”

My heart leaps into my throat when I hear those three numbers, his numbers, but I quickly dismiss the thought. Crayton has a temper, sure, a little crazy, but he’s not a full blown serial killer.

Felix must misinterpret my unease because he leans down and says, “I won’t let anything happen to you, Bex. Don’t worry.” Then he kisses my cheek.

I notice he does this a lot, and I kind of wish he wouldn’t. Or at least ask for permission first.

Kissing is so personal to me. Even if it’s not on the mouth.

I’m sure it’s innocent, though, and probably normal for teenagers who actively try to form relationships. Unlike ones like me who always chose her parents and school over friendships.

Felix holds up his beer for me to cheer, so I let go of my ridiculous apprehension and clink my bottle with his, then take a hefty sip.

“So, tell me,” he continues, “and I don’t mean this in a judgmental way I promise. But why Crayton?” He takes another sip. “I mean, he’s obviously not a good guy.”

Obvious scenarios have never come naturally to me. Unless it included a multiple choice answer on paper.

“I was stupid.” I give him honesty, because I’m finally being honest with myself.

“You’re not stupid.” He encourages me to take another sip with his bottle. “Crayton just has that effect on people. All the Royals do.”

I drag in a deep breath before wrapping my lips around the bottle for another drink. “I guess you’re right.”

“Him and Alexis were always endgame. Everyone knows it.” His words seem harsh, and he picks up on that because he adds, “Sorry, I just mean the guy fucks around with a lot of chicks but always ends up back with her. It’s a vicious cycle girls here with more experience know not to get involved with.”

In other words, girls with common sense.

“Yeah, I see that now. I realize it was all just a twisted game to him.”

Felix squeezes my hand. “It’ll be okay, you have me.” Pointing forward he says, “C’mon, I want to show you something.”

Felix moves us along faster, and I’m grateful for the flip flops regardless of how dirty I’m sure my feet are.

I probably should be more concerned about that. God knows what’s living down here.

We reach a cavity in the stone walls, big enough to fit through, and Felix goes in first, holding out his hand to help me inside.

I hesitate.

“It’s okay, trust me. You’re gonna love this.”

I wrap my hand around his and step inside, the both of us moving carefully enough not to scrape our arms.

I am in a dress for goodness sake. One that is definitely ruined by dirt.

It’s not long before we reach the other side, a huge round area coming to view, similar to the one Stevenson mentioned earlier.

“It’s my shortcut.” Felix winks as I take in the place.

The Pit is set up into sections of stone rows, all surrounding the center floor, almost as if it was once used for some creepy secret society meetings.

There are more candles lit along each of the openings to the corridors mentioned, some speakers on the ground, and I can’t help but feel like I’m walking into some horror movie.

There’s more coolers and even a few wooden doors, which I can only assume are storage for corpses.

Once again, my survival skills fail me. At least this time there’s no weapons involved.

Despite the creepy decor and the chill ricocheting off all the stone, it’s actually kind of pretty in here.

Pretty may be stretching it a bit, but it’s got to be something if it draws a huge crowd of rich teenagers to party in.

“So, tell me…earth, air, fire, or water?”

My eyebrows pinch together. “Are you seriously talking elements right now?”

“Just pick…” He laughs.

“Always water.”

With that Felix’s hand is in mine again and we’re headed toward the tunnel closest to us.

By the time we reach wherever the hell it is we’re meant to go, we’re lost in conversations about favorite movies and celebrities, and my beer is over halfway done.

I’m already feeling lighter.

Happier.

Ready to seize this dark and scary corridor.

“What the heck is this now?” I ask when we stop at a dead end. I spin around to face Felix, about to make a joke about hoping he didn’t bring me here to kill me, when a wave of dizziness hits me.

I chuckle, finding the sudden bout of vertigo entertaining, so I do it again with Felix’s curious eyes on me.

“I feel like I’m in one of those crazy carnival houses.” I stagger a bit, so I know I should stop, but there’s this tingling in my belly I want to feel more of as I whirl around. Looking down at the bottle I’m holding, I wonder what kind of high end beer can make you feel the effects of alcohol so fast.

Then I remember, before Crayton sobered me up with his diabolical bullshit, I was tipsy from pregaming and the dance.

That must be it.

Plus my meds maybe.

“We’re under the Hudson river.” Felix mentions, looking around.

Another bundle of snickers erupt as I envision myself being trapped under a river in a bodycon dress.

With clumsy footing, I make my way over to Felix and run a finger down his lapel. “I hope you know how to swim then.”

He looks down at me with a Cheshire grin on his face. “Oh, I do.”

“Escape too…” I sing, feeling another onset of dizziness, and those little tingles dipping lower.

I lick my lips, which suddenly feel dry, followed by unsteady legs.

My beer bottle hits the ground with a clank, but Felix is quick to catch me before I fall too.

“You okay, gorgeous?” He asks, and I want to tell him we should leave but for some reason I’d so much rather touch him.

All over.

Feel more of the soft fabric of his tuxedo.

I drop my bag and explore his broad shoulders, squeezing the muscles under his unbuttoned jacket.

“Mhmmm…” More zings hit my core when I touch his chest, finding tight muscles under his dress shirt.

“Feel something you like?” Felix’s breath is heavy, suggestive.

My cheeks flush because of it, and when I glance up at him his smile is filled with hunger and lust.

“I never realized how built your muscles are.” I swallow.

“That’s because you’ve been too busy focusing on his.”

There’s something about the way he says “his” that has me flinching, and when I look at Felix again his smile distorts into a mix of blurry parts. Making it look a lot more menacing, when I know it shouldn’t.

Regardless, my insides are still so warm and eager for him, even though I never felt this way for Felix before.

“I…” My breath is shallow as I try to keep it together. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

My legs turn to air beneath me and I drop to the ground with a thud.

“I couldn’t agree more, Rebecca.” A cruel voice grits out, so unfamiliar to Felix’s, but I’m pretty sure it’s his.

“What’s wrong with me?” I blink slowly, running a palm up his leg, feeling the zap of electricity between us.

I’ve never felt this way for any guy besides Crayton, and my foggy brain can’t fathom why I do now.

Flutters between my legs have me moaning again as he runs a callous thumb across my lips.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out this whole time. Something must be wrong for you to choose that psychopath over me.” His laugh is maniacal, no longer charming. “Over me?!”

“Felix…” I whimper as he yanks my hair, fisting it in his hand.

“You’re pulling my hair,” I breathe, not feeling the harsh tug but still kinda liking it.

He forces my head back. “It’ll get worse than that bitch, trust me.”

“Wha…?” I sigh lazily, still not feeling any pain, even though somewhere deep inside me knows I should.

All that’s swimming inside me is a deep carnal need and unexplained bliss—and the want for Felix to feed all of it.

“I tried to play nice.” The cruel voice makes a sound with his tongue, hoisting me roughly to my knees.

Still no pain, or fear as I look up at this monster I don’t recognize.

I know he’s mean.

I know he’s bad.

I know he wants to harm me.

What I don’t know is why I want him to.

A voice inside my head is screaming for me to pull it together, and for a second I think it’s Dad.

He always knew when I was about to get myself hurt.

Am I about to get hurt?

I try to lift myself to stand, but my limbs feel like Jell-O.

“What did you do to me?” I ask the monster before me.

He kneels down, his face millimeters away. “You should be asking yourself what you did to ME!” Pulling my hair tighter, Felix’s monster brings me closer, where his lips press hard onto mine.

“Fuck you taste good.” He growls, deepening the kiss, and a low needy cry rises from the back of my throat.

Felix forces my mouth open by biting down on my lip, and his tongue invades with vigor so intense my slowing state can’t keep up.

I try, though, because there’s a growing pulse between my legs, and it feels fucking amazing.

Everything’s become heightened: my senses, my arousal, but what I can’t ignore the most is the need to get myself away from Felix.

“Please stop…” I breathe when he breaks us apart, but it only feeds the hungry beast.

“I’ll stop when I’m done taking you the way that piece of shit got to.”

“We never…” I try to formulate the words but they won’t filter past my lips.

Which doesn’t matter because Felix had enough of kissing and listening to me fail at speaking—so he releases me with a push, and I fall to the ground again.

“Get back on your knees for me, gorgeous, it’s time to make up for all the bullshit you put me through.” He lifts me under my arms until I’m in position, and my heart finally wakes and starts racing with anticipation. “Punches to the face, drowned in a tub, locked in a wine cellar with dicks drawn on my face. All for a piece of ass that’s probably not even that good.”

I watch him pulling down the zipper of his pants, and that voice inside me appears again, louder and clearer this time.

It’s Dad.

He’s telling me to fight, to get away from Felix.

To be strong.

But I’m not strong, I’m weak and I want him.

I can even taste him already.

Felix’s cock appears hard from behind his briefs, a lot smaller than I expected from someone so hot and confident as him.

But I still want it, in fact, my hands are reaching out for it on their own volition.

Felix slaps them away, then squeezes my mouth open. Before I know it he’s sliding inside me with brute force.

I gag immediately as it hits the back of my throat.

“Fuuuuuuuckkkkkk.” Felix moans as he withdraws his cock, and pushes back inside my mouth even harder.

I’m choking, nausea creeping up my esophagus, and every euphoric feeling I had dissipates with his rough strokes.

I don’t fucking want this.

Felix holds my head in place as he continues to plunge in and out of me at a painful speed.

I try begging him to stop the assault. It’s fruitless because I can barely come up for air.

Then I attempt to pull away, even hitting him, but he doesn’t let up. He’s too lost in the moment, and the more I exert myself the more nauseous I get.

And the angrier he gets.

Felix drives inside me so hard tears are running down my cheeks, all the way to my neck. I peer up at him to find a completely different person. One I could never imagine lurking inside him.

He’s just as evil as Crayton, if not worse. Because of all the things Crayton has done to me, not once has he touched me in a way I didn’t want him to.

Even if I fought his advances, he knew my body’s response to him and how badly I really wanted his hands on me.

I don’t want this, though. Not consciously. Especially not with Felix.

A thought pops in my head and I run with it, biting down as hard as my jaw will allow, making Felix cry out and withdraw himself from my mouth. He fumbles back a few steps before hunching over, holding his dick.

“You fucking bit me you stupid bitch.”

“Someone help!” My voice is hoarse as I scream, my heart pounding just as loud, but I doubt anyone can hear me. “Please…” I cry as Felix approaches, his cock still hard but angry and red, glistening with blood and my saliva.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He hisses, reaching for me again but a body tackling him to the ground intercepts him.

I try to find who it is that’s come to my rescue, but my vision is still blurry with tears. All I can see is the touseling bodies, and all I hear are grunts and the sound of knuckles colliding with flesh.

I reach for whoever it is that’s fighting my monster, even manage to crawl close enough to tell who’s winning.

Felix is pinned underneath whoever’s back is to me.

“What the fuck did you do to her you piece of shit!” Crayton’s angry voice booms through the tunnel. “I’ll fucking kill you if you touched her.”

He saved me.

“Cray…please.” I hold my arm out for him, but fall to the ground with exhaustion.

This gets his attention and he stands, kicking Felix in the side before running over to me and lowering himself to scoop me up into his arms.

“What the fuck did he do to you?!” He screams, so blinded with rage.

I flinch from his tone, still shaken up from Felix’s assault.

I can feel Crayton trying to regulate his breaths, to calm down for me. “I warned you to stay away from him, Little Ghost.” He curses something under his breath, then grinds out, “Now tell me what he did to you so I can decide how he dies.”

“Please…don’t…” My face nuzzles his hard chest, which somehow has Crayton enraged again. Not enough to scream at me, but enough to leave his hands shaking underneath me.

“Did he force himself on you?” He asks through a clenched jaw.

All I manage is a nod before a guttural roar blasts from Crayton’s lips.

He sets me down on the ground, and a bottle of water appears from behind him. Crayton brings it to my lips, holding my chin up.

“Drink slowly, Rebecca.”

I do what he says and part my lips, allowing the cool water to coat my throat, soothing the tenderness from Felix’s harsh thrusts.

Tears spill from my eyes again as I absorb what just happened to me, bringing forth a debilitating amount of shame, so I push the bottle away.

I should’ve known Felix was too good to be true. I shouldn’t have followed him into this tunnel. I should’ve fought harder like Dad said.

“This is all my fault.” My chest rises and falls fast as I try to catch my breath. “I was stupid enough to let him drug me.”

Crayton grips my cheeks with both hands. “This is not your fucking fault, Rebecca. It’s mine. It’s fucking his.” He brings his nose to my hair, inhaling it like he always does, like the scent is oxygen to him. “But don’t worry,” he adds. “That motherfucker is about to pay.”

Crayton adjusts me so I’m supported by the wall, then hands me the bottle again, demanding me to keep drinking before taking off to where Felix is trying to crawl away.

He drags Felix over to me by the back of his jacket, his boots thumping against the ground, expression tight and menacing.

Crayton always appears scary, but right now there’s a fire in his eyes that has fear ripping through my veins.

Because I really do believe he would kill Felix without hesitation.

“Crayton, please don’t do it,” I beg, knowing Felix’s death by his hand will only end with jail time. “Don’t let him take you away from me.”

“Listen to her, man!” Felix chokes out, resulting in a boot to the face from Crayton.

“Crayton, he’s not worth it, please. Just get me out of here. I need to leave this place.”

Crayton shakes his head slowly, the violent silence back with a vengeance. Aimed right for Felix Crimson.

Crayton lifts Felix to his knees by his hair, whipping his knife out of his pocket and holding it to his neck.

“Tell me exactly what he did to you, Rebecca.”

“No.” I cry, not wanting to be a part of whatever is about to happen, to be a part of losing Crayton.

Felix has the audacity to look my way with pleading eyes. Seeking my help from the bad guy.

Too bad the only bad guy here is him.

Crayton’s methods are questionable with everything he does, but now that I understand his beef with Felix, and why he wanted me to stay away from him, his actions toward me make a very…crooked sort of sense.

But still, I can’t in good faith sentence a man to die—no matter how much of a piece of crap he is.

“Rebecca…” Crayton warns. “Tell me.”

“You already know what he did to me,” I say on an exhale, feeling depleted of oxygen. “The details don’t matter.”

“They matter to me,” he bites out, slicing Felix’s cheek, making him scream. “So tell me…where did he touch you? If you can’t say it…then fucking point for me. Either way this piece of shit is getting what’s coming to him.”

I know this, yet I still try to find a way to reason with him.

“We can let the authorities handle it, please.”

This makes Crayton laugh. “Right.” Another slice to Felix’s face, lower this time. “Next one hits the neck.”

Crayton has my back against a wall, in both the literal and metaphorical sense. No matter what I say to him, this night will end in bloodshed. Maybe I should apologize for what I’m about to do, but I decide in the grand scheme of things, Felix deserves to be punished for what he did to me.

And if Crayton wants to be the one to do it, then it should at least be done where I can stop it from going too far. Because after this, after I watch Crayton torture the man who assaulted me, we’re in this shit together.

If he goes down, I go down.

And what scares me the most is that I’m okay with that.

Because there’s not much I wouldn’t do for Crayton, which is the very reason I always find myself raveled in his treachery.

“First, you have to promise me you won’t kill him.”

His snarl is aimed toward me this time. “No fucking promises.”

“Then no fucking explanation.” I need to know he won’t risk his freedom.

After a few moments of grumbles and contemplation, his lips tighten. “Fuck, fine whatever.”

I inhale a deep crucial breath.

Well, here goes everything…

“He forced himself in my mouth.”

A groan erupts from Crayton’s chest. “What did he force inside your mouth?”

“His tongue.”

A flicker of relief spreads past his features, until I add, “And then his cock.”

The hand holding the knife against Felix’s neck is shaking. “He forced you to suck his dick?”

I nod, recoiling from the reminder. “He said it was my punishment for what I’ve done to him. Something like that.”

The fire in Crayton’s eyes turns into an inferno with that revelation. As if it was said to him personally.

Felix starts apologizing in profuse amounts, telling me how he was wrong and how he’ll fix everything. Pretty much what any guilty party spews before they come face to face with the consequences of their actions.

“Rebecca…” Crayton’s voice cracks, and I can tell he’s trying so hard to keep his anger contained. “You’re in control. Not him. Not anymore.”

I don't realize I need to hear these words until Crayton repeats them a second time. “Not anymore, Little Ghost.”

I’m crying again, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand.

“You have all the power here. Tell me how you want me to punish him.” Crayton’s tone is so soft against his stoic features. As if trying to soothe me. Show his version of compassion. “Take the power I’m giving you and run with it.”

“Crayton…” I try to speak, yeah, no dice.

“BUT. If you do not tell me how you want me to punish him within the next minute, I will slice his throat and have him bleed out right here. Paint these walls with his fucking blood.”

I gasp for breath between sobs, feeling like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. It’s dark versus light. Good versus bad.

Our conversation at the waterway feels so much heavier now that I’m in the position to choose what to do with the bad inside me.

Because the bad wants Felix to pay…for him to hurt like he hurt me. To answer for his crimes.

But, the decision I make will not only alter the course of my life, but the lives of Crayton and Felix too.

Crayton will be a murderer.

And me an accessory.

There’s no going back from that.

How do I move forward living with something so fucked up?

My thoughts are still foggy from whatever Felix slipped in my drink, and I find myself running in circles with them.

Until Crayton brings me to a screeching halt.

“Ten seconds, Rebecca!” He barks, already drawing blood on Felix’s neck, who’s been reduced to pleading through tears.

“Crayton, please don’t make me do this!”

“Five!” He slices lower on Felix’s neck. “Next stop, the artery.”

Even Felix is begging me to have Crayton do anything but kill him.

My heart is pounding out of my chest, and I’m pulling at my hair as Crayton screams “One.”

“Make him suck your cock!” I blurt out in hysterics.

Crayton raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look deterred by the idea like most men would.

If anything, he’s intrigued.

By the idea, or by me.

I can’t tell through my mania.

Felix looks as though he’d rather choose death over doing the very thing he forced me to do to him a short while ago.

“Say it again.” Crayton demands, and this time there’s arousal heating his eyes instead of rage.

“I want you to force Felix to suck your cock like he made me.”

Felix’s head is shaking eagerly, which makes me love the idea even more.

Now, I don’t know if the rumors are true about Crayton having a history of messing around with guys, but if this moment, and the piqued interest on his face is any indicator, I’d have to go with yes.

“You really are a twisted little one, aren’t you Rebecca?” That wicked grin is aimed right for me.

I fucking guess so, Crayton.

Crayton holds the knife firmly to Felix’s neck as he unbuckles his belt, with one hand again damn it, and fuck I hate how much that turns me on.

In fact, this whole situation is becoming an astronomical turn on, sans what happened with Felix earlier.

The debauched looks Crayton’s giving me.

The way he moves.

How he’s standing over Felix like a God about to administer his judgment.

Crayton has managed to make me feel not only in control of this situation, but in control of my body again.

Something Felix so ruthlessly stole from me.

I wonder if that’s what the asshole is thinking as he begs me for mercy, not to force him to suck another man’s dick.

Me and Crayton ignore him, lost in our own world once again tonight, but this time I’ll make sure he stays put.

“I can lie and tell you I don’t need a little help.” His eyes dart to the zipper on his pants. “But I’m turning over a new leaf with that honest thing.”

Those tingles are back, wreaking havoc on my body, but now they’re so intense I have to squeeze my legs together.

I want Crayton to do every dirty thing to me and I won’t even try to deny it. Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s me.

It’s definitely Crayton.

“Tell me what you need from me.”

His smirk is contagious as he shifts his body, dragging Felix along the way so his back is to me. But not completely, because as always, Crayton knows exactly what I like.

And what I like is watching.

He peers down at Felix, who’s got his fingers intertwined, praying.

Crayton must be thinking the same thing as I am because his lip curls, gaze sliding to me.

“You think your God is listening, Rebecca? Should he be merciful?”

I peruse Felix’s pathetic form, so weak and fragile compared to earlier as he took advantage of me. How quickly the tables turn when he’s going up against a man twice his size.

Where was his mercy when I begged him to stop?

Cried, nearly threw up?

Mercy was nowhere to be found, and I deserved it.

So fuck you Felix Crimson.

“No he shouldn’t,” I tell Crayton, and he bites his bottom lip.

“Good girl, now lower those straps slowly, expose yourself to me.”

Crayton is demanding, but tender given the circumstances.

He surprises me at every turn, proving time and time again he has the ability to show empathy.

His focus is on Felix for a mere three seconds. “Try and turn to look at what’s mine, or bite me motherfucker, and you’ll be on the express train to meet your maker.”

I guess that’s why he made sure I was out of Felix’s eye shot.

All Felix does is continue spewing pleas, even offerings of money in a fruitless attempt to avoid what’s about to happen.

Crayton is an unstoppable force, and I want nothing more than to be a part of his destruction.

I lower each spaghetti strap like he demanded, slowly and sensually, and Crayton’s eyes don’t leave my body the entire time. He’s studying me again, like I’m that foreign entity he’s trying to understand.

Like he’s trying to break past a barrier only he can see.

He unzips his pants, pulling out his cock which is not only way bigger than Felix’s, but there’s a shiny ring around the tip of it.

I’ve never been more salty with sconces than I am at this moment.

Because now that I’ve gotten the chance to see how perfectly long, thick, and stylish Crayton’s dick is, I’m actually feeling a bit jealous of Felix.

Not enough to stop this, though. This is, like, deep-dark-corridors-of-your-mind kind of hot. Never-dare-to-mention kind of hot. And I’m living vicariously through it.

“Do you want to see my breasts?” I ask Crayton when he starts tugging, making himself hard.

Felix is mumbling something under his breath, probably wishing for a quick death at this point, but me and Crayton are still in our bubble.

Just us.

No one else.

“Yes,” he says through a grunt, as if he’s in pain, but rubs himself harder.

“Please stop…” Felix whimpers, and Crayton tells him to shut up as I lower the top of the dress under my bra.

Crayton’s speed picks up as he says, “Bra too.”

So I reach behind my back and unclasp the small metal hooks, shrugging and allowing the bra to fall freely to the ground.

My breasts stand pert and heavy, my nipples hard from my arousal and the chill in the air. They’re hidden partially behind my waves, so I take it upon myself to brush the strands behind my shoulders for him.

Crayton takes all of me in, and when I glance at his cock again I can see it’s fully erect.

“Do you want me to touch myself?” I ask when his lip twitches, eyes still glued to my chest.

“No.” His voice is strained. “Just hide the cross.”

It’s an odd request, but okay.

I flip the necklace around until the pendant is behind my neck.

Crayton fists Felix’s hair again, making him weep the closer his cock gets to his mouth.

“Tell me exactly how he did it.” Crayton commands, his tone back to icy and cold.

“I-I don’t remember exactly…I was feeling…woozy.”

I’m lying, obviously, because I don’t want Crayton to think I actually enjoyed it.

“Then tell me how you want me to fuck his mouth.”

I gnaw at my bottom lip, imagining it’s me who’s kneeling before this beautiful vicious man. “Fuck him hard.”

So Crayton does, he drives his cock so harshly inside Felix’s mouth the guy nearly falls backwards.

“Tell me some things he said to you while he did it.” Crayton’s jaw is clenched as he adjusts Felix and watches me, the knife still threatening his neck.

I filter through my mind to remember, and it’s like striking oil when I do.

“He told me how good my mouth felt.”

Crayton spears Felix with his glare, so Felix attempts to talk with a mouth full of dick. “She felt good, huh?” Crayton ignores the inaudible sounds my monster makes. “Well guess what motherfucker, so do you.” Crayton draws back, then pushes deeper and faster into Felix’s mouth, his cock so big I can see the bulge of it in Felix’s neck.

Crayton fucks him with no mercy. Back and forth in wild strokes.

He’s a beast devouring his pray, and fuck I’m in awe watching him like this.

“You’re a piece of shit, Crimson, but fuck your mouth is warm,” Crayton hisses, creating a rhythm that can only come from experience. A small dip of his waist and upward thrust. All synchromatic movements that tell me he has definitely been here before. It also tells me he’s enjoying this.

“You like how it feels to swallow a dick against your will, hm?” He brings the knife to Felix’s eye level. “I should rip out your fucking balls for what you did to her.”

Felix gurgles choking sounds, and in return, Crayton lets out small moans and grunts of pleasure watching my monster struggle to breathe.

Tears are dripping down Felix’s face, along with the saliva on his chin. Good. He’s being belittled completely by Crayton who’s taking whatever manhood Felix had to begin with and incinerating it with lethal strokes of his huge cock.

“Take me like a man, Crimson. Why are you crying?” Crayton pulls Felix’s hair tighter, making him groan. “It’s only fair you know what it feels like. Now take every fucking inch of me, and maybe you’ll walk out of here on two legs.”

Crayton’s attention draws back to me. “How’s this, Little Ghost? Are you turned on?” His thrusts become slower, deeper, more purposeful. “Do you like watching me facefuck this rapist?”

I don’t like it, someone save my soul because I think I fucking love it. I love seeing a feral Crayton. A punishing Crayton.

It turns me on more than anything.

The fact that it’s Felix taking the brunt of his wrath is the added bonus.

“Can I finger myself?” My voice is needy as I slide my hand between my legs. “Please?”

“Absolutely fucking not. I know I said you’re in charge of what happens, Little Ghost, but if this motherfucker hears the sounds you make when you come, there will be no stopping me from killing him.” Crayton pulls out, forcing Felix’s head back as he cries. “He doesn’t get to live with that.”

I don’t like the idea of not being able to release all of this pent up need making me a combustible object, but I agree with Crayton. Felix has taken enough from me.

“I want you to come on his face. Degrade him.” I moan, squirming on the ground.

Crayton surges inside Felix hard again, but there’s that flicker of pain in his eyes I never seem to miss.

“I can’t…” He pauses, cursing. “I mean…I don’t…”

Already knowing where this is going because of the many conversations with Archer, I shake my head.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to. Just keep doing what you’re doing. I really like it.”

The spark of excitement is back in his eyes. “Tell me something else you want.”

“I want you to watch me touching myself as you fuck him. I won’t orgasm, I promise.”

“Shit, Little Ghost. You’re fucked up.”

He has no idea.

“Is that a yes?”

Crayton nods, so I go ahead and spread my legs for him, making the dress ride up and expose my black underwear. I slide a finger slowly up to my neck, since I know he’s got some weird fetish with it, then trail it down to my collar, then between the valley of my breasts. I squeeze one of them in my hand. Watching him watch me.

“Are you taunting me, Rebecca?” he says, picking up speed, and at this point Felix is just a vessel to him.

“If I was, would you come over here and do something about it?”

Crayton growls, a typical primal response for a guy like him. He removes the knife from Felix’s neck and reaches behind him to shove it into his pocket. Then pulls out his phone, facing it toward Felix as he continues to plunge inside his mouth.

“Say jizz motherfucker.” Crayton snaps a picture and pulls out his cock, leaving Felix alone to gasp for breath as he stuffs the phone and his cock back in his pants.

“I dare you to look at her, you piece of shit,” he tells him, buckling his belt.

Felix’s only response is projectile vomiting onto the ground.

I’m cupping both breasts when Crayton makes eye contact with me again. There’s suppressed hunger, desire in them like I saw back at the waterway.

I know Crayton wants me as bad as I want him, but something is always stopping him.

I don’t get to deliberate further because Crayton flips his knife out again, lifts the sleeve of an exhausted Felix’s jacket, and slices the knife down his arm.

Felix cries out, blood dripping steadily out of him. Crayton doesn’t even flinch when he punches him square in the face, knocking Felix out cold.

“Come over here.” He beckons me, curling his finger.

I stand on shaky legs, still feeling the effects of the drug, and completely intend on blaming my behavior on it. I slide my arms through the straps of my dress, covering myself again.

Panic sets in when I reach Crayton, finding Felix completely unresponsive. “Did you kill him?” I ask, and Crayton crouches down to check the arm he cut for a pulse.

“He’ll die slowly.”

Crayton’s palm runs a line down Felix’s arm, then collects whatever blood is dripping from his wrist too.

I step closer, admiring whatever he’s doing, and when there’s a pool of red in his hand he rises in front of me.

I swallow hard when he dips two fingers in Felix’s blood, streaking some down my forehead to my chin, and then from cheek to cheek.

Making the sign of the cross.

“So…beautiful.” Crayton hums, sliding the strap of my dress off my shoulder before dipping his hand in the blood one more time. My breaths become heavy as he slithers them from my neck all the way to my breasts, leaving another trail of red in its wake.

He’s marking me again, but this time with the blood of the man who wronged me.

“Do you see it now?” He asks…low and rigid, “why you make me insane?”

I nod, closing my eyes when the tip of his fingers find my lips.

“Go ahead, Little Ghost. You know you want to.”

I do…I want to take all of what he’s done to defend my honor, and keep it as close to my heart as possible.

So…my tongue darts out, tasting the blood Crayton spilled for me until there’s none left.

Then I ask for more.

Crayton steps even closer, our bodies brushing as he grants me my wish. “I’ll never get enough of seeing you like this. So perfect. So fucking mine.”

I finish off what’s left of the blood on my lips and smile, feeling overwhelmed with relief from his words. Feeling like I’m his more than ever.

“What happened to me being the girl you can’t stand, hm?” I look up at Crayton and tilt my head, suddenly feeling playful.

“I told you, I’m the only one allowed to hurt you,” he responds, his gaze on the bloody cross along my face.

The mood shifts, mostly on my end, because there’s so much contradiction in this statement.

I can’t have Crayton building up those walls again.

“So hurt me,” I tell him, reaching underneath his jacket and sliding it down slowly by the lapels. “You say I’m yours, so take me, make me yours.”

“Rebecca…” he warns, the walls going higher and higher the lower the jacket gets down his arms.

“Yes?” I bat my eyelashes at him.

“It’s time to go.”

Damn this guy to freaking Hell.

“The fuck it is!” I stomp my foot like a toddler. “You don’t get to do what you just did for me and then turn this off.”

“Turn what off?”

I gesture between our bodies. “Us!”

“There is no us.”

“Right…” I huff. “So tell me, Crayton, if you hate the princess as much as you insist you do…why did you swoop in to slay her dragon?” I chuckle, my mood swings swaying back and forth like a pendulum.

“Or wait…are you the real dragon?” I tap my chin. “It’s hard to tell how this story ends. Maybe we need an encore.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re annoying when you’re on drugs.”

I hold up my pointer. “Technically, I’m always on drugs.”

“Exactly.”

“So, you’re doing this again, then? Shutting down on me?” I look around. “Should I go find Alexis and save you the trouble of trying to come up with a clever way to make me feel like shit?” I cross my arms. “I mean, you did just do something decent, so you are due.”

“Yeah, and your bratty little attitude is making me easily regret it.”

He’s such a liar and he knows it, just like I know I’m deflecting because I’m terrified he’s about to reject me again.

“I’m the brat?” I scoff, wiping the blood off my face with my forearm. “Pretty sure you’re fucking the biggest one in the school.”

This makes him laugh, and my blood start to boil.

“Something funny?”

“Besides how fucking pathetic you sound?”

Oh, he’s such an asshole.

“Did you have sex with Alexis?”

Crayton runs his clean hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

“Answer the damn question.”

He slaps the side of his head, implying I’m an idiot. “You already know I had sex with the bitch.”

“Recently…” I grumble. “Since the waterway.”

Crayton stays silent, that stupid blank facade rearing its ugly head. It tells me everything I need to know.

“So you’ll fuck her, but won’t even kiss me?”

“Yes,” he says instantaneously.

I fucking hate this “honest thing” he’s playing at.

It makes me want to sock him in that gorgeous evil face of his.

“Why?” I try my hardest to say without breaking into tears, but they’re so close to pooling at the surface.

Why her and not me?

“Because this is me. Don’t you get it?” Anger breaks through his facade. “Did you not just see what I fucking did? What the fuck I am? How dense do you have to be to not see what’s right in front of you?”

“I am not dense, you shit, I just feel things for you that make me see past all of it! I have hope, for Pete’s sake.”

Crayton’s lip does that twitchy thing, and I know what’s coming won’t be pretty. “Well, that’s where you went wrong, Rebecca, because hope can kill as quickly as my fucking blade.”

The first tear I’ve been fighting back falls from my eye. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

He can’t do all of this for me and just backpedal like it’s nothing.

Like I’m nothing.

We’re nothing.

Every fucking time I’m about to break myself free of this guys psychological clutches, he does something magical to reel me back in.

Only to let go of me again.

It’s exhausting, soul crushing, and I don’t think I can take another let down from him.

After a few beats of silence I swipe the back of my hand across my cheek, irritability and sadness rolling off me in waves.

Crayton looks as though he’s about to say something, but I hold a middle finger up to stop him. “No need to attempt the last word, Crayton. I’ll assume it’s something depraved.”

Turning around, I walk off, picking up my bra, bag and water bottle off the ground.

“I’m not gonna fucking follow you!” he barks behind me.

“Good,” I bark back. “Because I don’t want to be around a homicidal asshat!”

“You don’t know where you’re going.” Crayton adds, lacking the bravado I was expecting.

“Yeah, well, you should be more concerned with the body lying by your feet.” I look over my shoulder and jut my chin to an unconscious Felix. “You know, the one that’ll cost you twenty-five to life.”

* * *

I don’t know how long I’ve been walking through this God forsaken dungeon of doom, but it is definitely enough to have my feet aching and bleeding.

Flip flops ruined.

I twist open the cap to my water bottle, which barely has any left because I used most of it to clean Felix’s blood off me.

Taking the last few slugs, I toss the bottle, curling my arms so I can hug myself.

I’ve been following the tracks for what feels like hours, in hopes they will lead me back to the world, but so far all they’ve done is make me go around in circles.

I’m convinced this tunnel is a labyrinth.

I’ve finally stopped crying around fifteen minutes ago, deciding Crayton isn’t worth the risk of dehydration.

And from the looks of it I’m going to die in this place.

Something pricks my foot and makes me wince, and when I look down I find a piece of glass stuck in my heel.

“Fuck.” I curse, leaning against the wall to take a closer look at the damage.

It’s not worse than what Felix looked like, so I guess my odds are good.

I pull out the shard of glass and reach into my bag, which is now substituting as a crossbody, for a tissue to clean the wound, which thankfully comes through.

Not like my damn phone.

I mean, why has no one thought to put cell towers down here?

Because old decrepit caves are meant for bugs and mice, Rebecca, not humans.

I lift my middle finger up to my conscience, who apparently lives on the roof of this railroad.

With a heavy sigh, I march on; my hope of getting out of here tearing apart like the skin on my feet.

I reach for my traitorous phone, and turn on the flash light, in hopes a little more vision will help me find my way.

It does something, but not much.

I start humming the tune to “24 Karat Magic” in an attempt to escape insanity, when the sound of screeching in the distance has my heart nearly leap out of my rib cage.

Life. Humans.

The screeching turns to rumbling, like a train is taking off, so I follow the sound, which grows louder with every step.

The walls turn into huge thick pillars the deeper I tread down the path, which means I must’ve done something right in my travels because I haven’t seen this area yet.

The ground rattles beneath my feet, making me jump onto a low platform that appears on the side of the tracks. It stretches ahead, so I continue balancing on it to avoid the shaky tracks.

I look to the right, seeing a flicker of light, a different hue than the ones mounted to the concrete overhead, so I jump between two pillars onto another track, careful not to touch anything metal since it’s obvious these ones are live, and there’s several.

Hm. That’s weird. All the surrounding tracks near the pit were single run; there appears to be at least three separated by these giant columns.

I must be getting closer to an exit.

I start to run, tasting freedom at the tip of my tongue. I jump between more pillars, back down onto tracks until I’m furthest from where I started and following the small blue light in the distance.

I pass more of the partitions, which turn into solid walls, then turn into partitions again, but still no sign of a human being.

The only indication I’m getting anywhere is the dingy white tiles now covering the arch around me. I finally approach the blue light, which is blinking inside a small glass case on the wall.

“Shit…” I murmur, looking around one more time for at least a sign before I move again.

There’s nothing, but since somebody took the time to decorate, I can only assume it’s for a reason.

I switch to walking again, allowing my heartbeat to settle.

I’m far enough that the blue light now appears as a dot behind me, and the ambience is back to dark and dingy.

I run my fingers along the tile, the coolness of the surface bringing me an odd sense of comfort.

A small draft brings prickles to my skin, and with that, a new glimmer of hope.

If there’s a chill, there’s a way.

To outside at least.

I hike my bag over my shoulder, fully expecting to find light at the end of this shitty tunnel, but all I keep facing is more darkness.

And rumbling.

A lot of rumbling.

The amount of rumbling that has pebbles bouncing like tiny little rubber balls. Empty soda cans wobbling like a fish out of water.

I whip my head both ways, darkness encompassing both, and decide to continue against the breeze.

Until a deafening shrieking has me covering my ears, the sound vibrating off the tiled walls.

White light in the distance suddenly blinds me, approaching fast, and I don’t need to be a genius to know it’s a train.

My feet are already moving in the opposite direction when my brain finally catches up with how dire of a situation I’m in.

The ground shaking has me stumbling between strides, and my hair is dancing wildly behind me as I run for my life.

I can feel the train approaching like a landslide, and I pick up my pace, not giving a shit about breaking a damn toe.

Won’t be a toe left of me if this train wins this race.

I could feel tears, and unfiltered terror squeezing me, but I keep fighting—moving—determined to survive.

The light surrounds me from behind like the gates of heaven, and all I can think about is how I’m not ready to pass them. Especially since my slate is no longer as clean as it used to be.

The sound of a horn blows wildly, telling me to get the fuck out of the way. But there’s nowhere for me to run but straight, and the same for the train.

I’m going to die.

Just like Dad.

Will he be at the gates waiting for me?

Will I be allowed in?

I’m about to accept mortal defeat when a body appears a few feet ahead, waving me on.

Is that you, Dad? Have you come to take me home? I wonder to myself.

“Hurry the fuck up!” I think I hear a voice scream, pulling me from my vision.

It’s Crayton, pure dread and fear lacing his face as he reaches for me from a crevice in the wall.

“C’mon, c’mon!” His waves become even more frantic.

I try with all my might to get to him, my muscles burning from exhaustion, but I keep going despite the light behind me getting even brighter.

The train is on my tail, I can feel it.

I can smell death all around me.

I’m less than five feet from safety when Crayton lowers himself even more so he can reach me.

“Jump!” he screams, and I don’t even have to think about it. I leap into his arms and he pulls me into the crevice, the train blazing past us at lightning speed.

Wind creates a vortex, making it so hard to breathe, and my hair blows wildly as he shields my body with his.

Crayton’s eyes are closed the entire time the train passes, his arm securing my lower back.

My heart is pounding at a dangerous high speed, and it isn’t until the screeching is in the far distance that I allow myself to settle.

I almost died.

Left this world for good.

Left Mom, Roman, and Potato.

Left him.

Crayton’s eyes blink open, and when I press my hand against his chest I find his heart beating as rapidly as mine.

“Breathe…” I whisper to him, but it’s more to remind myself.

There’s nothing but raw pain edging Crayton’s face when he finally looks down at me, swiping one of my tears away with his thumb.

“I almost…” my voice splinters.

“Don’t you fucking say it.” He heaves, his eyes closing again.

“You saved—” I want to tell him how grateful I am, but my words are cut off by Crayton’s lips crashing into mine. So desperate. So powerful.

So full of passion.

His hands find my hair, pulling and squeezing, as if he can’t get enough of me.

I wrap my arms around his neck, tears falling from my eyes again as he presses his hard body against mine.

With one hand against the wall above my head, Crayton lifts me under my ass to bring me closer.

My ankles lock around his waist, and when Crayton nudges my mouth open with his tongue, I welcome him eagerly. His tongue swipes the inside of my mouth, and mine does the same, each of us inexperienced but it doesn’t take long to find the perfect rhythm.

With a needy bite to my lower lip, Crayton drags his teeth along the bottom, only to sneak his tongue back inside to taste me again.

“I’m sorry, Little Ghost.” He breathes when he pulls away. “For everything.”

“None of it matters now.” I pull him in again, our lips colliding so hard teeth clank together, needing so much more than a few seconds of this version of Crayton.

I want him to consume me. Mind, body, and soul.

I want his darkness.

His light. His rage.

His everything.

Crayton spins me around, slamming my back against the other side of the wall as we continue devouring each other in frenzied kisses.

We’re so immersed I don’t even hear another train approaching until it’s zooming by, creating a windstorm again between us, but this time I have no trouble breathing.

Because the only air I need is him.

“Take me home,” I murmur into Crayton’s lips, and he nods, releasing me only to jump down onto the tracks again.

“Let’s go,” he says, arms open to catch me.

Then he proceeds to carry me back to the Pit.

* * *

“Oh my God! Are you okay?” Hendrix runs over to me in hysterics. “Saint told me what happened.”

Hendrix is looking me over, the afterparty in full effect, loud music and all.

“I’m okay, Hen.” I reassure her, tightening Crayton’s jacket around my body when I notice a few eyes on me.

The rest are focused on a random fighting match taking place in the center of the room. Students stand behind the stone benches shouting for their opponents like it’s a damn boxing ring. Some kids dancing, some making out, and a couple of guys are snorting coke off girls’ stomachs.

“That piece of shit Felix!” Hendrix growls, her hands balled into fists. “I nearly killed him myself when the guys carried him out of here.”

I glance up at Crayton, who’s got his mystery mask back on. Guess he didn’t leave Felix to die.

Which is a relief, but a disappointment at the same time.

And that’s how I know my perception of good has been tampered.

Hendrix brings me in for a hug, squeezing the life out of me. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, get you to a hospital.”

Saint and the guys are approaching fast behind her, and I shake my head. “No, I don’t need a hospital, I’m fine. I just need to take a shower.”

“But…” She tries to argue, knowing it’s best for me to go get checked out and call the police.

She doesn’t realize I can no longer get the police involved. Because I’m guilty too.

Levi and Riggs ask if I’m okay at the same time, bringing me in for a group hug, and it brings on a small wave of dizziness.

Which reminds me. “Oh my God…Hendrix.” I break free of their hold and grip her shoulders. “Did Stevenson drug you too?!”

Hendrix shakes her head. “No, he was actually a complete gentleman.” She glowers at Saint, who’s arms are crossed beside her. “Didn’t stop a certain asshole from beating the hell out of him, though.”

“The piece of shit wouldn’t tell me where Felix was taking you.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“That’s because he didn’t know you idiot!” She throws her hands up in the air when I let go.

“Maybe he would if his tongue wasn’t lodged in your fucking throat.”

Hendrix grumbles, and pulls me by the arm. “C’mon, Bee. Let’s get you back to the dorms and cleaned up. Archer is keeping watch so nobody will see you.”

Crayton tugs me back. “No. She’s coming with me.”

“The fuck she is!” Hendrix shoves him in the chest. “This is all your fault you dickwad.”

There’s anger stirring in Crayton’s features, but it’s clear he knows not to cross the line with Hendrix.

“This was Felix’s fault.” I defend him. “Not Crayton’s. Trust me, babe. He saved me.”

Hendrix doesn’t seem convinced, so I push harder.

“He stopped Felix before things got even further.”

“Yeah, I could see his handy work.” She says coldly.

I reach for Crayton’s hand, and he doesn’t hesitate to bring me into his side.

“Give us a minute guys, please?” I ask all four of them; everyone but Hendrix does what I ask.

“Nope. Not leaving you again.” She straightens her posture.

“Okay, fine.” I placate her and turn Crayton around for some privacy.

“Aren’t you worried Felix will talk?” I ask him, feeling all sorts of discontent.

“That’s what the picture was for.” He squeezes me tighter. “Trust me, the asshole won’t be showing his face for a while. I don’t give a shit about my reputation, but Felix is all about his. He won’t want word getting around he sucked a dude’s cock.”

This doesn’t persuade me, but the look of confidence on Crayton’s face allows me to shelf the details of maintaining our innocence for now.

“How did the guys get him out of here without being seen?”

He frames my face with his hands. “You don’t need to worry about any of this, Little Ghost. Just know it was handled. Now let’s get you out of here.”

We walk through the crowd, me a scared kitten and Crayton the protective bear protecting its cub.

Saint trails behind, dragging a kicking and screaming Hendrix from the party.

She spews curses and threats at an eerily quiet Saint the entire way down the long track back to the ladder that leads into the kitchen storage room.

Me and Crayton are silent too, half listening to them half digesting what the hell happened between us.

He doesn’t let go of me until we pass a panicked Archer checking on me, sneak out the back door, trek toward the dorms, and stop at the door to the girls bathroom.

“Get her some clothes.” He demands Saint, who hasn’t let go of an irate Hendrix either. “Then bring it to our room.”

Saint nods, taking off with Hendrix, but letting go of her this time.

She slaps him upside the head. “Touch me again, you heathen, and I’ll chop your balls off!”

Saint and her bicker until they’re out of sight, then Crayton opens the door and ushers me inside.

“Take your clothes off, Rebecca.”

I hug myself, feeling ashamed. “I, uh.”

Crayton doesn’t need to hear the words to understand what I need.

He turns around, giving me privacy, even though he’s seen half my naked body already.

“Thank you,” I tell him, stripping out of his jacket first. The rest of the clothes go shortly after.

“Leave them here for me to get rid of, and get in the shower. Wash the dirt off you.”

That’s his polite way of saying to wash Felix off me.

When I step inside the shower, the water runs frigid, but I don’t shy away from it, accepting any temperature that cleanses me of remnants of the night.

Except it doesn’t; instead the cold water hitting my face wakes me up, heightens my senses, my memories.

My skin crawls with the reminders of the way Felix touched me, and when I open my mouth to rinse it, I can feel him inside me.

Scraping the walls of my throat.

Nausea stirs in my gut, the same as it did then, and all I can see is Felix’s distorted smile staring down at me.

Tormenting me.

Belittling me.

My chest squeezes, and I press my hand against it to ease the pain.

Reality floods my system once again, and all I want is to escape Felix’s cruelty.

He’s everywhere.

On me, beside me, inside me.

I scratch my arms, trying to rid the invisible bugs invading every surface of my body, not stopping even when my skin turns red and blotchy.

Tears flow steadily, my shoulders shaking with sobs as I become that helpless girl I was before Crayton saved me.

A bare chest hard as rock presses against me from behind, offering alleviation against the cold.

“Shhhh,” Crayton hushes, running his hands through my hair. “He’s not here, you’re okay.”

“Crayton,” I cry his name, turning to embrace his warmth.

He’s always so warm, no matter the condition of our surroundings.

I can’t tell if the water is changing, or if Crayton's touch brings a sense of comfort, allowing me to ignore the freezing limbs.

But either way the bugs are gone, and I’m calm.

Felix is gone, there’s only Crayton in the shower with me.

“I’m here, Little Ghost. I’m not going anywhere.”

I tilt my head up to look at him, all protective and serious.

I trail a finger down the black goat taking up his neck and sternum, the creepy fella not looking as intimidating as he used to.

I scan the rest of his front, since it’s the first time I’m getting a good look at Crayton bare.

There’s a snake wrapped around a human heart, a large skull with wings and some intricate script behind it, so tiny I can hardly read through the water running down the both of us.

But the latin quote just under his left nipple stands out to me. It’s a simple text, but the sound of it is beautiful.

I’ve taken Latin courses at the church Dad and I attended, but it was so long ago I can only decipher the first word.

The devil.

“Diabolus orationes respondet.” I trace the words with my finger, saying it out loud for both of us. “What does it mean?” I glance up at him again to find his jaw flexing.

“The devil answers prayers…” He mutters after a few seconds.

I press the side of my face against him and listen to the faint heartbeat calling out to me.

“Thank you for saving me tonight,” I whisper into his skin.

“You weren’t the only one saved,” he responds, so low I’m unsure if I was meant to hear it.

“Make me yours…please.” I run my hands up his rounded pecs until they rest at his cheeks. “Don’t make my last sexual encounter with a man be with Felix.”

Because I’ve taken a silent vow after he kissed me on those train tracks, that I will not give myself to anyone again unless it’s him.

I’m enamored by Crayton—hell, I may even love him despite how crazy that sounds.

“I can’t. Not tonight.” He shakes his head, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say there’s a sense of nerves creeping up on him.

“It has to be you. It has to be tonight.” I implore him. “I can’t wake up tomorrow knowing he’s still with me, and not you.”

“I’ll be with you, I promise, Little Ghost.” He looks down, and it’s the sheepest he’s ever seemed. “But not like that.”

“Why?” The question comes out ragged.

“Because I can’t give you what you need.”

“I only need you. Exactly how you are, no exceptions.”

Crayton’s fighting himself, I can tell by how his eyes twitch occasionally.

“I don’t know how…” He starts, but hesitates to finish.

He doesn’t need to though.

“I don’t either. You know I’ve only been with toys.”

The joke makes us both chuckle, but the seriousness of the moment still lingers.

“I’ve…never been gentle.” He admits, and I wholeheartedly believe him.

He’s a virgin to making love.

Not to sex.

“I can teach you,” I reassure him, but he doesn’t agree.

“No, you can’t. But I know someone who can.”

My eyebrow raises, not sure if I should be intrigued or concerned.

“Someone?”

Crayton inhales a deep breath. “Yeah, someone. But you’re gonna really have to trust me.”

31

CRAYTON

“You must be outta your goddamn mind!” Saint whispers through a yell. “There’s no chance in hell I’m agreeing to this.”

I drag him further away from our door, where Rebecca is inside laying down on my bed, as unsure as I am about what we’re about to do

“You’re the only one I trust with her.” I pause, the next words coming out like sand on my tongue. “With me.”

Saint’s laugh is incredulous. “Dude. I’m not gonna fuck your girl.”

My hand is at his throat before I even realize it. Saint points a brow, then a finger at where I’m holding him.

“Point proven, motherfucker. The second I lay a finger on Bex you’ll go all Michael Myers on my ass without knowing it.”

I release him, wiping the hand against my slacks as Saint shoots me an “I’m out” before turning to take off.

“I’m not asking you to have sex with her, asshole…”

He turns to face me again. Waiting.

“I just need you to show me how.”

Saint looks at me like I’ve got a unicorn dildo attached to my head. “You’ve fucked a lot of girls, Cray, not to mention Alexis more times than I can count.”

“That wasn’t…I’m not…fuck.” I pace back and forth, not used to feeling so weak and vulnerable. Open this way. Saint has never seen me with a girl, therefore he doesn’t understand my bedroom etiquette.

“Will you just do it?!”

“Do what, exactly, man? Because all you said was ‘I need to teach you how to have sex with Bex’.”

“Bex needs a guy to be tender and shit with her right now…I…” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I add, “I don’t know how to be gentle with a girl. How to comfort her this way. But I know you do. I’ve seen it.”

Unlike me, Saint’s only an asshole to girls who deserve it. Probably something to do with having a sister.

“Just tell her nice things and try not to stab her.” He offers me a salute, then takes off like a breeze.

“Please, dude.” I’ve lowered myself to begging for this girl. All in an attempt to make all the shit I’ve done wrong to her right. “I want to be what she needs. But there are reasons…” I clear my throat. “There are reasons it’s hard for me.”

Saint spins around and comes back, his shoulders much more loose and resolved. “You think I don’t know you have some trauma or some shit? I’m not blind, you dick. But you never let me in enough to understand it.”

“If you do this shit for me, I will. On my father’s life, I’ll let you know everything. I just need to do this for her, the right way for once.”

“You care about this girl.”

“I don’t know what it is, Lavell, all I know is she’s the first person other than my dad I’ve ever given a shit about.”

“Ouch.” He mocks me, holding a hand to his heart. “I’m physically hurt, man.”

I punch him in the arm. “Stop being an asshole, will you help me or not?”

“Do I get to slide it in?”

Heat rises from my neck, so hot I can feel it in my eye sockets. “Fuck no you—”

“I’m joking, dick!” He punches me back. “What’s on the table though? For boundary purposes.”

“Anything but penetration.” I pause, grilling him with slitted lids. “And only for teaching purposes, motherfucker.”

Another salute. “Loud and clear Captain Cray Cray.” He claps me on the back. “C’mon, brother, let’s go make love to your girl.”

* * *

“I need you to be clear right now, Bex.” Saint sits down next to a very nervous Rebecca on my bed. “Are you okay with this?”

“I’m a bit nervous, but yes.”

“You’ve also been—”

“Drugged, I know. But it’s pretty worn off after everything that’s happened. I just want to be with Crayton tonight.”

Saint looks up at me, then back at Rebecca. “But you understand it won’t just be him? ’Cause your man here has issues.”

This makes Rebecca laugh, and when I slap him on the back of the head it lightens the mood even more.

“Me and Crayton both need specific things tonight.” Rebecca states, clear as a bell, “I appreciate his honesty with me, and yours, so if this is the only way he’s comfortable being with me, then so be it.”

“It’s a one time thing.” I reassure her, but I’m mostly reassuring myself.

I’m a quick learner, so all I need is a few key pointers from my best friend and then he can take a hike.

“It’s okay, Crayton. You don’t have to explain. I know none of this is easy for you. Hell, it’s not easy for me either.” Rebecca shrugs. “I’m just grateful you’re finally opening up to me.”

“You and me both, gorgeous.” Saint blows out a breath. “This guy was a miserable fuck when he hated you.”

A frown curves Rebecca’s lips downward.

“Can you move this along?” I say through tight lips.

“Sure thing, Cray Cray, let’s get this party started.” Saint rubs his hands together, looking way too excited to be in this ridiculous situation.

What kind of guy doesn’t know how to comfort or please a girl he likes? A sadistic one, that’s who.

I don’t get to fall down the rabbit hole because Saint is already instructing Rebecca to lay back and relax.

I go into fight-or-flight mode immediately.

Mostly fight, but I contain it long enough for Rebecca to ask a question.

“Should I take my clothes off?”

“No,” I demand, at the same time Saint says, “Yes”.

He looks at me. “How the fuck do you expect to get personal with a woman during sex if they’re not naked?”

“You’re enjoying this way too fucking much.” I grit out, and Saint winks.

He’s not going to survive this, I know it.

“The both of you take your clothes off.” He instructs, but we’re both hesitant.

He scrubs a hand over his head. “Guys, it’s basic sex 101. You gotta be fucking naked for it. Unless it’s a quickie, which I have the pleasure of not having to deal with.” He leans over to Rebecca, whispering, “I last really long every time.”

The boot I’m taking off gets tossed at his head, and Rebecca snickers behind her hand.

The response is so innocent that it has my cock already hardening. There’s so many different sides to this girl, kind of like me. Maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to her.

“I will sue for workplace injury.” He continues to bust my chops.

“Get on with it,” I mutter, removing my other boot.

Rebecca starts undressing too, lifting her tank top over her head, unable to look at either of us.

“Don’t be ashamed, girl, you’re magnificent. Your body is a temple,” Saint reassures her.

“Shut the fuck up, Lavell.” I pull down my gray sweats and kick them off.

“Now how can I teach you to be a tender lover if I’m not allowed to speak?”

I’m about to tell him to fuck off and I’ll figure it out on my own, but the timid smile Rebecca aims at me tells me I need to follow through.

When we’re both completely naked, Saint checks out my cock and lets out a small hmph.

“When’d you get it pierced, man?” he asks, and I can tell he’s still trying to put us at ease.

It’s not fucking working, so this better not be a harbinger of what’s to come.

“I think it’s really sexy,” Rebecca says quietly.

“See…” he quips. “You’re already halfway there.”

“Are you gonna take this shit seriously, motherfucker?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He pretends to zip his mouth closed and stands.

“Alright so, first you read the room. You got a nice girl in your bed, one you care about, yeah?” he asks. “So you want to make sure she feels good, comfortable…wanted.”

Saint leans into me, saying through the corner of his mouth, “You gonna sock me if I lay next to her?”

I shove him to move it.

Kicking off his shoes, Saint crawls onto the bed and hovers over Rebecca.

My muscles tense when she looks into his eyes, and I watch the small movements of her neck when she swallows.

“You always want to make eye contact, talk softly, compliment her, maybe tell her the dirty things you want to do to her.”

I take a step closer, and Rebecca watches me with concern, like she’s looking for confirmation that this is okay.

I nod, knowing it’s my fault this needs to happen, so she slowly drags her gaze back to Saint.

“Can I kiss her?” Saint asks, his eyes boring into Rebecca’s lips. “You know…for teaching purposes.”

I’m not stupid, I know he’s attracted to her. He’s admitted it on several occasions. But Saint is also a loyal brother, so he wouldn’t cross a line without reason.

“Yes,” I struggle to say, mostly because I’m grinding my teeth.

“You need it to be gentle, sincere when you care about them.” His mouth dips to hers, and Saint slowly brushes his lips along her bottom one. “You want to be teasing, but not cocky. Not when she needs to feel desired.”

When their lips connect for a kiss, Rebecca’s eyes close and the amount of jealousy that rings up my spine has me feeling like there’s a noose around my neck.

Rebecca is tentative at first, but as he kisses her deeper she relaxes, and takes him in.

When Saint’s tongue enters her mouth, Rebecca spreads her lips wider for him, trying to figure out his methods.

After about thirty seven years of torture, Saint pulls away. “She’s a good kisser, bro. You should get in here.” He taps the bed, welcoming me to join.

Rebecca’s breath hitches when I lay on my side next to her, my cock hard and pressing into her bare leg.

“Show me how you would kiss her right now.” Saint climbs off Rebecca and settles at her other side.

He lifts himself up on his elbow and watches as I close in on her. I reach for her cheek, trying to be thoughtful like he suggested, but my instinct prevails and I smash my lips into hers, needing to engulf myself completely.

“Jesus fuck, man, she’s not a Twinkie.” Saint chuckles, making me pull back. “Ease up, you’ll get to the heavy stuff later. There’s a reason you build a house brick by brick.”

“He’s doing great,” Rebecca pacifies me, making me feel like a pathetic child.

“Don’t fucking do that,” I snap, which makes her rear her head.

“Do what?”

“Treat me like a kid.”

“I’m not.” She shakes her head. “I was being honest.”

I catch myself being a dickhead, and store that bullshit away. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just hate that this has to be done.”

“It doesn’t have to.” She scoots closer to me, hugging her body against mine.

My cock is dangerously close to her pussy, and I’m two seconds away from flipping her over and driving into it.

Which is exactly what I shouldn’t be doing to a girl who was sexually assaulted a few hours earlier.

I ignore her statement. “Continue, Lavell.”

“Well, first of all, climb on top of her, make her feel secure underneath you.”

I do as he says, and the amount of adoration Rebecca has for me is written all over the soft features of her face.

It makes me feel so naked and exposed.

In mind, not body.

“Try it again,” Saint commands.

So I lean down, slower this time, and attempt to mimic his movements from earlier. I think I’m doing alright because when I swoop my tongue inside Rebecca’s mouth a small moan rises out of it, and she wraps her arms around my neck to bring me closer.

“There you go,” Saint hums. “Let it happen naturally.”

I try my hardest to hold back, let Rebecca take the lead.

When she opens, I open, when she nibbles, I nibble right after. I keep the tempo, not raising it unless she does, and even then I still find myself fighting the urge to bite down so hard I taste her blood on my tongue.

“You guys are doing great,” Saint says as I sneak a hand between us to toy with Rebecca’s nipple. His tone is grated, like he’s getting turned on too. “Now move down to her neck.”

“I got it,” I sneer, knowing damn well how to do this part because I figured it out at the waterway.

Right before Rebecca begged me to kiss her, but I couldn’t, and now I realize it was never because I’m a killer.

It’s because I’m a coward.

My lips ghost over the fair skin of her stomach, and I watch as it contracts every time I make contact.

She whimpers for me, and when I look up I find her eyes fluttering closed, two teeth pressing down on her full bottom lip.

She wants more from me…but I’ve never even given this much to anyone.

I look over at Saint, who’s cheering me on silently with a raise of his thumb, but when the nostrils of my nose tick, Saint reads the expression right away.

He slides down next to me, his fingers grazing Rebecca’s hip bone, and when I scoot a bit over for him he takes it as approval for him to move forward.

“Bex, be a sweetheart and spread those legs of yours.” Saint rubs his thumb in circles on her waist. “I’m gonna show Cray Cray here how to eat your beautiful pussy.”

“Holy shit,” Rebecca hisses, eyes squeezing closed as she squirms on the bed. But like the good girl she is, she does what’s asked.

“Yes, gorgeous,” Saint places a kiss on her thigh, “this is about to be quite the religious experience.”

Hiking one of her legs over his shoulder, he moves even closer to me, instructing with his hand for me to do the same with her other leg.

The both of us are shoulder to shoulder, mere inches away from Rebecca’s pussy as Saint says, “Look, right here,” he presses a thumb against a small exposed nub between Rebecca’s folds, “this is the money, you feel me? But, like money, you gotta earn it.” He rubs circles around it, making Rebecca’s hips buck and a small mewl to leave her lips.

“Fuck, she’s responsive. Look how wet she is already.” Saint instructs me to touch her, so I do.

Rebecca is slick and smooth, her pink pussy gleaming with need.

“She wants you, man. What are you gonna do about it?” His thumb moves faster. “Lick her pussy, go ahead.”

All the air rushes from my lungs as I take in Rebecca’s bare feminality. Not a hair to be found, which only adds to her innocence and my need to fuck it out of her.

“Here, I’ll show you how.” Saint dips his head, his nose running up her entire slit. He inhales loud enough for me to hear. “Fuck, man. She smells like heaven.” His tongue follows next, sliding from bottom to top, playfully flicking the small nub again before retreating.

Rebecca lets out an eager whine, eyes still closed but relaxed as she reaches for one of us.

The jealousy I felt earlier turns into repressed need.

“See, a good sign, she wants to pull you in for more.” Saint speaks with a heaviness in his words, like he’s trying not to seem too excited. “That means you keep going just like that.”

Saint brings his lips to Rebecca’s pussy again, repeating the movement a few times until she’s writhing underneath him, and my dick is straining against the mattress.

“When she starts wriggling like this, you switch to sucking on the clit. Gently, but firm. It’s how you’ll get her to come for you.”

Saint demonstrates, his lips puckering around the nub before he sucks it repeatedly. Making sure to keep his hands busy on other parts of her body.

He stretches up to her breast, squeezing it, journey’s down to her waist, scratching it, then to her thigh where he starts massaging it.

Rebecca is a mess of moans and erratic movements, chasing every single sensation Saint pries out of her.

“See”—his head turns my way, all of her wetness glistening his lips—“now you try it. Just like I did.”

“I don’t know…” I feel like a fucking virgin, so intimidated by something that should be natural to me.

“Crayton, please.” Rebecca breathes, glaring down at me with hungry eyes and parted lips. “I need to feel you on me.”

She looks out of this fucking world beautiful right now, her white hair touseled and pale skin flushing.

I couldn’t deny her if I tried.

I squeeze the thigh next to my head and dive into her, making sure to inhale her scent before anything.

Saint is right, she smells delectable.

Like earth and rain.

I smell her one more time before my tongue darts out to taste her, and when I do, I’m a goner.

She’s so fucking sweet, but it’s the underlying saltiness of her skin that pushes me over the edge.

I lick a line up her slit one, two, three times until I find that special spot Saint mentioned. I tease it with my tongue, soft at first then a bit harder, and it’s not long before Rebecca is moaning my name.

“Fuck me,” Saint chokes out, “this shit is so damn hot.”

Rebecca would be fisting my hair if I had any long strands, but since she can’t she just runs her hand over my head, needing to touch me however she can.

“Dude…” Saint hisses, and I know he’s hard as fucking steel. “Please.”

I pull my mouth away from Rebecca an inch before I say, “You better not put a fucking finger inside her.”

With an enthusiastic nod, I watch as Saint’s attention shoots up to Rebecca, asking her for permission too.

I gauge her reaction, and when she nods for Saint I go back to feasting on her, not needing to watch my best friend have his way with my girl if it isn’t to teach me.

I don’t necessarily like the idea, but tonight is about Rebecca taking back her control, so if I have to share her one time, with strict limits, it’s the least I can do.

Saint wastes no time leaving me to her pussy before he’s at her mouth again, lying beside her and kissing her.

It’s then I decide I need to watch what the motherfucker does to what’s mine.

Rebecca fists his dark hair as they make out again, one hand still on my head, praising my efforts by digging her nails into my skull.

She whimpers into Saint’s mouth when I start sucking on her clit, inserting two fingers inside her, slow and steady unlike the other time I fingered her.

Saint unzips his pants, their lips still connected, and pulls out his cock as he bites a line along Rebecca’s jaw.

“Oh, your fingers. Crayton…just like that.” Rebecca buzzes into his mouth as I move them faster.

Saint pulls back from Rebecca to spit on his hand, and she watches him with unhinged need as he tugs hard on his cock. There’s precum glistening at his tip, so he runs a thumb across it. “And so you know,” he says matter-of-factly, “when a woman says ‘just like that’...motherfucker she means it. You keep doing that shit until your finger falls off.”

With that, he goes back to exploring Rebecca the only way he’s allowed, with his tongue, and begins dipping lower until he finds a perked nipple, bringing it into his mouth.

He continues stroking himself while sucking on Rebecca’s nipple, and I watch them intently, adding more suction to her clit as they both hum with pleasure. When I reach up to massage Rebecca’s free breast, Saint pauses jerking off to place his hand over mine so we work her in tandem.

This time, my hungry eyes are trained strictly on his cock, and for a beat Saint’s gaze slides to mine. He’s curious as we continue rubbing her, but not repulsed at my interest in the dick I’ve seen on numerous occasions.

Saint’s always suspected I’ve done shit with guys, but the cocky look he’s giving me now makes it clear there’s no doubt left.

He leaves me to continue watching, going back to masturbating and sucking on every surface of Rebecca’s chest.

“I’m gonna come!” Rebecca screams after we go on pleasuring her, and her hips ride my face so hard I have to let go of her breast and lock her other leg behind my shoulder.

“Fuck, me too,” Saint hisses, sitting up now with two fingers pulling her nipple, the strokes on his cock turning vicious. Rebecca’s cries grow louder the more he pulls the taut skin.

“Oh, this is the best part, brother.” He grunts, taking in her withering state. “Lift yourself up and curl those fingers inside, like you’re trying to tickle the roof of her pussy.”

I do as instructed, sitting up, licking my lips to savor the flavor coating my lips.

Rebecca’s bent legs spread wider, and her cries turn erratic as I continue to work her up.

“Faster,” Saint instructs, his breath erratic as he gets closer to coming.

I pick up my pace, feeling the soft cushion of her walls pillowing against my fingers.

Rebecca is drenching my hand, her pussy swelling as I use my thumb to stimulate it even more.

“That’s it.” Saint breathes, his eyes wild and hips moving back and forth with his hand. “Oh, fuck, your girl’s a vision like this, Cray.”

I’d tell him to fuck himself, except he’s right. If there is a God, she’s a woman, and her name is Rebecca Dawson.

Her attention bounces from Saint to me, but as she approaches the finish line, her fiery gaze is on my face only.

I don’t know how much more I can handle without being balls deep inside this girl, but something tells me I’m going to want to see what’s about to happen.

“Press down on her pelvis, keep tickling.” Saint’s restricted voice commands.

Sweat beads at my neck as I add the pressure to her abdomen, my body not being used to trying so hard for a girl I’m with.

Saint looks my way through the corner of his eye. “Now watch the magic happen.”

Rebecca moans my name again, her hips gyrating against my fingers even more than before.

“I’m come—” She breathes, but can’t finish the sentence because I’m already taking it home.

Pressing down, curling my fingers, even wiggling them until it sounds like Rebecca’s crying out for her life, and clear liquid spurts like a geyser from between her legs. It soaks my hand completely.

Saint is finishing too, hips jerking as a deep growl forms in his throat, ropes of white spurting out of his cock into his hand.

We both stare in awe at Rebecca’s release. A religious experience is right, because this is the holiest fucking water I ever want to touch.

“What the…” Rebecca looks down at the mess she’s made, and keeps on making the more I continue thrusting in and out of her.

It’s hypnotizing.

But not as much as the tiny mewls from Rebecca as her body unravels.

I’ve done a lot of fucking in my past, but nothing I’ve experienced was ever as erotic as this.

“Oh my God.” I withdraw from her and Rebecca covers her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Damn, gorgeous, you were pent up, huh?” Saint jokes through a heavy breath, cleaning the cum off his hand and cock with one of my fucking shirts.

Asshole. He’ll pay for that shit later.

“Don’t be ashamed, Little Ghost.” I pull a flushed Rebecca closer to me by her thighs, and lift her up until she’s in my arms. “That was the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.” I secure her legs around my waist when another pout curves her lips. “I mean it. I kinda want you to do that shit again.”

“I never even knew I could orgasm…let alone that.” She swallows sheepishly.

“Well, you better get used to it, because this is how we’ll be spending every fucking night moving forward.”

This makes her smile up at me, the red in her face already dissipating. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Hell yeah!” Saint cheers like the asshole he is.

We both ignore his outburst, and it helps my ego a bit that she’s no longer entertaining him.

It helps Saint keep breathing too.

I run a finger through the strands of her long hair, all the way to where it ends at her waist, and Rebecca nudges into my touch. “It’s about time I make you mine, hm?” I tell her through a whisper.

She traces my bicep with her finger. “Please.”

“We goin’ for round two?” Saint rises from the bed, sounding hopeful with his cock still in his hands.

My eyes can’t leave Rebecca. “Get the fuck out, Lavell.”

“Worth a shot,” he grumbles, tucking his dick inside his pants.

Saint’s about to walk off when I say, “This shit stays between us. Got it?”

“What shit?” He winks at Rebecca, that stupid star quarterback smile exposing the teeth I’ll gladly knock out if he doesn’t cut the shit.

“Don’t come back until tomorrow, motherfucker.”

“No prob there. It’s gonna take me at least three rounds with Annalie to get this night outta my system.”

When I lunge for him, Saint slowly backs away with his hands up. “Wait, what? What night?”

And then he’s running out the door.

32

BEX

“You doin’ alright?” Crayton asks when I fall back on the bed. He’s still sitting in the same position, taking in my satisfied state.

“I mean, I’ve been in worse predicaments.” I chuckle, staring up at the ceiling, my insides still whirling from what just went down between the three of us.

“That shit’s not funny,” Crayton bites out, and I realize the poor wording.

“It’s not what I meant.” I reach for him, and Crayton hesitantly climbs on top of me.

“I…” he clears his throat, shifting his body uncomfortably. “I feel like a fucking virgin,” he jokes, trying to seem casual.

“I mean, in a way we both are.” I ring my arms around his neck, bringing him closer for a kiss.

He’s reluctant again, the removal of Saint taking a toll on him, and it’s obvious.

“We don’t need him,” I reassure Crayton, who looks as though he’s asking himself if he made a mistake dismissing his friend.

“I don’t want to hurt you…” He swallows. “Not anymore.”

“Well, let’s not take it off the table completely.” I smile coyly at him, which has Crayton’s shoulders easing up a bit.

“Kiss me,” I demand, so Crayton slowly brings his lips closer.

His touch is gentle, his tongue offering soft caresses against mine when we connect.

We go this way for a bit, and it’s not long before things heat up.

I arch into Crayton, my breasts straining against the muscles of his chest, and Crayton lets out a low groan of approval.

I’m grinding into him, and he into me, the both of us a mess of limbs and moans.

Crayton mutters a curse when I snake my hand between us, wrapping my hand—or trying to—around his thick cock.

I feel the veins of his shaft pulse against my fingers, and when Crayton looks into my eyes his sapphire ones darken.

Turn hooded and heavy.

Carnal.

“Does this hurt?” I run a thumb over the ring at his tip, having zero experience with dick piercings since none of my dildos came equipped with them.

“Not you.” His lip bends into a smirk, running his cock along the folds of my pussy. He’s not inside me yet, but somehow I feel him everywhere.

When he kisses me again, I don’t hesitate to bite hard on his lower lip, drawing blood, then licking it clean with the tip of my tongue.

Crayton hisses, fisting my hair and pulling it back, exposing my neck to him.

The sting is delicious, and Crayton must be able to read the excitement on my face because he squeezes harder.

His mouth attacks my neck, nipping and biting every surface of the skin.

I cry out when his teeth press down against the artery pulsing wildly for him.

My pussy clenches, feeling so overstimulated I may explode on his bed…for the second time.

I begin stroking his cock, and the smallest wave of panic passes through me when I realize this monster of a thing will be inside me soon.

Crayton is huge, and I’m not sure my vagina will survive him. Especially when his instincts take over again, fingers clawing hard into my waist.

He grunts into my mouth, and I whine into his, feeling so overwhelmed with his touch I have to align his cock with my entrance.

“Fuck me. Now,” I demand, then graze the tip of my tongue along his teeth.

Crayton growls, releasing my hair only to flip me over on my belly and lift my ass cheeks in the air.

I can feel his cock against my opening as he scrapes nails down my ass, slapping it firmly with the palm of his hand.

I let out a cry, loving how wet I already am between my legs.

It’s as if my body is in tune with his, craves his madness.

But my mind and heart? They know I need something else, because I can still see Felix’s cruel smile taunting me from the dark corners of this room.

And only my version of Crayton can scare him away.

Crayton’s fingers are curling my hair around them again, about to drive inside me when I stretch a hand behind me to stop him.

Crayton was adamant he doesn’t know how to be gentle during sex, but I’m here to prove him wrong.

To have an experience outside of the horrible ones in the Pit earlier. If I’m going to remember this night for the rest of my life, I want it to be because it’s the time Crayton finally let me in. Not because of what Felix did to me or because I almost died.

I say nothing when Crayton retracts, allowing me to roll onto my back, and Crayton swallows audibly when I pull him onto me.

The muscle of his jaw narrows as he scans my face.

“Look me in my eyes as you take me, okay?” I tell him, and his nostrils twitch.

I know, for whatever reason, this is incredibly hard for him. But I see now he has it in him to try.

I reach for his cheek, caressing it. “I want this to be a first for you too.” I don’t have to divulge any further for him to understand what I mean.

He blinks rapidly. “You really need me like this?”

“I do. For many reasons.”

Crayton curses under his breath, running a hand down his face. After a few moments of losing him to his thoughts, he shows resolve.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” Crayton shakes his head.

“What we do to each other,” I return. “Because we’re both freaking nuts, for sure.”

This makes him chuckle slightly, and run a finger down to my breast.

“How about I tell you what I need?” I suggest, wondering if not being in control will help put his mind at ease.

Crayton nods, but he still looks troubled.

“I need you to kiss me, then run your nose through my hair.”

So he does, inch by inch he lowers himself to my mouth, kissing me tender, deep. Even when he slides his tongue inside it slowly dances with mine, similar to how we were dancing earlier in the dining hall.

It’s beautiful, just like him.

But still not enough to rid Felix’s ghost, which seems to be closing in on me, making my heartrate pick up for all the wrong reasons.

I try to ignore the dark presence as much as I can, focusing on the guy who’s letting go of every insecurity he has and handing them over to me for safekeeping.

When Crayton pulls back, his lips are swollen and red, unaware of the monster lurking outside our bubble.

He descends to my hair, his nose tickling my skin as he inhales. It has the vision of Felix starting to fade again.

There’s a deep satisfied sigh coming from Crayton when he breathes me in one last time, then returns his attention to my face.

“What do you need me to do now?” he says, so soft it jars me a bit.

“I need to feel you inside me.” I wiggle urgently into the hard cock teasing my entrance. “All of you. Please.”

I need to feel you instead of him.

Crayton grips himself, aligning his tip with my entrance as I say, “Keep looking into my eyes, okay? Stay with me.”

Crayton licks his lips. “To be honest, I don’t think I’d want to be anyplace else right now.” He places a soft kiss on my nose, right by the scar on the side of it. “You’re like fucking gravity, Little Ghost. I couldn’t leave if I tried.”

With that he plunges inside me, his hooded blue orbs boring into mine.

I let out a small cry, feeling stretched and whole in all the right ways.

Just like that, Felix vanishes into thin air, and all that’s left is Crayton and me.

“Fuck.” He grunts. “You’re squeezing my cock.”

Tell me about it.

The size of him hurts for sure, it’s expected no matter how many toys I’ve inserted into that same hole.

But this pain is so much better than anything else I’ve ever experienced.

Because it comes with happiness. Contentment.

It comes with him.

“Now?” he chokes out, and for a second I think he’s hurting like me, but then he tells me how good I feel and it puts my heart at ease.

My vagina? Well, that’s about to get torn to shreds.

“Slide in and out of me, slow and steady.”

Crayton follows my command—his cock slowly retracting, only to return with a languid stroke.

I arch my back, feeling the ring on his tip caressing all the right places inside me.

“Faster…” I breathe.

Crayton picks up speed, and this time I don’t have to ask him to kiss me because he already is.

His hips start moving in sync with the rhythm of his tongue, all of it becoming natural to him.

Just like I knew it would.

My hands find his ass and squeeze, guiding him.

“Fuck…” Crayton curses, his movements turning sloppy. “I need to stop. Now.”

“Please don’t.” I shake my head, all of this being too good to end now.

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” I promise him. “Let me be your first.”

He buries his head in my neck, hips still thrusting. “Little Ghost, you don’t understand,” he mumbles, kissing the sensitive area by my shoulder.

“I don’t need to in order to know this is something we both need.”

It’s so damn irresponsible for me to suggest Crayton comes inside me, but I need to feel closer to him and further from Felix.

I need to know I have a part of Crayton that no one else ever had. I need to know he’s really mine this time.

“Are you sure?” he asks when our gazes connect again.

“More than anything.”

Crayton’s lips smash into mine, filled with desperation and longing, and we stay this way as his body slams into me over and over again. It feels nothing short of amazing.

No tongues are used because we’re holding our breaths for what’s about to happen, and once it does Crayton freezes inside me, where I feel a warm sensation and his cock twitch. My lungs are finally able to deflate.

He grunts into my lips, his eyes squeezing tight as his hips jerk a few times. He doesn’t relax until it’s done.

When it is, his hand finds my face, and he presses his forehead against mine.

“Who the fuck knew this was possible…” Crayton laughs through a ragged breath.

“What is possible?” I ask, closing my eyes when he places a tender kiss on my forehead.

“That a Little Ghost like you could bring the Devil to his knees.”

33

CRAYTON

When an animal is found suffering, most times, the humane thing to do is put it out of its misery.

But what about when the animal deserves it?

Maybe you shouldn’t take the dog hit by a car to a vet because it was chasing some helpless kitten.

Shoot the injured bear dead because he was about to slaughter a family.

Or treat the unconscious guy on a hospital bed because he’s actually some girl’s rapist, and her father delivered justice.

It’s those fickle gray lines that I find myself bulldozing through every chance I get.

The only difference this time is that it’s personal.

I may not be Rebecca’s father but it doesn’t make her any less mine.

It was my fault she slipped through the cracks, found herself alone in a tunnel with Riverside’s biggest predator, and was forced to her knees by him. Therefore it’s my job to make sure he pays in full for his crimes.

Rebecca made me promise not to kill Fucker Felix, but my thirst for revenge is no where near quenched.

At the end of the day, I’m doing this for her.

Which is what I keep trying to convince myself of as I watch the piece of shit from behind a tree, walking along the pier alone, bruises and all, headed right for the Hot Spot.

—A.K.A where the hookers like to hang out at two a.m.—

Of course the asshole is fresh from Daddy’s private doctor, already looking for a feminine hole to stick his cock into—the only way his fragile machismo can get some masculinity back.

Knowing Felix and his douchebag of a Dad, they’d want to keep this hush to save embarrassment. That’s if the fucker even told his Dad to begin with. Chances are my phone would be ringing out of my pocket by now if he did.

Pulling the black bandana out of my jeans, I tie it around my neck and lift my hood, taking a look around for bystanders before grabbing the bat against the tree I’m hiding behind and circle it to continue trailing him.

Felix is walking confidently along the closed up stores, nothing but the sound of waves crashing against the shore can be heard within thousands of feet distance. I stay several feet behind holding my Louisville, careful not to draw his attention even though the asshole’s got the self preservation of a fucking slug.

I chuckle when I notice the subtle limp he tries playing off as swagger when he reaches a few girls in tight mini skirts cornered at the end of the pier.

“Ladies,” Felix greets them with his arms stretched wide, “who’s looking to show me a good time?”

This is the first time witnessing actual “working girls” contemplating refusing work.

“You alright, honey?” a blonde one asks when Felix adjusts the bandage on his arm.

“Eh. You should see the other guy.”

Oh, they’re about to.

“Well, we uppin’ the hourly rate if it includes medical attention,” the one in a blue wig adds.

What a pathetic sight…Felix, whose uncle owns several high end gentlemen’s clubs in the city, is being reduced to street corner hoes.

It’s all the proof I need to know his Dad has no idea what I did to him.

Before he even gets the chance to pick which whore he’ll dick down in his car, I take one more quick look around before lifting the bandana and picking up my pace. Winding the bat in my hand, I catch the attention of the girls first who read the mood rather quickly.

They’re already taking off in droves by the time Felix turns around to see what’s worrying them.

His eyes widen with fear as I close in on him, swinging the bat hard and fast into his ribs.

Felix collapses to the ground, holding his side.

“What the fuck?” he spits out through a groan.

I lower to my haunches, pressing the top of the bat into his neck.

“Did you think this shit was over?” If Felix didn’t suspect my presence at first, he sure does now when I add, “I’m nowhere near done punishing you yet.”

The vibrato he usually squares up with is nowhere to be found. In its place is the weeping piece of shit he truly is.

“Please, Crayton. No more.” He strains, trying to remove the bat from his neck.

“Did you offer Rebecca the same courtesy when she begged you to stop fucking raping her?”

“I drank too much, man.” He says, hands up in a protective stance. “It was a mistake and I know it. I won’t fuck with her ever again.”

This has a bitter laugh skating past my lips as I lower the bat to his chest.

“Did you actually think I’d give you the chance?”

True horror grips his features. “Please, man. Don’t kill me.” He struggles to find his words. “I-I didn’t even tell my Dad what happened. I told him I was mugged, you see? We can just let this whole thing go.”

I press hard into his chest, and the only smart move tonight from Felix is his decision not to struggle. “You’re one stupid motherfucker to think you can provoke a devil then ask for mercy.”

“Do it for her, then….remember.” He grunts. “You promised Rebecca you wouldn’t kill me.”

He’s not helping his cause if he dares to speak her fucking name.

I hike the bat over my shoulder. “Say her fucking name again…I dare you.”

“Please, please.” He covers his face with his hands.

It never takes a lot to set me off, but the sound of Felix saying Rebecca’s name effectively flips the switch.

I strike down on him hard, the wood colliding with his jaw forcing him to the ground with blood spurting from his mouth.

It’s such a beautiful sight to behold. Broken bones and bright Crimson. It brings on the carnal need to see more of it, to taste the fear in Felix’s heart.

To make him earn his name.

My roar is thunderous as I bring the bat down on him again, falling through the dark hole I can’t pull myself out of until I’m back in my tub.

The sound of his jaw shattering vibrates up my spine, turning my rage into a frenzy. More blood splatters everywhere, making his face unrecognizable, which is enough for me to let up.

Felix is knocked unconscious, and as I tilt my head, watching him lay still, all I can see is her face through his battered one.

So scared. Vulnerable. Helpless after what he did.

So fragile and in need of protection…but because I was a coward I couldn’t offer any until it was too late.

I don’t hear Rebecca’s words, I only hear her cries.

Her ragged breaths.

She made me promise, yeah, but promises are meant to be broken. Just like rapists are meant to be dead.

Convincing myself I’m right, I flip Felix over onto his stomach and hurl the bat over my head, then striking his spine.

I repeat the process, satisfaction growing as the sound of more bones cracking fill my ears.

I go on like this, getting lost in the delicious violence until a call comes through on my phone, rudely interrupting play time.

My chest is heaving as I reach into my back pocket and check who’s calling, making sure it’s not Rebecca.

Of course it ends up being the only other person besides Dad and Rebecca I’d allow to interrupt me.

“What is it?” I grit into the phone as I poke Felix’s lifeless body with the bloody bat.

“It’s Rebecca, man.” Saint huffs. “She’s looking for you so get your ass back here before you do something extra stupid than usual.”

I ignore Saint and poke Felix again, not a response or groan or squeak coming from him, and when I reach down to feel for a pulse I find nothing there.

Well, looks like extra stupid mode has been activated.

I’m lifting the asshole to toss him in the river when the sound of nervous female chatter, likely the prostitutes, start closing in on me.

So I drop him and take off running.

Rebecca

“Rebecca.” I hear a faint voice calling out to me, making me stir in my sleep, reaching for the blanket to pull over my head. I groan when something heavy stops it from reaching me.

Rolling over, I groan, feeling so exhausted from the events of the night.

A small tongue licking my cheek has my eyes spring open, coming face to face with Potato wagging his tail, kissing me again on the forehead.

“Am I dreaming?” I reach for him.

“Not anymore.” Crayton’s deep timbre startles me.

“What the hell?” I sit up, rubbing the tiredness from my eyes, and when I do I find Crayton sitting at the side of my bed.

The clock on my nightstand reads 3:30 a.m., and my mind is spinning with confusion, still not convinced this is real.

“Where were you earlier? I was looking for you.” I pause. “And why the heck are you in my room so late?” The last question is a stupid one because we both already know the answer.

What I don’t know is why my Chunky Muffin is climbing on my lap. Regardless of the how or why’s, I scoop my pup in my arms and shower him with kisses, so happy to have my fur baby here with me.

“Crayton, what the hell is my Potato doing here?” I say through a giggle, Potato going back to doing the smooching.

I refused to spend the night in Crayton’s room, in fear of getting caught and in trouble, regardless of Crayton insisting nobody would dare to make a peep.

So we parted ways after two more rounds of sex, which were nowhere as polite as the first, and also had me walking side to side back to my room.

It wasn’t my most glorious moment, but I at least had Crayton with me to ease the embarrassment.

What he did after we parted ways, I had no idea until now, because when I grew some balls and went back to his room, I found Saint there with Annalie in his bed.

Gross.

“I went and got him for you,” Crayton states with a lazy shrug. “Thought you could use him after what you went through tonight.”

Panic grips me by the throat. “What do you mean you went to get him? At my condo?”

“Obviously.”

“How the hell do you know where I live?”

Another stupid question.

“I mean, why the hell would anyone let you into the building far enough to reach our place?!”

He leans close, even attempting to pet Potato’s head as he says, “’Cause my father owns the building.”

Of course he does.

“So you snuck into my condo?” I reproach, sneaking a glance over at Hendrix who’s still out cold.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He points his chin at Potato, who’s already making himself comfortable on my bed. “I was doing something nice. Some may even say romantic.”

“There is nothing nice or romantic about breaking and entering, Crayton!” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, already sifting through ideas on how to fix this. On how to explain Potato’s disappearance to Mom.

“How about a ‘thank you’ for bringing your furry little rat here?”

“First of all, he’s not a rat, he’s a muffin!” I hiss, which has Hendrix fussing in her sleep.

“Who the fuck is talking so loud?” She groans, lifting her head from the pillow and blowing her bangs out of her eyes.

“Uh. Why is there a dog in our room?” She tilts her head. “And Potato?”

Crayton flips her off as I continue my round of scolding. “How the hell did you get into our condo?”

He shows me a single key. “I made a spare like two weeks ago.”

I slap both hands down onto the bed, making Potato jump. “I knew I wasn’t crazy. My house keys did go missing!”

“But aren’t you glad I did that?” He grins, eyeing Potato, who’s now sniffing Crayton’s pants.

Crayton pulls out a Slim Jim, breaking off a piece of it and feeding it to my dog.

“He’s a vegetarian!” I screech, reaching for the small piece of meat but Potato already scarfed it down.

“Yeah, don’t think he got the memo—guy ate half this Jim already.”

Oh my God.

“Who the hell makes their dog a vegetarian?” This comes from Hendrix, who’s reaching for cigarettes in her nightstand drawer.

I ignore her judgment and focus on the walking felony reaching for a smoke of his own.

“Crayton.” I take a deep cleansing breath, knowing in his head he thinks he did something sweet.

“Thank you for trying to comfort me, but you have to promise you will never break into my condo ever again. Because my mother will not hesitate to get you arrested.”

“One has to get caught to be arrested. Besides, they were too busy bangin’ in their bedroom to even realize I was there.”

Hearing this both skeeves me out and relieves me at the same time.

“Crayton.” I repeat in my most authoritative voice.

“Okay, fine, I won’t break into your house anymore, fuck.” He brings the cigarette to his lips. “I wonder what your appreciation would look like if I ended up taking one of those fancy portraits of you too.”

“Real funny.” I stick my tongue out at him, and his lip curls playfully around the Newport.

Hendrix chuckles from the window, which she now has opened to vent the smoke.

The chill of the night instantly sends prickles down my arms, so I reach for Potato and my blanket as Crayton stands to join her at the window.

Hendrix still isn’t crazy about Crayton, but she accepts the fact that I am, which is why she’s only stabbing him with her eyes and not one of her pencils.

But me? I go back to cuddling my Chunky Muffin, reaching for the phone to shoot Mom a text I’ll have to fully explain in the morning, and hoping for the best to go back to sleep, knowing it’s not even worth trying to get Crayton to leave the room.

Not that I want him to.

Because, despite the illegalness of what he did, it is kind of swoonworthy.

I’m dozing off when I feel a body scoot behind me, a muscular arm squeezing my waist to bring me closer. My back molds against Crayton’s warm chest, which encompasses me through his black t-shirt.

“So we’re having slumber parties now?” Hendrix grumbles as she settles back into her bed.

Crayton smiles into my neck, and I can sense the incoming taunt before he even says it.

“Believe it or not, our slumber parties started a long time ago, purple haze.”

My lips squeeze closed, trying my hardest to bite back the laugh threatening to escape my lips.

I guess Crayton and Saint shared more than me tonight.

Which is something I wouldn’t dare mention to Hendrix, especially since Saint is making it so obvious he’s got a thing for her.

And I know deep down Hendrix does too, in spite of the heat of rage emanating from her side of the room.

Which, come to think of it, makes me feel kind of guilty for what we did earlier. I definitely need to talk to her, and hope it doesn’t end with a pencil in my eye.

“Yeah, well, you and your manwhore of a friend can kindly fuck off.” Hendrix’s insult interrupts the pout forming at my lips…and I’m back to eyeballing between them as they mouth off tit for tats.

Which goes on for an irritatingly long time for someone who wants to sleep. Someone being me.

Crayton laughs quietly to himself when Hendrix calls him a psychotic asshat, and so do I because she’s not completely wrong.

Except he’s my psychotic asshat, and I wouldn’t change him for the world, as long as he promises to keep me in his.

The two of them continue to hurl insults back and forth, and my heart swells, leaving me feeling full for the first time since I stepped foot in Riverside. It also has me wondering what the hell the next nine months have in store for us when so much has changed already.

34

BEX

WINTER(ISH)

I am not equipped for this shit.

If I knew we’d be moving to the arctic, I would’ve at least made sure to bring a portable heater with me.

Someone needs to look me in the eye and tell me they actually enjoy weather so cold it blisters your fingers—or else I won’t believe it.

I nearly caught frostbite last week when I dared to walk to Mom and Roman’s without putting freaking gloves on.

Negative eight degrees Fahrenheit.

I don’t even want it that cold in my fucking freezer.

Rubbing my hands down the arms of my pink North Face parka Mom bought me the second the temperature dropped below sixty, I make my way across the parking lot back to the dorms.

Cold weather didn’t stop me from getting myself a matcha latte, and given I no longer have to worry about the Riverside assholes jumping out of bushes, I decided to sneak out before anyone woke up.

I even helped myself to a buttery croissant which was halfway gone before I even got to one of the Starbucks tables.

Crayton is a nocturnal creature, which is why he’s standing by the back door like an irritated bodyguard who’s detail got away from him.

The ground is still covered in white, courtesy of the six inches of snow the city was blessed with two days ago, which makes me grateful for my fancy snow boots.

I’m passing the parked cars in the lot when a very unfamiliar one catches my eye. It’s black, muscular, and the tints are completely blacked out.

My face squishes to one side, feeling like I’ve seen this car before, especially since it stands out like a sore thumb against the lines of fancy Mercedes and BMW’s.

Unable to put my finger on it, I brush the thought off as another unnecessary prize for some privileged teenager.

“You took too long,” Crayton grumbles when I reach him, still annoyed I wouldn’t allow him to tail along like a brooding escort.

I reach up on my tippy toes to kiss him.

“I’m a big girl, Crayton, I can manage a walk up the block to drink a coffee.”

Another onslaught of snuffles follow me when the door to the gymnasium closes behind us.

It’s Saturday, and I decided to stay back at the school instead of visiting Mom and Roman as usual, needing time to catch up on some midterm reading, since Crayton has been taking up most of our study sessions with studying our bodies instead.

He didn’t lie when he said we’d be spending every night wrapped up in each other, and now that he’s managed to become comfortable with sex and me, he’s wanting to have it every time we’re alone.

And when we’re not, he’s usually throwing out whichever person is keeping us from being naked.

Not that I’m complaining, but I really need to nail these exams if I’m going to keep up my GPA.

When we reach the girl’s common room, there’s a fire going, and a few students huddled around it eating breakfast and watching “Real Housewives of New Jersey.”

Go figure.

Alexis is in the middle of them, along with her posse, and the glower she’s shooting at me is almost as hot as the flames dancing next to her. I ignore it, knowing it’s coming from a place of pure jealousy.

It’s been a while now that Crayton and I have come out publicly as a couple, and since then no one, not even Alexis, dared to question it.

The only jerk who would be stupid enough to challenge our relationship hasn’t been seen since the night of the dance, and, according to the school populus, has taken up virtual learning because of a mysterious “medical condition”.

Here’s to hoping it’s a terminal one.

Crayton pulls me into him by my waist, not offering Alexis a second glance as he guides me toward the steps.

“Listen, mister.” I say in my best serious tone. “We’re actually studying today, midterms are right around the corner.” I wave a finger at him. “So no hanky-panky.”

Crayton chuckles. “What the fuck is a hanky-panky?”

I eye the pierced package in his pants. “You know…hanky-panky.”

Crayton squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Is this the ADHD term for fucking?”

I slap his arm. “Asshole. And no, it’s the term for having incredibly hot sex with your boyfriend.”

“It doesn’t sound so hot when you call it that.”

“Well, then maybe it’ll keep you from trying to have it.”

“That so?” Swooping me up, Crayton hikes me over his shoulder, leaving me both laughing and screaming as he carries me the rest of the way up the steps.

“You heathen! Put me down!” I pound my fists into his back, which of course does nothing to sway him. It’s like trying to punch your way through a brick wall.

Crayton helps himself to a strong slap to my ass. “If you’re trying to avoid getting fucked senseless, Little Ghost, you should probably refrain from using terms that make my dick hard.”

* * *

Midterms came and went like a tornado, the entire week filled with term paper deadlines and exams hard enough to make my head spin.

Thankfully, both Crayton and I passed with flying colors, despite the loss of studying time.

It’s the Friday before Christmas break, and the Royals decided the best way to celebrate the holidays is with a party at Levi’s mansion in Queens.

My relationship with Crayton has created quite the snowball effect, forcing new friendships, and even genuine ones on both sides.

Hendrix has accepted Crayton becoming a human piece of furniture in our dorm room, and although her and Saint still have this “will they, won’t they” thing going on, she still tries to convince everyone, but mostly herself, that it’s the latter of the two.

Which is why I decided against telling her about what the three of us did in their dorm room.

Not the best decision, I know, but it meant nothing, and it’s not like Hendrix knowing will do her any good. If anything it will only solidify her reason to not cross the holy line.

Archer has found his place in the crew too, mostly the voice of reason and rules, but there’s something about him the past couple months that seems off.

I can tell he’s troubled because that usual spark of his has gone missing, and he’s been uncharacteristically quiet. I’ve been doing my best to squeeze it out of him, but other than swearing it has nothing to do with me and Crayton, he’s keeping whatever it is to himself.

I look over at Archer from the passenger side of his car, and watch as his jaw clenches, so lost in thought as we make our way to Levi’s house.

Crayton wasn’t happy when I told him I’m riding with Archer in an attempt to have a heart to heart, but with a couple sexual bribes, I ended up victorious.

“Hey man,” I playfully punch his shoulder. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Archer’s hard expression dissipates, and he goes right back to that charming smile. “Oh, nothing, just a bit on edge about that chem exam. Shit was hard and if I don’t score at least a ninety, it’ll drop my GPA to an A.”

I don’t believe what he is saying, especially because we both know he’s at the top of our class, and can pretty much school our teachers on most subjects, but I go along with it for his sake. All in hopes it can steer us into a deeper conversation.

I look behind me at Hendrix, who’s lost in one of her drawings in the back seat, and decide I’ll keep her out of this attempt to unravel Archer.

“I’m sure you did awesome, Arch, you’ve aced every single test so far.”

Archer shrugs his shoulders. “You’re probably right, just got a lot of pressure from the parents. Gets me in my head sometimes.”

Archer’s two older brothers have both graduated from Riverside and went on to become well renowned defense attorneys, along with the rest of the men in his family.

Archer always says how his heart is in the arts, but it’s only a pipe dream because of the big shoes he feels required to fill.

“I know I’ve asked this before like a hundred times, but are you sure it’s not something else? Maybe my relationship with Crayton and being around the Royals so much?”

We stop at a red light, and Archer uses this as an opportunity to stare straight at me. “Bex, I promise you it has nothing to do with you dating Shaw. I’m happy as long as you’re happy and he’s treating you well.”

I breathe a loud sigh and reach for his leg, squeezing it. “I just want you to know you can talk to me about anything. I’m always in your corner.”

“I know that, trust me. But I’m fine. Just usual teenage drama”—he pauses, gifting me one of his signature smiles—“no pun intended.”

Feeling an iota of relief, I lean over and kiss his cheek. “Let’s have fun tonight, yeah? We’ll save our teenage worries for tomorrow.”

The ride takes us about a half hour, and the second we step into Levi’s stone mansion, it’s a blast from the past like it was entering Sampson’s house.

Only this is the winter version.

Ten foot Christmas trees decorate every single room. From the foyer where we leave our coats, to the formal living room, and even the outside patio looks like a scene out of one of Mom’s favorite Hallmark Christmas specials.

We find the Royals spread along the L shaped couch next to the outdoor fireplace, and Crayton is at his feet once he lays eyes on me stepping through the sliding doors.

I’m wearing sheer leggings and an off the shoulder oversized sweater, but I might as well be in my birthday suit from the way his eyes peruse my body.

It sends shivers trickling down to my toes.

“She has arrived!” Levi’s words slur as he stands, his arms spread wide. “Now our boy can finally fucking relax.”

Hendrix and Archer park themselves in an empty spot on the couch as I’m pulled possessively into Crayton’s lap next to them. We’re sitting across from Saint and Riggs who are busy pouring a bunch of drinks.

Which we spend the next two hours indulging in, especially yours truly.

According to Levi, his parents are holidaying in the Maldives, and he’s been too “busy” studying for terms to join them.

Which leaves us here, staring out into another blanket of white in the distance of his ginormous backyard, the only indication of the weather being cold since this area is completely heated.

There are some random guys he hired cooking up burgers and kabobs on the hibachi grill, along with some help to disperse the alcohol for an underaged party.

These guys literally live in another dimension, one where there are no rules that prohibit kids to partake in drugs or alcohol.

Because, yeah, there’s no ignoring the lines of cocaine on the small glass table next to Levi.

“Want a bump, gorgeous?” Riggs leans across the table separating us, under the influence of God knows what.

Before I get the chance to answer, Crayton slaps the hand held in front of me away, making the powder that was on the small spoon fall like snow onto the ground.

“The fuck, Cray Cray? That was pure shit you just wasted.”

“I’ll have you swallowing the rest of it if you try offering my girl drugs again, motherfucker.”

Riggs shrugs, leaning over the glass table, using a rolled hundred dollar bill to snort a line. He rises, letting out a satisfied sigh. “It’s a party, man. Let her live a bit.”

“No thanks, Riggs.” I try to ease the tension by holding up my glass. “I’ll stick with vodka.”

Crayton slides me closer to his chest, hugging my middle tight with one arm. The protectiveness of his touch reminds me he’s the only one out of his friends who never touches the stuff.

I turn my head to face him, lowering my voice. “I’m not a baby, Crayton, I can answer for myself.”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Never said you were, Rebecca. In fact, wasn’t it you who tried the stupid pet name on me?”

I fix him with a modest grin. “What? I thought baby would be cute.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch Hendrix helping herself to a line when Riggs offers it to her, and Archer not-so-kindly declines.

The look he’s giving Riggs seems more hostile than usual. I mean there’s no love lost there, we all know that. What I don’t know is why.

A thought flickers in my mind, but is erased at once by Hendrix, who’s demanding I come dance with her in the house.

“Sorry, baby,” she mocks Crayton with a laugh, snatching the vodka from me as I take a sip. “But it’s girl time.”

Pulling me by the arm, I stumble behind her as she leads us through the house, all the way to the open living room where a DJ is playing some reggaeton.

Hendrix swipes two drinks off a server tray and hands me one before taking a sip of her own.

And then we’re dancing.

I can feel the heat of Crayton’s gaze behind us the entire time, in no way surprised by his inability to give us space.

What I am taken by is the guy I find standing next to him when I turn around. Saint looks as homicidal as Crayton does, fierce eyes glaring at any guy who gets within a foot of Hendrix.

It’s hysterical how obvious his jealousy is.

But what’s even funnier is Hendrix’s need to make him jealous.

The guys sit on a couch a few feet away as we get lost in the music, the three alcoholic drinks presenting the courage I need to really give it my all.

By “all” I mean whatever it takes to turn Crayton into a salivating dog. Not that it takes much these days.

Crayton’s legs are spread wide, elbow on the arm rest, his chin sitting firmly on his knuckle as he watches my every move.

The entire room slows down around him as our gazes align.

I swirl my hips, lowering myself as much as I can before rising with an arch of my back. Within seconds Hendrix is behind me, grinding and cheering me on like a typical girlfriend would do.

I keep up with the pretense, shaking my ass when Hendrix bends me over.

I don’t miss the tick of Crayton’s jaw as I run my hands up my body, all the way to my hair, and move my hips as seductively as possible.

None of the guys dare to look my way in fear of Crayton’s wrath, and the feeling is a vigorous one knowing I’m his and no one else’s.

But Hendrix on the other hand, she’s getting pulled in by Stevenson, who she’s become quite friendly with despite her push and pull with Saint.

Taking a long sip of my drink, I continue my show for Crayton, and when he beckons me with a curl of his finger, I make my way over to him, heart pounding with anticipation.

Saint is out of his seat heading straight for the dancers when I reach Crayton, and for a second I think a fight’s about to break out, but when I turn I find him grabbing Annalie, pulling her over to the nearest seat, demanding a lap dance.

“Let those two assholes figure their shit out.” Crayton’s gruff voice drags me back to our bubble, where I find his fiery gaze trailing down my body.

“Sit right here, Little Ghost.” He pats his thigh. “I want to feel that cute little ass of yours grinding against my cock.”

Crayton’s comments about my petiteness no longer feel like digs, in fact, they’ve become so much more like a turn on for him.

Like I’m something precious he needs to protect.

Most women strive to be as independent as possible from a man, but I’m more than content surrendering to his dominant role.

It comes with its perks.

All the D’s a girl can ask for: dick, desire, and unwavering devotion.

When our bodies connect electricity zings throughout my fingers, and shoots down my body the second my ass grinds into his already hardened cock. I lean back until I’m against his chest, taking a hefty sip of the alcohol.

Crayton peers down at me with untainted lust starring his eyes, retrieving the cup I’m holding on to.

I twist my neck and bring my lips to his, still moving my hips in circles to ride the bulge nudging into my skin tight pants.

He kisses me back, forcing his tongue past my eager lips.

“You like puttin’ on a show for me…baby?” He growls into my mouth, and it takes every ounce of decency inside me not to moan over the music. “Making me rock hard for you?” His fingers ring my neck. “Is my Little Ghost looking for attention?”

“Yes.” My voice is breathy as I squirm on top of him, my craned neck turning sore, but Crayton’s next words act as a topical ointment going from icy to hot.

“Well…then I better do something about it.” After releasing me, Crayton picks up a throw blanket next to us and haphazardly covers our bottom halves.

His fingers are already slipping under my shirt, slow and tantalizing, when I manage to ask what he’s doing.

“I bought you something.” He peppers a few kisses along my jaw, his thumb running lazy circles on my stomach. “Wanna know what it is?”

Something hard and cool brushes against my flesh, making the muscles on my abdomen instinctively tense, and when Crayton thrusts that cock of his against my ass my breath hitches with excitement.

I want him. Here. Now. In this living room.

I lick the dryness from my lips, savoring the feeling of a foreign object teasing sensitive skin.

He could tell me it’s a double edged sword at this point, and I’d probably spread eagle for him right in the middle of this party.

Crayton has that effect on me, and I hate to love it.

“I'd rather you show me…” I tell him, leaning my head against his shoulder.

“In front of everybody, hm?” he grumbles so low only I can hear. “But you know the rules.”

I’m in a backwards dry humping sesh as I bite down hard on my lip. It’s bold and outrageous, but I don’t care, I need to feel more of him than this.

I want Crayton to take me how I like it while the world moves around us. Maybe people will notice, maybe they won’t.

Either way the thrill of it all has me so close to the edge of climaxing he may not have to do anything other than keep talking to me like this.

“Show me what you got me. Please,” I beg when the object finds the rim of my pants.

“Shhhh,” he coos, his entire hand slinking underneath my leggings.

When he stops at my pussy, Crayton begins toying me with the tip of his fingers.

I’m already breathing hard into his neck when the toying turns into slow methodical movements.

Crayton’s learned my body real fast and with minimum coaxing from me. He’s also been a lot more mindful of how rough he is, trying so hard to tame that side of him even though I insist he doesn’t need to.

He says he wants sex to be different with me, and I’ve told him countless times how much it already is, but if he insists on making sure he pleases me, who am I to stop him?

A low vibration between my legs makes me jump, and a small cry leaves my lips as the humming attacks the entire area between my legs.

“Oh my God.” I press my lips closed as he secures me onto his lap with his other arm.

A gust of his warm breath tickles my ear. “Aw, c’mon Little Ghost, you know you can call me Crayton.”

“It’s a…” I jolt again, the humming sensation sending a wave of pleasure starting from my stomach all the way down to my clit. “It’s a—”

“A vibrator, yes,” he finishes the sentence I’m unable to speak. “Better than any of those little toys I threw out from under your bed…and it’s gonna make you spill that sweet stuff all over my fucking hand.” He pauses, and I’m waiting with bated breath as he adds, “But not here where everyone else can see what I do to you.”

I will slice his balls off one by one if he dares to stop this now. My body is on fire, and there are so many different sensations taking over me at once, I know I won’t make it more than a minute without screaming his name.

“Keep going,” I demand, and the seriousness behind my tone makes him chuckle.

“I take it you like my gift?” Crayton rubs the toy around my most sensitive parts, then presses down on them like the tormentor he is.

There it is, that rise in my gut I’ve been waiting for, and as soon as it reaches the edge, it’s gone with a push of a button.

I can feel Crayton’s smile against my back like the pulsing from the music.

Then the vibrator is turned on, back to working me up.

Till it’s gone again.

“Stop stopping,” I whine, wiggling my hips into him.

People around us dance, some watching us discreetly, others make out, some even in similar situations to me and Crayton. Especially my closest friend whose tongue is searching for gold down Stevenson’s throat.

“I don’t want you to come for them.” He grunts, the machine still off.

“I’m not coming for them, I’m coming for you.” I press. “And I’ll be discreet I promise.”

“You can’t do discreet, Rebecca.”

He’s not lying, but I’ll say anything to finish right now.

“Crayton Shaw, if you have an ounce of compassion for me, you will make me orgasm.”

With that and a few contemplative seconds, the vibrator is back on, doing its job to build me from the bottom up.

I arch my back into him, closing my eyes as Crayton holds me in place.

He’s the only one left who gives a shit about the people around us, where I’m just chasing the high like a dog chases a bone.

My eyes open as Crayton moves the vibrator around my clit, having me writhe above him, my chest rising and falling in quick motions the further up the mountain I go.

When I look around I find attention on us from a far distance, and thankfully Crayton is too distracted with one of my many sex kinks.

I make the briefest contact with a couple guys, who are hiding behind their cups, staring directly where Crayton’s hand is, some even sporting hard-ons as they watch me getting off.

The thrill of it all has me grinding my ass harder against his cock, drawing a hiss from Crayton’s lips as they leave kisses on my neck.

It’s a lewd form of ecstasy: being on display like this for those who know they can’t have you. Who know you can only be touched by the man who’s most powerful. It makes you feel a sense of power too, especially when you have the man they all fear surrendering to your will.

I understand a bit more why so many girls want to be by the Royals side. Especially Crayton’s since he’s the face of them—and hardest to crack.

The lingering gazes set me ablaze, along with Crayton’s skilled fingers and the vibrator buzzing relentlessly against my clit.

A single nip to my earlobe from Crayton is all it takes to have me plunging off the edge of the cliff. His mouth collides with mine, kissing me deep to swallow my cries.

I’m falling apart above him, my pussy clenching, with his dick so hard and so tempting for me to get my hands on. So I do, I find my way between us, where the button to Crayton’s jeans is teasing me. I have it released in only a few eager attempts.

“What are you doing, Little Ghost?” Crayton’s sharp tone scrapes my ear.

Like the needy mess I am from him, I state, “I want you inside me.”

“You’re pushing it…” He warns, but is too turned on to take it off the table completely.

“Claim me in front of them all. Show them I’m yours.”

Crayton’s groan tells me the idea entices him, but not as much as it enrages him.

“You want them to watch me fuck you right here?” His tone changes from sharp to hostile.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Please. Do it for me. I want you so bad right now.”

The fight continues a bit in his head before drooping on his shoulders tells me I won.

Crayton shakes his head, taking a quick glance around the room, where our previous spectators are acting like they have no idea what’s going on.

A smart move on their part.

Then his pants are going down, forcing me to raise my hips for him and lower mine, only to be smacked by the large cock springing out of his jeans.

I can feel how angry and desperate it is, too, for a release.

I’m already soaking wet thanks to Crayton’s little surprise—so, with the blanket still covering my private area, Crayton holds his cock with one hand, and guides me on top of it with the other.

He’s bare as always, because it only took me one trip to a pharmacy for Plan-B before getting my ass on birth control.

My walls are stretching with every bit of him sliding inside, and my sigh of relief comes from somewhere deep in my stomach.

I’d imagine the first insertion of Crayton’s cock is exactly what heaven would feel like.

Full of both bliss and euphoria.

Being denied by him could only be a cruel version of hell.

Desolate and miserable.

Something I’m lucky enough not to be subjected to. Not yet at least.

With my back resting against his chest again, I begin gyrating, feeling his length spread me more and more as I ride him.

“Fuck yes.” I throw my head back, so overwhelmed from stimulation I need to take a moment to revel in it.

Heads turn our way, and Crayton is on guard, so used to wanting to shelter me from the rest of our peers.

Crayton is doing this completely for me, which is the new normal for our relationship, and he insists he’s fine with the dynamic.

Doesn’t mean he likes it right now, though.

Crayton uses my break as an opportunity to lift his hips and drive into me with pure malice in his thrusts.

He’s so enraged, knowing there’s no denying what is transpiring between us anymore, and no stopping anyone from watching what he’s doing to me.

I think that anger drives him harder to prove his point.

I’m his and no one else’s.

They can look but better not dare to try and touch.

The both of us move together in one ragged motion: him slamming into me, me pushing back, feeling all of him, including that metal piece rubbing against the roof of my vagina.

It always brings out the most intense orgasms, and there’s no doubt I’m about to experience another one of them soon.

Two fingers find my mouth, prying it open to punish me for making him do this, but that’s okay.

I love being punished by him.

“Enjoy this moment, Little Ghost.” He grunts, still forging ahead with long vicious strokes. “Because every single one of these fuckers will be begging for my mercy thanks to you.”

The fact he truly means that only spurs me on even more.

Like a cat in heat.

Crayton releases my mouth to rub his rough thumb across my bottom lip, making me smirk against it.

“It’s fine by me,” I breathe, trying to keep up with his movements. “As long as you promise not to show an ounce to them.”

“Oh,” Crayton grips my neck, turning my head to face him. “You got my darkness in you, don’t you, Rebecca?”

My smirk turns devilish. “About ten inches deep.”

“Fuck me.” Crayton’s eyes roll before hitting me with another powerful kiss, his hips jerking as his semen warms every crevice inside me.

We sink back onto the couch, my eyes heavy and hooded, trying to gather my breath as Crayton watches.

He’s developed this way of adoring me through a fierce glare of those sapphire eyes.

It’s not typical, but I can read the look as if it was.

In one fell swoop Crayton’s cock is out of me and he’s pulling up my pants. Then his. Then he’s standing us both up, lifting me so we’re face to face.

The entire room, including Hendrix, watches us in astonishment.

“Let’s go.” The tone of Crayton’s voice is laced with hunger still, and when he turns with me to leave, I catch the glimpse of someone in the corner of my eye.

Who’s breathing rage in comparison to all those breathing surprise. I can taste the hostility from across the room on the tip of my tongue.

It’s Alexis sitting at the center of the cheer squad.

And if looks could kill, I’d be burnt toast.

So I choose to kill her with a fake smile.

Oh, I should be the better person—I know this. Especially since it’s obvious she saw what Crayton and I did. But, there’s that froward side of Rebecca Dawson nudging my ego almost as much as the cock between Crayton’s legs was a minute ago.

“You did it, Little Ghost.” Crayton seems impressed, even if it’s still mingled with some annoyance.

“Did what?” I ask him, leaving Alexis to drown in her anger.

“You showed them how a real queen fucks her king.”

35

CRAYTON

“And maybe try not to mention you broke into the house.” Rebecca mouths off the fifteenth command on her list of the do’s and don'ts as we make our way to her Mom and Stepdad’s place.

Somehow she managed to convince my sorry ass to spend Christmas Day with her family.

A screw must have fallen off completely in my head because I don’t even celebrate this shit holiday with my Dad.

In fact, I hate it.

Fat men in red suits asking kids to sit on their lap to get presents? Yeah, that’s not suspicious as fuck.

“Oh, and don’t tell them I’ve been spending some nights in your dorm room. Obviously.”

I roll my eyes and humor the jitters that have her rambling on like a parrot on crack. “Obviously.”

“This is gonna be good.” Rebecca lets out a hmph, trying to reassure herself. “As long as you behave.”

What the fuck does she think I’m going to do? Convert her parents to the black arts?

I offer Rebecca a nod, reaching inside my pocket to get a cigarette and lighting it.

She waves the smoke from her face, then hugs her arms to rid the cold.

“Shit, it’s freezing.” She shivers. “Would be nice not to have to walk everywhere in this.”

I inhale a deep pull. “What the hell do you expect? You live in Manhattan.”

“I guess. Wouldn’t hurt to drive some places though. Speaking of…when do I get to meet the infamous Raven? Your Dad gave that car back to you like two weeks ago.”

Yeah, thanks to good boy Archer who doesn’t know how to eat a single punch. Fucker cost me another two months without her. Apparently Dad felt my tiny display of violence was disgraceful enough to hold my car hostage even longer.

That, plus the insane winter we’ve been having, I’ve barely gotten the chance to make my baby purr. It was a fucking tease when I found her sitting outside the dorms, only to have to bring her back to my father’s garage to brace the snow.

Staring down at the ground, I say, “Raven’s too precious to drive in this weather, I told you.”

Did I tell Rebecca I’m also delaying in fear she’ll recognize it from the day I crashed? Or realize why I did? Fuck no. Shit’s embarrassing enough knowing it happened because I was being a little bitch with mommy issues.

She lifts her chin. “Sounds like I’ve got some competition.”

I huff. “Yeah, you fucking do.”

Raven is the only thing, besides my knife, that has ever brought me a sense of identity. Those two objects are as embedded in me as my fingerprints. It was like a limb was missing when my dad took her hostage.

Rebecca’s mouth falls open in aghast. “Seriously? You know you can lie, right?”

Rebecca’s the only girl on the fucking planet who prefers to be lied to over the truth.

“I told you…a new leaf and all that.”

She hits me with a “whatever” look, and goes back to obsessing over Christmas dinner with the Partridge Family.

I go on tuning her out, and after a final drag of my Newport, I’m flicking the bud into the street.

The urge to reach for my knife creeps up on me when I feel a presence watching us from a distance—a recurring instinct I’ve been keeping to myself for the past few nights.

I look behind us, and shocker, there’s Mr. Clean in a leather jacket doing a terrible job of tailing from across the street.

I don’t know what’s garnered so much hostility from Alexis’ father, especially since his daughter is still trying to get me to fuck her when Rebecca isn’t around. Another fact I’ve decided to keep to myself since we went official.

I’ve turned her down every time, as politely as my hate for her will allow, especially three weeks ago when she found her way into my dorm room to sprawl naked on my bed, begging me to take her back.

As if I wanted her in the first place.

I called Saint to have the fucker feed Alexis his cock to shut her up, but, like the selfish dick he is, he chose against it so he can spend time with his sister who returned home from abroad.

There’s desperation, and then there’s Alexis, who couldn’t take a hint if it was a dildo shoved into her ass.

I put a pin in the Russian wise guy who’s likely out to kill me and go back to focusing on Rebecca—the girl crazy enough to think it’s a good idea bringing a guy who shares the same torture and murder tendencies as Mr. Clean to meet her parents.

My hand slides into my back pocket when I notice him entering my peripheral, and I instantly freeze.

“Motherfucker.” I hiss, slapping a palm against a passing brick wall.

Rebecca shakes her head, putting a pause on the rambling. “What’s the matter?”

“Forgot my damn switchblade.”

She quirks a brow. “Okay? And? Doubt you’ll need to use it on Mom or Roman.”

She doesn’t realize the danger or my attachment to the weapon—probably because I’m the dickhead who refuses to open up to her about any of it.

I’ll stay the dickhead though if it keeps her shielded from the monsters around us…and the monster who made me.

The corner of my lip twitches as I conjure up the easiest comeback. “I don’t like leaving without it.”

Real smooth, asshole.

“Well, you’ll be reunited in no time.” She reaches for my hand, pulling me faster as we approach her building. “Now be nice.” She aims her pointer finger at me. “The goal is to charm ’em. Not harm ’em.”

Exactly why I already hate the shit I’m about to do. But, because of the lack of hate for the girl standing next to me, I’m willing to put on my best fake smile for her mother.

Especially if it keeps Alexis and her father’s plans for me at bay.

* * *

“So…” Rebecca’s mother Nina clears her throat. “I will say I was surprised when Bex told me she’s bringing a boy to Christmas dinner.” Lifting a glass of wine to her lips, she adds, “But you are no boy from the looks of it.” After a quick sip, she places the glass down on the table. “How long have you been a student at Riverside, Crayton?”

I look over at Rebecca with my patience deteriorating, but she’s already pleading with me through beady eyes to keep my cool. Shame she doesn’t do the same with her mother’s endless questioning.

At least now I know where her daughter gets it from.

“How old are you exactly, Crayton?” She continues, oblivious to my annoyance.

“Eighteen.” My jaw muscles tense as I stare at the woman. “And how old are you exactly?”

Her eyes widen with the question, as if I asked what the bra size was behind her sweater dress.

“So…Roman.” Rebecca clears her throat, trying to change the subject. “How’s the gallery coming along?”

Swallowing a mouthful of turkey, the old man dabs the corner of his lips with a napkin. “We’re making great progress, hoping to have it opened by early spring.”

“That’s amazing.” She exaggerates, cupping her cheeks.

“Yes, we’re so excited for you to see it all done, baby.” Her mom cuts in, squeezing her husband’s shoulder.

Rebecca regards her stepdad anyway. “Well, I can’t wait.”

“So, how did you two meet? Was it romantic?” There goes the Mom again. “To be honest, I was a little worried at first that the kids in Riverside were going to be mean to her. Bex was always a recluse.”

Rebecca chokes on the red wine she just took a sip of.

“Bex, baby, you okay?”

Rebecca gathers herself and cleans the mess she made on the table, then waves. “Wrong pipe.”

“We actually hated each other at first.” I tell her, hoping that offering some information will make her finally shut up.

“You did?” She seems concerned.

“No, of course not.” Rebecca kicks me under the table. “We were friends first, and then he swooned me.” She smiles brightly at me, but I can see the I will slice and dice you if you don’t stop undertone of it.

“I don’t do swooning,” I say anyway, “but I did manage to land her, so there’s that.”

Rebecca’s mother blinks stupidly at me, then shakes her head. “What ever happened to that nice boy, Felix, you became friends with? The one you were sitting with at the dance that night?”

Rebecca’s shoulders go rigid.

“Are you two still friends?” She asks her daughter, but I’m the one who answers for her.

“No, she fucking isn’t.”

Okay, I could’ve took it down a notch, but the meer mention of the fucker’s name makes me want to flip this table over.

“No? Why not?” She pouts, staring at Rebecca as she takes another drink of wine.

“Because I almost killed the piece of shit last time I found her with him.”

I say almost because the asshole’s got more lives than a fucking cat. Shortly after the night on the piers, I find out he only suffered a broken back and jaw, but is still fucking breathing.

Of course his dad is keeping the truth hush hush, not wanting the world to know his son’s a dirty little rapist.

And now it’s Nina’s turn to do the choking.

Rebecca laughs nervously, looking between both her parents. “What Crayton means is…Felix turned out not to be a good guy.”

“And you are?” The old man chimes in, all fatherish and wary.

“I am, what?” I snap.

“A good guy?”

I shrug. “Today I’m alright.”

“Who wants pie?” Rebecca stands, nudging me to do the same. So I do.

“But we didn’t even finish dinner yet.” Her mom looks down at her plate. “What’s the rush?”

“Presents. Duh.”

Shit, was I supposed to give her something else besides my dick today?

“Oh, baby, you always are so impatient for them.” Nina chuckles, going back to eating.

That’s when I feel something rubbing against my ankle. I look down to find Potato staring up at me.

I shoo him away with my boot, but that only makes him jump up on my leg.

Since when are rats so friendly?

“Fuck off,” I whisper to him, taking a step back.

“Crayton.” Rebecca practically hisses my name. “Can you come with me into my room for a sec?”

Now we’re talking; I deserve grade A pussy for the bullshit I just had to endure.

“What the hell, dude?” Rebecca closes the door behind me when we step inside her room.

“What?”

“I said be nice!”

“That was me being nice.”

She drags her hands down her face, and all I can think of is how much I want to rip the buttons off her little flannel dress.

“I want my Mom to like you.” She groans.

“I just got you to finally like me.”

Pacing back and forth, she says, “Okay, damage control. Let’s go out there and talk about midterms? Okay? That’s a safe and violent-less conversation.”

“Boring too.”

“Crayton!” She throws her hands in her hair.

“Okay, fine, fuck. Let’s go talk grades and shit.”

We—and by “we” I mean Rebecca and her parents—spend another grueling hour talking about school, work, and other pointless topics Rebecca brought up to keep the attention off me.

It’s obvious I’m not anyone but Rebecca’s favorite person in the room, and maybe Potato because the fucking pest refuses to leave my side.

But I do try my best to be as sociable as I can, for the sake of getting laid again.

From dinner, to presents, to fucking dessert, the two old timers in the room won’t shut the hell up.

And Rebecca all but covers my mouth with her hand to censor me.

Her Mom and Stepdad aren’t necessarily bad people, but definitely annoying ones who need to know everything about the person sitting across from them.

It isn’t until I’m saying good-bye to Rebecca at the door that I finally feel the headache thwart a bit inside my head.

“I’m sorry I’m not coming back with you.” She chews her lip. “I know I promised a night together after this.”

Yes, you fucking did, Rebecca.

“It’s cool, gonna go back and take a shower and pass out. My head is killing me.”

She reaches for my hand. “You did good today.”

I let out a sarcastic laugh, feeling the stares from her family behind the closed door. “Sure, I bet Mommy can’t wait to write to the family and tell them all about her baby’s new boyfriend.”

“First boyfriend,” she corrects me, and although it makes me hard knowing she’s only ever been mine, it still doesn’t make it any less likely her parents will forbid her from seeing me.

“Not for much longer.” I’m unable to help the bite of my tongue.

“Don’t say that…” She shakes her head. “My Mom may seem like a lot, but she’s got her ways too. And she’s in no position to judge any of my decisions, trust me.”

“Shame she couldn’t spend all that time talking about herself, then.”

Rebecca stretches on her toes, hands aligning my jaw. “You’re such an idiot, I lo—” She stops, her lips pressing tightly closed as she lets go and lowers back to her heels.

Well…this is awkward.

And it’s only getting worse the redder her face gets.

I won’t lie and tell her I feel a certain way I don’t, especially when we both know I never will.

Because someone like me isn’t capable.

But, I do know she’s the only other person besides my Dad who I’d burn the whole world to ashes for, which is the closest a devil can ever get to love.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?” I reach for her chin, pinching it with my thumb and forefinger.

Rebecca nods. “Yup, tomorrow.”

I call her name when she struggles to meet my eyes.

“Yeah?” She stares at the wall, holding back tears.

“There’s nobody else in the world I’d ever do this shit for…you know that right?”

That has to stand for something.

I may not show my affection the way most other guys would, but I show it the best I can.

She has to know that.

She has to know I’d do anything for her whether I’m in love with her or not.

“Of course I do, Crayton.” Glassy eyes stare up at me, mixed with awe and shame. “And I’d do anything for you too.”

* * *

The steaming hot shower did nothing to loosen the aching muscles of my back after leaving things with Rebecca the way I did. Neither did the drive around Chelsea after I went to get Raven from Dad’s. The building was practically empty as I walked the halls—thanks to winter break—so I used this time wisely and went rummaging through Riggs and Levi’s dorm room for some weed.

I scored, of course, because the assholes constantly leave drugs around for rainy days.

I’m sitting by my window as I take in the empty parking lot outside, the snow has all but melted and whatever is left was made into a mountain by the private sanitation company hired by the school.

Taking a pull of the blunt, I hold it in for as long as possible, needing all I can to rid this endless feeling.

I shouldn’t feel bad for refusing to lie to ease Rebecca’s embarrassment, since it’s probably one of the very few things I’ve done right in the past decade. But fuck—that dejected look on her face made me want to stab my knife through someone’s eye socket.

Preferably that skank whore Alexis—who I know must be plotting something, because she is not the type to roll over this easily.

I can tell by the glares she shoots at Rebecca that their little quarrel isn’t over.

She’s biding her time, the question is for what.

Whatever it is, I’ll make sure to take the brunt of it, because I will fucking die before I let anyone put their hands on Rebecca or those she cares about.

A text bings through on my phone, and when I reach for it in my pocket I find Rebecca’s name on the screen.

Rebecca

We okay?

Me

I mean…I am pretty pissed I won’t be balls deep inside you tonight.

Rebecca

Stop being such a horny jerk. You know what I mean.

Me

We’re good Little Ghost…promise.

It’s been a couple minutes with no response, so I stare down at the screen smoking as I wait.

A solid five minutes pass before she answers.

Rebecca

I’m sorry I almost said that to you earlier.

What the hell does she have to be sorry for? Being normal? Capable of feelings?

Me

You don’t have to apologize for being honest. I’m the fucked up one here not you.

Rebecca

Fucked up or not, I would never want you to change. I like you just the way you are.

Yeah, well, she’s the only one.

And she’d also be singing a different tune if she knew the shit I did the week we were apart, my little bender a year before, and what I did to Felix at the piers.

Or maybe she wouldn’t. Rebecca has surprised me at every turn so far

Me

You really mean that shit?

Her response is instant this time.

Rebecca

With everything I am.

Me

You’re too good for me…you know that?

Rebecca

Or you don’t know how good you really are.

Inhaling another deep pull, I let her words stew a bit before I type.

Good…there’s only one part of me I know that is.

And it has nothing to do with Crayton Shaw, the boy.

But everything to do with Rebecca Dawson, the girl who sees the boy for all he is yet still looks at him like he’s the force that heats the sun. Not the hell her religion preaches.

I hold the blunt between my teeth, eyes squinting from smoke as my thumbs dance against the screen.

Me

I do know. Because the only good inside me is you.

36

BEX

Christmas day was…interesting to say the least.

The moment Crayton left I was ambushed with a ton of questions from Mom and Roman like:

Why does Crayton look like he’s in his mid-twenties?

Or fresh out of jail?

So angry?

What the hell is with that goat tattoo?

Did he really hurt Felix?

That one stung the most, because it took everything not to tell them the truth about the “nice boy” who was befriending me.

Yes, Crayton looks a little scary, but nothing is as scary as a monster hidden behind a handsome face.

Felix’s distorted smile invades my vision as I nervously tap a pen against a research paper due shortly after break.

I attempt to lock him back in his cage by squeezing my eyes closed, but unfortunately, unless Crayton’s presence is surrounding me like a steel fortress, my monster taunts me still.

It’s been over two months since anyone has seen or heard from Felix, and here I am living with him inside my head every day.

Would I ever tell Crayton about this? No, because that would result in him breaking his promise and actually killing the guy this time.

I scribble down one final note on underlying problems of crime rates in America before calling it quits for the day and tossing my notebook onto the bed.

Grabbing my school bag, I sieve through the contents, mostly neatly placed books and folders, a pink calculator, and other colorful writing utensils until I come across my English folder.

It’s the thickest of all my subjects, since I’m too chicken to risk losing one of my hard earned assignments in the war zone that has become our dorm room.

With time came more opportunities for Hendrix and Crayton to leave their shit all over the place.

Even my pretty palm tree looks like a damn coat hanger.

It’s become overwhelming living in a pig sty, but I care too much for the pigs to send them to slaughter.

So, I’ve adapted to the chaos that is my best friend and my boyfriend.

As I’m flipping through an array of papers, my eyes catch on an unfamiliar one, only a few sheets before the back of the folder.

I tilt my head, knowing it can’t be the poem I’ve written at the beginning of the year because there’s no date or time completed jotted at the top of it.

Pulling out the mysterious paper, my eyes widen when I realize it’s actually one of Crayton’s.

His poem to be exact, which is the only assignment of his I didn’t complete at the time, also the one I could’ve sworn I shoved into Saint’s chest without bothering to read.

When I turn the first page, I come to find the complete opposite typed into a well formatted work of literature.

Ocean eyes ghost over skin like the darkness of night.

Pure artistry in the form of my broken pieces.

Secrets and lies.

Another tormented life.

Her beauty is sacred, worthy of worship.

A true empress of light to face endless depths of black.

Will she come out victorious?

Live a life upon the throne?

Can her perfection survive the wrath of a devil in disguise?

Or will her beauty be the devil’s demise?

Can she be mine?

A soul who is not worthy of redemption,

With fingers riddled in blood and sin.

Who stands stoic behind the gates of hell.

Only to be brought to his knees by the kiss of an angel.

I blink slowly down at his words, my fingers growing clammy the tighter I squeeze the fragile piece of paper.

This poem is about me, I have no doubt.

But why? I know it was completed way before the night of the dance.

Has Crayton always seen me this way? As a harborer of light? Beautiful? Not a ghost but an angel?

He hated me so much at first, so why would I be a subject of his inspiration?

I haven’t put much thought into Crayton’s actions toward me at the beginning of the year, since we’ve come such a long way in a short amount of time.

But seeing this now? I can’t help but obsess over what was going through his head the first month we met.

And how the hell, behind all that hatred and wanton aggression, was a guy who had actual feelings for me.

My cell phone ringing makes me almost jump out of my skin, and when I pick it up I find Archer on the other line.

“Hey, Arch. How was Christmas?

“Can I come over?” He gets straight to the point, making my eyebrows pinch together.

“Uh, sure, everything okay?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll talk when I see you.”

And he hangs up.

Archer doesn’t do grim, and that turns my worry into undeniable fear.

What the hell does he have to talk about?

I’m pacing back and forth in my room for over an hour as I await my fate, Potato following my every move, but I’m too busy assuming the worst to offer him attention.

I’ve used this time to compile a list of all the things that could be going wrong.

On literal paper in one of my notebooks. Which is still in my hand as I blow out an anxious breath.

Because everything that can potentially go wrong has to do with me and Crayton.

When the doorbell buzzes I leap with relief, tossing the book on my dresser before running like a bat out of hell into the hallway.

“Where’s the fire?” Roman jokes as he sips his coffee on the couch.

Mom is already using her worried voice when I reach the door, swinging it open, revealing a very uncomfortable Archer in a pair of sweats and a hoodie.

Oh, this can’t be good.

Archer never leaves his house before going all Dapper Dan.

“Hey…” I breathe, ushering him inside with my hand.

“Sup, Bex?” He can barely look at me.

Inhaling deep, I link arms with him toward my bedroom, ignoring Mom and Roman as they offer their welcomes.

Archer greets them with a “Hello Mrs. Dawson and Mr. Tripp” and a “Hope you both had a Merry Christmas” as I drag him further into the hall.

“Huh.” He huffs. “I just realized your mom didn’t take Roman’s name.”

Yeah, because she knew how much it’d kill me if she did.

“Seriously?” I give him a look as we both enter my room. “You go all ominous and shit then comment about my mom’s last name?”

He laughs nervously. “Yeah, I guess that was kind of stupid.”

I close the door with a careful click. “What’s going on, Arch?”

It’s his turn to blow out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to say this.”

“You can start by using your freaking words, man!” I collapse onto my bed. “I’m dying here.”

Archer placates me with both hands raised. “I’m sorry about all the ominous shit. None of this was intentional on my part.”

“None of what was intentional?”

Reaching into his hoodie pocket, Archer pulls out a few papers before sitting next to me on the bed.

“Let me start by saying the second you told me to stop digging into Crayton’s past, I did.”

My eyes flutter closed with trepidation.

I hate this already…

“Okay.” I manage to say before he continues.

“We were at Grandpa’s house for the holiday, you know, I told you.”

“Uh-huh.” I urge him.

“Well, he asked me to grab some papers from his office as he argued with one of my brother’s over some client he had back in his attorney days.”

“Okay…?” I shift my body to face him, crossing my arms.

“Well, he gave me a key and told me where to look, which was in a locked storage drawer. One I particularly wanted to pry my way into when I was hunting down dirt on Shaw.” Swallowing, he adds, “As I rummaged through it, I found a folder all the way in the back.”

I have a newfound hatred for folders, I swear.

All they’re doing is bringing on questions I didn’t ask.

“What was in the damn folder, Archer?” I try my best not to hiss.

“I think it’s best I just show you.” He reluctantly hands me the papers.

“What are these?” I ask as I retrieve the thick wad of paper.

“Read it.”

So I do, the first page looks like adoption papers of sorts…I get as far as realizing it’s for an eight year old kid named Isaiah Thatcher in 2013.

“What the hell, Archer?” I wave the form at him. “What does this kid have to do with anything?”

He retrieves the paper, pointing a finger at another name. Who appears to be the adopter.

Cillian Shaw.

I inhale a sharp breath, being bombarded with realization.

“You think Crayton is this Isaiah kid?”

Archer nods. “Looks like it.”

Okay, this isn’t terrible. So Crayton was adopted by Cillian and changed his name. It’s not uncommon and I’m not surprised, he looks nothing like his dad.

Things actually make more sense now.

“This is bad because?”

Archer’s lips tighten. “Check the next paper.”

I glance down at an article from the same year, the headline being “New York City mother found deceased in a neighborhood apartment building.”

As I read through the article, I find mostly details of the crime scene since it’s explaining how she was murdered.

My heart wrenches in my chest when I find out by who.

Her son.

“This is awful.” I shake my head as I learn how this boy was said to be drugged, isolated, along with physically and sexually abused by the woman.

I decide I’ve read enough when the nausea seeps in.

“Why are you showing me this, Archer? It’s horrible.”

“Next page,” he insists.

Begrudgingly I swipe the paper to the side, revealing another official form of sorts.

“It’s a police report from the murder.” Archer confirms as I try to decipher what’s before me. “Skip to the bottom half.”

When my eyes catch on a familiar name, the air seizes in my lungs.

Isaiah Thatcher.

His mother’s name was Miriam Thatcher.

I have no words to speak, which works well because I need Archer to explain the bomb he just dropped on me.

Crayton killed his mother.

I skim through every single word on this document as Archer continues to rub salt on the wound.

“The article couldn’t release the name of the child, but I guess Grandpa wanted to gather as much evidence as he could.”

“For what?” I rear back. Unable to understand why the hell a kid would be at fault for killing the person who was abusing him so badly.

“I’ll save you the headache of reading through a slew of legal documents. The state wanted to charge Isaiah for the murder of his mother. Institutionalize him.”

My mouth gapes. “What the fuck? It states clearly that Cray…I mean Isaiah insisted she was a religious fanatic who was deranged enough to believe he’s the son of the devil…who tried to kill him with a kni—”

My words fall dead.

A knife…

Crayton’s knife.

Tears sting my throat. This is so much worse than I thought. No wonder Crayton considers himself a devil.

His mother spent his entire childhood convincing him he was.

“Satan’s spawn.” Archer’s words snap me out of my daze, but do nothing to comfort me.

“What did you say?” I blink at him through glassy eyes.

“It says she referred to him as Satan’s spawn.”

A hysterical cry bursts from my lips as I cover my mouth with my hands.

That’s why Crayton reacted the way he did when I called him that.

I was referring to him by the same name his monster did.

A swarm of guilt consumes me, swallows me whole.

I squeeze my arms around my stomach. “This is…” I stumble on my words. “This is just so horrible.”

Archer’s face tells me what he’s about to say will offer zero respite.

“It gets worse unfortunately.”

“How in the hell could this get worse? Crayton has years and years of unresolved trauma, and has been struggling with it alone his entire life.”

“Well, he did have his dad at the end.”

“Battles like these are always fought alone, Archer. No matter how many people are surrounding you.”

Archer nods in understanding, but all I need him to do is offer the final blow I know is coming.

“How does this get worse?”

He swallows. “His mother was in the system, she was picked up on a drug charge a few years before her death.”

“Okay?”

This only proves how fucked up she really was.

“Well, I have her mugshot in my pocket.”

“Are you going to show it to me?”

He looks as though he’s debating it.

“Show it to me, Archer. Now.”

He slowly pulls out a paper from his pocket, this one folded into a rectangle.

Archer holds it out, only to weed it back.

I snatch it from him with annoyance.

The look on his face is apologetic, but I’m not there quite yet. I’m too wrapped up in this twisted epiphany.

“Maybe you should—” Archer attempts to ease the blow but a loud intake of my breath tells him it’s too late.

She’s young, likely too young to have an eight year old son. Long white hair…blue eyes.

The skin. It’s pale like…

Nausea creeps up again, but this time there’s no stopping it.

I hurl out the entirety of my breakfast onto the carpet by my feet. Chunks of pancake and orange pulp litter the floor, and I keep heaving until nothing but bile expels from my lips.

Archer rubs my back, trying to soothe me.

But it’s no use, I hate myself.

Maybe even more than I hate Miriam Thatcher.

“I look just like her.” I breathe heavily. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know, Bex. But I have to agree, the resemblance is uncanny.”

You’re no fucking help, Archer.

When my stomach is finally empty, I take deep inhales as I gather myself.

When Archer hands me a tissue from my nightstand, I pluck it and swipe the residue off my face.

The overwhelming need to comfort Crayton hits me like a ton of bricks.

No wonder he despised me, I look so much like the woman who tortured him. Did unspeakable things to him. Made him the way he is.

“I have to go.” I spring to my feet, feeling my legs buckle underneath me.

“Where the heck are you going right now, Bex?” Archer asks, looking down at the mess I made then back at me.

I swipe my bag and the papers off my bed as I say, “Where the heck do you think, Archer?!”

Crayton

I’m tearing my room apart piece by piece as I look desperately for my fucking knife.

I had it tucked away in the back of my nightstand as always— and given I forgot to take it yesterday to Rebecca’s house, and the school building is a couple janitors short of empty, the weapon somehow jumped out of its hiding spot and took right the fuck off.

Letting out a deep roar, I send every single object on my desk crashing to the floor with one fell swoop of my hands.

Nails are digging into my head as I wade back and forth in my room like a caged lion.

This has Alexis written all over it.

She knows what that knife means to me…she must’ve found a way to sneak her skanky ass in here to go snooping for gold, but struck metal instead.

I’m going to slice each of her fake manicured fingers off one by one with the knife when I fucking catch her.

Bratva Daddy or not.

She went too fucking far and she knows it, which is why she knows better than to answer my calls.

Thirty-four to be exact.

I should be feeling a bit relieved that she’s taking her sexual frustration out on me instead of Rebecca, since I have much thicker skin and resources to go toe to toe with the bitch’s family.

But I don’t feel relief, all I feel is exposed and filled with rage.

Whether it was Alexis herself or someone else who snagged my knife for her, they invaded my fucking space and privacy.

Nobody would’ve dared to take a swing at me in the past.

The lions think their king has gone weak, which sounds like a good time to remind them why he’s not.

I’m fetching the pistol hidden beneath the floorboard when a female voice screaming my name erupts from outside in the parking lot.

Rebecca’s voice.

Panic flooding my chest, I reach for Halo from Saint’s drawer, figuring if something is going down I can use every form of gun at my disposal.

I move through the halls in full stealth mode, checking every corner I pass to make sure there’s no Sergey or Ivan waiting to put a bullet through my skull.

Thank fuck there’s not, and when I finally reach the gym my strides turn to a sprint across the basketball court.

Rebecca is still screaming my name when I burst through the back door, gun drawn straight…finding her standing next to Raven with tears filling her cheeks.

Fire ignites in my gut, moving my feet for me as I step onto the pavement.

I approach her quickly, pistol aiming in every direction to clear until I’m at Rebecca’s feet.

Realizing there’s no visible threat, I lower the weapon and tuck it into the back waist of my jeans.

“What the fuck—” I attempt to say, but am cut off at the throat.

“Is it true?” She sniffles, the back of her hand brushing across her nose.

Fuck me.

What in the hormone induced temper tantrum did I just walk into?

“Is what true, Rebecca?” I regard her with more hostility than I intended, because I’m still reeling with the repercussions of the last girl I pissed off.

Rebecca pulls a bunch of papers from her coat and shoves them into my chest.

My muscles grow tight…because the front page is all I needed to see to know exactly what they are.

Air shoots out of my nostrils like an angry dragon, feeling exposed for the second time this morning.

Except this enrages me more than losing my knife.

Because this means Rebecca’s aware of my past, and if I want to keep her I’ll have no choice but to explain my actions.

All of them.

“Where the fuck did you get these?” I rip them from her grasp, crinkle them in my fist and throw them on the ground.

“That doesn’t matter.” She sniffles again, gathering composure.

“The fuck it doesn’t.” I fist the breasts of her coat. “It was Good Guy Archer, wasn’t it? He always had it out for me.”

This shit was never supposed to be made public, Beaumont promised my grandfather it wouldn’t.

“Tell me where the fuck you got ’em, Rebecca. I’m dealing with too much crap today to tip-toe around your feelings.”

She looks as though I’ve punched her in the face, which manages to make me feel like a bigger piece of shit than I already am. So I release her and bring my hand to cup her soaking wet cheek. It’s warm, which tells me she spent the entire time walking here crying.

“It’s all true.”

A whimper this time.

“Is…is this why you hated me so much? Why you could barely look at me at times?” A pregnant pause passes between us before she adds, “Because I look so much like her?”

Motherfucker. This girl wastes no time drilling me with the hardest questions.

“It’s complicated, Little Ghost. My entire fucked up life is complicated.”

She glances down and steps to the side, removing my hand from her face. “I’m so disgusted with myself.”

My blood is pumping again, so hard I feel as though it’ll pop a vein.

“For fucking what? You can’t help how you look. I was too fucked up to see that then. I see it now, Rebecca, you gotta believe that.”

She swallows audibly. “You also see her and you know it. Every time your eyes meet mine, it’s a monster’s eyes staring back at you.”

I reach for her but she rears back, leaving me no choice but to grip her by the arm and pull her roughly into my chest. “Not any more,” I adjust the ridiculous pink winter hat on her head, revealing more of her doe-like features. “In fact, the only person in this fucked up world I see is you.”

“It makes me so sick what she did to you…what you went through…had to do to escape her. It hurts as badly as it would if it was me.”

I’ll be damned—no pun intended—but this girl is more of a bleeding heart than my dad is.

“I mean…I turned out alright.” I try my hand at a joke, but all she does is huff.

“Right.”

Okay, fine. I’ve earned a little skepticism.

But still, this is exactly why I never wanted to have this conversation. Because of how I knew she’d react.

How she would pity the both of us.

Despite her inner shame, Rebecca wraps her arms around me, like she’s clinging for life.

We stay this way for a few seconds, me growing uncomfortable, and Rebecca breathing through her cries. I run my fingers through her hair in an attempt to elude a sense of calm, even though there’s a fire growing rapidly inside me.

It works for her, until it doesn’t.

Because Rebecca’s shoulders lock up tight, as if realizing something.

That’s when suddenly, the meme of that OxiClean guy saying “But, wait! There’s more!” pops into my head.

I’m envisioning myself stabbing him in the eye when Rebecca speaks again.

“Is this your car?” she steps out of my embrace to turn her head. “Is this Raven?”

Of all the shit I’ve never gotten caught doing in the past, this is what the universe decides to bend me over with and hit it raw.

In for a penny, in for a fucking pound I guess.

“Yeah…it is.”

Enter more waterworks, and at this point I’m going to just lay my ass down in front of my Mustang and tell Rebecca to run me over with it.

A cruel slow death is better than this shit.

Especially when this “shit” is making me feel unfamiliar things.

Like fear of someone walking away.

“It was you that day…” She blinks. “The accident on the morning of orientation, I knew I recognized this car when I saw it parked here a couple weeks ago.”

Where the fuck is Saint when I could use a mayday?

“You saw me before you crashed, that’s why you kept telling me it was my fault.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t only you Rebecca…I slept like shit the night before.”

Fuck the honest thing, it’s overrated and I’m jumpin’ this righteous ship.

The lie doesn’t seem to make a difference, because Rebecca is so lost in her thoughts I’m not sure she’s even listening.

“The bathroom too…it’s why you were so cold to me when we first met.”

Too. Smart. For her own. Fucking. Good.

Damn this girl.

“We came a long way, Little Ghost. That shit’s all in the past.”

Her big bright eyes blink up at me, then drift again into a fog. “Maybe for you.”

My knuckle lifts her chin. “For us.”

“But I’m living with both our monsters now.”

“The monster’s are never coming back, Rebecca, I made sure of it.”

She doesn’t look convinced, and the sucker I am for her knows I need to rectify it immediately. “Doesn’t it say more that I’ve grown to care this much about you in spite of who you look like? I did that…for you. I told you you’re the only good inside me, Little Ghost, why would I say that shit if I related you to my sadistic mother?”

Her lower lip pouts, but I can tell I’m getting somewhere.

“I hated you…yes. But now? You’re the only fucking person in this world I wish I was capable of loving besides my dad.”

Her eyes are glassy again as she says, “I’m so sorry I called you by the terrible name she gave you Crayton.” Of course she’s read enough to know who’s spawn my mother referred to me as. Rebecca flutters her eyelids closed as she adds, “I’m sorry about everything that happened to you.”

So am I, because then maybe I’d be capable of giving this girl what she so badly needs.

Love.

Comfort.

A better man.

“It was a long time ago, I’m fine.”

“Really?” The spunk is back in her voice, but I can’t tell if it’s playful or sarcastic. Either way it’s proving my previous point. “Says the guy who goes around mutilating pedophiles? Killing them?”

Okay, so it’s neither. What in the actual fuck?

My defenses go up like a steel gate, but I try my best to keep my voice leveled.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You really think I haven’t put two and two together?” She gulps. “Chopping off the dicks of pedophilic men? Slicing the lips off of the women? A friendly ‘666’ coincidentally being left on each of the victims?”

How the fuck does she know about my benders?

The authorities gave up investigating after two weeks, not really making it a priority to find justice for the child fuckers.

“You’re seriously reaching, Rebecca.” I shake my head and scoff, but there’s nerves trickling through, and it’s obvious.

“It’s why you reacted the way you did after I mentioned it at the waterway. It’s why you felt the need to leave.”

She is fucking maddening, yo.

“I think your meds are making you delusional.”

“They are not. In fact, I’m seeing things clearer than ever.”

Knowing she has the means to get me put away for the rest of my life, I bow out of the conversation and turn to take off.

Rebecca stops me with both words and her hand on my shoulder.

“I don’t care, Crayton. A part of me had a feeling it was you since the night of the dance. When Felix mentioned the 666 trademark and after I saw how brutal you were to him. It was a fit of exercised rage.”

I have to blink several times to digest what she’s saying before turning back around to face her.

Rebecca assumed I was a serial killer and has been spending every night with me regardless?

Well, shit. This angel’s got a little black on those wings.

When our gazes align, Rebecca’s hands wrap around mine, so small and fragile even behind gloves. “I won’t ever say anything about what you did, Crayton. I’d never risk losing you.”

I roll my neck, overwhelmed and a bit rattled by her confession. Mostly because I don’t know how the fuck to respond, which, luckily for this serial killer, I don’t have to.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to admit it. It’s probably safer this way anyway. Just know I know and I don’t care, that’s how crazy I am about you.”

Crazy is right.

But then again, it does take one to know one, and I’m a fucking lunatic for this girl.

My hands grip Rebecca’s cheeks so tight before pulling her in for a kiss, every single secret I wish she could know pouring out of me with each slip of my tongue.

Her demons dance with mine behind our lips, and I’ve never been as convinced as I am now that this girl would do anything for me.

Secrets to the grave.

Ride or die.

Loyal to the end.

That’s always been the darkness I saw in Rebecca.

My mother was never even there.

Pressing her against the car, I reach in my back pocket for my car keys, and click the doors unlocked.

“Get inside.”

“No.” She shakes her head, making one of my eyebrows point.

“No?”

Rebecca’s removing her coat as she says, “I want you to take me right here.” She tosses the coat on the ground and jumps up on the hood of my Mustang.

Her legs are parting for me, the devilish look in her eye drawing me in like a spell.

Rebecca scoots back as I round the hood, grabbing her ankles to yank her closer and flip her over.

Her feet are back on the ground, but her chest is pressed against the hood as I pull down the palm tree pajama pants she didn’t bother changing before marching over here demanding answers.

Rebecca’s exposed in a hot as fuck black thong sinking between her ass cheeks, and my thumb finds the tiny bow above them to caress before pulling back the panties like an arrow.

I let go, and watch as the fabric smacks against her white skin, so tender it’s already turning red.

And my dick rock hard.

Reaching behind me, I pull out the pistol, slipping the safety in place before laying it by the side of her head.

“What the hell is with the gun?” she asks, unable to help herself from knowing everything.

Yanking Rebecca off the car, I bring my face to hers and kiss her lips. “No more fucking questions.”

Her smile is heated as I shove her back down, ass pert and upright ready for the taking.

I wring my hands around the flimsy lace and tear it from her body, making Rebecca yelp in response as her underwear falls to the concrete. Then I slap her bare ass.

“Did that hurt?” I grit out, digging my nails into the plump flesh.

“Yes…” she whimpers.

So I slap her again. Hard. Right in the spot I left blotches of red with my hand.

Rebecca cries out, begging for more.

Always begging for more.

I fuss with the button of my jeans, having them down in one fell swoop before my cock springs to attention, veins pulsing with the need to be inside her perfect cunt.

“Can I?” She holds one of her hands out behind her back, wanting to touch me.

So I step closer to her.

Rebecca explores every inch of my cock, until she’s fiddling with the hoop of my Reverse Prince Albert.

She pulls it gently, making me hiss.

“I can’t imagine how good it would feel to have this in my mouth.”

No, I haven’t had it in me to have Rebecca suck my dick.

It’s the one thing that was too much for me to bear, since my only other experience being sucked off by a woman was with…

I shake the thought, not wanting to bring out repressed anger that will only make Rebecca feel even more guilty.

“One day, Little Ghost.”

Rebecca nods, still jerking me as I sneak my fingers between her legs to find her warmth.

It’s coated with feminine arousal.

Prime and prepped, she’s a mixture of silk and satin. Fucking decadent.

I find that sweet spot between Rebecca’s lips, pressing my thumb against it to make her quiver.

She does, and her thighs twitch when I do it again.

Dropping to my knees, I spread Rebecca’s legs as wide as I can with her pajamas still tight around her ankles. I examine every bare and pink crevice, spreading her ass cheeks with my hands which still manages to make her nervous.

You’d think after all the times I’ve licked that puckered hole she’d be less squeamish about it. I’m not complaining, though, because it retains the innocence I’m still addicted to.

I bring my face closer to her pussy, inhaling her scent, and close my eyes as I allow the sweetness to filter through my senses.

When it does, I form a low grumble in my throat, the carnal need for her dragging me deeper into the cave where the beast inside sleeps. Where he waits to taste her again.

Then the tiniest whimper from Rebecca’s lips jolts him awake.

And just like that, my hands are squeezing her thighs, lifting Rebecca enough for my mouth to get lost in between them. I ravish her until my lips are coated with arousal.

Licking lines up her slit, I tease a few times before my tongue thrusts inside her entrance, fucking her so hard with it my frenulum aches.

Rebecca’s cries are frantic as I devour her, digging nails into her skin and my teeth into her flesh.

She moves with me, saying things like “right there” when my tongue laps her and “just like that” when it flicks her tiny clit. Rebecca is just as frenzied as me as she pushes into my face, telling me how much more of this she needs.

And how much more of me she wants.

“Fuck me. Now,” Rebecca demands as I inhale her once again, looking back at me with starry eyes and flushed cheeks. She’s a little minx, even in the pink fluffy hat.

I don’t have it in me to fight her.

Standing to my full height, I grip her hips again, aligning my cock with her entrance before driving inside.

I fill her with ease, Rebecca’s drenched pussy leaving no room for resistance.

“Is this what you want?” I pull back, just to plunge inside her again. And again.

“More.” She sighs, biting her lip. “Don’t stop until you make me bleed.”

Fuck.

This girl will be the death of me.

Still inside her, I lift Rebecca by the back of her shirt until she’s pressed against my chest. My hand finds her throat and Rebecca licks her lips, awaiting the squeeze.

“Look how filthy you are,” I whisper. “My little freak.”

Rebecca cranes her neck, kissing me and begging for a release.

Never one to not give my girl what she wants, I fist her neck until her pulse strums along with mine.

Rebecca isn’t the only one of us discovering kinks, because as much as I hated the idea of people watching her come undone, ever since Levi’s party I can’t stop thinking about all the places I’d like to fuck her in public.

Up against the wall of the Chrysler Building.

Central Park.

The middle of Times Square.

The images alone are enough to have me grunting with each thrust, bending Rebecca over on the hood again for the best angle to hit her fucking cervix.

Because that’s the only destination I’m headed for now.

With a long, deep thrust, Rebecca’s pained scream bellows out into the parking lot, making it clear I’ve arrived.

When she glances at me I find tears glistening in her eyes.

She better get used to them, though, because she feels too fucking good choking my dick for me to stop now.

And if Rebecca wants to bleed, I’ll make sure to have my cock doused in red.

“Are you crying already, Little Ghost?” I lean down to buzz in her ear, filling her once again to the hilt. “You had enough?”

“Never.” She whimpers when I slam into her harder. “I said make me fucking bleed.”

The pistol slides down the car, so Rebecca reaches a hand out to stop it…and judging by the way she’s looking at the gun, wheels are turning in her head.

“Crayton...” She swallows, proving my point.

Rebecca wants to ask something, and chances are I won’t like it.

“What else could you possibly need besides my cock right now?”

She looks back at me again, holding the gun.

“You’re out of your fucking mind.” I shake my head.

“Please…” Her tone is needy. “I just want to feel it inside me.”

“It’s fucking loaded Rebecca.”

She smiles coyly. “Exactly my point.”

“Holy, fuck. You really are tryin’ to kill me.” It’s insane to imagine, but fucking her with my pistol doesn’t have my dick twitching inside her any less.

Rebecca dangles the gun in her hand. “As long as you don’t kill me first.”

I swipe it from her.

With weapon in hand, I take a couple steps back until my cock bobs in the cold air. Then, I study Rebecca as she bends lower over the hood, still squirming as she perks her ass up for me to take her.

Except this time I can actually make her bleed.

A lot.

I look down at the gun, my mind reeling with fear and desire as I move further from her and release the safety, aiming to shoot at a stray garbage can.

“No.” She stops me. “Leave it like that.”

Those words have me two seconds away from shooting my load all over the hood of my fucking car instead.

“Rebecca…”

“I trust you,” she insists. “With my life.”

Yeah…she really fucking shouldn’t. Not with something as dangerous as this.

I’m skilled with a weapon, naturally, so I have a lot more belief in myself than I let on.

Still, this is next level fucking insane…but I won’t lie and say I don’t like it.

That I don’t want it.

Because I want to plunge my gun inside her cunt and watch her come all over the barrel.

So much I’m already plotting all the ways I’ll fuck her senseless with it.

“Take off your pants,” I demand, switching the safety back on, and Rebecca watches my every move as she slides one side over her Ugg boots.

Then she’s bent over the hood again, eyelids heavy as she arches her back. “Now what?”

“Pick one of your legs up onto the bumper. I wanna see all of you.”

She does what she’s told, spreading wide open until the entire stairway to heaven is before me. Her pussy is glistening, even with the cold, and—fuck—I’m brimming with anticipation as I get closer to her. Even more when the tip of my gun teases those pearly white gates.

She dies, I die, I tell myself as it slips past her entrance.

We’ll rule Heaven and Hell together.

Rebecca lets out a pleased “ahh” as I push deeper inside, telling her not to move no matter how much she may want to.

She obliges, gnawing on her bottom lip, calling out for her God even though we both know he’s not here.

“This is…” she whines, but can’t find the words. “Oh, fuck…”

I’ve reached the halfway point, and my cock jolts when she throws her head back. “It’s…” she tries again, but still can’t formulate her thoughts.

“Tell me, Rebecca.” My voice is tight. “Do you like being fucked like this? So close to death by my hand?”

She nods in her drunken state, which has me instinctively move my fingers further from the trigger.

“How does it feel?” I spur her on, finally allowing myself some release by fisting my cock with a strong pull.

“The gun is cold,” she hisses when I inch in deeper. “But still feels so fucking hot.” She wiggles the slightest bit, forcing me to release my dick and grip her waist.

“No fucking moving.”

She wines, but stills.

Like a true closet lunatic.

Rebecca is soaking the gun as it slides in and out of her. Which has jealousy burning my throat as I go back to fucking myself.

I move a bit faster for both of us, and Rebecca’s breath cracks, her fingers digging against the hood of my car.

I’d be bitching about the new paint job if I wasn’t being throttled by her madness.

“Harder…please.” Rebecca’s needy voice has my balls already drawing up tight. Ready to explode.

This entire situation is reckless as fuck, but what she wants me do next? Straight fucking savage.

But here I am.

“You sure you want me to do that?” The question is as ragged as my exhale.

“I fucking want it, Crayton. Trust me.”

My jaw tightens as I render a powerful stroke, making Rebecca scream, and she barely holds back from pushing against the advance when I do it again.

“No moving.” I remind her, hitting even faster and harder, leaving arousal tinged with blood to drip down her legs.

This shit is fucking depraved, even for me.

And there’s no doubt in my mind it’s what has the pre-cum beading at the tip of my cock.

This girl looks as sweet as an angel—but she’s a psycho just like me.

We’re both on fire as I lose control for a few more moments…ruthlessly fucking Rebecca until she sounds like a wounded animal crying desperately for help.

Reality sets in when she’s on the verge of climaxing, so against her demands I pull the barrel out of her cunt, holding the gun tight as I replace it with my cock.

I lift Rebecca with my free hand, pressing her against my chest once again as I take over fucking her.

My thrusts are vicious, but a lot less deadly. Which allows me to get lost in her even more. I crane Rebecca’s neck to kiss her hard, swallowing every single one of her cries with brute force.

Seconds later she’s coming apart all over my cock.

I follow after, grunting and jerking as I hold deep inside her, spilling every single drop of cum until she’s filled to the hilt.

Both of our chests are heaving by the time I retreat, and Rebecca just manages to get her pants back on before falling against the hood of my car.

I, on the other hand, let it air dry and take full advantage of the treat she left on my pistol. Licking a line up the barrel, Rebecca watches with amusement.

“We are seriously fucked up.”

No lies detected.

Another line licked. “Little bit.”

A loud “ha” bursts from her lips as she taps the hood of my car. “Take that, Raven.”

She’s fucking ridiculous.

“Are you seriously bragging?”

Rebecca blows on her nails. “There’s only room for one female in your life, Shaw, and she’s a ghost not a bird.”

37

BEX

After recovering from Crayton-Bex sexual debauchery, we decided to take a drive around in Raven since the weather allowed for it. So, after a quick stop at a peanut stand, where Crayton got us both some snacks and coffees, we parked by the piers to watch the river pass us by.

Been here ever since…passing the time with innocent glances, conversation, even contradicted the innocence in the glances with a heated makeout sesh.

Which I had to pump the brakes on before it went too far.

By far I mean fucking on the bench next to some old couple.

Twisting off the cap of my pill bottle, Crayton watches as I pop a tablet in my mouth.

It’s just about 6 p.m., and as almost always I like to be on time.

His fingers dance against the back of my headrest. “So tell me…what happens if you stop taking your magic pills? Will you spin around the room like Jim Carrey in The Mask or some shit?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such an ass, you know that?”

“Somebody stop meee…” he whispers in Stanley Ipkiss' voice, and it makes me chuckle, remembering all the times I’ve watched the movie with Dad.

I swat Crayton’s arm when he holds his hands to his face, pretending to get sucked in by them, and I can’t deny loving this playful side of him.

He’s turning his body toward me, serious again, so I journey back to his question. “I won’t be spinning, but my mind will be in a constant state of overload—my senses too heightened to be able to focus, make good decisions, even remember things. It’s actually pretty painful despite what others may feel about invisible disorders.”

He stays quiet, running his finger along my arm as I continue, “I mean, when I was a kid, yeah. I was so hyper I couldn’t sit more than ten seconds in my seat without fidgeting or jumping out of it. I couldn’t keep up with my peers, and acted out terribly. It’s why I was held back in first grade.”

“I wish that was why I was held back,” he says rather coldly.

“Why were you?”

His lip twitches, hand still exploring. “My mother gave birth to me in our dingy apartment. No doctors, birth certificate, nothing. In all senses of the word I ceased to exist. Which is exactly how she wanted it.”

My entire soul shatters for him. “That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

He switches his focus to my thigh. “She didn’t allow me to go to school because she said I was too much of a threat to mankind. That I’d poison all the kids with my dark soul.”

I wish Miriam was still around…because I’d kill her myself. Who the hell treats a child that way?

“Why was she so adamant about you being evil?”

He turns to face the steering wheel again, squeezing it with white knuckles. “Let’s just say whoever my sperm donor is fits the profile really fucking well.”

“A bad father doesn’t define his son.”

“Well, to her it did.”

I squish my eyebrows together. “So he, what? Treated her like crap so she took it out on you?”

“That’s one way to put it,” he grumbles, eyes trained on the windshield.

Inhaling a deep breath, I try reading him for a few before drilling any further, knowing too many questions will have Crayton retreating behind those steel rod walls.

“So, you’re the product of a toxic relationship. That’s more on her than you.”

He laughs, but there’s nothing funny about it.

“Motherfucker didn’t exactly stick around after busting a nut inside the psychotic bitch.”

I’m about to ask if his comment is a rhetorical one, but Crayton’s incoming confession has the words dying in my throat. “I’m a product of rape, Rebecca.”

My mouth drops open. “Shit, Crayton. That’s bad.”

His tone turns defensive as he slams an open palm against the steering wheel. “Yeah, it was, but doesn’t make it my fucking fault.”

I reach for his thigh and squeeze it. “Of course not. It’s an incredibly unfortunate incident…one you did not deserve to be punished for. She should’ve sought professional help, not religion.”

“My mother was a Christian fanatic, Rebecca…to her, doctor’s were evil and worked with the devil too.”

A thought hits me at random, and fear of the truth has me recoiling my hand. “Is this why you started calling me Little Ghost? Because of how much I remind you of her?”

“Well, why did you think I did?” he tosses back.

I shrug. “Because I’m so pale and my hair is so light.”

He makes a face to say the reason is sensible. “It’s not why I call you that anymore. The name kinda grew on me.”

It grew on me too.

But I’m not sure anymore.

“I don’t want you calling me that if it has to do with her.”

He grips my wrist, squeezing so hard it makes me flinch. “I told you…that name has a different meaning to me now.”

A sense of resolve washes over me when Crayton brings my wrist to his lips for a kiss. “I’m listening…” I blink at him, biting the corner of my lip when the tip of his tongue traces a line up a vein.

“It signifies how you crept inside me and never left. Like a ghost does when they’re attached to a former home.” His lips replace his tongue, dotting kisses down my arm until he reaches the knuckles. “Except in this case we can’t get rid of each other.”

His gorgeous blue eyes peer up at me through thick lashes, making a small genuine smile pull at my lips. “So we haunt each other then?”

“I mean, yeah. I know I can’t stay the fuck away from you.”

I huff. “Neither can I.”

Crayton reaches over and brushes a thumb across the strands of hair by my face. “I guess you’re stuck with me, Little Ghost.”

Crayton does the same to the hair on the other side of my cheek, revealing the scars on his forearm I’ve been wanting to ask about, but never had the courage to.

No better time than when he’s not plotting violence.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

I run a finger along the letters, and Crayton winces, but it doesn’t seem like physical pain.

“It’s a reminder.”

“Of what?”

A pregnant pause fills the air between us before he says,

“That I’m still human.”

My eyes squeeze closed, his words sending a sharp sting to my heart.

“Crayton, you don’t need to hurt yourself to know you’re human.”

“Now you sound like my shrink.”

He has a shrink?

“Used to,” he responds, which is when I realize I’ve asked the question out loud. “Gave up on that shit a while ago. All he wanted to do was put me on med—” Crayton stops himself, and it’s obvious why.

Sensitive subject.

“Medicine isn’t for everyone, I get it. But sometimes it’s necessary.”

He doesn’t respond to that statement, which isn’t surprising. “I don’t do it a lot anymore, just when shit gets heavy in my head.”

“Promise me you won’t do it again.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, because I’ll be here to remind you every day.”

Crayton looks down, a glimmer of hope relaxing the muscles of his face, bringing out these boyish features I never knew existed. “You promise?”

I don’t know what’s sadder, the fact he has to ask or the fact it sounds like he doesn’t think he deserves it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Crayton. It’s you and me…through hell and high water.”

“Hell and high water, huh.” He chuckles. “Sure does sound like us.”

Crayton’s fingers scratching his neck feeds my already brimming curiosity.

I reach for the last bag of peanuts and pop a few in my mouth. “So, tell me, when did you join the Church of Satan?” I refer to the stupid tattoo on his neck.

He grins, swiping the bag from me to pour some into his. “I won’t lie—I considered it to spite my mother, but any organized religion, even the one with Satan in the title, reminded me too much of her. The emblem, though?”—he pulls his shirt down to reveal those friendly eyes—“now this shit is badass.”

“A goat? Seriously?”

He shrugs. “Fine. I may have developed the attraction when I was a bottle deep in whiskey, but I feel like it fits my personality.”

I snatch the bag back and help myself to more sugary goodness. “Especially when it comes to stubbornness.”

Crayton’s smile turns devilish before reaching over the console, digging his hands into all parts of my waist, tickling me until I nearly choke on peanuts.

“Stop!” I scream through a giggle, throwing the entire bag his way.

Probably not the best idea since he looks absolutely appalled by the mess it makes.

And I don’t mean on his t-shirt.

“You got this shit all over my fucking car!” He shouts, but it’s mostly playful.

“I sure did,” I throw a stray peanut at him. “So what are you gonna do about it, Shaw?”

Crayton’s eyes squint. “That a challenge, Dawson?”

I purse my lips. “Maybe it is.”

Crayton seems riveted by the idea, and begins counting down from ten. Exactly how he does every time we’re caught up in tit-for-tats.

Tossing me my coat from the back when he reaches five, Crayton brings himself closer, not stopping until his warm breath tickles my lips. With a devious smile, he stretches an arm past me to click the door unlocked. “Then you better get moving.”

With a quick kiss, I swing the door open and jump out, wrestling my coat on as I race down to the piers.

It’s such a familiar feeling running away from him this way, except this time, when I sense Crayton’s presence approaching behind me, the only fear I have is ever losing him.

* * *

“I’m not doing this. Nope.” Hendrix shakes her head vigorously, tossing the box of dye onto my bed.

I throw my hands up in exhaustion, since we’ve been going at this for an hour now. “Why the hell not?”

“Because you will be destroying a head of hair most girls pay thousands of dollars to achieve!” She crosses her arms. “And for what? Crayton already said your appearance doesn’t bother him anymore.”

She clearly doesn’t get it.

No matter how much Crayton has been trying to convince me all week, even as we all celebrated the new year, I still don’t believe him…and I can’t help but feel disgusted with myself knowing I look so much like a woman who hurt him. Who molested him.

Who…

I can’t even think of the words without picturing Felix standing over me, forcing himself inside my mouth.

That image will never leave me, and I know damn well Crayton’s images never left him, because his situation was even worse.

The least I can do for the both of us is alleviate one of our monsters, especially since Crayton’s been so on edge since losing his knife—the sentiment with the weapon becoming abundantly clear.

And since it’s impossible to permanently change my skin tone, the next best thing is my fucking hair.

This change can be a new identity for the both of us.

“Either you do it correctly, or I do it and fuck it up.” I snatch the box off the bed and rip it open, allowing the contents to spill onto the mattress.

Having no idea what I’m doing, I reach for the big bottle first, and twist it open.

Hendrix growls then snags the bottle from my hands, closing it.

“You need to pour the color in first.” She grabs another smaller bottle, and fusses with both until the bigger one is filled with a bright orange-looking cream.

“Why the ginger?” She scrunches her face, sliding her hands into plastic gloves.

Fuck if I know.

“It called out to me, I guess.”

“Yeah..well…” She plops me down in a desk chair. “You didn’t have to answer, bitch.”

We go through about three more rounds of debate until finally Hendrix caves, handing me an older t-shirt of hers to put on and finishes preparing the dye contents.

When she’s done applying the gloves, her hand squeezes my shoulder. “You sure about this, Bee?”

More than anything.

“Yes, I’m positive.”

Hendrix blows out a deep breath. “Well, then I guess we’re doing it.”

The entire process takes about three hours because of the hair cut Hendrix insisted she needed to give me—which I’m still cursing myself for trusting her inexperience—and the fact she had to haul ass to the nearest CVS to get two extra boxes of dye.

The whirring of my hair dryer fills our dorm room, and although I can see how orange the strands are blowing in front of my face, I still don’t have it in me to look in the mirror.

Hendrix isn’t crying, so I guess that’s a plus.

She’s gathering strands in the brush to work the final section as she says, “Dude, this color actually suits you really well.”

A flush of hope warms my insides, makes me anxious.

So much I’m instinctively rising out of the seat.

“Nuh-uh.” She forces me back into the chair. “You’re not looking ’til I’m done.”

My knees are shaking as she twirls the front of my hair in the brush, adding more waves.

Three thousand hours later…she’s finally done.

“You can go.” She snips.

I jump out of the chair this time, nearly stumbling over myself to get to the mirror.

When I reach it, I’m drawn breathless as I take in the girl before me.

I expected it to be bright…but not this bright.

I’m…pleasantly surprised.

It adds an edge I didn’t realize I needed.

“Soooooo?” Hendrix beams from behind me, fluffing my orange, drastically shorter hair.

“This was more than a little cut, Hen.” I glower at her through the mirror. “My hair was down to my waist, dude.”

And now it’s barely below my chest.

“Girl, if anything needed to go on that head…it was those dead ends.”

I smile, unable to deny how much lighter I feel…both literally and figuratively.

I no longer see the Rebecca Dawson who was so afraid of her disorder she had to maintain perfection with everything. Instead I see a wild, free, fiery Bex, who’s been trying to claw her way to the surface for years.

“You think Crayton will like it?” She asks, adding some texturizer spray to the ends.

I swallow, suddenly feeling nervous. “I mean, how could he not? Imagine having to stare at the doppelganger of your abuser every day?”

Hendrix lifts a shoulder. “Well, regardless, all that matters is you like it.” She pauses…waiting. “So, do you?”

My face widens into a cheeky grin, and then I’m squealing, “I fucking love it!”

Hendrix bellows out a squeal too, which is followed by us jumping up and down in a hug.

A series of heavy knocks comes from the door, making us settle into chuckles.

“Open up miladies! This Y chromosome wants to cheer with the X’s!”

Archer.

“Let him in,” I instruct Hendrix as I make my way over to the mess of hair on the floor, bending down to pick some up.

When the door opens Archer’s scream is so loud I end up screaming too—throwing the hair in my hands back to the floor as I crawl away from whatever rodent I assume he saw.

“What the fuck?!” I shriek, jumping to my feet. “What happened?”

“You tell me!” He points to my hair. “Did we get thrown in the same washing machine or something?”

I chuckle, reaching for my hair. “Oh, yeah. Hendrix gave me a dye and cut.”

“A dye and cut?” He mocks me through a really? look. “More like a teen-life crisis.”

My lips form a pout. “You don’t like it?”

“I do not.” He folds his arms, all serious.

I’m bunching strands in my hands when he adds, “I fucking love it!”

Archer pulls me in for a squeeze. “If you wanted to be twinsies all you had to do was say so, I’d have us at Saks in no time.”

I push him off and sigh. “As much as I’d love to go on a shopping spree with you, Arch, that was not the method behind my madness.”

“Do tell…” He taps a fresh pair of Yeezys against the wood floor.

“Let’s just say I needed the change.”

Which is putting it mildly.

“Cap.” He huffs. “You def did it for Shaw.”

I look down. “What would it make me if I did?”

Please don’t say idiot.

“An amazing person, Bex.”

I meet his eyes again, smiling.

“Have you told him you’re doing this?” Hendrix asks…the underlying concern dissolving the expression.

It also has me going into extreme concern mode.

Because, of course I didn’t. I know exactly what he’d say. I took the initiative so I can relieve Crayton of the burden of having to ask me to do it.

To admit my appearance is a trigger for him.

My face twists into a grimace. “I figured it’s better to seek forgiveness than ask permission.”

Hendrix doesn’t look any less wary.

Thanks to Archer we don’t get the chance to take the conversation further.

“You’ve become quite the rebel, haven’t you Bex?” He asks suggestively, making Hendrix snort.

We are not doing Levi’s party right now.

“I knew you had it in you.” Hendrix examines her nails. “Shit…even if it puts you on the loose list, the look on Alexis’ face was completely worth it.”

“Speaking of…” Archer cuts in. “She’s been uncharacteristically quiet, no?”

Are we seriously complaining about a lack of response from the Ice Queen?

“Maybe she finally accepted that she’s been dethroned by Bex.” Hendrix suggests, still focused on her chipped black nail polish.

Somehow I doubt that. I see the way she looks at me—like a snake waiting patiently to strike.

This time I’ll make sure to strike back even harder.

“Eh…fuck that hoe. Let’s get back to misery business.” He looks between us, a smirk planted on his face like he’s waiting for one of us to laugh.

A Paramore reference. Shocker.

“What’s the rush?” Hendrix humors him. “Are we running out of time?”

“Okay! You’re both clever and hilarious citing Hayley Williams blah blah.” I get back to the literal point, my boyfriend who’s got a kink for sharp objects. “Do you guys think Crayton will be mad I did this?”

They look between each other, but stay eerily quiet.

“Guys!”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Hendrix reassures terribly. “When will you be seeing him?”

Letting out a deep sigh, I say, “Not until Monday morning. His dad has him held up with filing paperwork in the office this weekend.”

Archer groans. “Bex, stop overthinking. It’s just hair. If it pisses off Crayton, just toss him a sweet puppy to gut out and he’ll be good as new.”

I shove him in the arm. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Sorry. Still trying to get used to the fact that I don’t hate him.”

“Who’s hungry?” Hendrix holds out her phone. “Because I’m fucking starving and want Domino’s.”

“I can eat,” I admit, already tasting the cinnamon bites and frosting on my tongue.

“Me too,” Archer adds. “But I think we should go out. Take our new gingersnap here for a joyride.”

38

CRAYTON

It’s a fact cockroaches can survive up to three weeks without their heads. A theory I’ve been dying to test on this bitch Alexis all weekend.

She’s not only a bug that won’t die, but she’s managed to stick herself into a hole in the wall not even I can reach.

I know she has my knife, it’s her MO to take what she can when she doesn’t get what she wants, but it’s been over a week now and I’m not opposed to a suicide mission by breaking into her Russian daddy’s mansion.

Today is Monday, though, which means the spoiled brat is back at school and will have no shot at avoiding me.

Especially since I’ve been cooped up behind one of the back stairway doors closest to her room.

She’s got Vlad and Edik a.k.a Vlagina and Eatadick up her ass again today: the personal bodyguards who only make themselves known when Daddy’s up to no good.

Which works in my benefit because if I was the bad guy they were protecting her from I’d already be dead.

The door opens and Alexis appears nose in the air, full face of makeup and freshly dressed uniform and high heels.

Behind her follows a sorry ass basketball player carrying her cheer uniform, who’s already regretting his decision to stick his cock inside a stuck-up mob princess.

The dickheads don’t bother making eyes with the guy as they settle at Alexis’ side and make their way down the hall toward the elevators.

I spin on my heels and take the staircase down two at a time as I head toward the girls locker room—where I know she has her Monday meeting with her cheer coach.

Skipping homeroom all together, I slide behind the doors, wanting to make sure I cozy up in a secluded corner before anyone shows up.

It takes about ten minutes of looking through new photos of Rebecca, mostly the ones she forced me to take with her.

Her smile is so bright as she squeezes an arm around my neck, making me wonder how the hell my stygian ass managed to land a literal ray of sunshine.

Who’s got me taking “usies” or whatever the fuck Rebecca named her version of torture.

It’s ridiculous, and Saint’s been busting my balls…accusing me and Rebecca of being the poster couple for the bad boy/good girl cliché.

He’s shooting fast and loose with the good girl reference, though, because for me Rebecca’s a certified fucking freak. The thought of her gagged and bound on my bed with my handprint staining her ass leaves me a gust of wind shy of a hard-on every time I think about it.

Even with this kindred side of her, Rebecca’s still better than any of these bitches walking the halls of this corrupt school.

Which is why I have to protect her innocence.

The sound of heels clicking outside the locker room doors has my hands flexing as I await Alexis’ appearance.

I’m pressed between an opening in the wall with some mops and brooms the janitors leave for easy access.

Probably not my proudest moment but fuck it, I need to get this over with because I don’t know how much longer I can keep this cold war with my ex cunt hole from everyone.

Like cockroaches, Alexis is also a creature of habit, which is why she strolls in with her cheer uniform draped over her arm and nose twitching from the powder pick-me-up she helped herself to outside the locker rooms.

I can see the backs of her guards as the door closes behind them, and for the first time in almost two weeks I’ve got her alone in a room.

She makes a pitstop to her locker and hangs up her uniform, leaving me the perfect opportunity to strike as she slams the door shut.

The bitch doesn’t even turn until I’m a few feet behind closing in on her, and before she can even think to bolt, my hand is at her throat, slamming her into the lockers.

“Where the fuck is it?” I seethe, anger vibrating off me in waves.

Lips curling, Alexis bats her fake eyelashes at me. “Where’s what?”

I slam a palm against the side of her head. “You know what.”

“All I know is that I have two trusty men outside ready to bat out the knees of your little Shore Whore with a single command.”

Releasing her neck, I pull Alexis by her thousand dollar hair extensions, slamming her face first into another locker. I use my body to smash her against it. “Give me back my knife before I take this swollen head of yours and use it as a fucking sledge hammer.”

“You’ll die if you do,” she warns.

“You’ll go first.”

Alexis disregards the fist squeezing tighter around her hair. “Aw, c’mon baby,” she frowns, “you used to be so much more fun.”

I clench my jaw. “Where the fuck is my knife?”

“If I told you in my panties would you drop ’em to get it?”

Another slam of my hand against the locker, this time harder and louder. “Stop the fucking games.”

“You know what you need to do to make that happen, Cray.” She presses her backside into me as a means to entice.

“I’d take a bullet to the head before sticking my dick inside your rotten snatch again.”

I feel her anger finally break through the confident facade.

“It won’t last with your shiny new toy. You’ll get bored of her and you know it.” With her first attempt to break out of my hold, Alexis adds, “Then you’ll realize we’re meant to be.”

It takes every ounce of self control not to laugh in her face. “The only reason I ever fucked you was to blow off steam and class assignments. When will you realize you’re nothing to me? Like the dirt under my boot.”

“You don’t mean it,” she cries, leaving the facade to crumble at her feet.

My lips hover over her ear. “Oh…I fucking mean it. Rebecca is mine and I’ll die to protect her. So if you or your daddy try to hurt her…” My voice lowers to a violent whisper. “I’ll be dragging you both to Hell with me.”

A female voice calls out for Alexis, probably her cheer coach, leaving me no choice but to cut this conversation short. “To be continued…” I grit out, letting her go with one final tug of her hair.

Alexis’ scowl is painted with black streaks as she pushes past me, not speaking another word.

“One way or another, I will get my knife back,” I tell her when she reaches the end of the aisle.

Alexis looks back at me, the sadness in her eyes turning stone cold. “I have no doubt you will, baby.”

* * *

It’s been three days since I’ve seen Rebecca, between being my father’s bitch at his office and the witch hunt for Alexis. The urge to have her in my arms grows stronger the further I get to E-hall where her Economics class is taking place.

I thought my obsession with Rebecca would subside now that I have her, but it’s only grown wilder, like fire when it meets the wind.

Alexis’ threat earlier, along with the presence of her Bratva muscle, have turned the need into vigilance now that I know she’s got them awaiting her signal to strike.

I can’t let Rebecca out of my sight—this I know—and she’s already been away too long for comfort.

I throw Saint a quick text, letting him know to keep an eye on her since he conveniently got switched to all the classes Hendrix takes. This particular one happens to be with Rebecca too.

When he sends me a thumbs up emoji my shoulders settle just a bit, but won’t completely relax until she’s by my side.

The bell for second period is about to ring, the time between being spent plotting a defense and smoking endless cigarettes on the hood of Raven.

It’s already going off when I reach E-Hall, and students are swarming past me to get to their next class.

Shoving them out of the way, I look for my girl, but she’s nowhere to be found. Not even when I spot Saint towering over most of the kids, eating up the distance between us with a questionable grin on his face.

I’m about to curse his ass out for not keeping watch of Rebecca when a flash of orange has me doing a double take.

I don’t process who it is until those turquoise irises connect with mine, filled with unease.

Rebecca is standing between Saint, Archer, and Hendrix, her long white hair gone and in its place is a shorter, bright ginger color.

I blink a few times, unaware I’ve stopped moving until some guy accidentally bumps into me.

My gaze doesn’t leave Rebecca’s as I shove the asshole to the floor, where my feet are heavy and rooted. The nervous look on her face intensifies when she glances down at the guy, but when her focus returns to me, her addicting sweet smile takes its place, kickstarting my ability to think and move again.

Anger shoots down my spine and confusion twists my features, but it’s the release on the ticker in my chest that comes as the most surprising. Like a draft from a crack in an unbreakable wall…I pick up my pace, Rebecca’s eyes growing wider the closer I get.

Our friends split to the side as I approach, leaving Rebecca to stand alone and at my mercy as I tower over to take her in.

My hands find her hair, examining every inch of the new color and length like dogs do when getting acquainted.

Still so soft, and when I bring some of it to my nose, I find her lavender scent is still intact.

I drag in a deep breath, relief swarming my chest, and pull Rebecca closer with my hands framing her face.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Why the fuck did you do this, Little Ghost?”

“You know why.” The tremor in her breath has the entire hallways falling silent around us.

My eyes open to find hers closed. “But that shit is behind us.”

“Behind you.” The turquoise irises appear again. “You may be able to live with it, but I can't. Not knowing it hurts you.”

Fucking hell…this girl. If Alexis doesn't kill me, Rebecca’s loyalty will.

“I told you—”

“I know what you told me, Crayton.” She cuts me off, gaze shifting into determination. “But I also know the things you don’t.”

Of course she does…because Rebecca has been paying just as much attention to me as I’ve been to her since day one.

My fingers slide through her hair as I kiss her forehead. “Thank you.”

The words aren’t enough to express how much this shit means to me, but my affection is still a work in progress.

With a reassuring nod, Rebecca reaches up on her toes to kiss my lips, quick and thoughtful. My hands slide beneath her thighs, lifting her into my arms. Rebecca interlocks her fingers behind my neck as I carry her toward the nearest locker and press her against it.

It reminds me of the threat earlier, but not enough to cool how fucking hot she is with the new hairdo.

“Now go ahead Cray Cray, tell me how I look.” My Little Ghost whispers.

My fingers dig into her ass, which she’s been covering with tight shorts to avoid me finger fucking her in English class.

“Like a fucking angel, Rebecca. Nothing will ever change that.”

She squeals before bringing her lips to mine again, this time harder, and I take it upon myself to kiss her deeper.

“Crisis averted,” she mumbles, and I can feel her smile on my lips.

“But not the punishment.”

Rebecca pulls on my bottom lip, letting me know she has no intentions of arguing her fate, then slides down my body to return to the floor.

I step back and she winks, reaching out for me to hold her hand.

Saint can barely hold back his smirk as I spot him in my peripheral, nudging me with his chin to go ahead. To prove his point.

That I’ve become a sucker for Rebecca.

Maybe he’s right, I’m flirting with the lines of being her bitch. But I sure as shit am not for him.

And I’ll make sure to kick his hypocritical ass to prove it.

Ringing our fingers together, I take off with Rebecca falling in stride, Hendrix and Archer following to her right and Saint to my left.

Wandering eyes are on us from every direction, mostly because of Rebecca’s new look and the crew’s slow shifting dynamic. Then when Riggs and Levi exit one of the classrooms, we’re spread into a single royal line.

But this time there’s a new queen at the center of it, and she’s got her head up fucking high.

39

BEX

The sun is blazing today, officially diagnosing winter in this city as bipolar.

Fifty-four degrees.

In January.

I shouldn’t be complaining, but I am, because I was actually starting to warm up to the cold weather.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Hendrix chirps next to me on the bleachers as I shrug off my coat. “Chances are tomorrow it’ll be back in the twenties.”

“Big facts, yo,” Archer chimes in next, tossing a piece of gum in his mouth.

Placing the coat onto the seat next to me, we go back to watching the guys toss a football back and forth on the field.

The school day ended an hour ago, and the majority of students, besides the stragglers walking around the track, have either gone off campus to soak up the warm Friday by the piers, or went home to see their families.

It’s been about twenty minutes of measuring dicks with spiral throws, and Crayton’s already had enough of entertaining his athletic friends. I know this because he launches the ball at Riggs, bulls-eyeing the back of his head.

The three of us laugh as Riggs curses him out, rubbing the assaulted area.

Crayton ignores him, stomping his way up to the middle of the bleachers where we’re sitting.

“That was harsh, don’t you think?” I lift an eyebrow when he straddles the seat next to me, pulling me into his chest.

“Motherfucker doesn’t know when to stop talking.” He mutters, reaching for the pack of cigarettes stuffed inside his boot, bringing one to his mouth.

“What was he saying to earn damage to his already defective brain?” Archer chuckles.

I crane my neck to find that typical twitch in Crayton’s eye, telling me everything I need to know.

Me jokes.

“Don’t listen to them, Crayton, you know they get hard-ons pissing you off.”

He inhales a long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs as he says, “Asshole’s lucky it wasn’t his dick.”

Levi’s voice bellows out from the football field, telling Archer to even out teams in a quick game of two-hand touch.

Which is really code for tackle.

“No thanks, I prefer to keep this gorgeous mug in tact!” Archer yells back.

“C’mon Beaumont! Stop being a pussy. Do you really want to miss the chance to drive Riggs to the ground?”

Archer seems to be thinking about it a moment before he shrugs. “Shit…say less.” He stands, dusting off his jeans and removing his hoodie over his head, exposing a surprising amount of muscle under his white tee.

Archer tosses the hoodie at Hendrix, where she haphazardly catches it, and he begins skipping down the bleachers toward the guys.

“Oh, I need a front row seat to this shitshow.” Hendrix doesn’t even look back as she jumps up, following behind Archer.

Crayton’s nose is caressing my hair as he wraps a hand around my midsection, squeezing both my shirt and my stomach.

Placing my hand over his I tell him, “I have something I wanna show you.”

He scoots deeper next to me, taking another pull before blowing the smoke to the side. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Something I found.”

Crayton watches as I pull the folded paper out of my pocket. I haven’t had the opportunity of bringing his poem up to him because he’s had tunnel vision the entire week with finding the damn knife he lost.

He’s less irritable today, so I figure fuck it, time for some answers.

“This was in the back of my English folder.”

Crayton tosses the cigarette before snatching the paper, unfolding it with a couple flicks of his wrist.

“How’d you get this?” He releases me, and I take note of his slight annoyance, even if he’s trying to contain it.

“No idea. Like I said, it was in the back of my folder.”

He crinkles the paper, shoving it in his jean pocket. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

I turn awkwardly to face him. “I’m so happy I did, though. It’s beautiful.”

He shifts in his seat. “They’re just words, Rebecca. Don’t think too much into it.”

I look down at my hands. “Well, that stings. Especially if they were about me.”

He blows out a breath. “I didn’t mean it like that, Little Ghost. I’m just sayin’ don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“So, the poem is about me?”

He suppresses a chuckle. “Who the fuck else would it be about?”

“I didn’t realize you felt that way, then. You were so cold to me.”

He lifts one of my legs over the bleacher, making me straddle it too. Squeezing both arms around my waist again, he pulls me tighter to hug my waist. “C’mon, Rebecca. You already know why I was a dick. Let’s not rehash that shit.”

“I’m not trying to, It’s just hard to believe you had feelings for me from the beginning.”

“I’m not sure if I would call it feelings…more like compulsion. And I tried to fight it the entire time.”

“You called me an angel,” I state evidently.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when you refer to yourself as a devil.”

His chin rests on my head. “Well, if the horns fit.”

“Stop.” I turn again, cupping his hardened jaw. “When will you quit thinking so badly about yourself?”

“When I prove to myself I’m not.”

Deciding there’s no point in beating a dead goat, I lean my back into him again and switch up the tempo. “So, is all the cursive around the skull tattoo on your ribs your quotes?”

I didn’t even stop to think for a second Crayton was capable of forming such beautiful phrases like “Hollow hearts fill dangerous minds” or “Beware of the broken. They know how to survive.” My favorite being “The heaviest crowns will fall from heaven”.

They’re scribbles to the naked eye, but poetry to those who take the time to dig a little deeper.

I would never believe he had it in him, not until I found this paper in my folder.

“If I tell you yes will you try and dissect every single one?”

Already do, Crayton.

My smirk must be an answer enough.

“Then no, they’re not.”

“You’re such a shit, you know that?”

I reach for the hand squeezing my thigh, and bring it to my lips. “I’m happy you’re mine,” I say softly, kissing the callus of his overused knuckles.

“Same here, Little Ghost.”

We share a quiet moment, which gets interrupted by several shadows eclipsing us from behind, so I turn to see who’s approaching.

And I wish I never did.

“Here we fucking go.” I roll my eyes as Alexis and the M.I.B. who’ve been babysitting her for the past few days close in on us, with a stupid smirk plastered to her face.

Crayton and Archer mentioned her dad is into some sketchy mob shit, so when things get dicey he has these brutes follow her around like a foul stench.

We’re at our feet before they reach us, Crayton shielding me with his body.

Alexis has been more…vocal…this week to put it mildly.

Taunting me with dirty looks and snide remarks again, only acting brave because of the mountains at her side.

There’s still something that seems off about her, I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s this flicker of hysteria behind her eyes each time she tries to provoke me.

“Awwww, look, it’s the happy couple,” she says in mock jest, pressing her intertwined fingers against her cheek. I nearly lose it when she bats those ridiculous long eyelash extensions.

“The fuck you want, Alexis?” Crayton grinds out through his teeth like a defensive lion.

“What’s the matter, baby? You look grim.” She pouts. “Is your Shore Whore no longer living up to her potential?”

Here’s the thing about my new look and clouded judgment, they come equipped with the moxie to go toe to toe with the biggest bitch in Riverside again.

I’m leaping over the bench to get to Alexis when Crayton holds an arm out to stop me.

Alexis lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh, holy fuck you really are pathetic. Acting all tough like you’re the new H-B-I-C. How long do you think you’ll have Crayton’s dick before he gets tired of auto-piloting in missionary?”

“Not sure.” I tilt my head. “Maybe next time he comes inside me I’ll make sure to count.” It’s a low blow and we both know it, but fuck it feels good to watch her face twisting with jealousy.

“Tell me Bex…are you enjoying that pretty little ring at the end of Crayton’s dick? Because I was the one with him when he got it.” She pops her hip. “First one to teach him how to use it too. So you’re welcome.”

I advance on her again, and this time Crayton has to lock his arms around mine to hold me back.

The sound of scraping metal grows louder, telling me without looking that our friends are already storming toward us.

“Remember, baby. It’s only a matter of time before you realize what you’re missing.” She regards Crayton with a seductive bite to her lip. “Kinda like that knife of yours.”

Yup. That’ll do it.

If there’s anything Crayton will hate more than accidentally losing his legendary knife, it’s knowing Alexis found out and will see it as a weakness.

An oversight by the all powerful king who’s been made soft by his new queen.

He lunges for her, but doesn’t get far with one of the bodyguards slamming him down with an arm around his throat.

I, on the other hand, get far enough to slap my hand across her face with a resounding crack. Alexis’ eyes dance with fury as the other bodyguard swoops in roughly and pins my body face first against the bleachers, his groin pressing into my ass to hold me in place.

It doesn’t hurt now, but the busted lip for sure will later. I’m pressing my tongue down on the cut, tasting the iron in my blood when a familiar sting of a knife against my throat makes me swallow the flavor.

The horrified screams from both of my friends commence behind me, but Riggs and Levi stay quiet, assessing the situation like police do an ambush.

“Get the fuck off me,” I say in the calmest tone I can muster, doing my best not to move with the weapon being on the brink of slicing skin.

Alexis laughs maniacally as Crayton breaks out of the smaller mountain’s hold, punching him in the jaw several times. With a guttural roar, he dead aims for the guy on top of me, until Saint intercepts him with a bear hug and struggles to hold him back.

“Get your man off her, Alexis,” Crayton growls, still fighting off his best friend. “Now, before I kill all three of you fucking cunts while you sleep.”

She taps her chin like she’s thinking about it. “Mmhmm…I’m thinking no. But A for effort, baby.”

Crayton’s attempt to wrestle out of Saint’s clutches become even more effective as he elbows him in the ribs, leaving Alexis to roll her eyes with a bored expression on her face.

So she signals with her hand for the goon to release me.

I feel his body slowly withdraw, allowing me to exhale the breath I didn’t know I was holding. The weapon against my neck is last to taper off, but when it does Riggs and Levi are at my side, helping me up.

Alexis says something in Russian, and within seconds, the other bodyguard has Crayton in a chokehold again, but this time with a gun pressed against the side of his head.

With fear gripping my insides, my feet move on their own accord past Alexis to get to Crayton. I ignore his demands to stay away, but Hendrix ends up stopping me for him.

“Dude, are you fucking crazy?!” She squeezes my shoulders in place. “Looking to get yourself killed or some shit?”

Levi must lack the same common sense, because he draws out a knife of his own and squares up to the guard who manhandled me, earning a swift command from Saint for him to stand down. Levi’s silence is more threatening than the knife as he flips it back into his pocket.

“Fatso’s right, Rebecca, you should really listen to her,” Alexis says, ignoring the exchange between Levi and Saint.

I’m contemplating the best version of torture as I whip around to find Alexis feign yawning.

“Better to be fat than full of plastic,” Hendrix bites out, but Alexis just flips her off.

Steady Russian words shoot past the lips of the guy holding the gun, and Alexis responds with a few of her own, leaving us all to freeze in place and wait.

“In case you assholes are wondering, Vladimir is asking if I want him to kill Crayton.”

Vladimir grumbles more Russian then cocks his gun.

“Call him off!” I shout at Alexis and she shrugs.

“Why should I, Shore Whore? You started it.”

I take a step toward her, and she holds up a finger.

“Think very carefully about what you’re about to do, Rebecca.” She spits my name out like venom. “Vladdy’s got a thing for me, you see? He does whatever I say.”

Alexis is satisfied when I straighten my shoulders, so she focuses on her manicure.

How insufferable she is—like a thorn in all our fucking sides.

Archer is seen preparing to reason with the unreasonable, all while Crayton throws every threat known to mankind at Alexis and her men. Including shoving his boot up all three of their asses.

“Alexis, I swear to God I’ll call my grandfather right now—get you expelled,” Archer warns. “Call. Your man. Off.”

This makes her snicker, then speak out in their native tongue again, which makes Vladdy press the gun harder into Crayton’s head.

“Fucking do it, you piece of shit. Pull the trigger,” Crayton seethes, spitting a ball of saliva onto the metal by the guy’s feet.

“Crayton shut up!” I yell in a panic, and Alexis watches carefully, as if knowing exactly what comes next.

I’m pretty sure we all do.

In true Crayton form, he has very little regard for his well being, and slams the back of his head into the Russian guy’s face, then turns and skillfully disarms him of the gun when he stumbles back.

The guy barely gets the chance to recover before Crayton has the gun aimed at his forehead, taking several steps down.

“A few quick reminders…” Alexis chirps as the other bodyguard whips out his gun…pointing it at Crayton. “Anyone of importance in this school is aware of who my father is, which means they’re also aware of how he reacts to those who make me mad.” She pauses, lifting her chin. “Well, killing Vladdy here will most definitely make me mad.”

Crayton interprets this as a reason to climb back over to Vladimir, pressing the gun into his forehead.

Alexis throws her head back with an exasperated sigh. “You guys can pretend all you want, but you know this can be settled easy peasy—because this lit cigarette match over here,” she side-eyes me, “does not belong at Crayton’s side.”

Saint and Crayton must be mentally linked, because at the same time Crayton nods over his shoulder, Saint reaches into his pocket, pulling out a pointy sort of brass knuckles. His fierce gaze stays on Vladimir as he shifts to Crayton’s side.

And just like that they’ve flipped the script to become the aggressors.

The rest of us, a bated audience.

Saint switches to approaching Vladimir like a ferocious animal, slithering behind him to skate the metal knuckles against his back like it’s a rink. His buddy attempts to advance, but Alexis stops him with a pointed finger.

Crayton’s fury stays on Vladimir. “So tell us, Alexis, who belongs there? Hm?”

Alexis’ eyes light up like a Christmas tree as she watches Crayton lower the gun from Vladimir’s head to under his chin.

“That’s easy, silly…me.”

“You are one delusional bitch.” Crayton shakes his head.

“Straight facts.” Riggs cackles from behind Alexis. “Gonna be pretty hard to be his Stepford wife if you off the motherfucker.”

Leave it to Riggs to crack a joke at a time like this.

Alexis clutches her chest, as if what he’s suggesting is offensive. Like she didn’t just order her goon to hold a gun to Crayton’s head.

“Me? Have Cray…killed?” With wistful eyes darting side to side, Alexis switches the argument from defensive to appalled. “I’m the one who stopped Vladdy from putting a bullet in his head. We are meant…to be…together. I would never want him to leave this world without me.”

A strange shift in the atmosphere has Archer, Hendrix, Riggs, Levi, and even me bouncing our gazes off each other.

Saint is too busy at Vladimir’s side baiting him, his gaze locked on him like a standing snake. It’s a terrifying side of him I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.

Although, it seems Alexis is giving him a run on the Jekyll/Hyde impersonations.

“Do everyone a favor and get the fuck outta here, yeah?” Archer says to Alexis in a tone that screams “you’re a fucking lunatic”. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Cuz I’m skipping my grandfather and calling the police.”

Crayton and Saint are still threatening Vladimir with deadly weapons, but even they know now is not the time to act.

Which works out in our favor because Saint’s coach is beelining for us.

“What the hell is going on here Lavell?!” Balkan hollers from the bottom of the bleachers, making both Crayton and Saint ease up the intimidation.

Saint snaps back in an instant, like a light switch turned on, and he spins his brass knuckles around his finger before stuffing them in his pocket.

Crayton shoves the gun into Vladimir’s chest, allowing him to retrieve it. “Deal with him or I will,” he mutters to Saint regarding his football coach.

“All good, coach!” Saint bellows back, making Alexis blink a few times, as if waking from a trance similar to his.

Her smile turns rancid as she faces me. “Mark my words, Shore Whore. I will never let you fucking have him.”

My entire body hums with rage as I clap back an “I already fucking do.”

Alexis keeps her beady eyes on me, beckoning her guards with another Russian command, and they move like a unit to her side.

With resolve sweeping over her face, Alexis flips her hair over a shoulder and turns to saunter off, Vlad and his partner following closely at her back.

“What the actual fuck was that about?” Hendrix looks between the six of us, awaiting an explanation nobody has.

Well, except Crayton, because he doesn’t look surprised by Alexis’ behavior at all.

* * *

My legs are burning from exhaustion as I make my third lap around the track without stopping.

Everyone but Crayton dispersed shortly after the standoff with Alexis: Archer and Hendrix handling damage control, Riggs and Levi off to get high on God knows what, and Saint disappeared shortly after Crayton spilled the proverbial beans to us.

Crayton did his best to keep up with my sprint, but not even he is powerful enough to take on the wrath of female adrenaline.

I’m angry, but it’s not only at Alexis.

Crayton’s been keeping an entire war between him and her from me. I feel betrayed.

He could’ve told me from the beginning she’s the one who took the knife. If not me, at least Saint.

Why he feels the need to self suffer all the time is beyond me. Well, not completely since he had to endure it for so long as a kid.

But he’s not a kid anymore, and I had a right to know I was being threatened.

Despite the burn, I pick up my pace, hoping a little physical pain will replace the emotional one.

When I reach the bleachers again, where Crayton has been waiting not so patiently for me to come down from my mania, he barks out for me to stop.

Against my better judgment I do.

But only because I think my legs are about to break.

“What?” I snap, resting my hands on my knees.

“I did this shit to protect you, to keep you out of it.”

“My hero, thank you.” I roll my eyes.

“Rebecca…” He warns.

“Crayton…” I mock him.

“You’re acting like a brat.”

I let out an exaggerated laugh. “And you’re acting like a dick. A big fat secretive dick.”

“We can do this tit-for-tat all night, or we can go back to my dorm room and fuck out our frustration.”

Marching over to him, I stab a finger to his chest. “No. Sex will not fix this. Alexis threatened to have me killed, and as usual your first response is to go all vigilante.”

“You don’t know how she works. The bitch didn’t take my knife for no reason. She’s always got a plan in play.”

“So you spent all of last weekend failing at breaking into her father’s mansion.”

“That shit is a fortress, Little Ghost. I had to stake it out all night to find a way in. I’m good, but not that good. And was willing to die trying.”

“There it is.” I slap my palms against his chest in a fruitless attempt to push him. “Only thinking about yourself.” I cross my arms with a huff. “So, what happens to me when you manage to get yourself caught…or worse…killed?”

“I didn’t put much thought into—”

“Exactly. Like I said…a big fat fucking dick.”

“A big fat fucking dick who wants to make sure you’re protected. If you haven’t realized yet, it’s a dog-eat-dog world in Riverside. If I come off weak, the rabid ones will strike. And you’re the first person they’ll try to bite.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course I fucking do.”

“How?”

“Because you are my fucking weakness, Rebecca.”

My heart swells with the declaration, which is exactly why I need to stick to my guns. So, when Crayton reaches for me I step back, refusing to allow him to swoon me with more romantic words and promises.

This is bigger than sex. Bigger than ego. I’ve altered my entire life, my future plans for this man.

Even if he doesn’t know it yet.

I have secrets too, yes, but nowhere as selfish or rash as his. In fact, mine are the complete opposite.

And filled with thoughts of him.

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Little Ghost, that I’m wrong?”

“That would be a solid start.”

Crayton runs a frantic hand over his buzzed hair. “I’m sorry I left you in the dark, alright? I should’ve told you about my knife, Alexis showing up trying to fuck me, and her threats on you.” He curses under his breath. “I’m just not used to this relationship shit, it doesn’t come natural for me to think about someone else’s feelings besides my own.”

His words are honest—which I appreciate—but they also deeply hurt. Especially since nowhere in that apology did he mention trying to change.

“I won’t accept this behavior.”

Defeat washes over his gorgeous face. “I get it. But I am who I am.”

Well so am I…infatuation had me putting up with a lot of his narcissistic crap the past few months, but I will not tolerate it as we try to build a semi-normal relationship.

“That’s a coward's response and you know it.” I turn to walk away but Crayton snatches my arm, pulling me back and into his chest so he can rest his forehead against mine.

“Give me a little time, Rebecca, please. It’s not easy to claw your way out of a lifetime of violence. There’s no magic button to turn off destructive instincts.”

I look up at him to find complete sincerity in his slow and steady breaths. “The only person I’ve ever felt this strongly for is the man who took a chance on a little kid who killed his mother.”

My. Entire. Heart.

It aches for him, so much tears begin welling in my eyes.

With a deep inhale and exhale of my own, I lower my defenses enough to let him know I’ll grant him his time and my patience.

Crayton kisses me deeply, possessively.

As if saying thank you for accepting his madness.

But there’s no reason to when I find so much beauty in it.

Beauty that makes his request impossible to deny.

And his broken pieces impossible not to love.

40

BEX

Nobody has seen Alexis since the day she ambushed us on the football field, word from Archer being that her Dad took her back home for familial purposes.

None of us believe it, obviously.

We also don’t care enough to find out the truth.

All I give a shit about is her being gone and Crayton relaxing enough to give me back his full attention. To prove he will try to be more transparent.

Little did I know that would result in constant oversharing.

When he takes a shit.

When Saint takes a shit.

The pornos Riggs likes to jerk off to.

The girls Levi tries to fuck.

In between Crayton’s mourning for his knife, it’s been over two weeks of word vomit and reassurances that I see how much he’s been trying to open up to me.

It warms my heart watching him break down those iron clad walls to let me inside. Crayton may still be everyone else’s villain, but every day he proves why he’s become my hero.

A dark and twisted, sexy, homicidal hero.

But mine nonetheless.

Massaging the last of the shampoo through my hair, I try to ignore the sharp pains shooting through my stomach and the bloody mess staining the bottom of the shower.

Add on the Royal pain in my ass standing outside of the stall complaining about my need to take such a late shower—cruel annoying torture.

Men will never understand how brutal a woman’s cycle can be. Why a nice hot shower can become a small mercy to a shedding uterus.

Lucky bastards got it so easy.

“One more minute before I’m in there fucking you.” Said Royal grumbles.

“Seriously?” I squeak, blind and fighting off the water streaming down my face. “Neanderthal much?”

“Thirty seconds.” Crayton adds. “The belt is coming off.”

Hm. This could be fun. Except no it won’t.

“I have my damn period, Crayton, and excruciating cramps, so don’t even try it.”

“Shit.” He grunts. “Red wings are the only ones I’ll ever earn, anyway.”

As much as I love a good kinky fuckfest…

I draw the line at period blood.

I can barely tolerate how gross it is myself, the last thing I want is my boyfriend poking around down there and realizing how nasty it is too.

None of this matters because Crayton is already pulling the glass door open, sending the chill of the bathroom barging in to prickle my skin.

“Asshole!” I shout when he wraps his arms around me, spinning me until my back is pressed against the tile.

Crayton looks at me with his signature fierce glare, streaming water glistening down his face like an angry God.

“What was that?” He draws closer. “In your asshole?”

I gulp as he continues to burn a hole through me, wondering if I did something to actually piss him off.

A squeal burst from my lips when he starts tickling my sides, making me feel better and worse all at the same time.

“Quit it! I’m gonna slip.”

Crayton releases me so he can pull his t-shirt over his head, exposing every bit of ink painted on his skin. “That was your punishment for taking so long.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll take a hell of a lot longer with your enormous body taking up the shower.”

After throwing the shirt over the door, Crayton reaches for the conditioner in the hanging caddy, squeezing some onto his hand.

“Turn around,” he instructs with a quick lift of his chin.

My back is to him when he starts massaging the product into my hair.

“What are you doing?” I grin ear to ear, still getting surprised by his gentle side.

“What the fuck does it look like? I’m washing you.”

Okay, so maybe gentle is still a work in progress.

I suppress a chuckle. “You’re gonna get orange all over your hands.”

Running his fingers through the length, Crayton states, “Some red too, apparently.”

I look down at the blood tinged water draining at our feet. “I warned you, it’s all yuck.”

His lips brush over my shoulder, fingers caressing the length of my forearms. “A little blood never scared me, Little Ghost.” A palm presses against my tender abdomen, running circles around it. “Tell me where it hurts.”

I melt into Crayton’s chest, his touch alone being enough to thwart the ache. “Just beneath my belly button.”

Crayton slides his thumbs a bit higher, getting to work on soothing my cramps with firm strokes of his fingers.

It feels amazing, even when his inexperience has him pinching and pressing harder than he should.

“Am I doing okay?” Crayton asks, focusing so hard on the task it’s adorable.

“You really are…” I sigh deeply, allowing the water to add more pampering. “Please don’t stop.”

Crayton stays silent, but I can hear the determination in his breaths.

Knuckle rolling, finger pressing, palm circles, all improvisions to relieve me of pain.

He takes his time, and before I know it the cramps dissipate, and in their place is an overwhelming sense of warmth, but it has nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

Reaching a hand behind me to touch his cheek, I crane my neck to look at Crayton. He’s still focused but my attention on him is breaking it.

He blinks through the falling water barraging our faces. “What is it? Am I fucking this up?”

I answer him with a kiss to his lips, one so intense it has Crayton pausing his massage to slide his hands to my waist.

We stay this way, our tongues dancing and bodies intertwined.

The mood shifts from sensual to sexual seconds after Crayton presses the erection behind his pants into my ass.

“I know something else that can relieve those cramps of yours,” he mumbles into my mouth.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” I trail a line down the dragon tattoo on his arm with a single digit.

Crayton’s hand is moving again, this time past my abdomen to the area between my legs.

Oh.

“I don’t—”

“Shhh…” Crayton licks a line across my bottom lip. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers are already strumming my pussy, making me tense knowing what he may find down there.

“The door…” I say frantically, hoping it will deter him.

“Is being watched by Riggs.”

Doesn’t this guy have anything better to do than play lookout for Crayton every time I shower?

“This is a terrible idea. I’m gross right now.”

“Relax…” he whispers, toying with me more.

I try my best to do just that…especially when I feel him at my entrance.

My eyes squeeze shut—and Crayton must sense my trepidation because he hesitates long enough for me to think maybe I swayed him.

Of course I didn’t.

I hitch when he slides his fingers inside, holding them there as a low growl pushes past his lips.

“So fucking warm,” Crayton hums, which vibrates against my ear, and by the time he’s moving again, I’m a goner.

Sore, yes, but also hyper sensitive to his skillful touch.

A tiny moan grows when Crayton finds that special spot and works it over.

With one hand on my lower belly, he returns to massaging the pain away from the inside out.

Curling, thrusting, caressing. All attempts that have my body shuttering with both pleasure and pain.

After every sharp sting, Crayton soothes it away with a gentle touch. The alteration between both leaving my chest heaving and crying out for release.

Crayton’s throat rumbles when I begin winding against him, the precipice of my high a single stroke away.

“Go ahead, Little Ghost. Come for me. Let your pain spill on my fingers.”

“I don’t want to get…” My words taper off when he drives deeper inside me.

“Fuck.” I breathe harshly.

Crayton squeezes a palm around my neck, forcing me to look up at him. “Come for me, Rebecca. Now.”

Between the pressure on my throat and in my vagina, I have no choice but to let go for him.

Feeling my pussy throb, a surge of pleasure engulfs me before I’m doing exactly what he demanded.

I’m spilling, feeling both arousal and blood forcing its way past his barrier.

“Mmmmm…” Crayton buzzes again as I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath.

He pulls out of me abruptly and releases my neck.

Crayton examines his bloody hand, and I watch in awe as a spark goes off in his eyes.

Then he does the unimaginable.

Bringing the stained fingers past his lips, Crayton secures them inside his mouth, sucking away all of my blood.

It’s the most grotesque thing I think he’s ever done.

And I’ve witnessed Crayton challenging the word many times.

Yet I’m not disgusted by him tasting my most sordid parts, in fact, I’m enamored by it. He seems to be, too, like licking ice cream off his hands.

“Now I’ve tasted everything.” Crayton cups my chin. “And guess what?” He pauses, and I audibly swallow before he adds, “Your blood down there is just as fucking sweet.”

I groan when he forces my lips open, drilling those sapphire eyes into me as he spits a line of saliva mixed with blood slowly into my mouth.

I’m unrecognizable. Out of my mind.

Because against my natural instincts to pull away, I take all of him and I, savoring us like the taste of salt on my tongue.

The whole exchange is undoubtedly sinful, but feels so right because it’s with him.

“Take all of it, Rebecca. There’s no part of your fucking body you should be ashamed about.”

The salt goes down my throat surprisingly smooth, proving even more how much I’ve been trading every moral principle with Crayton’s poetic words.

Still clenching my chin, his lips slam into mine, our tongues fusing together and greedy for more.

“You make a valid point,” I say, pulling away from him. “There’s nothing you should be ashamed about either.”

Crayton raises an eyebrow, but when I reach for the button on his pants he straightens out.

“Don’t,” he hisses.

I’m not in the business of pushing a traumatized person past their limits, but if we’re talking inner shame, then Crayton’s got to learn to let it go too.

“What did you just tell me?” I question when I reach his zipper.

“There’s no part of you to be ashamed about,” he grates.

I turn to face him. “Well, the same goes for you.”

Pulling his pants down to his ankles, I notice his cock still solid in spite of his nerves.

“Trust me, okay?” I tell him when I drop to my knees.

He shifts uncomfortably. “This is different.”

“Is it?”

“You know why I can’t do this.”

“Well it’s time I prove you can.”

I reach for his cock but Crayton stops me.

“Rebecca,” his voice cracks, the damaged little boy inside him breaking through. “I promised myself I would never allow any woman to do that again.”

I empathize so much with his point, but if Crayton never lets go of his past, he’ll stay trapped there forever.

“Am I just any woman to you?”

“You know you’re fucking not.”

“Okay, so technically you’re not breaking your promise.”

Unresolved pain distorts his gorgeous features, but I know how much facing it can help you move on.

This is no longer about wanting to suck his cock, I mean—I do, obviously. But this moment is about Crayton releasing his demons.

Giving his pain over to me.

I reach his trembling hand. “If you’re truly not ready I would never force you.” Squeezing it tight, I add, “But if you can find it in you to believe I would never hurt you the same way, then please let me prove it.”

I keep holding him, waiting for his decision.

After a long stretch of silent deliberation, he nods.

“If you need me to stop, Crayton, I will.”

I’m met with a subtle twitch in his eyes. “Yeah…alright.”

“Stay with me, okay?”

Crayton clears his throat as I wrap a hand around his girth, closing in on him, making sure to take it very slow.

His eyes blink wide as I hover his tip, and when my tongue darts out to flick the ring, Crayton jolts like he’s been shocked.

“Fuck…I can’t.”

“Okay.” I gently raise my hands. “Enough said.”

The look of agony on his face tells me he’s torn between hurting himself and hurting me, but I refuse to let him make the decision.

Crayton punches the wall at his side, roaring with frustration. “Don’t you see there’s so much fucking wrong with me?!” He hits it again. “Why do you even bother?”

“Because I care deeply for you, and not being able to give you a blowjob won’t change that.” Standing, I cup his angry jaw. “When the time is right it’ll happen.”

Crayton presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, cursing himself.

“Stop.” I rip his hands from his face and bring them to my chest, so he can feel the steadiness of my heart. “You see that? Nothing for me has changed. My heart beats for you the exact same way as it did two minutes ago.”

“I may not ever be ready, Little Ghost.” He releases a haggard breath. “It reminds me too much of—”

I don’t let him finish that sentence; I refuse to let that despicable woman get between us.

“Then it never happens, Crayton. Your journey to healing isn’t mine to navigate. As long as I’m by your side, the trivial shit will never matter.”

His breathing levels out enough for him to pull me into an embrace.

“I’m trying really fucking hard. But I’m not perfect like you.” He holds out his arm, the one he’s been cutting since he was a kid. “I got scars, Rebecca, a lot of ’em, and they were never meant to fade.”

“Stop the perfect bullshit, Crayton. The idea is a farce.” I bring his arm close enough to inhale the subtlety of his cologne. “Plus, what’s meant and what’s not isn’t for any of us to decide.”

I pepper each carved letter with soft kisses, hoping he can see how beautiful he truly is. Scars and all.

“Here I am telling you to let go of your insecurities, but I allow mine to eat me alive.”

Releasing his arm, I meet his gaze head on, imploring him to understand. “What you’re insecure about is lengths away from being squeamish about a little blood.” I cradle his face when he looks away. “And it won’t be forever, I promise.”

Crayton rears back when I try to kiss him, forcing my arms to fall at my sides. “You don’t fucking know that.”

“But I do.”

I find his eyes again, but they’re still drowning in doubt, so I tell him exactly what my father said to me every time things got hard. “Dad would always say, ‘The strongest warriors win the toughest battles.’ You know why?” When Crayton’s tense shoulders ease up I add the kicker, which I believe almost as much as I believe in him. “Because they have someone to fight for.”

A smirk breaks through his troubled frown, and it feels like coming up for air.

I rest my hands on my hips and tilt my head. “So, tell me, Crayton Shaw…who is it you’re fighting for?”

I don’t get a straight answer, not that I need one, because the look of appreciation that lights up Crayton’s face before he kisses me needs no further explanation.

41

CRAYTON

SPRING

There’s a lot on the line when a broken guy like me finds a selfless girl like Rebecca willing to stick around trying to fix him. It’s something I’ve realized with the passing weeks.

She’s proven more than anyone that she accepts me with flaws and shattered pieces trailing behind.

Which is why I’ve been trying my hardest to curb the need to fight her efforts.

Endless questions that used to leave me grinding my molars to shavings, turned into conversations, which lead to understanding and sex shortly after.

I made a promise to her, and I fully intend to keep them all. Except one. I can’t let go of losing my knife.

Even with Alexis out of the picture, the idea she took something of mine with so much significance does not sit well with me.

Fuck, it doesn’t sit at all.

In the end this is my fault, I let my guard down and she jumped on the opportunity to hurt me the only way she can without losing her head.

Literally. Because I made it clear long before she took my knife that I’d take on the consequences of killing her if I had to. If there’s one thing Alexis and I have in common, it’s not being scared of death.

But now that I have Rebecca, I realize death and fear can come in many forms. The loss of her being at the top of the list.

She’s become a source of peace in the mind of a madman, and now I can’t live without it.

Without her.

“Hamlet!” A girl shouts, breaking me out of my daze.

“Great job, Miss Lessier,” Beckett nods, going back to writing on the dry erase board. “Now tell me…who knows the amount of time it took Shakespeare to finish writing it?”

Rebecca shoots her hand up. “Two years. From 1599 to 1601.”

Certified freak but still a nerd.

“Correct as always, Miss Dawson.” Beckett strokes her ego with a single slap to his thigh.

I lean closer to Rebecca, resting my elbow on the armrest of my desk. “You better cut the shit before I’m forced to teach your precious English teacher a lesson for swooning my girlfriend.”

Rebecca mocks me by beating her chest, then goes back to writing in her notebook.

I huff, straightening in my chair only to get up and make my way to the front of the class.

“Mr. Shaw…where do you think you’re going?” Beckett crosses his arms as I pass him.

“If I told you for a cigarette break, would you try and stop me?”

“Absolutely!”

Swinging the door open, I look over my shoulder to find Rebecca just as frustrated as Beckett. I wink at her before I shoot over my shoulder, “Then it’s a cigarette break.”

I’m trying a lot of new things lately for her sake, but I’m losing brain cells sitting through this fucking Shakespeare lesson.

“Mr. Sh—” He calls out, but I cut him off with a slam of the door.

That’s when a ding goes off on my phone.

Rebecca

Wtf Crayton? Where are you going?

Me

It’s either I smoke or I kill Beckett…choose wisely. Can’t pass this class without him.

Rebecca

You need to pass this class too, asshole. Your Dad is still on your ass about keeping up grades.

Me

Look at you all worried about my well-being and shit.

A minute passes with no response as I make my way to the dorms, probably because Beckett is drilling her with questions. A new trick of his when he wants to get through to me.

Rebecca

Somebody has to.

Stuffing the phone back in my pocket, I trudge toward the gym, already reaching into my pants to pull out my pack of cigarettes.

But when I open it there’s none left.

“Fuck.” I curse under my breath, spinning around and jogging back to my room where the carton is.

Beamont’s secretary makes her way toward me when I reach the hall, side-eyeing me as I pass her, but not daring to comment on why I’m not in class.

I’m sure Dad will get a call from Beaumont, courtesy of Beckett who’s got just as much of a hard on as my father to help me succeed.

By the time I reach my dorm room I can hear the bell ringing in the distance, and it’s only a matter of time before Rebecca is bursting through the door to wave her finger at me.

Pulling my nightstand drawer open, I grab the box of cigarettes and scrape one out from the bottom.

Ripping off the plastic wrap, I toss it into the bin and pull open the top with more force than necessary, leaving the box to flip flop around my hands before hitting the floor near the bed.

Because the fumble pisses me off even more, the universe decides to take it further by having me kick it under the bed in my attempt to pick it up.

“Fucking hell,” I get down on the floor to reach for it, but thanks to my Docs, it slid to where I can’t reach with minimal effort.

“All this for a cancer stick.” I stretch my arm, but it’s still beyond my reach.

Jumping to my feet I use both hands to push the bed, sliding it almost halfway to Saint’s side of the room.

That’s when I see it.

And I don’t mean my cigarettes.

My knife is staring me back in the face like it’s screaming “ha-ha you fucking asshole”.

I snatch it up swiftly, still not processing it’s in my hand.

This entire time the fucking thing has been under my bed.

But I could’ve sworn I checked under there.

Flipping it open, I examine the knife as if trying to make sure it’s real.

Same scrapes and carvings into the blade, and scuff on the medal handle.

This is really it.

Thinking back to every single second I spent on a hunt for it, camping outside Alexis’ mansion, even threatening the bitch and her asshole bodyguards.

All for nothing, because the only asshole here is me.

Alexis saw an opportunity to provoke me, and she ran with it, hoping it would draw me back to her cunt.

Like the time I thought I lost the knife, I swipe all the contents of my nightstand onto the floor with a guttural roar.

This could’ve all been avoided if my dumb ass did a solid sweep under the bed.

Instead I slept, fucked, and plotted murder as it watched, whipping out the popcorn.

A knock at the door has me screaming for whoever it is to fuck off, but then I remember the girl who’s going to give me more shit if I make her late to class.

When I swing the door open I find Rebecca standing there in her uniform, arms crossed and tapping her foot against the floor.

“Should I still fuck off?”

I pull her inside the room and slam the door, giving her my back as I storm over to my bed.

“What the hell happened here?” Rebecca drops her bag on my desk, taking in the mess.

I turn and hold out the knife, feeling my eyes bulging out of my head.

Rebecca’s aren’t much different. “What the hell?” She rushes over to pluck it from my hand, then looks it over exactly how I did two minutes ago. “Is this really it?”

“It fucking is.”

She still can’t take her gaze off the knife. “Where the hell did you find it?”

“Under here.” I switch to kicking the bed, scraping it deeper into the room.

“It was in your room the whole time?”

“Looks fucking like it.”

She reaches for my arm. “This is good, though. You got your knife back.”

I whip around. “And look at all the shit that went down because of it.”

I created another enemy by challenging the scorned Bratva princess, and there’s no way to know if Alexis’ disappearance has something to do with me.

If her father’s next move is to punish me.

Or worse, Rebecca.

All because of a mediocre pussy.

All because of a fucking knife.

The idea of it all has me cursing myself for the hundredth time since I found it. And suddenly I have no desire to even touch the fucking thing.

If I told Alexis to go fuck herself from the beginning, leave her for some chump to deal with, I’d never be where I am, and Rebecca wouldn’t either.

I don’t realize my hands are shaking until Rebecca squeezes one to stop it.

“Crayton,” she calls out for me as if I’m several feet away. “Alexis has been gone for weeks. Who knows if she’s even coming back.” I finally find it in me to look at her, and her entire body is pleading with me. “Let’s not ruin a good thing between us over what happened almost a month ago.”

Dragging in a deep breath, I shake off my anger and snag the knife from her, tossing it in a drawer.

“You’re not gonna take the knife with us?” Rebecca asks cautiously.

“Fuck no, I’m done with it.”

Rebecca’s mouth gapes, at a loss for words.

But I’m not.

Spending time apart from the knife has allowed me the time to realize the dependency on it had nothing to do with punishing other people.

And everything to do with punishing myself.

This weapon represents a life I’ve been trying to move on from to build something decent with a girl who deserves a fuck ton more than decency. I can’t do that living in the past, so I decide that’s exactly where I’ll keep it.

42

BEX

“So, Rebecca, I see you’ve been keeping my son out of a decent amount of trouble.” Mr. Shaw says from across the table, biting into his filet mignon.

“I do my best, Sir. But you know your son.” I attempt a smile behind my glass of water, feeling my hands shake like a leaf.

Which means everyone else can see it too.

In between awkward silences, stuttering words, and heat flashes, I’m attempting to make a good impression when all I really want is to be devoured like quicksand.

Death would be less painful than making a fool of myself in front of such a strong prestigious man.

“Oh, do I.” He grins at Crayton, who’s rolling his eyes. “And please, sweetheart, call me Cillian.”

For the past two weeks Crayton’s dad has been trying to get us to accompany him to dinner at his penthouse.

My nerves had me putting it off for as long as I can, but it’s only fair I experience the hot seat after Crayton had to endure my Mom on Christmas.

“Okay si—” I shake my head. “I mean Cillian.”

Cillian chuckles low, taking a sip of what I assume is an expensive red wine. “I take it Crayton is your first?”

I look between the both of them for assistance, but all I get is prying eyes and a fork scraping aimlessly across Crayton’s plate.

The sound makes me wince. “First, Sir?”

“He means first fuck.” The asshole finally participates in socializing, only to make my cheeks burn from embarrassment.

And his father’s redden with horror. “Jesus fuck, Crayton. I meant boyfriend.”

He shrugs. “Semantics.”

“I-I…”—enter more stuttering—“yes, he is.”

Cillians eyes are like fire on Crayton. “You must forgive my son, Rebecca, he’s got the social etiquette of a wasp.”

Crayton snorts, side-eying me to gauge a reaction. Which is a Converse to his shin.

“Relax you two…will ya?” Crayton reaches over the table to snatch a carrot off his father’s plate, even though he has more than both of us. “It was just a joke…Rebecca has been fucking her toys way before she met me.”

I nearly choke on the piece of zucchini I pulled from my fork, and my furious gaze slides to his.

“Are you done?” Cillian does not look amused, and quite frankly neither am I. “I’m going to step away for a minute so your girlfriend can kick you in the dick in private.” He takes in my flaring nostrils and angry breaths. “Or maybe worse.”

With that, he takes off into the kitchen across the hall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I stand, offering a hefty slap to the back of his head. “Why would you tell your dad that?”

Crayton intercepts my hand when it goes to hit him again. “Relax…you think he really believes me? The guy’s been putting up with my shit for as long as you’ve sprouted those sunshine pubic hairs.”

I instinctively cover my pelvis. “Don’t you fucking do it. If you talk about the color of my pubes to him I will literally stab you in the eye with the fork you used to pierce my brain.”

Crayton lets out a boastful laugh.

“Oh, holy shit you should see your face right now.”

My fists ball at my sides. “I’m trying to make a good impression.”

“Oh, you’re doing a fantastic job, too.”

I pick up a napkin and toss it at him. “Stop fucking around.”

Crayton salutes me. “You got it. But remember, it wasn’t so long ago I was in your position. Getting drilled by your mother who’s got more questions than a fucking news reporter.”

I should’ve known this was his payback.

“You made your point.” I grit through my teeth. “Now can you please add something useful to the conversations with your Dad? I don’t want him thinking I’m some freak with a sex toy addiction.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, fuck off.” I drop back into the seat, and reach for a carrot, popping it into my mouth with a finger raised at Crayton.

He slides my chair closer, running a hand through my hair. “My father will love you regardless, trust me. He’s just happy I’m not out assaulting bitches for kicks.”

My face squishes together. “You really do that?”

“You’re really asking that question?”

I bob my head back and forth. “Alright, ya got me there.”

Bringing his face closer to mine, Crayton lowers his voice to a smooth whisper. “If it makes you feel better…I’ve been a lot less homicidal lately.”

This perks me up, and I don’t miss how toxic that makes me. “Really?”

“Really,” he echoes.

“So what do you do instead?”

“Besides you?”

I roll my eyes as Cillian makes his way back into the room…holding another glass of wine. “I see my son is still alive, so I guess I should be thanking you.”

I smile through my nerves. “It was touch and go for a bit, but he pulled through.”

“He always does,” Cillian retorts as he sits down, still holding the glass.

“You double fistin’ tonight or what?” Crayton juts his chin toward his hand.

Cillian lets out a deep sigh. “As much as I’d love to get shit-faced, Crayton, I must play the part of the responsible adult.” Sliding the glass closer to me, he adds, “This one’s actually for your girlfriend.”

“Why the fuck don’t I get one?” Crayton leans back, folding his arms over a puffed out chest.

Cillian picks up his glass again, holding it out for me to toast as he says, “Because you’re not the one stuck dating you.”

* * *

It’s been back to back days of projects, tests, and enough homework to swim in. Except I’ve been drowning instead.

Between completing mine on time, I’ve had to barter with Crayton at every turn for him to put some effort in too.

I don’t want to go through senior year without him, and a nineteen year old getting stuck in classes surrounded by actual juniors isn’t a good look on anyone.

Let alone Crayton.

But, by the skin of my teeth I managed to get him to complete his work. My vagina is still recovering from the process but with a little more ice and patience, it’ll be as good as new to fuck again.

“What’s up, gorgeous?” Saint drops into the seat next to me, popping one of my grapes into his mouth. “You guys still hungover from this week? These teachers be brutal.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“Shit. I almost had to fuck Mrs. Cavales against her desk to get out of failing my math test.”

Jesus.

“Seriously? She would actually have sex with you?”

Both Crayton and Saint chuckle under their breaths.

“Would?” Saint scoffs, plucking another piece of fruit from my plate. “That bitch chokes on my cock like it’s her side job on the weekends.”

“I knew I heard a pig oink.” Hendrix drawls as she appears from behind, then circles the table to sit far away from Saint, slamming down her tray on the table.

Saint leans back in his chair, resting an arm on the back of it. “What’s the matter Hen? Still got that pencil lodged in your ass?”

She flips him off. “No…but pretty sure you still got your dick lodged in Annalie’s ass.”

“Green is not your color.” He sings, stealing some pineapple this time, making me contemplate handing him over the entire plate.

I don’t get the chance to decide because Crayton swipes it away from Saint when he reaches again, instructing him to fuck off and get his own food. Then instructing me to eat mine.

I smirk at his dwindling alpha ego, taking a bite of cantaloupe then offering him the rest of it with my hand to his mouth.

Crayton opens for me to feed him, keeping a scolding eye on Saint.

He snorts. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Now that we can agree on.” Hendrix chimes in. “I’m an oogly eye away from throwing up the pancakes I ate this morning.”

“What are we bitching about now?” Archer joins the conversation holding a tray of spaghetti, then sits down next to Hendrix picking up her burger.

“Other than Saint’s impending venereal disease?” She takes a huge bite, smiling at him with a mouthful of food and ketchup on her cheeks.

I mic drop that shit with my hand. “Boom.”

Saint clutches his chest at me, feigning offense.

“Can you two fuck this hate-love shit out of your system already?” Crayton juts his chin toward my plate to feed him again. “It’s like listening to two hyenas fighting for the same rotten piece of meat.”

I suppress a laugh as I offer a grape, and he wedges it between his teeth before winking at me.

Hendrix goes for more of her burger, ignoring Saint and Archer as they cackle together. “Nah. This hyena would never settle for sloppy seconds.”

Saint’s about to throw a comeback when the sight of Riggs and Levi speed walking toward us clamps his mouth shut.

We’re all focused on the two of them barging past the crowd of students swarming the Dining Hall.

“Incoming…” Levi mutters, sliding into one of the chairs.

Riggs spins one around too, facing the doors as he straddles it.

“What the hell is going on?” I look between them both.

Riggs holds up three fingers, lowering them one by one.

The room goes still with my keen sense of awareness, like impending doom is at an arm’s length away.

And I’m right, because the doors spring open, revealing Alexis in all her glory, along with a new pair of jerkoffs at her sides.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Hendrix groans. “There goes the rest of the fucking year.”

My back straightens as she struts past us, antagonizing me with a cold look and elegant finger wave.

My nostrils flare at her, ready to jump out of my seat but Crayton placing a hand on my thigh awakens my common sense.

Killing the bitch with kindness is even a risk.

The best reaction now is no reaction at all.

Alexis orders a couple nerds to abandon a table, and like flies to shit her posse swarms around her as if no time was lost.

“What are we gonna do about this?” Levi asks Crayton, whose eyes are like paper on Alexis.

Everyone’s attention is shifted to Crayton, fully expecting a plan of attack.

What he suggests next is the complete opposite, shocking everyone but me. He turns in his chair, helping himself to a grape this time. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Nothing?” Saint seeks confirmation, as if in disbelief his best friend would ever choose against violence.

“I said what I fucking said.” He spits. “I got better things to focus on besides some bitch looking to stake a claim.”

Nobody says a word after that, our entire table going back to eating, talking and bickering.

Except me and Crayton, we’re back in our bubble. Him pulling me closer and me sinking into him, smiling as I look up and he presses a kiss against my forehead.

43

BEX

“Tell me something,” I stare up at the ceiling of Crayton’s room. We’re laying side by side in his bed with our hands tucked behind our heads.

It’s been around an hour since Saint took off to grab a pizza, and my stomach rumbles louder the more I think about the saucy, cheesy goodness.

I’ve had pizza in La Jolla, but it pales in comparison to how good it is in New York City. Something I’m reminded of as I wait impatiently for Saint to return.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Crayton stays quiet and pensive, a little too long for comfort, making me wonder if it’s not with me.

“You want my honest answer or the washed out one?”

I turn to him, hands against cheek. “Of course I want the truth.”

He shrugs. “If not dead then behind bars.”

I shoot up, glaring sharp and fierce at him. “Don’t fucking say that, stupid.”

Crayton’s voice remains flat. “You asked for the truth.”

Rolling onto his chest, I hug him as tight as my skinny arms will allow. “You can never leave me.”

“I would never want to, Little Ghost, but the circumstances in my life don't allow me to shoot for that picket fence and five kids. I’ve done a lot of terrible shit.”

And I know all of it, accepted it, and stored it away. Nothing Crayton has done before the night of the dance means a thing because he’s changing for the better.

For us.

“I don’t care. Promise me.”

Crayton sighs. “I can’t do that without lying.”

“Then lie to me.” My voice cracks, and he peers down, finding the tears I know are glassing my eyes.

He swipes the one that falls away with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth to taste. “I promise to never walk out of your life willingly, Rebecca, okay?”

Throwing in the towel for now, I rest the side of my face against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Your turn,” he says, back to staring at the ceiling.

“My turn?” I question.

“To tell me something.”

I think long and hard about anything of substance I can share, coming up with the first and only thought that pops into my head.

“I wish my dad could’ve met you.”

He huffs. “I’m pretty sure it’s for the best. As you can tell I’m not father friendly.”

I shake my head against him. “No, he’s like me. Dad always saw past the surface of people. Gave them the benefit of the doubt, no matter what.”

“You miss him, huh.”

“So much. It feels like the happy parts of me died with him.”

Crayton rests an arm on my back, running lazy circles over it. “It probably did. I know a part of me died with my mom.”

I breathe in deep, then let it out with a drawn out sigh. “I guess that makes me feel a bit better. Like I’m not the only one.”

He continues caressing me. “You may still be.”

“What do you mean?”

I can hear him swallow. “It was my innocence that died along with her.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to ignore how much those words seem to hurt him. “Crayton…” I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure if I should say what I want to.

“Yeah, Little Ghost?”

“I love you.”

His fingers halt on my back and he tenses up.

Eerily quiet. Painfully still.

And I already know it was a mistake.

“Rebecca…you know.”

“I know,” I respond meekly. “And it’s okay. Just wanted you to know I do. All of your highs and all of your lows. I cherish every single part of you, broken or not.”

Crayton is about to say something but a frantic knock at the door has his lips sealing.

Damn you Saint. Taking all this time and deciding to show up as I spill my heart at Crayton’s feet.

More rapid knocks, followed by Archer calling out for me.

What the hell is he doing here? He said he was going home for the weekend.

“Guys! Open up…now!”

There’s that tone of voice again.

The “I have news but you’re gonna hate it” tone of voice.

I almost want to ignore him in hopes he’ll go away and keep whatever the fuck he has to tell us to himself.

Because I know whatever it is has to do with me, and it’ll end up hurting.

It always does in Riverside.

Archer resorts to kicking the door. “I know you assholes are in there. Open the damn door.”

Crayton grumbles some curse words, then says, “You can either tell him to fuck off nicely, or I do it my way.”

The sound of keys jingling and the lock twisting has me burying my face in Crayton’s chest.

“Fuck me.” The words are muffled, but gets the point across.

I can hear Saint asking what the hell is Archer’s problem as he opens the door, letting my very irate friend dart inside. Saint follows after him, red-eyed and helping himself to a slice of pizza.

“Seriously you dicks?” Archer doubles over out of breath.

I climb off Crayton to sit at the edge of the bed, and Crayton does the same on the opposite side.

“What’s with the dramatics, Beaumont?” he asks not so politely, reaching for his cigarettes.

“What’s with the dramatics, Beaumont?” Archer mocks him like a child, stomping over to Saint’s bed so he can face Crayton.

“I overheard my grandfather talking on the phone to someone. Not sure who it was.”

I stand and make my way to Crayton’s side. “Okay. So?”

“It was bits and pieces but I got the jist.” He runs a hand down his face, then shakes his head in disbelief. “Fucking fuck!”

“Spit the shit out, Beaumont,” Saint demands over at his desk through a mouthful of pizza. Which I no longer have an appetite for. “You’re fucking up my high, man.”

“Your high is the least of our problems, man,” Archer shoots back, more ballsy than usual.

Like me, Crayton notices, and it puts him on guard immediately.

Saint licks his fingers. “Well fuck you then.”

Balancing a cigarette between his teeth, Crayton says, “Who the fuck died?”

It was a sarcastic comment.

But even sarcastic comments have a little truth to them.

This one isn’t any less accurate.

“Funny that you ask, Shaw, because it’s Felix Fucking Crimson.”

Air freezes in my lungs, and my hands fist the sheets, trying to stop my heart from racing. “Dead?” I whisper, mostly to myself.

“Not only dead, Bex. The piece of crap was fucking murdered.”

44

CRAYTON

The halls have been buzzing with the news of Felix’s death. Whispers about suspects, motives, girls crying like they actually give a shit.

When it comes down to it, Felix was tolerated at most when he was alive, so his death is a fucking favor for all of us.

And as far as I’m concerned, the motherfucker’s been dead for months. I’m just pissed it wasn’t actually me who offed him.

My only hope is that whoever killed him took their time.

Made the piece of shit suffer.

“Alright, alright!” Beckett shushes the class. “What happened to your fellow classmate is extremely unfortunate, but the best thing for us to do right now is to stay calm, keep Felix’s family in our prayers, and let the authorities handle it.” He claps his hand once. “The end of the year will be here before you know it, so let’s keep trudging on. If anyone needs emotional support, please see your guidance counselor at the end of the day.”

With that, Beckett proceeds with starting his lecture, not that anyone is actually listening.

“Word is he was found in bed by his parents when they came home from vacation.” Archer says when he turns to face the three of us. “Apparently his body has been laying there for weeks.”

Hendrix gags. “Imagine how bad that shit smelled.”

Rebecca is notably quiet, switching between writing shit down and tapping her pen against the desk.

I squeeze her leg and she jumps. “You good, Little Ghost? Why so skittish?”

She looks down at her notebook. “This whole thing just got me feeling a certain way, that’s all.”

I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms. “The asshole is dead. Gone. It should be making you feel fantastic.”

She hasn’t looked up yet, but I can see the frown forming at her lips. “It does, but I still feel him around. Like his spirit is still haunting me.”

Knowing exactly how that feels, I drop my arms and ease up on the snarky remarks.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing, Crayton. Honestly.” She lifts a shoulder. “Felix’s death just opened up healing wounds. It’ll take time but I’ll be okay.”

“I bet the piece of shit ended up raping the wrong girl.” Saint joins in. “Then some family member handled it.”

I punch him in the arm so he’ll fuck off and read the room. He does, but not before bitching about me messing up his throwing arm.

“I’ve been snooping around my grandfather’s phone calls for any details,” Archer lowers his voice when Beckett turns around. “But I haven’t heard anything about Felix other than when he gave his condolences to his parents.”

Beckett clears his throat loud enough for me to know we’re pissing him off.

“Is this a private parade or can anyone join?” His attempt to scold us falls flat, along with the horrible metaphor.

Everyone but me and Saint settle in their seats and pretend to start working, but it’s not long before Beckett’s back to teaching and Archer’s back to gossiping.

“Some people are saying he was found with his dick out. Like he was jerking off.” He scans the front of the room then adds, “Carved and gutted like a fish too.”

About time someone got it right.

“I can still hear you…” Beckett hums, writing something down on his desk.

“I heard he was hanging from his closet,” Hendrix whispers. “I prefer the dick scenario, though. So much more satisfying.”

I keep an eye on Rebecca, noticing her agitation growing more and more prominent the longer these idiots go on with the idle talk.

“I don’t know…” Saint tilts his head. “Bound, naked, and gagged sounds pretty sweet too.”

“Or spread eagle.” Archer chuckles.

And just like that Rebecca’s pot boils over and she’s had enough. “Can you guys please shut the fuck up?” She hisses, staring ahead. “Felix isn’t worth the time in detention we will get if you idiots don’t can it with the conspiracy theories.”

The tone of her voice is enough to end the conversation, since Rebecca’s the only one who really benefits from Felix’s death.

Beckett closes the book he was reading with a thump. “Next will be a group assignment, so go ahead and pair up in fives.” He spins around to gather papers, and we take it upon ourselves to scoot our desks together, Saint and me fully intending on riding nerd coat tails.

The wind gets knocked out of our sails by Beckett, though, who’s still busy collecting shit for the class. “Ha. Not today Satan.” He turns with a finger pointed at the five of us. “The wash women gang is splitting up.”

* * *

By the time we reach lunch the commotion dies down, proving my point even more that nobody really gives a shit about the dick that died, but about being the first to get the story straight.

It’s been mostly quiet at our table, the mood shifting after Rebecca’s little outburst in English class. I’ve got my arm around her as she picks at her food, ignoring the guilty eyes darting her way.

Riggs is the only one attempting to lighten the mood, since Archer is busy practicing some play with his drama geeks.

“I did a thing, guys.” His lips curve into a devious smirk. “Who wants to know what it is?”

Silence.

Except from Levi who shoves his arm.

“You should not be this proud of that shit.”

Hendrix rests her elbows on the table. “Okay, color me intrigued.”

“Do not entertain his ass, trust me.” Levi rolls his eyes. “He’s a nasty motherfucker.”

“Not making me want to know any less, Leviathan.”

Levi grumbles. “Remind me to never be honest with you ever again.”

Riggs chugs the last of his Sprite, finishing it off with an obnoxious burp. “Your parents must really hate you, man.”

Rebecca perks up a bit. “Seriously. Why would they name you after a biblical sea monster?”

I huff out a breath. “It’s obvious. They fucking hate him.”

Levi shrugs. “Probably right.”

“Can we get back to the point?” Hendrix groans, turning to face Riggs. “What the hell did you do?”

“You’re not gonna like it,” he warns, and I already know who’s name is about to fly out of his mouth.

Hendrix’s face contorts. “Me? Why?”

Saint’s subtle smirk makes it even more obvious, to me at least.

“You’ll be sorry you asked, trust me,” Levi mutters as he spreads his legs, tousling his hair.

Riggs shimmies in his seat, dancing his fingers together like a villain from those stupid anime shows he busts a nut to. “I was about to shower last night, cuz it was time to groom the ballsack. You know, shit was getting swirly.”

I can feel Rebecca lurching against my chest. “What the actual fuck, Riggs? We need to know this, why?”

“Keep listening, orange top, and you’ll know exactly why.”

“You’re seriously fucking gross.” Hendrix adjusts herself in the seat, no longer interested in the asshole’s story.

“But you haven’t even heard the best part.”

She gestures for him to continue, picking up her water bottle for a sip.

“I found that motherfucker Stevenson’s toothbrush on one of the sinks.” Hendrix’s entire body locks up with the mention of her current sweetheart’s name.

Oh, this is going to be bad. So fucking bad because I know how vicious Saint can be when he uses Riggs as a pawn.

“Did you know that tool has his name engraved on the handle?” Riggs cackles. “What a loser.”

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Hendrix slams the table with her palm.

Riggs waves her off. “Nothing too bad, Hen, don’t worry.” His lips press together. “I just used it as a brush for my pubes.”

Hendrix spits out her water onto the table. “You did fucking what?!”

“I needed something to smooth that shit so I could cut it. His toothbrush was available, so I used it.”

I press my fingers to my eyes as Hendrix shoots out of her seat…heading straight for Saint because she’s not stupid. It has his name written all over it even if Riggs handled execution.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Lavell.” She slaps him repeatedly on the arm.

“Don’t worry, Hen,” Saint reassures her, dodging more slaps with two hands covering his head. “Riggs made sure he got it back.”

Hendrix lets out a screech as she continues to rain down Hell on his body.

The rest of us laugh, minus Rebecca who’s scolding me with her eyes.

“Do you ever want to get laid again?”

I give her an eye roll before going back to focusing on the scene at hand, noticing Alexis and her tribe of bitches watching it too. Most of them are snickering, but not their leader, no. She’s got a questionable expression on her face.

One I don’t fucking like.

She’s not amused, but still waiting to see if something happens. The problem is the look of interest on her face doesn’t seem to have anything to do with Saint or Hendrix, because her gaze fixes on me.

Hendrix pumps the brakes on her assault, and the silence has me focusing back on her. Her eyes widen with realization, and her face pales with disgust.

It takes a minute before she moves again, but this time she’s gagging and racing back to her spot, guzzling the rest of her water like her life depends on it.

Looks like she was playing tonsil hockey with the asshole this morning.

A ceasefire commences shortly after I order Saint to cut the shit, and Hendrix stays salty as she goes back to eating her Ramen.

That is until she dangles the curly noodles in front of her with chopsticks, a grimace plastered to her face as she eyes Saint and Riggs, who are pretending not to notice.

“Just throw that shit out.” I look the noodles up and down. “Even I’m disgusted by the comparison.”

Hendrix gets up again and stomps over to the garbage, throwing the entire tray away.

Rebecca is perched on my lap, playing with the lapels of my blazer. “Wanna head back to my room after school?” She whispers with a suggestive grin, a stark contrast to the threat she spat earlier.

I bite the corner of my lip, eyes dropping to the cleavage hidden behind her white shirt. “I can move some bodies around.”

Rebecca snickers, drawing circles against my chest with her finger. “I hope one of ’em is mine.”

I ring orange strands of hair through my finger. “Oh, I have plans for your body, Rebecca. And every single one of them involves defiling it.”

“What the fuck is this about?” Hendrix mutters our way, her attention on the door.

I look behind Rebecca to find Alexis’ guards whispering between each other, one on the phone as he maps out the room.

A sense of impending disaster strikes like an iron fist. It gets even worse when they help Alexis to her feet and guide her toward the back of the room, doing their best not to draw attention.

It doesn’t work because almost everybody is watching quietly as they pass, confused looks on the faces of kids whose suspicions are similar to mine. Then, when the three of them disappear into the kitchen, students go back to minding their business, and loud chatter erupts once again.

I can’t shake the eerie feeling, though, knowing there’s only one reason for a mob princess to be escorted out of a room like it’s swarming with paparazzi.

Dragging in a long breath, I feel Saint piercing the side of my head like a knife, his spidey senses telling me what I already know.

We’ve got incoming.

And since Alexis is who she is, it leaves little to the imagination. Her return, Felix’s death. Both very fucking convenient.

“That was weirdly ominous,” Rebecca states, going back to tracing shapes along my oxford.

Ringing from the phone in her gigantic Barnie bag has her halting the scribbling. She reaches for it on the chair next to us, but the phone seems to be hidden somewhere between the thousands of books she carries.

Rebecca fishes through the contents, removing books one by one while mumbling to herself where the hell it can be.

The ringing stops, but her attempts do not.

My phone goes off next, so I reach into my pocket to confirm who it is. My dad.

Things like this can be a coincidence to anyone else, but nothing in my life ever is. Which is why I don’t bother picking up the call—because if something bad is about to happen in this room I need to figure out a way to get Rebecca out of it.

I’m stuffing the phone back in my pocket at the same time Rebecca’s starts up again, but she’s still busy searching for the damn thing, so she misses another call.

Then it’s my phone’s turn for an encore.

I look to find once again it’s my father.

“Can one of you imbeciles please answer your goddamn phone,” Hendrix bites out, typing something into hers.

I end the call, my stare ricocheting between Saint, Riggs, and Levi, telling them what needs to be done without speaking a single word.

Saint is at his feet, typing something into his phone before making way for Hendrix, and the other two head straight toward the doors for recon.

“Found it!” Rebecca announces with her face buried in the bag, oblivious to the fact almost half our table is no longer sitting. “It was Archer,” she chirps, holding the phone out like a prize, but frowns when she realizes nobody is paying attention.

Saint squeezes a hand around Hendrix’s arm, forcing her to her feet with a harsh tug.

Hendrix curses him out in response.

“What the hell are you doing? Let her go!” Rebecca stands, ready to come to her friend’s defense, but I snatch her waist, spinning her around to look at me as Saint drags Hendrix away kicking and screaming.

“Rebecca…” I stand slowly, and the nerves in my tone must be obvious because her anger dissipates.

“What? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

I shake my head.

“No, Little Ghost, but something’s about to.”

I place a long kiss on her forehead, savoring the lavender scent of her neon hair.

“Crayton, you’re scaring me.” She blinks up at me with watery eyes.

“It’ll be alright as long as you do exactly what I say.”

“If it involves leaving you here, then nope.”

I look around at the masses, noting a few students rushing through the doors of the dining hall, whispering in the ears of their friends, so I know it won’t be long now.

“Levi will return in a few seconds. I need you to go with him when he does.”

I need Rebecca to get the fuck out of here so they don’t take her away too—because I know the crazy bitch inside her will end up doing something stupid.

Like punching someone in the face.

“No freaking way.” She shakes her head frantically.

Levi appears from the kitchen, running as fast as he can toward us.

“Rebecca, you’re going. Don’t make me do this shit against your will.”

I made it a point since Felix to never force her into anything. To give her the power over her body she deserves no matter what.

Rebecca’s backing me against a wall, though.

I have no choice.

So when Levi reaches us, I give him the green light with a nod of my head.

He secures his arms around her waist and Rebecca clings on to me for dear life as he tries to pull her away. When I manage to pry her hands off me, Rebecca resorts to swinging her fists, kicking a bunch of tables in the process.

The kids closest to us rush out of their seats, steering clear of the crazy chick and the food she’s spilling onto the floor.

The rest look on with rounded lips and snickers.

But nobody intervenes, not even the staff.

I keep an apologetic eye on Rebecca as Levi drags her halfway across the room, my darkened soul reaching out for her as desperately as she is.

Doing the right thing hurts, which is probably why I never chose to until her.

Rebecca manages to break out of Levi’s hold, sprinting toward me with all her might, but the hurricane taking place in my mind has her appear as if moving painfully slow.

Levi tries to reach her, but there’s no use. It’s too late.

I never knew invisible pain to be this excruciating, but watching Rebecca cry out for me with tears spilling down her cheeks damn near kills me.

I can feel the moment they’re about to burst through the doors, so I drop to my knees with my hands behind my head, and the look of horror on Rebecca’s face says she’s finally absorbed what’s about to happen.

She’s throwing her arms around me just as the doors swing open, a bunch of cops marching inside announcing their presence.

They’re closing in on us as Levi attempts to rip her off me a second time.

“Crayton Shaw,” one of them barks, and I close my eyes when she grabs me tighter.

“You need to let go,” I whisper in her ear, and Rebecca cries into my neck.

“I can’t.”

I’m shoved roughly from behind, knocking Rebecca onto the floor in the process.

Levi helps her up, dragging her away once more, but after a swift kick to his nuts she’s darting toward me again.

I fight to break free and get to her, which results in a power struggle, until Rebecca is back at my side and guns are drawn. I comply only because she throws herself in front of me like a human shield.

“Don’t hurt him! Please!” She bursts out in hysterics as the cuffs behind me click into place. Then one of the cops decides to manhandle her.

I’m not having it, though, neither is Levi.

I thrash in the officer’s arms as he lunges for the one holding Rebecca, and almost make it before getting tackled by another cop.

“Crayton Shaw, you’re being brought in for questioning regarding the murder of Felix Crimson,” the asshole behind me states, then reads me my rights.

My jaw stays tight, knowing anything I say can fuck me right up the ass.

Rebecca on the other hand, she’s spewing obscenities at each and every one of them.

Along with shouting my innocence.

Innocent of this crime, yes. But that doesn’t matter when you have a series of violent notches under your belt. Most of which the police don’t even know about.

“Crayton…” Rebecca whimpers my name as her heightened emotions die down. She’s no longer being held back, but held up by the officer.

There’s an ache in that broken organ inside my chest, signaling the first real sign of life in a very long time. It results in years of unshed tears to threaten my eyes.

I’m going to lose the perfect girl I only just won.

Rebecca collapses, dead weight in the cops arms, searing me open from the inside out.

I glance over at her sad, dispirited eyes, but can barely even face them.

“I’m sorry, Little Ghost,” I tell her through a defeated exhale. “But I told you no picket fences.”

* * *

“You gotta work with us, Crayton.” Good cop leans back in his chair with crossed arms. “Give a little, get a little. We can get you a sweet deal with the D.A., maybe even lower your sentence.

What he’s saying is bullshit because first degree murder charges have no wiggle room.

You’re fucked or you’re not.

“Again, I want my fucking lawyer.”

“We can’t help you once he gets here,” he chimes back.

I bellow out a derisive ‘ha’. “You assholes won’t help me regardless—you’ve seen my rap sheet, so cut the bullshit.”

“Exactly, and all evidence points to you.” Bad cop hisses, pointing a finger at me. “Enough with the kid gloves. Everyone on campus knows you had an axe to grind with Crimson. Your school ID was recovered on the scene drenched in blood, for fuck’s sake. Not to mention the photos of your assault on the deceased and the untimely death letter he had written with your name all over it, which just so happened to mention the other friendly assault where you broke his jaw and back.” He slams a palm against the table. “So you can sit around all stoic waiting for Daddy to come to your rescue, but even he knows you’re up shit’s creek.”

An actual laugh skids past my lips. “A letter? Mysterious photos? An ID I haven’t seen since freshman year? And a random attack with no proof or charges placed? How fucking convenient.”

He continues to try and gauge the implication.

“You forget forensics has your knife under the scope right now. And from what I understand the size of the stab wounds are pretty close to the size of the blade.”

I whistle, looking around the room as the rant continues. “How long before we bring in your friends? Teachers?” He pauses with a smirk. “Maybe even that pretty girlfriend of yours?”

Shooting out of the chair, I send it skidding behind me. “Rebecca’s got nothing to do with this.” The cuffs are secured to the table, but I yank them anyway, and like a dragon breathing fire, I shout, “Nothing!”

Bad cop presses his hands on the table, leaning closer to whisper, “Now there’s the temper I heard so much about.”

I’m tugging on the cuffs again when the door swings open with a whoosh, Archer’s brother Micah strolling confidently inside.

Huh. Good guy actually came through for the bad guy.

I’d be fitting myself for an orange jumpsuit right now if Micah wasn’t the most successful defense attorney in New York City.

“I know you guys aren’t stupid enough to question my client without me being present.” He pulls the chair I slid back closer, and drops into the one next to me, game face on.

I’m impressed by his wits, so much I’d clap the fucker on the back if I could.

“We were just having a little friendly conversation.” Bad cop leans back, shrugging a hefty shoulder.

Slamming his briefcase on the table, Micah drags out a breath. “I need a moment with my client.”

Both cops push off the table to stand.

“We’ll be right outside,” the less dickish one says before they disappear behind the door.

Micah waits for the sound of the door closing to speak.

“Did you say anything to them?”

“Fuck no.”

“Did they offer you anything to drink or eat?” He writes something on his paper.

“Yeah, Wendy’s.”

He freezes mid script. “You ate it?”

I roll my eyes. “Do I look like an idiot?”

Micah turns to face me, his expression hard. “You gotta be open and honest with me, Shaw.” He lifts his chin up to loosen his tie. “Is there anything I need to know?”

“Want me to tell you if I did it?”

“Fuck no,” he responds immediately.

My ass is going numb so I try getting comfortable in the seat. “So what do you wanna know?”

“If there’s any skeletons in that closet of yours waiting to jump out.” He swipes a couple newspapers off a bench next to him, gesturing for me to lift my ass. So, I do, and he places them underneath it as a makeshift cushion.

“I don’t want any fucking surprises. So if there’s something I need to know about this Felix guy, about your history with him, even your girlfriend’s, tell me right now.”

I give him a quizzical look.

“Are you not aware of who my brother is?”

With a point proven I tilt my head, then go back to the conversation. “What did Archer tell you?”

“Assume nothing.”

Annoyed by the swift responses, I grind my molars.

“He had a thing for her.”

“Andddd…” Micah circles his hand.

“What the hell else do you want me to say? He had a thing for her and I shut that shit down.”

No way I’m telling anyone what he did to Rebecca, not even if my silence lands me in prison.

If the police know, she becomes a statistic, then Felix wins. Which becomes a problem for me because there’s no way to fucking kill him when he’s already dead.

“And how did you do that?” Micah questions sarcastically, which pisses me off even more, and has my gaze slicing to him like a knife.

“The only fucking way I know how.”

It’s his turn to shift uncomfortably in his seat. “Keep talking.”

I clamp my mouth shut.

Micah pinches the base of his nose. “Jesus Christ, you really are impossible.”

Gathering his wits again, he rests a hand on my shoulder, and when I shrug it off his back straightens up.

“Your silence is telling me there’s more to this story.” He leans closer, easing up on the snarky tone of his voice. “Listen. If I’m gonna get you out of this mess, Crayton, I need you to help me.”

“I asked him politely to stay away from her. Better?”

He blows out an exhausted breath.

“There’s photos taken by his private doctor that suggest otherwise. Not to mention the broken back and jaw.” Micah takes a quick look over his shoulder then adds, “The kid accused you of physically assaulting him both times in that letter. Slashed him too with your knife.” He lowers to whisper. “You know, the one the entire school knows you wear like a badge of honor?”

Guess Fucker Felix left out the fact my cock was shoved down his throat like a dirty hooker.

“Anything else?” I raise an eyebrow in jest, but what I’m really looking for is confirmation that he chose his ego over common sense.

“Anything else?” Micah scoffs. “That’s enough to flirt with the lines of probable cause. Attempted murder if he was fucking alive.” He runs a hand down his jaw, struggling with what he has to say next.

Micah looks at me like he’s throwing caution to the wind, hoping it doesn’t boomerang to smack him in his pretty boy face.

“Are they gonna find anything on that knife, Shaw?”

I’m about to tell him only one of Rebecca’s many orgasms, but the door flying open steals my chance to make him squirm.

“Time’s up,” bad cop chirps, both of them rounding the table to sit.

Micah’s take-no-shit attitude returns before the two dipshits get the chance to pull up their chairs.

“Let’s cut to the chase, boys, shall we?” He shoots his gaze between them. “You got nothing concrete to justify this pissing contest.”

“His ID was on the scene,” Good cop argues.

“Circumstantial at best, Jimmy, and you know it.”

“The letter.”

“My wife could’ve fucking wrote it. C’mon.”

“Your client assaulted him twice.”

“Show me the proof, charges, anything other than a letter that could’ve been easily planted.”

His comment sparks something inside my head, leaving me wondering why the hell Felix never did move forward with pressing charges on me. Just another conspicuous piece to this game of teenage Clue.

Micah ruffles through some papers. “The fact is if you had anything concrete on my client, he’d already be charged. So if you want, we can go toe to toe with technicalities, spend hours running in circles, but we all know in the end you two will be taking off with your fancy detective shields swinging between your legs.”

Holy fuck, Micah really is as sharp as Archer said.

Wish I could’ve had him stroking my ego the last seven times I got arrested.

“So whaddya say, boys?” He leans back. “We dancin’ or what?”

45

BEX

Gathering some things from my drawer:

Medicine, toothbrush, a couple pairs of clothes, I stuff them haphazardly inside my bag, needing to get to Crayton’s house like yesterday.

He was released twenty-four hours after his interrogation, which happened to be after midnight last night, so I fully intend to spend the night in his arms as we go over next steps.

“Where do you think you’re going?” My mother clips from my bedroom door.

“You know where I’m going.” Clutching my jean jacket off the bed, I throw it over my shoulder and march toward her with determination in my strides.

“I will not allow you to see that boy; he’s a criminal!” she shouts, blocking the door with her tall frame.

We dance back and forth a few times before I let out an angry breath. “Get out of my way.”

“Excuse me?” My mother clutches her chest. “You’re not going to speak to me that way.”

“And you’re not going to stop me from seeing Crayton.”

“Oh, I will.” She pops a hand on her hip. “In fact, I’ll be taking you out of that treacherous school completely.”

The fuck she will…my mother was the one who forced me into going to Riverside, now she’s going to try and force me out?

Not happening—not while Crayton is still in the picture.

I push past her. “I’m leaving.”

I’m halfway down the hall when my mother speaks again.

“You’re not thinking clearly, Rebecca.” She says through a frantic breath. “And acting on impulse. Are you taking your medication?”

My cheeks heat as I about-face and stomp back to her with balled up fists.

“You’re one to talk about impulsive choices!” I shriek. “I’ve been trying to get ahead of yours ever since Dad died!”

Genuine sadness washes over Mom’s face, and I know it was a low blow. But it’s also the truth.

She can’t rely on me to take my dad’s place as her voice of reason for years…then expect me to stay silent when she accuses me of being the impulsive one.

I don’t have the time to nurture her feelings when the man I love may be going to prison. For a very long time.

I’m genuinely scared and my mother hasn’t shown an ounce of compassion.

“You don’t mean what you’re saying, you’re angry right now.”

“Maybe I am!” I cry out, then try to rein it in with steady breathing. “But not just right now. I’ve been angry for a while, and you’ve been too busy trying to get over Dad’s death to even realize I’m dying inside too!”

Mom blinks slowly, allowing tears to pool in her eyes.

I try my best not to cry, too, as I give her my back.

“Don’t wait up for me,” I say faintly, swallowing down the burn in my throat.

“Baby…” my mother calls out, with so much sadness coating her voice it has my eyes squeezing shut.

“Not now,” I croak.

Maybe not ever.

“Bex…” She tries again, my eyes fluttering open when she rests a delicate hand against my arm.

When I roll my shoulder she pulls back.

Hiking my bag over said shoulder, I swipe the back of my hand across my wet cheek before moving again.

I make it three steps before I stop in my tracks.

“See you tomorrow, Mom.” I say through a wisp of guilt, which only grows worse when I look down to find Potato at my side.

* * *

When I arrived at Crayton’s house he was sound asleep, recovering from the night he spent in lock up. After tidying up his room a bit, I moved on to his drawers, folding and color coordinating every article of clothing to the best of my abilities. Which wasn’t really that hard since everything he owns is black.

Crayton stirs awake with the sound of the nightstand drawer slamming shut. “Rebecca?” he grumbles, half asleep. “The fuck are you doing?”

My face scrunches together. “Sorry, that drawer was a bit stuck.”

“I mean with my underwear in your hands.”

“Oops,” I giggle, stuffing his briefs back in the stupid stubborn drawer. With a string tight grin from ear to ear, I look down at him.

He eyes the drawer, then me, then the drawer again.

“You alright?” Crayton asks, lines forming on his forehead.

My cheeks start to ache as I respond, “Peachy, why?”

“Besides the fact you look like that creepy chick from the movie Smile?”

My face falls. “Well, that was rude.”

Crayton chuckles, tossing the blanket off him and throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

We have a brief stare down before he says, “Go ahead, get it out of your system.” Raising a hand toward the nightstand, he follows up with, “You know you won’t stop obsessing until you do.”

With a squeal of relief, I yank the drawer open, quickly folding the wrinkled underwear before returning it carefully to its home.

Crayton pulls me by the wrist to stand between his legs, scanning the area around us with curiosity lowering his eyelids.

“Did you clean my entire room?”

“If I say yes, will you judge me?”

“Probably.”

I boop his nose. “Then yes.”

Crayton has me crying out in a fit of laughter as he flips me onto the bed, caging me beneath him with both elbows pressed against the bed.

He feathers the strands of my hair. “I missed you, Little Ghost.”

“It’s only been a day since you’ve seen me.”

“A day too long.”

I shimmy, making myself comfortable underneath his body. “I guess I missed you too.”

He tickles me, and we keep things light like this for a while until the dark cloud of reality looms over us.

Which happens to be as Crayton is over me again attempting to remove my shirt.

“We should talk,” I tell him, pushing the tank top down.

“No more talking.” He grunts. “I’ve been trying and failing to avoid it for over twelve hours.”

“But…”

“No ‘but’ Rebecca,” he rolls off me. “I don’t want to think about what’s about to happen to me.”

“You don’t know anything will happen.” I try to reason.

He covers his face with his hands. “You seriously don’t get it.”

“Get what, Crayton?”

He shoots up to a sitting position, twisting to face me. “That life isn’t all rainbows and palm trees like you think it is. It’s fucked up, and cruel, and sometimes kids get raped by their mothers because of it.” He launches a pillow across the room. “Or serves sweet justice by having murderers go to prison for the murders they didn’t commit.”

“You think I don’t know how cruel life is?” I shout, rising to my knees and stabbing a thumb into my chest. “I lost the only man in the world who will ever love me.”

The twitch in Crayton’s eye tells me he got the reference.

“Instead of dancing with my father at my sweet sixteen, I was picking up my mother off the ground as we buried him. Then proceeded to lose some of my best years taking care of her as she spiraled.” My voice raises several octaves as I add, “And now I may be losing the only man I’ll ever love besides my dad. All because of some piece of shit who raped me.” Plopping back on the mattress, I fold my arms with a huff. “So don’t talk to me about life’s cruelty…because I’m still getting knocked down by it every day.”

“I’m sorry, Little Ghost.” He crawls to my side, scooping me up in his arms. “I know this shit is hard on you too.”

“I am not the enemy, Crayton.” I curl deeper into him. “The world is...”

He looks down at me, content as he says, “Then it’s me and you against it.”

* * *

Crayton’s been pacing back and forth for over thirty minutes with his cell phone glued to his ear. Cillian was kicked out after fifteen of them, since all he kept doing was ordering Crayton to let him speak to Micah.

“What the fuck do you mean? That’s impossible.” Crayton kicks his dresser. “There’s no fucking way.”

“What’s going on?” I whisper, so Crayton puts the phone on speaker, where I hear Micah rambling mid sentence.

“My buddy in forensics said they found it in the crevice of your knife. Dried up but it was there.”

Crayton presses a palm to his forehead and spits out a “Fuck.”

“What did they find?” I ask them both, but only Crayton responds.

“Fucking blood, Rebecca. That’s what.”

“How? Your knife hasn’t been…used…since the dance.”

I’m aware of how bad it sounds saying that nonchalantly, but Crayton and Micah don’t seem phased by it one bit.

Okay, maybe Micah does.

“I didn’t hear that.” He whimsies. “Anyway, doesn’t matter, if the test comes back positive for Felix’s blood it’s enough for murder charges.”

Panic has my body launching off the bed. “What do you mean? We all know it was missing.”

“Yes…but what matters is what you prove…and Crayton only told you and Saint it was gone. His best friend and his girlfriend. You can guess how well that’ll go over in court.”

Any spark left in Crayton’s eyes dissipates with Micah’s words, leaving nothing but silent distance between him and the conversation, so I snatch the phone to take over.

“You can prove his innocence, though, can’t you?” I squeeze the phone in my hand. “Because Crayton is fucking innocent.”

I don’t like his hesitation to answer one bit.

“Given the evidence, and if this blood turns out to be Felix’s, it’ll be one hell of a fight.”

“So you can’t do it?” I’m the one pacing back and forth this time. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“No…I said it will be one hell of a fight. Especially with the two assault charges.”

Two assault charges?

I glare daggers at Crayton, who looks as though he wants to literally dagger Micah.

“Hold on.” I tell Archer’s brother, and put the speaker on mute.

“What the fuck, Crayton? Get talking.”

His nose and mouth both do their twitchy things. “I may or may not have tried to kill the asshole the night of the dance.”

“But you said the guys carried him out without being seen. That he only had a few bumps and bruises.”

Micah’s breathing turns impatient on the phone.

Crayton sucks air through his teeth. “Well…I may or may not have—”

“Crayton…” I growl deeper than him.

“Fine, fuck. I followed the motherfucker to the piers with a Louie and broke his back and jaw with it.”

Tears burst from my eyes. “You fucking promised! You promised you wouldn’t kill him.”

He’s just as pissed off as me, which pisses me off even more because he has no right. “I know! Fuck. I know I did. I just couldn’t let go of what he did to you.”

I could punch him right in that lying, manipulative kisser of his. “You couldn’t let go?! It was me who was raped.”

“It was me who didn’t fucking protect you from him.”

I shake my head, depleted of everything. “Yeah, well, I hope it was worth the chances of losing each other.”

“Uh, guys?” Micah’s voice appears like a nasty stench between us. “You still there?”

I turn the speaker back on. “One more second please.”

“Sure,” he grumbles, “it’s not like I have a guilty slash innocent eighteen year old I need to keep out of prison.”

I turn us back off.

“I’m really fucking sorry, okay?” Crayton’s shoulders deflate. “Like I said, I wasn’t used to thinking about other people or repercussions. All I saw was you a broken mess and him hurting you. Then being the root cause of it.”

Crayton slams a fist down on his bed, cursing himself as much as I’d like to. But, at the end of the day, he’s not the same man he was when Felix raped me.

And Felix fucking deserved everything he got. Maybe not in the eyes of the law, but in the eyes of morality.

Dragging my feet over to the bed, I drop to my knees and look up at him. “We’re gonna get through this, okay? I’ll make sure of it.”

Self-loathing rolls off him in angry waves. “I really fucked things up, didn’t I?”

What’s that saying? It’s not lying if you omit the truth?

“We’re gonna get through this.” I reassure Crayton again, hoping like hell I’m right. With a squeeze to his knee, I stand, not drawing attention to the doubt creeping on his face.

I press the mute button again. “Sorry about that, Micah. So, what were you saying?”

A heavy sigh hits me from the other end of the phone. “What I was saying is that it’ll be one hell of a fight to prove he was framed by Alexis. But not impossible. We just need a solid plan of attack.”

“I’ll take the stand.” I blurt out. “I’ll speak on Crayton’s behalf and tell them why he assaulted Felix and why I know he didn’t kill the piece of crap.”

He takes a second to reiterate.

“It’s not a bad idea, especially if I call you to testify before the D.A. does. We can set the pace.” He clears his throat. “But understand, Rebecca. You will have to talk in detail about what happened to you that night on your birthday.”

Speaking too soon has always been a nifty power of mine, right now is no different.

I feel those familiar bugs threatening the surface of my arms. I scratch them away, vigorously, not realizing I’ve dropped the phone until Crayton is picking it up.

He reaches for my scratching hand and presses it against his chest to ground me.

I’m breathing through the anxiety, hearing terms like “victim of sexual violence”, “rape”, and “forced penetration” spiral in my head—still so unfamiliar even though they pertain to me.

The idea of admitting all of this to a bunch of strangers has dread curdling in my stomach. Shit…I wasn’t even the one who told Micah…Crayton did with my consent.

Speaking the words out loud seems unbearable.

But losing Crayton would be even worse.

I pull away from his touch, soothing the burning sensation with gentle strokes of my hand.

“I don’t care.” I admit softly. “Not if it helps Crayton stay out of prison.”

“She’s not fucking testifying.” Crayton grits into the speaker. “I will not have her on that stand. Allowing her to relive that shit for me.”

“You’re not my father, Crayton. And I’m an adult.”

Furious blue eyes shoot at me. “You’re not fucking testifying, Rebecca. End of story.”

“You can tell yourself that all you want…but it’s not up to you, it’s up to Micah.”

The man in question can be heard mumbling something like “fucking awesome” on the other end of the phone. Then he states, “You taking the stand is a double-edged sword…on one hand we can get a positive testimony on Crayton. But, if the D.A. cross examines you, Rebecca, it may put us in a sticky situation when they ask what you know about his violent past.”

“So I’ll lie.”

I’ve been living every day with Crayton’s darkest secrets, so technically I’ve been doing it all along.

Another heavy sigh whooshes through the phone. “Jesus fuck you kids are going to get my license revoked.” In the next breath Micah adds, “If it comes down to a trial, I’d just have to take my time to really coach you.”

“No need…because I’ll be refusing her fucking testimony.”

Another exasperated noise from Micah.

“That’s not how this works, Crayton.”

“Fine. Then I’ll hijack a plane and leave the country.”

I’d imagine Micah is facepalming himself right now.

“You guys really need to stop saying shit like this.”

“I will not have Rebecca on that stand,” Crayton repeats for the umpteenth time—officially adding to my aggravation with him and activating my petty side.

I try for the phone but Crayton holds it over his head so I can’t reach…then I decide the best course of action is to kick him in the shin.

“If you need me to, I’ll do it!” I yell, even though Micah can hear me perfectly.

“Rebecca…” Crayton says my name through clenched teeth.

“We may not have a choice, Shaw,” Micah responds solemnly. “Not if you want to win.”

Crayton kicks the legs out from under a chair. “Then I’ll plead guilty to the charges.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” I wail on him, appalled by the suggestion.

There’s a quick struggle. Mostly Crayton pinning me down on the bed so my face is squished into the mattress.

All while still holding the phone.

“Stop your shit, Rebecca.”

“You first,” I respond, voice muffled.

Micah has upgraded his defeated breaths to riled groans.

”You two need to work your shit out…” The rustling of papers can be heard over the speaker before he says, “’Cause it’ll be about eight hours before the DNA results hit the detective’s desk.”

* * *

“What the hell are you doing?” Crayton mutters as I continue to sweep my pen across a pad.

“Weighing the pros and cons of me testifying if I have to.” I draw a smiley face above the list of pros. “Ask me how many cons I got.”

“What’s the point? You’re gonna tell me anyway.”

I spin around on his desk chair. “None. Nada, niente. Not one reason other than my discomfort with telling my truth.”

Crayton lights a cigarette. “That one is enough for me.”

“Please stop,” I beg Crayton, dragging my feet over to him. “I can’t fight you and fight the universe. It’s exhausting.

“You know what else is exhausting?” He blows tiny smoke circles above his head. “Listening to you ramble on trying to convince me of something when I’ve already made up my mind.”

My lips form a straight line. “A lot of ‘me’s’ in those sentences.”

He looks out the window and chuckles. “I could put me in other places if you want.”

I pull at the roots of my hair and screech. “Stop evading the conversation!”

“Rebecca…there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’ll be getting arrested within the next twenty-four hours. Even more of a chance of me going to prison.” Crayton drops his cigarette into a cup on the window sill. “Why are we wasting precious time arguing when I can be balls deep inside you?”

“Do you ever stop thinking about sex?”

“Not when I may be going through the rest of my life without having it.”

I shoot out of the chair, stomping over to where Crayton’s standing by the window and slap him in the arm. “Stop fooling around, this is serious.”

Defeat washes over him.

“It’s also been a long time coming, Little Ghost, and you know it.”

I shake my head eagerly. “I refuse to accept that.”

“Well, you really need to start figuring out how…’cause we both know that knife will have Fucker Felix’s blood on it somehow.”

“So, you’re just giving up on yourself? On us?”

Crayton sags his shoulders. “Of course not. But this is one hell of a gamble, and the chips aren’t stacked in my favor.”

“Micah said there’s a chance if this goes to trial. He said he can prove Alexis and her dad framed you for the murder.” I spread my arms wide. “Uhm, hello? The bitch disappeared back to Russia. Which happens to be a country with no means for extradition. It’s sus as fuck, and I don’t even have a fancy law degree.”

“How the fuck do you know about extradition?”

I throw my head back. “Because I actually listen, dummy. Micah’s got a plan in place.”

“One that I don’t like.”

I lift my chin. “It’s also one that can help you win.”

Something about what I said has Crayton withdrawing into himself. Looking as though a war is taking place in his mind.

“Hey,” I call out gently, resting a hand against his hardened cheek. “Where’d you go?”

Crayton’s eyes seem tired and dull, devoid of the fire always dancing in them. “Too many different places. None of ’em good.”

“It’ll be okay, Crayton, I promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that, Rebecca.” He turns his face away from my touch. “It’s like promising someone you’ll never die.”

“One of us needs to have hope, Crayton, because without it all is fucking lost.”

“This is what I mean.” His shoulders go rigid. “All that light of yours…it shouldn’t be wasted on me.”

Suddenly, I’m catapulted back to when I was a child. When Dad said such similar words to me in church that day.

He told me not to give away my light for just anyone, and I’m not. Because Crayton isn’t just anyone.

He’s everything.

My tormentor. My hero. My chaos. My peace.

And if there is any light in me left, it’s because he channels it into me. The same with my darkness.

“My light isn’t wasted, Crayton. It’s borrowed.”

Crayton takes his time to digest what I said before pulling me in for a strangled hug. “I’m sorry I got you caught up in this mess.”

“I’m not caught up, I have a choice.” I pause, adding, “But you have to let me make it.”

46

CRAYTON

“I’d do anything for you, Rebecca. But not that.”

I can’t agree to let her strip herself bare in front of the world to keep me out of a place we both know I belong. In fact, I can’t agree to let her wait around for me either.

There’s no fairness in stringing an innocent girl along for years as you ride out a prison sentence.

And I know Rebecca, she won’t hesitate to do it for me.

“I need you to make me a promise.” I frame her face to look up at me. “A real one this time.”

“What is it?” She blinks.

“I need you to promise you’ll forget about me if I end up doing time. Move on. Live your life the way you intended from the beginning.”

She yanks herself from my embrace, only to stab a finger into my chest. “You don’t get to say that…not when you’ve flipped that entire life upside down.”

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“Well, I’m not.” She shoots back. “I don’t regret a single second…and I’m sure as hell not going to leave you when things get hard. I want this, us, for way longer than any jail sentence.”

Hearing this from her lips stirs something inside me, like slain emotions rising from the dead, taking hold of me and pulling me down.

It feels like falling standing still.

Yet here I am, still trying to convince her to go.

“You’re not thinking clearly. Not realizing the gravity of what you’re saying.” I press on her shoulders, shaking them slightly. “You’re a smart as fuck eighteen year old girl with endless possibilities. Doors will be flying open for you, Rebecca.” I let her go and take a step back. “They won’t be opening for me.”

And her waiting around for a convict to maybe or maybe not get out of prison will take all of that away.

Rebecca deserves so much fucking better than that.

The glitz, the glamor, the graduations, the surprise of getting engaged. Having a big fancy wedding and a bunch of kids.

Not being stuck behind partitions for date night, where the closest we’ll come to touching is our hands pressed against some plexiglass.

Freedom doesn’t mean anything to me.

But it does to Rebecca.

Because she’s meant for so many bigger things.

She doesn’t realize it yet, but one day she will. She’ll be grateful she didn’t settle for the broken boy she tried to fix in high school.

“I am thinking clearly. If you go down, I want to be the one breaking your fall. It’s who I am. Who I’ve always been.” She looks down at her feet, visibly uncomfortable. “I know you don’t love me, Crayton, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take in case one day you do.”

A punch to the fucking throat. That’s what those words feel like…and they make the saliva I’m swallowing burn like acid.

“Fuck, Rebecca. You can’t say shit like that when I’m about to lose you.”

“So don’t lose me. Fight for me.”

It’s my turn to stare down at the ground. “I’ll always fight for you, Little Ghost, you know that.”

“So prove it.” She says, turning desperate. “Or else I’m marching up to that stand and telling the world what really happened that night in the Pit. Telling them what Felix did to me and how everything you did to him was through a fit of rage.” Her eyes bounce back and forth, turning frantic. “Then I’ll tell them how it couldn’t have been you who killed him with your knife because it was fucking me.”

Regardless of the chances of that actually working being slim to fucking none, the fact she’s even suggesting it is enough to send me into a tailspin.

“You will not relive the terrible shit he did to you in a room full of strangers. Not for a selfish motherfucker like me.”

Rebecca intertwines her arms over her chest. “Says the selfless motherfucker willing to go to jail for the rest of his life so his girlfriend doesn’t have to feel the pain of rehashing her trauma.”

I pick up a calculator on my desk and launch it across the room. “Romanticizing the shit I say isn’t going to help your cause!”

“But telling the world the truth may!” She picks up a notebook, throwing it in the same direction. “So stop handling me with kid gloves and let me try to help you.”

“It’s not a fucking option, Rebecca.”

“So, what, I’m not good enough to speak on your behalf, or good enough to spend the rest of your life with?”

There’s a storm brewing in my chest, but it’s not from anger. It’s filled with pain rising fast, appearing as water brimming my eyes.

“Don’t you get it?! It’s me who’s not good enough!”

“And I’m telling you that you are!”

“I still can’t believe it, Rebecca! Not when I’ve spent a lifetime telling myself I’m not.”

Tears fall steady from her eyes, and a part of me wishes mine would do the same. So I can finally feel normal, finally feel human.

“Then stay with me, Crayton,” Rebecca sniffles, “and I promise to prove to you every single day how much you are.”

I squeeze both hands through her hair and kiss her lips…slow and meaningful.

“I’m sorry but I can’t.”

“Why?” she cries into my wrist.

“Because this Devil doesn’t know how to love.”

Rebecca brings my tattered arm to her lips. “He doesn’t have to,” she says, kissing the length of each scar. “Because I’ll love him enough for the both of us.”

47

BEX

Crayton was taken into custody a few hours after that conversation. The police showed up with dangling cuffs just waiting to lock around his wrists.

This arrest played out pretty similar to the first: me strapped to him, screaming and crying while Cillian held me back with tears in his eyes too.

Crayton didn’t bother trying to fight the cops this time around, knowing it would be futile…and because Micah was there drilling it in his head to comply.

Crayton was locked up for two days before getting released on bail. A hefty one. And those days felt like years as I waited for him to get out. The weeks leading up to this moment felt like decades.

Trial has already started, and, as expected, things aren’t going well for Crayton. The violent history, assaults on Felix, and the blood on his knife.

It also didn’t help that Felix’s mother was blowing her hysterics into a tissue the entire time.

Crayton did well overall, other than the occasional grunt when the D.A. gave bogus examples of Felix’s “All-American Boy” persona.

As good an attorney as Micah is, without any actual proof Alexis framed Crayton for this murder, all roads lead to his bloody knife, I.D., and that stupid letter.

Which thankfully had no mention of Crayton’s sexual assault on Felix.

It’s been a long and tiring road, with more downs than ups, but I’m not giving up just yet.

Because today is a good day—it’s my turn to talk—and I will be singing Crayton’s praises until that entire courtroom is down on their knees worshiping him too.

I will not allow the man I love to go to prison for a murder he didn’t commit. Not if I can help it with a little clarification on this “All-American Piece of Rapist Shit.”

I got my hair bunned tight, fancy pants on, and a smile bright enough to melt every single one of their rose colored lenses.

As I make my way up the steps to the court house, I find Cillian leaning against one of the extravagant pillars smoking a cigarette.

Which may very well be his first ever.

He’s coughing through the exhale when Mom and I reach him.

Mom gives him a nod before stepping through the doors, still not comfortable enough about this situation for small talk with Crayton’s dad.

She learned really quickly she had no choice but to accept the situation; the conversation we had prior to me leaving to see him serving her a huge dose of reality.

Mainly that she’s been pretty selfish for the past few years.

I felt bad about the things I said for a while, but they must’ve worked because Mom laid off her attempts to keep me away from Crayton.

Reaching my hand out, I pluck the cigarette Cillian is failing to smoke from his fingers and take a pull.

He watches me curiously as I blow out a cloud of smoke between us.

“You smoking now, too?” he questions, sliding his hands in the pockets of his slacks.

“Occasionally with Hendrix, when my anxiety is high.”

“So, all the time?”

I chuckle. “Pretty much.”

He retrieves the cigarette from me, trying again. “I always hated smoking, mostly because Crayton had his room stinking of tobacco every weekend he came home.”

“It’s a nasty habit for sure.”

He looks down at the stick in his hand. “Yeah, well, Crayton’s got a few of them.”

I got the opportunity to develop a solid relationship with Cillian during these passing weeks: between sitting together during trial and sitting together for dinner at his house almost every night. He also lets me bring Potato, who found his personal sleep spot next to the floor to ceiling bookcase in the living room.

Thankfully Crayton doesn’t have to be detained during the trial, so I soak up whatever amount of time I can during and after school hours.

“He’s been changing for the better.” I try to convince him, but the guy seems more dejected than Crayton.

He tosses the cigarette down the steps with very little finesse. “Thanks to you.”

“It’s Crayton’s choice to make better decisions, not mine.”

His demeanor softens. “Yeah, you’re right.” He scrubs two hands down his face. “God, I’m so fucking scared to lose him.”

I clench his hand. “You won’t. Neither of us will.”

He shuts his eyes. “I’m afraid we already did.”

“Crayton did not commit this murder, Cillian. The truth will prevail.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment, sweetheart.”

“It’s more than a sentiment, it’s something I believe wholeheartedly. This is not the end of mine and Crayton’s story. It’s not yours either.”

Tears gloss his eyes. “Crayton’s been my sole purpose since I found him starving and scared in one of my two bedroom apartments.”

Crayton never told me the details about how he met Cillian, only that he adopted him. I didn’t even think to ask him how.

This only makes me love Cillian more.

“Your apartment?”

“In one of my buildings.”

The puzzle pieces fit like a glove, now.

“I see.”

Cillian grows erratic, pacing back and forth like a wild animal. “Things are not looking good in there, Rebecca. I had to get out. Every person in that room sees a stone cold killer.” He stops for a second to let out a frustrated groan, then begins marching again. “All they see is the history, the tattoos, the scowl on his face. They don’t see the potential he has to be a good person. They don’t see what I see.” He slaps a palm against the pillar. “The troubled little kid who carved his skin with words so tragic they left my heart bleeding with him. The tormented adult who feels so alone in the world he convinces himself he’s an extension of the fucking devil!” His hands are at his hair, pulling. “It was me who was there cleaning the first cut to his wrist, through all of his therapy appointments, and comforting him through the nightmares that haunted him. I want to see him finally heal, find happiness, and when he brought you home I truly believed that was happening.”

There’re tears pouring down his face now, and I hate that I only have five more minutes to comfort him, but what he says next makes it a smidge easier.

“How am I supposed to protect the only son I can ever have if he’s behind bars for the rest of his life?”

Jesus. It would be less painful for him to rip my heart out and leave me to bleed onto the pavement.

“Cillian, look at me.” When he doesn’t I repeat myself, standing in front of him. “Look. At. Me.”

When his distraught eyes find mine I tell him, “I won’t let you lose him. I promise.”

This only works enough for him to stop pacing and hitting things.

Cillian presses outstretched arms against the pillar and stares down at the ground. “I don’t know if I can go back in there.”

“You have to.” I press my palm to his back. “Crayton needs to know we haven’t given up on him.”

“It’s Crayton’s character versus Felix’s ‘All-American’ one,” he says through a sarcastic huff.

“Felix was not as innocent as they make him seem, trust me.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He beams down at me. “The little shit was my ex’s new stepson, and she’s had it out for Crayton way before our divorce. Felix just took over after it.”

“There you go,” I cheer him on. “There’s the spirit. He was a dick.”

Cillian switches to leaning his back against the white stone, and I take a couple of steps to stand in front of him. “Only to us, Rebecca.” He shuts his eyes.

“Only for now,” I reassure him by slapping both hands around his arms. “Because I can fucking prove it.”

* * *

“So, tell me Miss Dawson.” Micah holds a finger up, striding back and forth in front of the witness stand in that typical lawyer way. “How is your relationship with the defendant?”

“It was rocky at first, but we are crazy about each other now.”

“Explain ‘rocky,’” he tilts his head as if thinking, “because many people at your school can attest to him being mean to you. Some may even use the word ‘bully’ to describe my client’s behavior.”

I keep my temperament cool, just like Micah suggested. Not wanting to come off overly emotional, but also not cold.

“Yes, that’s true, Crayton and I were enemies at first. But our resentment toward each other came from a place of unresolved pain, not anger.”

Micah stops to stand in front of me. “You two are in a happy relationship now, are you not??”

“Objection!” the D.A. shoots out. “Leading the witness.”

Micah rolls his eyes, then clears his throat. “Would you still consider my client your bully?”

There’s an intense shake of my head, and Micah’s eyes widen for me to stop. So I do it with a slow breath. “Not at all. In fact, Crayton has made it his mission to make sure he protects me.”

“Protects you?” Micah pretends to be shocked. “From what can your former bully possibly protect you from?”

I watch as Crayton shifts uncomfortably, already hating the direction the testimony is going.

“From most of the kids at school. Especially Felix and Alexis.”

“Please clarify for the jury who you are referring to.”

“Felix Crimson and Alexis Ivanov.”

He nods. “Would you suggest the two of them were friends?”

“Objection!” the D.A. shouts again. “Relevance?”

Micah slides his gaze to Judge Matthews, a soon-to-be retired judge with a soft spot for sexual crimes. “This question is to further shine a light on the likelihood of my client being framed.”

With a curt tip of his head, the judge looks at me and says, “I’ll allow it. Miss Dawson, please answer the question.”

I swallow. “They weren’t necessarily best friends, but they shared one very big thing in common.”

“What’s that one very big thing, Miss Dawson?”

“Rejection. Crayton told me he cut things off with Alexis around the same time I did with Felix during our friend Sampson’s party.”

“Objection. Hearsay.” Annoying guy stands again. “Alexis Ivanov is not in the country to speak on her own behalf.”

“That’s because right after my client was arrested, Miss Ivanov took off with her well known father, Nikolai Ivanov, to a country with no extradition.” Micah pauses, anticipating the response from the judge.

“Overruled. Please proceed Mr. Beaumont.”

Micah smiles. “Can you testify that Miss Ivanov was present in the school on the day of my client’s arrest?”

“Yes, and I think she was waiting for it to happen.”

Micah winces.

“Objection! Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

Micah’s eyes bore into mine, making me nervous but I try to control it. “What happened right before the police showed up in the dining hall to bring my client in for questioning?”

“Alexis was sitting at another table watching Crayton, our friends, and I while we were eating lunch. There was a friendly commotion erupting from our table and it drew some attention. It was funny. And most of the kids around us were laughing.”

“Objection, narrative,” the D.A. drawls.

“Sustained. Miss Dawson, please get on with the point.”

I curl into myself slightly, feeling foolish, but Micah comforts me with soft eyes. “Please tell the court what happened to Miss Ivanov the moments leading up to Crayton’s detainment.”

“Objection. Relevance, your honor?”

Micah huffs with amusement.

He said the D.A. would grasp at any straw if things started to turn in our favor. “Again, this is to further prove the probability of my client being framed for the murder of Felix Crimson.”

He eyes the judge, waiting.

“Proceed, Miss Dawson.” The judge waves me on, leaving the D.A. to mutter something under his breath as he sits back down.

“Her bodyguards escorted her out of the room a few minutes before the police showed up.”

“Has she ever shown hostility to you personally?”

“Yes, she has.”

“Can you please specify for the jury?”

“At Sampson’s pool party she cut the back of my bikini top with scissors, exposing my breasts to most of our peers. When I asked her why she did it she said it was because there’s only room for one queen by Crayton’s side.”

Another Crayton shift of anger.

“Was there any other altercations between you two?”

“Yes. We got into a physical altercation during gym and another on a different day after school.”

“Tell us more about the altercation during gym.” He starts pacing again.

“Alexis was saying terrible things to me, about how I was pathetic and how Crayton could never truly like me. She then proceeded to tell me that no man could stand to be around me, not even my dead father.”

The jury gasps, and the judge demands order.

“And what about the next altercation?”

“She approached me and Crayton on the football field bleachers, antagonizing the both of us with more of her cruel words. When Crayton came to my defense her bodyguards tackled him, where Alexis in turn ordered one of them to hold a gun to his head.”

Micah blows out a breath. “Did she say anything else to you?”

“Yes. She promised me she would never allow me to have Crayton.”

Micah purses his lips. “So let’s journey back a bit to when Crayton’s knife went missing. Can you attest to when that was?”

“It was on Christmas last year.”

“Objection. Speculation. There is no way for the witness to confirm when the knife actually went missing.”

“Sustained,” the judge says. “Mr. Beaumont, advise your witness that she needs to respond with factual information only.”

He holds a hand to his chest in apology, then refers back to me. “Can you please tell the jury when my client told you that his knife went missing?”

“On Christmas day last year.”

Micah waits for signs of an unjustified objection, then continues. “Have you ever seen Miss Ivanov in my defendant's dorm room?”

“Yes, plenty of times.”

“Did she have steady access to it?”

“Well, yeah, most of us have easy access to each other’s dorm rooms, the locks are very old.”

“Thank you for the clarification, Miss Dawson.” He pops his lips. “Now let’s talk a bit more about the deceased, since you mentioned my client also felt the need to protect you from him.”

I glance quickly over at Crayton, who’s begging me with his eyes not to do it. My chest tightens with how helpless he looks, but I focus back on Micah.

“Can you explain to the jury the dynamic of your relationship with the deceased?”

The saliva I swallow goes down like nails. “Felix befriended me right at the beginning of the school year. He was very charming and friendly.”

“Hardly a reason to need protection.”

“He was also abrasive at times, particularly when we went on a date to Sampson’s party.”

“Please elaborate on how he was abrasive.”

Those monstrous eyes peer at me from a distance, taunting me to come closer, forcing me to my knees.

I blink several times to rid them, but it doesn’t work.

“I, uh.” I wiggle in my seat, and although Micah seems empathetic he’s still got a look like he’s begging me to keep it together. “He was very forward, and would touch me in ways that made me feel uncomfortable. Holding my hand, squeezing my thigh, even close kisses to my lips without my consent. I assumed it was because he was confident.”

“Confident how?” Micah presses.

“He was very good looking, and often sought out by the girls in school. He knew all of this but took a liking to me. I thought it was sweet, especially since Crayton had made it obvious to everyone in school he had...conflicting…feelings about me.”

“So Crayton was jealous?” He quirks a brow.

“No, I mean, maybe it seemed that way to everyone else. But when I got to know him it became clear he was just being protective.”

Micah feigns disbelief. “How can you prove an aggressive bad boy like my client was actually trying to protect you from an ‘All-American’ boy like Felix Crimson? Especially when the letter he wrote claims my client physically assaulted him twice on your birthday?”

“That’s because Crayton was enraged. He was the one who had to save me from him.”

Micah’s next statement gets cut off by Crayton jumping wildly out of his seat, shouting, “Don’t you fucking do it, Rebecca!” His eyes glass over when he slams a fist down on the table. “Please.”

Panic erupts in the courtroom, and Cillian tries to settle him down. I can spot my mother seeming confused by the outburst, which is odd coming from someone who’s dead set on Crayton being a criminal. That’s when I realize I’ll be breaking her heart, too, with my confession.

“I’m guilty! I did it! I fucking killed him,” Crayton booms, making Cillian beg him to stop talking.

The judge slams his gavel several times. “Mr. Beaumont, get your client under control before I hold him in contempt!”

Micah rushes over to Crayton, whispering God knows what in his ear. Crayton shoves him off and drops harshly back in his seat, staring ahead with so much pain and anger spread across his face.

By the time Micah gets back to me, the last of the jurors are settling back in their spots.

He looks almost as sad as Crayton with the idea of what’s about to happen next.

“Miss Dawson, can you please tell the jury why my client had to save you from Felix Crimson?”

My eyes flutter closed, and all I can see is me, my monster, and the darkness of the tunnel around us.

Tasting the salt on the skin on his cock.

Feeling the hard tugs of his hands in my hair.

But there’s my dark hero, swooping in and slaying my monster, once again. Whispering soothing words and offering gentle caresses. Carrying me away in his arms.

“Miss Dawson,” Micah repeats, startling me out of my stupor. “Please answer the question. Why did my client have to save you from Felix Crimson?”

Crayton’s eyes are silently pleading with me as I say, “Because he was raping me.”

48

BEX

“I have a good feeling about this.” Stretching out on Crayton’s bed, I let out a good squeak. “Everything is gonna work out, just watch.”

He lays on his side next to me, laggy and bedroom eyed. “You always have good feelings.”

It’s the night before closing arguments, and I decided to spend it here so nothing can go wrong and we can ride together in Cillian’s limo to the courthouse. I’m leaving no room for errors or time constraints—exactly how I’ve been doing the past few trips together.

Even though the trial has been quick, it’s been exhausting for everyone. Especially Crayton. But for all the wrong reasons.

It’s been two weeks since my testimony, and he still hasn’t gotten over it. In fact, it’s all he wallows about when we’re together. Not the fact he may go to prison, but the fact I had to come forward about something I never intended on telling the world.

What he doesn’t realize is how I actually feel better now that I have. Mom has been more attentive than annoying, even though she was adamant on pressing charges against a dead guy.

It sounded bonkers until Micah mentioned we can go after his family's estates. Mom already had a pen in hand to sign off on the charges, but I put a stop to it.

Felix is dead and, in my eyes, Crayton already served him a greater punishment than any amount of money could. Mom accepted my decision, and now we’re at the constant questions stage. I get the daily dose of “are you okay?” and “are you sure you don’t want to talk to a professional?” Even the occasional “are you sure you don't want to go back to La Jolla?”

The answer to the last one is always no.

At least not yet.

I roll onto my side, slinging an arm over his chest. “I like to project positivity into the universe. Good juju and all that.”

He takes my arm and slides my hand behind his boxers. “I doubt good juju is enough to keep everyone’s lulu out of prison.”

Although I have plans to touch Junior Satan in a bit, I pull my hand out and slap his bare chest with it. “What the fuck is a lulu?”

He mouths the word ‘lunatic’.

“Eh, if there’s one thing I learned being with you, it’s that sanity is overrated.”

Crayton runs a thumb down the side of my face. “Little Ghost, I need you to seriously prepare yourself if things go south.”

“North.” I scowl at him.

He lifts himself to rest on his elbow. “Rebecca, stop the denial shit. We both know it can go either way.”

“But Micah said my testimony gave the jury a new perspective. That it really did help.”

His lip twitches. “Help yes, but the case isn’t won. I can still be found guilty.”

“You just wait and see…they will find you innocent and you’ll tell me how right I was. Then…you can let me ride your face into the sunset as a thank you for not being the Debbie Downer in our relationship.”

Crayton shakes his head, still so much agony planted into his features. I know he’s worried about me, especially my reaction in the courtroom if he’s found guilty, but I’m a big girl. A big girl who believes wholeheartedly that the truth will prevail.

“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt” is what Crayton keeps saying to me, but all I know is that shit is nowhere near the Hudson.

“I don’t want you getting hurt.” This new, innocent tone of his voice slides through once again. “I don’t want you to look at me in that room with those sad broken eyes after they label me a murderer. Knowing your confession was all for nothing. All your pain was for nothing. It’ll gut me deeper than any fucking shiv in prison.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that won’t happen, then.”

He throws his back onto the mattress, once again defeated in our game of pessimist versus optimist.

“I’m just tired of hurting you.”

I nuzzle into his side. “You haven’t hurt me in forever, Crayton. Everything we’re going through now is just a bump in a very long road.”

“Or it’s the bump that’ll be very long.”

Pressing my pointer to his lips, I make a shushing noise, then divert his attention back to the bump in his pants. “That’s it. Less talking, more touching.” I slide a hand down his stomach. “I want you stress free and ready to toss those deuces up at the D.A. when we’re done with him.”

* * *

My eyes blink lazily awake, the rays from the sun nearly blinding me before I hold a hand in front of my face to block them. My tongue is dry so I tap it against the roof of my mouth as I roll onto my back, already reaching out for Crayton.

My eyelids fly open when I find the other side of the bed empty. Panic floods my system so fast when I shoot up into a sitting position, it feels as though my heart was left on the mattress. I scan the room quickly before turning to reach out for my phone on the nightstand, finding that missing too.

Checking the time on the wall clock, I curse. “Damn you! You stupid selfish selfless asshole!”

I don’t need the Scooby Squad to solve the mystery of this missing monster. Or his abandoned Little Ghost.

Crayton took away the only alarm I had to make sure I don’t make it to the closing arguments, which is something I would’ve anticipated if I wasn’t up all night fucking the hesitancy out of him.

There’s also the disconnected alarm clock.

The missing car keys.

Damn these fucked up teenage hormones.

I’m bolting out of the bed and gathering up essentials to get me dressed and to the courthouse on time. Which is nearly impossible since it starts in thirty damn minutes.

You’re the optimist, I tell myself, not bothering with the fancy clothes I laid out and throwing one of Crayton’s black tees over my head.

Swallowing the morning meds dry, I toss my hair up in a bun, then haul ass out of his room bouncing as I slide on my flats.

I run through the house, not bothering to grab a piece of fruit on the dining room table before slamming the obnoxiously heavy door behind me, and continuing the marathon down the hall.

Where I’m met with more fun obstacles.

Like the elevator that isn’t working, and I wouldn’t put it past Crayton to break the damn thing to assure I don’t make it.

Skipping a dangerous amount of steps, I make it safely from the fifteenth floor to the first with only a throbbing ankle to show for it.

When I dart outside the sun and heat hit me like a glass door, making me squint as I search for the nearest yellow taxi.

Luckily for me, one just pulls up in front of his building.

I limp over to it, feeling like the squirrel in those Pixar movies trying to catch the nut.

Mine is just the human one.

With a not-so-subtle brush past the guy climbing out of the taxi, I jump inside and scream for the little old man in a fedora to take me to the courthouse.

“If you’re in a rush, young lady, you may want to consider the train. Traffic is terrible today.” The old man looks my way over his shoulder.

Seriously?

“We’re in Manhattan, traffic is a fucking staple of the community, now go.”

His eyes widen before turning back to face the wheel, taking off onto the street.

Jesus, Rebecca, harsh much?

There’s complete silence the entire thirty minutes to my destination, and the old man must feel fear or pity because he tells me the ride is on him.

With an apologetic smile and quick “thank you,” I swing the door open, my feet already revving their engines when I slam it closed.

There are only a few people settled around the wide concrete steps, mostly eating lunch or on the phone waiting to be seen or heard by a judge.

I ignore all of them as I jog up to the top, sliding inside the courthouse when some lady appears behind the door.

It’s quiet, eerily quiet. Almost empty.

Which is quite the bad omen for a place usually filled with zipping suit ties and high heels.

In between the bundling nerves, I’m envisioning both articles of clothing on the same person, and now all I can see in the randos is determination and very bad fashion sense.

Going toe to toe with another set of stairs, I tap my way up the spiral staircase with a sweaty palm against the banister.

It’s well after nine-thirty, so I know the arguments have already commenced, and my hope is people are still being allowed to watch and not getting turned away.

My second hope is that there’s no frowned upon rule about bursting through doors during court proceedings.

What can I say?

I’m not clear on the semantics of being late because I’m never freaking late.

My hope is shot right up my behind when I find a security guard standing in front of the double doors of the designated Crayton shitshow.

With sagged shoulders I drag my feet toward the guy, who barely looks down at me when I offer my brightest morning smile.

“What are the chances of you letting me sneak by so I can witness the fate of my boyfriend’s freedom for the next twenty-five years of life?”

The shift on his feet tells me he wasn’t entertained by my little prison sentence reference.

With a grunt I spin on my heels and find the closest bench to sulk on.

Between sulking, there was tapping, rocking, biting my lip to blood as I waited for those damn doors to open.

Even a call to Hendrix and Archer with a stranger’s phone telling them to delete the search history on my laptop if I end up getting shot while attacking a guard.

What? The internet is a scary place when looking up kinky sex positions.

I cross my arms and thin my eyes on Mr. Security Guard, who must have a platinum bladder because the jerk hasn’t attempted to use the bathroom once in the entire two hours I’ve been sitting here.

I stand to walk his way once again, but an aggravated “still a no” whips out of his mouth.

Asshole.

I plop back in the seat, reaching for a piece of gum in my bag to waste the time.

I don’t get the chance to chew my weight in Bubble Yum because the doors finally open, and I’m tossing the entire pack onto the floor as I dart toward the people swarming out, getting blocked once again by Mr. “I Take My Job Way Too Seriously”.

I peer over and past the guard, looking for signs of Crayton and praying he will be following behind the masses, free to come home so I can love him.

After thirty seconds when there’s no sign of his buzzed blond head, doubt starts to creep in, dragging me down into an invisible hole in the floor.

Not deep enough to stop a Hail Mary.

I try my first attempt at getting past the stubborn behemoth without being seen, which works well as I snake the crowd, until I slam into something else very big and hard.

Someone.

Who’s bergamot scent smells fresh off the vine.

I look up to find an unreadable Crayton, since a tight jaw and fixed fierce glare is his default facial expression.

He wraps a hand around my arm, navigating me through the crowd until we’re by the bench I was living on.

Another burst of anger followed by relief has me slapping a palm across his cheek, leaving Crayton with a hand against it as I jump into his arms.

“That was for leaving me behind you selfish selfless jerk.”

Crayton squeezes me in his arms like he’s afraid to let go, which both thrills and terrifies me at the same time. “Did we do it? Did we win?” I ask impatiently when he finally lowers me back to my feet.

His smile is restrained when he says, “I’m not a murderer if that’s what you’re asking.”

We both know that’s a lie but I jump up and down anyway. “Eeep! You see!” I sling my arms around his chest. “I knew the truth would prevail.”

Crayton pets me on the head, like a father does to a child to comfort them. “You were right, Little Ghost.” He tucks two fingers under my chin, lifting my head. “Your confession helped.”

More squeals and obnoxious bouncing breaks our embrace.

“I told you, Crayton. A little belief goes a long way.” I press a hand to my heart in an attempt to steady it. “We can finally put this crap behind us and move on. You can even come back to school.” Excited tears pool at my eyes as I go over all the endless possibilities. “We can take a trip right after school ends to celebrate. Maybe to La Jolla?” I pause, thinking. “You can come with me to visit my Dad. Wouldn’t that be perfect?”

Crayton nods, and the first genuine smirk lifts the corner of his lips. “That sounds perfect, Rebecca.”

“Okay? So stop being so weird and doom gloom about it!” I chuckle and turn to walk back over to the bench, but Crayton hooks an arm around my waist to stop me.

“I have to—” He attempts to say something but Micah doesn’t give him the chance.

“Alright, so, good news.” He approaches, looking through his briefcase. “It most likely won’t be the five.”

I step out of Crayton’s hold, eyebrows squished together. “The five what? Besides brownie points for the times that I’ve been right?”

Micah looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “His sentence?”

Those two words have my blood running dry, making the room suddenly spin and my heart stop beating. “But he was found not guilty,” I say, confused as I look up at Crayton, who looks nothing shy of the word. “You said…”

“That I’m not a murderer.”

“Exactly.”

From the corner of my eye I can see Micah taking steps back to give us space. Then Cillian’s look of defeat next to him. Which is when reality sets in.

Crayton’s going away.

“Rebecca…”

“No.” I swivel my head back and forth. “Don’t you dare say it.” My eyes squeeze closed. “Don’t you dare say you’re leaving.”

“You know I won’t lie to you.”

“But you were found not guilty!” I cry out.

“For the murder, yes, but I plead guilty to Aggravated Assault with a Deadly Weapon.”

My legs give out from under me, making me fall to my knees. “Why, Crayton? Why would you do that?”

Crayton drops to his right after and frames my face with shaky hands. “It was the least risky option, Rebecca. We gained a lot of leverage, yes. But I still could’ve been found guilty of his murder.” He lets out an exhausted breath. “So when the D.A. brought the option to the table, I ran with it.”

Sobs rip from my throat, leaving my shoulders shaking.

Crayton brings my head to his chest. “It’s gonna be okay, Little Ghost.”

“Oh, so now you decide to play the optimist?”

“No…the realist. And we both know I deserve to be punished for my actions.”

“But you’re fucking innocent.”

He lifts my chin with his hand. “You know more than anyone that’s not true.”

“I don’t care about the other shit you did.” With a sad whimper, I continue on to say, “I only care about you.”

“I know you don’t.” He kisses my tear stained cheek. “Which is why I’m asking you please do not give up on me. Regardless of the bullshit I spewed in the past about moving on. I need to know you’ll be waiting for me when I get out.” There’s a pregnant pause before he adds, “It’s the only way I survive this.”

The answer to his question comes out as naturally as breathing. “Of course I’ll be here, you know that.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “I just don’t want you to go.”

“Neither do I, Rebecca, but the other road I could’ve gone down was a lot worse. We’d lose each other for good.”

I pinch my eyes closed, unable to even think about the possibility. “What will I do without you for five years?”

When the world reappears, so does Micah’s shoes on the floor behind Crayton. “Don’t worry, Rebecca. If the pain in the ass here behaves himself, I can get him out in two.”

“So, in other words, we’re fucked.” My sad chuckle has Crayton pull away to swipe the tears under my eyes.

I know I need to pull it together, make him feel confident we can get through this, even if it hurts like hell to be away for so long. Because there’s not a shadow of doubt in my mind that I want to wait for him.

“Weren’t you the one preaching about belief a few minutes ago?” He tries to joke, but I don’t have it in me to laugh because my heart is still breaking.

Regardless of the pain, I put on my best poker face, climbing to my feet with Crayton then dusting off my pants. “Yes, you’re right.”

Cillian steps next to me, placing a supportive palm on my shoulder. I place mine on top of his hand to support him too.

“You’ll always have me here, Rebecca,” he reassures. “For anything you need.”

I offer him a sideways hug. “We can sulk together, I guess.”

Crayton rolls his eyes. “Hallmark moment over.” He clutches my upper arm. “We’re outta here.”

He starts dragging me away from his dad, his lawyer, and the audience I didn’t realize was watching. I’m about to ask where the hell we’re going, but Cillian does it for me.

“Crayton, where the hell are you going?!” He bellows out behind us. “There are things we need to discuss.”

“He’s right, Shaw. We should really sit down!” Micah jumps in.

Crayton flips them both off, shouting, “Oh there’ll be sitting, trust me!” He leans closer to me. “But it’ll be you on my face.”

49

CRAYTON

It took several days of preparations before reality hit that I’m leaving.

I talked a big game in the courthouse after the trial ended, promising Rebecca shit will be okay when in reality anything can go wrong in prison.

I’ll be spending up to five years fighting to survive in a place where almost everyone prefers to be dead.

Getting the attention of the biggest motherfucker.

Having to fight him too.

An extended sentence because of it.

Or a shank to the neck.

I’ve spent my entire adult life choosing violence, and now I’ll be forced to avoid it by all means necessary if I want to get back to Rebecca.

I think that’s what scares me the most, losing her when I’m trying so fucking hard to turn things around.

It’s a lot to consider, none of which I mentioned to anyone, because if I show even a glimmer of doubt, Rebecca will drown in hers.

So here I am, convincing everyone else I got this shit on lock when in reality I’m going in blind and defenseless.

The universe can be a vengeful cunt when she wants to be.

“So Cray Cray,” the asshole Riggs jumps next to where I’m sitting on Levi’s patio, bumping my shoulder. “Whattya think about lettin’ me babysit that sweet ride of yours while you’re inside?”

That earns him a shove onto the ground.

“Damn, man.” He blows out a breath as he stands. “You better put all that crazy away now while you still got full sized pockets.”

You know you’re royally screwed when Riggs manages a solid point. I need to work on my damn reflexes or else I really will be going toe to toe with someone in Wayside.

“Raven is off limits to everyone except Rebecca.”

I look over at her, ten feet away at the bar with Hendrix, a genuine laugh bubbling from her lips for the first time since she found out I’m getting put away.

I have about ninety-six hours left of freedom, so the Royals are having an impromptu send off for their leader.

Since said leader is limited on travel, thanks to surrendering his passport and the nano bomb digging into his fucking ankle, they’re sending him off with a party in Levi’s mansion.

“She don’t even have her license, man,” Riggs argues over the music thumping from the speakers around the acre lawn.

“She’s about to!” Rebecca sings back, and Riggs gives her a “sure, sure” nod of his head, because she still hasn’t managed to pass her drivers test.

“Time for shots, bitches!” Saint jumps up from behind the bar holding two bottles of Cîroc, scaring the shit out of Rebecca and Hendrix, along with the other girls standing around it waiting for the bartender Saint most likely told to take a hike.

“You made me spill my fucking Martini!” Hendrix shouts, her arms wide as she gapes down at her soaking wet white tank top.

“Don’t worry, Hen, I know a great way to clean it off.” He sticks his tongue out, pretending to lick her.

Hendrix swings around, stomping her way back over to us with a now see-through tight shirt.

Rebecca follows behind with her vodka intact, and Riggs stands so she can sit next to me. When she does, I stretch an arm over her shoulder.

“How you holdin’ up, Bex?” Levi broaches the subject everyone is trying to avoid with a pull of his blunt. “I need to strip you of all your shoe laces or what?” He blows out the smoke, resting a fresh pair of Jordans on the table between us. “Cuz we already know our boy won’t have a choice.”

I’m shooting daggers at him as Rebecca looks down at her drink. “My heart is hurting for sure, but I have faith in us.”

I run lazy fingers down her arm, and she looks up at me with glossed eyes.

“We got this, Little Ghost,” I say, winking. “A piece of devil’s food cake.”

She snorts, a sad smile weighing on her lips. “You really are so stupid.”

“Stupid handsome.”

She extends her neck, kissing my chin. “Very stupid handsome.”

After a lingering glance between us, Rebecca clears her throat, regarding Levi again. “To answer your question, Leviathan, there’s no reason to take my laces. Especially since I only own two pairs of shoes that actually have them.”

Chuckles fill the air around us, mostly from Levi and Riggs across from us because Archer is whispering fresh gossip in Hendrix’s ear as they stand at the far end of the patio.

Then Saint appears with a tray of over a dozen shots and two fresh Martinis. The same exact ones Hendrix spilled a few minutes ago.

“Over compensating for something?” I say through the corner of my mouth when he leans down to hand me a shot.

“What? Bitches be thirsty…” He disregards my insinuation and goes back to distributing the alcohol.

If I’m stubborn…this mofo is a fucking bull.

When all of us have a drink in our hand, Saint booms for everyone around us to “shut the front door ’cause he’s got something to say”.

The music cuts and he jumps atop one of Levi’s Mom’s imported Italian loveseat. “Listen up friends and fuckers!” He holds an arm out to me. “We’re here to celebrate the final days of my best friend being a free man.” A low groan rumbles in my chest when I feel Rebecca’s shoulders drooping. “So in true Riverside fashion, the only way he leaves this house is if he’s carried out!”

Cheers erupt, glasses are raised, and before I even get to take my shot new drinks are lining up around me.

I throw back the tequila, deciding the best way to beat the ticking clock is to forget about it completely.

* * *

“I need you to do something for me, Lavell.” Leaning my shoulder against one of the pergolas, I keep an eye on Rebecca drunk dancing on the grass, and take a long drag of my cigarette.

Saint spins to face me, crossing arms over his chest. “Hit me wit’ it, man.”

I can’t look away from Rebecca, and a sharp sting hits my chest when she smiles at me from across the yard.

When Rebecca goes back to bouncing up and down with Hendrix, I take another lengthy pull, holding the smoke in my lungs. “Take care of her for me, yeah?” I blow out a breath. “She puts on a brave face, but I know Rebecca’s gonna need someone to look out for her. Keep her safe when I can’t.”

Saint rests a hand on my shoulder. “Consider it done, brother. On my fucking life.”

I shift, getting uncomfortable with the burn rising in my throat. For the first time since letting go of Isaiah Thatcher, I feel fucking helpless.

At the mercy of fate.

Karma.

Fucking kismet.

I hate it. But not as bad as I do for Rebecca…because she’s relying on me to do the right thing.

“Make sure she focuses on school, don’t let her get too preoccupied with thoughts of me and shit,” I say quietly, still watching her.

Saint nods, stepping back to observe the girls with me.

I draw another lung full of smoke. “Keep her busy on the weekends, too. So it doesn’t give her the time to hurt.” I pause, examining the cigarette. “Keep that light of hers intact.”

“We’re family, brother. And Rebecca’s become my sister just as much as Theory is.”

This settles my nerves a bit, because nobody has ever come before his younger sister. Not even me.

So knowing Saint’s got her in the same category as Theory will bring me the smallest sense of peace in a place where I’ll find none.

“It means a lot to hear you say that, Lavell.”

“And it means a lot to know you trust me to do this for you.”

I’d trust Saint with so much more than Rebecca. Shit, I’d trust him with my life. With my dad’s.

I know beyond a shadow of a fucking doubt Saint would’ve stepped up to look out for Rebecca even if I didn’t ask. It’s who he is, aside from his “unholy” alter ego.

“I got one more favor to ask…but it’s a big one.”

“Can’t be bigger than my cock.”

I don’t know about that.

Yanking him closer, I make sure Rebecca isn’t stumbling into earshot before I begin.

Archer’s there now, keeping her busy with a lesson on how to moonwalk, which reminds me that she’ll also have him to keep her going.

Good Guy Archer—who had every reason to hate me but still came through in the clutch when I needed him. Which means there’s no question he’ll do a fuck ton more for Rebecca.

As I start shooting off the mess of things I need Saint to do when I’m inside, he leans closer, taking on every single one with confident nods. Storing every gritty detail in his brain through one-liners and cracked jokes. Resting all the wishes for my future with Rebecca in the hands he’s rubbing back and forth.

No questions get asked, no requests denied.

And for the first time since accepting my fate, I have actual hope for what’s to come when I return.

50

CRAYTON

“Where did I go wrong?” My father buries his face in his hands as I sit across from him on the couch. “I tried so hard to show you your worth, teach you kindness, rid you of your pain.” He taps his foot anxiously against the floor. “How the hell did we get here?”

Even with all the practice I had with Rebecca…handling other people’s emotions still feels like holding Jell-O in my fist.

“This shit is my fault. Not yours.” I shift my weight to face him. “You’ve done everything humanly possible to prove you fucking love me, but I refused to accept it. Hell, believe it.” When he looks down I clear my throat. “Maybe this is for the best.”

There’s actual anger reddening his face when he looks at me. “The best? Really? You’re fucking leaving, Crayton! I’m losing my only son.”

I pull out my Bic from my pocket to keep my hands busy. “It won't be forever. Five years tops.” I flick the top, allowing the tiny flame to dance above my finger. “Look at it this way…I’ll have no choice but to reflect on my actions. You know, the ones you stayed bitching about?”

Dad laughs, but it’s hollow. “So what’re you saying? There’s a chance you’ll be coming out of prison having found Jesus?”

I try not to gag. “Let’s just say the goal is to come out a better person.”

This seems to settle him a bit.

“I’m scared, son. Do you know how hard that is for a man to admit?”

Shit, I know more than anyone. Which is why I’ve been glued to Rebecca’s side for the last two weeks.

“I’m scared too.”

He looks my way through the corner of his eye. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah…” I puff, flicking the lighter again. “Of a lot of shit.”

“Like what?”

I lean back on the couch, knowing there’s no better time than the day before you turn yourself in to authorities to let the man who saved you know you’ll miss him.

“Letting you guys down. Being unable to fix the shit broken inside my head.” I crack my neck, the fear of what I'm about to say already being too heavy to carry. “Not coming out the other end of this worthy of you or Rebecca.”

“And here I am thinking you were gonna say the inmates.”

I’m more worried about the shit I’ll end up doing to one of them. I have an ace in my pocket, though, when they find out I’m in for almost killing a rapist.

“Nah, why should I? I’m likeable as fuck.”

He ignores that for good reason, and inhales a deep breath. “I admire the positivity, son. I’m already seeing the changes you’re trying to make, and it truly makes me proud. You’re taking accountability for your actions, finding ways to fix your mistakes. I won’t lie and say I don’t agree this time away might be good for you.” There’s a hint of sadness pinching the features on his face. “It’s just gonna kill me to see you go.”

Dad starts breaking down, turning my discomfort into acid indigestion. I scoot closer to him anyway, patting him awkwardly on the back as his face gets lost in his hands for the second time.

“I’m gonna miss you too, old man. But we both know there was no way out of paying for the shit I actually did to Felix.”

Not like the countless other activities he, and the courts, aren't aware of. Courtesy of law enforcement’s disregard of child predators.

My father nods, breaking away from his palms with a dragged inhale. Then he shakes the emo off him like a leaf. “You’re absolutely right. Legally that is.” His jaw goes tight. “But honorably? I would’ve made sure that motherfucker was actually dead.”

Shit. Didn’t realize his bleeding heart can trickle black.

“Sorry my violence doesn’t live up to your moral standards.”

He purses his lips. “I mean, if you’re gonna do the unthinkable, don’t fucking half ass it.”

I lunge for my Dad, wrestling him under my arm for a headlock, but to my surprise the asshole manages to lock me in one instead.

“You know what they say…” He chuckles in my ear. “It’s the quiet ones you gotta watch out for.”

When he releases me I hit him with one more shove to his arm. “Dick.”

“Underachiever.”

My ego is bruised. But not bad enough to keep the Little Ghost I need to see waiting.

Dad’s eyebrows sinch together, over the antics too. “I still can’t wrap my head around why the hell that little shit or his Dad didn’t press charges after it happened.”

See, but I know all too well. It was made clear a few days after the verdict.

When I received an anonymous letter with no return address, stating “I would’ve kept protecting you, baby, but you forced my hand.”

My guess is…Alexis had her Dad ask the Crimson family nicely to back the fuck off his daughter’s precious toy.

That is, until I threw her over the edge with shows of affection toward Rebecca. The ones she sought after for years from me with no return.

I mean…what better way is there to punish—without killing—the guy you’re psychotically obsessed with than to keep him apart from the girl he’s psychotically obsessed with?

“Don’t fucking matter now. One is dead and the other is mourning the death balls deep inside your ex wife.”

My father blinks at me for a few seconds. “Let’s hope the time behind bars fixes that broken filter of yours, too.”

We both share a laugh at each other's expense. Then when the laughter dies down, I reach for the decanter on the table, pouring a small amount of whiskey in the double matching glasses. I hand Dad his before picking up mine.

Raising the glass, I clear my throat, getting ready for the bullshit joke I intend to crack when he raises his too.

After a few fleeting moments of nothing, my father grows eager to hear what I’m about to say. Almost as if he’s looking for proof that he's done something right.

The pain, the fear, the hope is written clear across his face as he holds his breath for the answer to so many of his questions.

Will I return to him?

End up happy?

End up whole?

They’re all part of the grand fucking plan, but only time can tell the truth. And it starts right now.

I tip the glass. “Here’s to the devil that goes, and the man who comes out.”

Rebecca

“Hey, baby.” Mom’s voice has me darting my attention toward the door, where she’s fiddling with her fingers.

“Hey, Mom.” I give her a quizzical look before going back to searching the floor for one of my flip flops.

“Can we talk?”

No good ever comes from a nervous Nina wanting to talk.

“What’s up?”

She ambles over, sitting next to me on the mattress.

“Before I say what I’m going to say, I need you to know I would never want to keep you from happiness.”

There’s a “but” in there somewhere.

“But…as your mother I feel it’s my duty to tell you I think you’re making a huge mistake.”

I throw my head back. “We’re not doing this again, Mom. I’ve made my decision.”

She turns to face me, determined. “Bex, we’re talking five years of your life.”

“Or two.” I remind her.

“Those numbers are not guaranteed, baby. Crayton may very well have to serve the full sentence when he leaves tomorrow. Potentially more if he gets into trouble in prison.”

I shove my wallet into my bag with more vigor than necessary. “Then I’ll be here waiting for him to get out.”

“Your heart is so pure, Rebecca, and I have no doubt you really mean that.”

“Great.” I jump to my feet, hiking the beach bag I packed over my shoulder. “So then there’s no need for the rest of this conversation.”

“What about Stanford?” She blurts out. “It’s been your dream since you were a kid.”

“Will have to wait. I have new dreams now, Mom. And each and every one of them includes Crayton.”

She pouts, but I can tell she doesn’t want to push me too far. “You’re just too young and bright to give up on your future.”

“I’m not giving up, Mom, I’m just putting it on hold.” With a shrug, I add, “Besides, if Crayton gets out in two years it won’t be for long. He already told me he’s willing to come to California with me while I study.”

She smiles down at her hands. “He must really love you, then.”

I try not to flinch, but I guess not good enough because Mom tilts her head. “What was that for?”

I play it off. “What?”

“That look.”

“There is no look.” I cross my arms.

“Rebecca…” She stares like she knows me too well to believe it.

I decide to confide in her, especially since I’m too nervous to tell Hendrix. Not because she’ll judge me, but because she may judge him.

“Crayton hasn’t exactly told me he loved me yet. But every single one of his actions proves how much he does. His past trauma just makes it very difficult.”

Mom doesn’t know the gory details, but she knows enough to understand why he is the way he is…why he always seems so angry at the world.

She nods in understanding. “Love can be so hard.”

If she gets it, then she knows why I have to stay…why I refuse to leave Crayton at his lowest.

“Love is easy, Mom. It’s the loving part that’s hard. Especially when a person grows up without it.” My shoulders fall as I return to sitting next to her. “I know you think I’m some stupid kid going through her first of many boyfriends.”

“I did not say that,” she snaps back. “Especially the stupid part. I know you’re not stupid Rebecca. In fact, you’re smarter than me in so many ways. I’m just scared for you.”

I hold her hand. “Well, you don’t have to be. I know what I’m doing.”

She kisses my head. “I know you do, baby. But it’s my job to worry.”

“I get it. I really do. But my love for Crayton is absolutely non-negotiable. I will never leave him.”

She stares adoringly at me, as if knowing the feeling all too well. “You are so much like your dad.”

I squeeze her hand tighter. “I’d like to think I’m a little like you, too.”

The light on her face dissipates.

“Hey.” I nudge her shoulder with mine. “You know I love you, right?”

Mom swipes a single tear away with her hand. “Of course, baby. I’ve just been struggling with regret.”

“No regrets.” I shake my head. “It’s only forward from here, okay? For all of us.”

Potato wobbles into the room, looking as though he’s gained even more weight since I saw him last week.

“What are you feeding him?” I gasp.

“It’s this dog!” She shakes her head. “Roman insists all he wants is meat. Almost took his finger off for a piece of salami.”

Yet another Crayton memento.

Canine Diabetes.

“Well, tell Roman to lay off the salami with my Chunky Muffin. Chunky Sausage doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

“Will do, baby.” She eyes my bag. “Where ya guys going today?”

“The beach.”

After the trial finished, Crayton was given two weeks in his deal to get his affairs in order, but all of his actual affairs were left to Cillian. Aside from spending time with me.

It stung deep knowing how little time I had left with him, but Crayton was right, the alternative could've been so much worse.

And if some time in solace is what he thinks he needs to let go of his painful past, then I’ll be the future he has to look forward to when he gets out.

Good things come to those who wait.

But better things come to those who fight for what they want. And I want Crayton, forever, even if our “now” has to be spent apart.

“Remember what I said…” Mom sings. “Lower those standards.”

Been there-done that, especially when I caught sight of the rivers here. Standing with a slap to my thighs, I blow out a breath, “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Mom stands too. “Just so you know…I may not be here when you get back.”

I know Roman is stuck at the gallery, so I can’t possibly imagine who else she’d be going out with.

As much as Mom loves the city life, she hasn’t made many friends to hang with.

“You got plans? With who?” I ask with a raised brow.

“June and I are going out for drinks.” Mom wiggles her eyebrows. “Apparently she’s got some secret boyfriend she wants to spill the deets about.”

Secret boyfriend, huh.

Hendrix will love that when I tell her.

Which is exactly what Mom must be assuming because she adds, “She doesn’t want Hendrix to know just yet, baby, so maybe keep it on the hush for now.”

I don’t like it, but I understand it. Especially since I know how stubborn Hendrix can be. I’m sure her Mom will tell her who this guy is when she’s ready.

“Fine.” I cringe. “But as long as you promise to never say the word ‘deets’ ever again.”

“Good-bye, Rebecca!” she drawls, shooing me away with her hand. “Tell your convict I said ‘hello.’”

* * *

Let’s just say Mom was not kidding when she said to lower my standards of these beaches.

The ocean in the distance looks so much darker than the turquoise waters of La Jolla, which is washing up around us as we sit and stare into the orange and pink sunset. It’s still beautiful in spite of what tomorrow looms over our heads.

I rest my head against Crayton’s shoulder and he rests with both elbows on his knees. “It’s not too late to leave the country and never come back, you know.”

Alexis sure did.

After Crayton’s initial arrest, the Ice Queen never returned from Russia. Proving even more it was her dad who had Felix killed. She told me she’d never allow me to have Crayton, and putting him in jail for life is one solid way to make that happen without killing him. Or me…because I know she’d want me to suffer through life without him.

“I’m over fighting fate, Rebecca.” Crayton shrugs. “I may not have killed Crimson, but that doesn’t wash away every other sin your God punishes.”

“Since when do you care about my God?”

An amused rumble escapes his lips. “What’s that saying? Even the devil cries on judgment day?”

With an exaggerated sigh I throw my leg over his to straddle him.

“Tomorrow is not judgment day, Crayton,” I emphasize his actual name, “and there’s still time to repent if you want to.”

He stares at me with longing in his eyes. “Why else do you think I agreed to this? I want to be a better man for you. One you deserve.”

“I never asked you to change.”

“Which is why you deserve it even fucking more.” He rebuts instantly. “I’m afraid to fuck this up, too.”

My lips curve downward. “I’m more afraid of something happening to you while you’re in there.”

He scoffs. “Now you sound just like my dad.”

I scoot closer to his chest and rest my arms on his shoulders, needing to feel more of him before he’s gone. “I’ll miss you so ducking much.”

He hits me with a raised brow. “So we’re keeping it that way then?”

Lifting my chin, my frown turns into a juvenile scowl. “I will not spend the next five years of our digital relationship wasting precious time trying to correct stupid auto-correct.”

The Beaumont’s and Cillian made sure Crayton would be safe and have access to the outside world as much as he can. So, besides the bi-monthly visits, we can also contact each other via a secret cell phone he will have.

It may not be every day, but Crayton said he will be sneaking texts as much as he can.

“You’re almost as dramatic as Beaumont.” Crayton shakes his head. “But…a fuck ton hotter.”

“Hotter, huh.” I tap a finger against my cheek. “Like how hot are we talkin’? Tip of the Bic kinda hot or blazing fires of Hell kinda hot?”

Crayton seems to think about it for a minute, then a mischievous grin stares back at me. He locks an arm around my waist, rolling us over until my head hits the sand and he’s hovering over my small frame. He growls in a freakishly good attempt at a demon voice, “Somewhere even the Devil burns.”

I slap his chest and laugh, basking in his lively spirit.

For the first time since I met Crayton, he's been attempting to see the positive side of things.

It makes me so proud, even if it hurts knowing I don’t get to enjoy him this way much longer.

It’ll be years before I can be fully in his arms again.

Tracing the ink on his body.

Listening to the beat of his softened heart.

I’ll be alone with all my love for him, feeling an empty pit in place of where my heart should be.

“Hey…” Crayton calls, sensing my trepidation. “Where’d you go?”

“Too many different places…” I echo the solemn words he told me in the past. “None of ’em good.”

Crayton lowers himself to his elbows and kisses me hard and powerful, reminding me without words that everything will be okay.

And I truly believe him.

There’s the sound of a heavy wave crashing right before water floods around us.

It’s such a familiar, comforting feeling.

One that has nostalgia seeping down on me like the rip current at my back.

The last time I was eaten up by the shore like this I was making sand angels with Dad.

Two weeks before he died.

Our arms and legs were spread wide as we flapped them like two silly little kids. Dad went through all his hopes for my future, covering topics like school to careers, all the way to true love.

He told me I’d know when I found it because it’ll feel like leaping—not falling like the world makes it seem.

That real love was more than an uncontrollable feeling or emotion, it was a choice—one that took work, patience, and unwavering devotion. But most importantly, it took giving yourself over blindly to another human being, hoping they give just as much of themselves back.

A leap of faith.

The words meant so little to me then…but everything to me now.

Because even though they feel like a lifetime ago, said to a girl I no longer recognize, they somehow manage to explain my love for Crayton perfectly.

I always wondered if Dad somehow knew his time would be up soon, and wanted to make his wishes known before returning to the God he loved so much.

And I’d like to think he’s looking down on me smiling, knowing that his little girl leaped for a man who’s come to protect her and cherish her as fiercely as he did.

Who’s become her new home since he’s been gone.

My hope is that Dad sees past all Crayton’s flaws and looks deep into his heart.

The same way I did.

Or maybe it was Dad all along who brought Crayton to me. Seeing things in him I couldn’t at first.

His strength. His loyalty. His know-no-bounds means of protecting someone he cares about.

I clasp my cross in my fingers, closing my eyes as Crayton watches intently.

Then, a hint of curiosity breaks through his gritted tenor. “What’s he telling you, Little Ghost?”

I blink up at him, breathing steady as I caress a thumb over his parted lips. “Everything you say you can’t.”

He withdraws into himself, as if gathering the right words he needs to say. After a few moments, Crayton comes to some sort of awakening because there’s this unfamiliar spark in his eyes.

“He’s right, you know.” Crayton swallows. “I felt the feelings for so long…but it wasn’t until you sat on that stand for me that I truly understood.”

“Understood what?” I keep attention on my thumb as it traces a line of sand up his cheek.

He wraps a hand around my wrist to stop me. “What they actually meant.”

My heart locks up as tight as his fist when our gazes meet, leaving it waiting with just as much bated breath as me.

He swallows again, releasing me before proceeding. “The devotion. The anger. The madness. The unwavering need to keep you safe.” He pauses for a beat to gather his next words. “I thought all of it was part of this sick obsession…but watching as you put me before you on that stand rattled something inside me. Allowing the pieces of the puzzle to fall at my feet.”

I hoist my head up just enough to meet his lips, tasting salt and smoke and a little of me on them. We stay this way, letting the kiss linger before I pull away to find his eyes again.

And when I do, there’s absolute certainty in them…melting me into the sand like the heat of the sun.

I breathe a sigh of relief when Crayton secures himself on an elbow, letting his fingers ring through my drenched orange hair.

The smile spreading on my lips is just as visceral as the air escaping them.

“So the devil does know how to love.” I tell him, feeling not only the weight of his body between us.

But what he says next.

Crayton leans down, pressing his forehead against mine as he whispers, “Only you.”

THE END

6 MONTHS LATER…

“Place all your belongings in sixty-six,” the security guard Mike points ahead to the rows of lockers, “and lose the necklace, Rebecca, you know the drill.”

I reach for my cross, hating having to take it off every time I enter this damn facility. Offering another silent apology to Dad, I make my way toward the locker, unclasping it behind my neck.

I twist the door open, stuffing my bag inside first, then hang my sweater off the hook. My cross gets dropped into the pocket of it right after.

Closing the locker, I proceed to make my way to one of the mounted chairs, taking the seat closest to Mike as I wait to be called.

“How’s school going, kid?” he asks, rustling through the sign in sheet.

I lift a shoulder. “Well, the excitement of starting senior year is definitely dying down.”

“The teachers dishing out a lot of work?”

“Always. Especially in Math.”

Which is fantastic because it’s the only subject I actually hate.

“I remember those days,” Mike whistles. “I hated my Math teacher—the asshole tried to fail me every semester.”

“It’s not my strong suit either, that’s for sure.”

He nods as if he gets it.

“How’s he doing?” I refer to the grump Mike has been checking in on for me since we first became friendly.

“Oh, the usual ray of sunshine. But behaving.”

Thank goodness.

“He’ll be happy to see your pretty face, though. Not many of those around here.”

I smile, cheeks heating. “Let’s just hope he’s in better spirits than last visit.”

I haven’t been here to see Crayton for almost a month…between the stress of the new school year and two visitor cancellations by Wayside Correctional.

The last time I was, though, he was barely able to look at me after getting into a tiff with his cellmate.

By tiff I mean choking the guy out because he tried to steal the cell phone Crayton uses to text me.

It didn’t escalate to the point where disciplinary measures took place, but the guy was removed from his cell and a new, more talkative one took his place.

And we all know how well Crayton bodes with small talk.

“I checked on him before…shaving in preparation for your arrival. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Shaving?” I squish my face.

“His face, kid. Damn.”

I snicker under my breath. “I was about to think he finally got his wish for a conjugal visit.”

My wish too if I’m being honest. Text sex sucks.

“Wish I could help you out. But rules are rules. Gotta be married.”

For at least six months before conviction, because obviously I did my research.

“Rebecca Dawson.” A deep voice calls out to me, and when I pop my head up, I find an unfamiliar guard waiting for a response.

“That’s me.” I hold up my hand and rise out of the chair.

“You’re up.”

With a wave to Mike, I follow behind the big guy, staring up at his over six-foot-five frame.

I would not want to get on his bad side, and I hope Crayton doesn’t either.

He holds open the door to a room, where a female officer is waiting to search me.

Then walks out to give me privacy.

“Step up to the line and turn around,” she instructs, so I do what she says. “Hold out your arms and spread your legs please.” I comply once again, and she wastes no time patting me down, searching my jean pockets and asking me to remove my shoes and lower my pants.

I slide my Converse off one by one, used to the routine, the same goes for dropping my pants.

I look up at the ceiling as she sniffs around for contraband.

“All good.” She confirms after searching the crevices of my vagina, boobs, and sneakers. Then, a few moments after I’m dressed the door opens.

Big Guy calls me over again, telling me to follow him, keep my hands out of my pockets, and my eyes off any inmates we may have to pass.

My mouth runs dry the closer we get to the door leading to the visiting rooms, and right before we reach it I instinctively brush my hands through my hair, earning a quick scolding from Big Guy about keeping them at my sides.

Another officer guards the door, holding a metal detector in his hand, so when we approach him, I’m told to follow a similar procedure to when I was first patted down.

My arms form a straight line as he runs the device up and down my body, satisfied when no beeps go off.

Straightening up, the officer nods at Big Guy, and before I know it we’re buzzed into the large bright room.

“Sit at number five and keep your hands on top of the table.” He tells me, ushering me to get moving.

I don’t look back as I make my way past the small rectangular tables, making sure to keep my eyes straight ahead as I pass the prisoners visiting with family.

When I reach the designated table I slide slowly onto the chair, my hands turning sweatier by the second. My knees are shaking, throat aching from swallowing, and my shoulders tense the longer I have to wait.

After ten minutes I start to worry, wondering if maybe something happened to stop Crayton from being able to see me.

Did he get into another fight?

Piss off a guard?

Get hurt somehow?

A million scenarios swarm through my mind as the minutes start to feel like hours, and when the only family left gets the signal to leave, I’m really starting to believe he isn’t coming.

That is until the inmate is escorted out the door by an officer, and another one opens up revealing Crayton walking through it.

My heart falls to my stomach, and I have to literally catch my breath to put it back in place.

He’s here. He’s okay. I tell myself to calm down.

Crayton’s hair has grown almost an inch since I last saw him, the buzz now turning into short messy strands with a professional fade.

He looks so handsome it physically hurts.

In spite of the pain, I can feel my face lighting up the closer he gets, and he breaks out into his signature devilish grin when he reaches me.

“Hey there, Little Ghost.” He winks as he drops onto the chair opposite of me, ignoring his escorting officer when he tells us we only got an hour.

“You look good.” I reach over to kiss him, and Crayton meets me in the middle.

When we touch I’m filled with both relief and longing, which results in a tiny cry against his lips, and the kiss lasting longer than we both know it should.

The guard at the far end of the room clears his throat, and our foreheads touch briefly before we sit back down.

“None of that, Rebecca.” He eyes the tear at my cheek, which has become a staple in our visits.

I smile, letting out a breathy “I’m sorry.”

“I missed you so fucking much.” Crayton admits through a downcast sigh.

Upon getting my license, I’ve been good at making the two hour drive up here to Jericho Valley every other weekend. This past month being the longest we went without seeing each other since he was incarcerated.

“I missed you too…so freaking much.”

“What’s been going on? How’s senior year kicking off?”

“A lot harder than yours I’m sure.”

He snuffs out a laugh. “You should be proud…I’m getting my GED.”

I reach across the table, but get cut off by another throat clear and command to keep my hands to myself. It makes me frown as I retract my arm.

I jut my chin at his head. “I like the new hair cut.”

“Javi’s pretty good with the scissors.”

I wiggle in the very uncomfortable seat. “Everything going okay in here?”

“Besides the fucking chatter box I’m forced to bunk with. Fantastic.”

I don’t believe him, but don’t have the heart to call him out on it either. “You make any more new friends?”

“Besides Javi?”

I nod.

“I made sure to with a couple guys…mostly the ones nobody wants to fuck with.”

A smart choice, one that puts my mind at both ease and in a panic. Because staying close to the really bad guys may keep the lesser guys away, but it can also turn you into one of them.

“I see the wheels turning, Little Ghost.”

I blink away the thoughts. “Huh?”

“You need to stop worrying.”

“You know that I can’t.”

Resolve sets over his face. “Tell me about your classes, why are they so hard?”

I scoff. “Besides Mrs. Abrea being a bitch?”

“I always did want to introduce her to my knife.”

That earns him a belly laugh, which I taper down once the guard slices his gaze over to me.

“She’s already assigned two research papers and quizzes. It’s only mid October.” I let out a sigh. “It really makes me miss Beckett.”

“Bullshit. You miss his flattery.”

“Do not!” I giggle, reveling in the lightness of his mood.

“Motherfucker would’ve gotten his ass kicked if it wasn’t for his loyalty to the ‘Fix Crayton’ cause.”

I look him up and down. “Seems like it worked.”

He glares at me through the top of his eyelids. “I’m in prison, Little Ghost.”

I give him a Hold it right there, mister facial expression. “But look how much you’re growing…changing. Shit you’re actually smiling brighter than your orange jumpsuit.”

He shoots down at it and shrugs. “You always wanted me to try some color.”

I huff through a smile. “So stupid.”

That earns me another wink.

“How’s your annoying mother, stepdaddy, and oversized rat?”

I scowl at him. “For the hundredth time…Potato is not a rat, he’s a Muffin. And he finally lost some weight…no thanks to you.”

Crayton shakes his head. “Only Rebecca Dawson would defend a dog over her own mother.”

I dip my head in defense. “That’s because her mother really is annoying.”

Crayton leans back in his chair. “Fuck I’ve missed all that sass of yours.”

“You get it through texts.”

“I get a lot of things through texts.” He quirks a brow. “None of which is as good as the real thing.”

I squirm in the chair, for a totally different reason this time.

“We’ve been making the best of it.”

Crayton’s face contorts. “If you call me rubbing one off into my bed sheets the best of it.”

It’s my turn to cringe. “Don’t you have to sleep on it after?”

He pins me with a look. “Exactly.”

With a sorry expression, I go back to catching up. “Have you spoken to your dad?”

Crayton rests his elbows on the table. “He was here last week. Lost a lot of weight.”

And then some. Stress will do that to ya.

“He really misses you.”

Crayton takes a few moments to cast a glance out the window. “Yeah, I know he does.”

“Hey,” I call, and Crayton focuses back on me. “Where’d you go?”

This makes him smile. “Too many different places, none of ’em as bad as this.”

I blow him a sweet kiss. “We’ll be together again before you know it.”

“You’re with me every night, Little Ghost.”

“And you’re with me.” I reach for him again as the guard is busy staring at the wall. Crayton doesn’t hesitate to hold my hand.

To squeeze it tight in his palm as his gaze locks on me, telling me through silence all the things he wishes he could say before our time together ends.

I smile at him, doing the same.

Until the heaviness of the moment dissipates with another warning from the officer.

I try to break apart from him immediately, but Crayton holds on, his eyes boring into mine and waiting for me to say it.

“I love you, too.” I reassure him through a quiet breath, and then he lets go to lean back in his seat, allowing the stress of our situation to melt off him.

He shifts back to the light stuff where we’re safe.

“So…anything juicy happening between our dysfunctional group of friends you feel like sharing?”

I let out a boisterous “Ha!” knowing what the fuck is going on back home will take a lot more than forty-three minutes to explain.

Crayton has missed quite a lot:

Of drama.

Surprises.

Of what-the-fuck moments.

“Oh there’s juice alright.” I bite the bottom of my lip to hold back my grin.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Care to share with the felon?”

I nod several times so hard my neck aches.

“Oh…I totally do.”

“A lot of shit?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So where the fuck shall we begin?”

I tap my chin, going over all the lives that have been flipped upside down since Crayton’s farewell, then after a few fleeting scenarios, I settle on the ones that hit closest to home for both of us.

As I lean closer, Crayton does too, looking around the room like he’s waiting for something to jump out at him.

I look around too, adding to the dramatic effect before curling my lips at him. “How about with Saint and Hendrix?”

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Book #6 done! Thanks so much for taking this ride with me!

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Missing the drama of “The Ties” world a little too much? Journey back to Brooklyn and check out the sneak peek of what’s to come for the most talked about female character!

SNEAK PEEK

TEGAN

What kind of wedding has a bar but no booze?

I groan as I hold my hand out for the bartender’s attention, requesting my fourth Coca Cola of the night.

When my friend Jaxon’s sexy lawyer invited me to his wedding, I fully intended on being intoxicated and in a groomsmen’s lap by now.

I am neither, and I gotta say it’s making me cranky.

Horny and cranky.

Never a good Tegan mix.

When the bartender hands me a soda, I take a hefty sip through the straw, thinking about the only upside of this situation.

I look damn good in this Saree.

Who would’ve known? A white girl like me at a Pakistani wedding. Slaying one of these cultural dresses.

I look over at Cameron, my dear friend for less than a year—even though it’s felt a hell of a lot longer—and I can’t help but be a bit jealous of what she has.

Not in a way I wish she didn’t have it—I truly want her to be happy—but in a way I’m longing for a family of my own.

Jaxon adores her to stupid proportions, along with his daughter Emersyn, who he’s raising on his own.

Well, not anymore since Cameron and him found their way back to each other.

Major drama there, better saved for a day I can chase the story with Titos.

I will say though, true love has prevailed, and these two are back to being nauseatingly cute.

I take another sip, swaying to the music as I watch Cameron do a horrible job at dancing with Emersyn.

I really need to teach this girl what rhythm means.

But for now, I’ll let her have her cute moment, and do my best to enjoy a night without the double D’s.

No, not my chest, I mean drinks and dicks.

I have no idea what this song is saying, but the beat has me bopping by instinct, even attempting to mirror the moves of some of the women on the dancefloor.

I look ridiculous, but whatever, who else can say they went Bollywood dancing in freaking New Jersey?

A lot of people actually.

Ugh, whatever conscience, let me have my damn fifteen minutes.

I’m slurping through the last of the glass as a blanket of warmth coats the exposed skin on my back.

A firm, large body presses into me, and there’s something about the sensation that has my heart dipping into my stomach.

“Still love to dance, huh.” A deep velvet tenor makes prickles on my skin overpower the heat.

The organ in my stomach must have returned to its cage, because it’s practically leaping out of my chest.

I spin around, finding reluctant brown eyes staring down at me…and I’m already picking up fragments of my heart as I attempt to speak his name.

“Jet…” I blink, wanting to make sure what I’m seeing is real. “What are you…” my words trail off as I swallow. “What are you doing here?”

He licks his plump bottom lip, the same one I’ve spent nights kissing, nipping, indulging in like one does a piece of chocolate cake.

Lips that have taught me satisfaction in ways I never imagined were possible, spoke words to me that swelled my heart.

And inevitably destroyed it.

It’s this fact that has my shock amping into rage as he attempts to answer my question.

“I’m friends with—”

“I don’t give a shit! Get away from me.”

I can’t look at you and stop myself from falling to pieces.

It’s been years since I’ve seen him, but the cut he left was too deep to fully heal.

“I didn’t mean to upset you…only wanted to say ‘hey’.”

“So say it already!” I hiss, needing him far away from me because vertigo is setting in.

“Hey, Ducky.” Jet smirks, the corner of his lips revealing pearly white teeth.

The nickname he gave me as kids just about does it. I feel the first crack in my armor and I’m desperate for him not to notice.

“Don’t you fucking…dare.” I snarl. “You don’t get to ambush me with childhood names.”

The boy who protected my heart may get to play friendly, but not the man who broke it.

Taking off, I speed past him, holding up the bottom of my dress as I escape his intoxicating scent.

Which hasn’t changed by the way.

What guy in his twenties still uses the same cologne he did when he was in his teens?

Fucking backstabbing shitfaces, that’s who.

I don’t get far before a hand clutches my forearm.

Jet lets out the word “Wait” through a harsh breath, which proves he’s got some feelings too.

I wonder if his feelings are as lethal as mine.

I whip around, slapping his hand off me. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk.” He shrugs.

I let out an incredulous laugh. “Talk? Really?” Crossing my arms, I add, “Where was all the talking you could’ve done for the last three years?”

He looks down, embarrassed as he should be. “I was a kid, Ducky.”

“So was I!” Stabbing his chest with my pointer finger, I add, “I was a kid, and broken, and sad, going through the hardest thing I ever experienced in my life.”

“I know.” Jet tries to reach for me again, but I take a step back. “I handled everything like shit. I admit it. But trust me, the weight I carry is heavy.”

I huff. “Well, good. I hope it drags you into the ground like you did to me.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He admits, a crack grating his voice.

“Yet here we are.”

I catch Jaxon in my peripheral cracking his knuckles, stalking toward us like a man on a violent mission. I smile inwardly, hoping he lays the asshole out so I can shove one of my heels up his ass.

His gorgeous round ass that I’ve eaten very questionable things off of in the past.

Stop it, Tegan. You hate him.

Sweet ass and all.

Cameron stays several feet behind with Emersyn as Jaxon approaches, shooting a nasty glare at Jet. “T, what’s going on?” He asks before turning to face me. “He botherin’ you?”

Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms. “Nope. Jet was just leaving.”

Jaxon takes a warning step toward Jet, and I’m silently begging him to slug him in his gorgeous face when Cameron’s voice pulls me from the violent thought.

“Jet?” She questions, and when Jaxon and Jet’s attention turns to her she looks as though she didn’t mean to say his name out loud.

Her mouth opens in surprise. “Oh, shit! It is you.” Cameron waves awkwardly, as if she has any other social setting.

Jet’s eyes widen as he looks her over. “2C?”

Why the hell does my best friend and my ex have code words?

Cameron giggles and holds up a hand. “Guilty.”

My eyeball daggers are still on Jet, which Cameron must realize because she clears her throat and turns serious. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“I’m one of Abe’s groomsmen.” He responds, and I decide a talking Jet is a breathing Jet, so we can’t have that. Which is why I don’t let him get further than “We’ve been friends for” before I decide to cut him off.

Jaxon beats me to the punch, though.

“How do you know this guy?” He hikes a thumb at Jet, who looks as though he regrets the very decision to walk over and make his presence known.

Good.

“Uh, ditto!” I take a step toward Cameron with my arms still crossed.

Cameron rolls her eyes, seeming to grow tired of the hostility me and the walking orgasm that is her man have toward Jet.

She takes a step closer, tightening Emersyn in her grip. “Okay, first of all…I’m slightly concerned with the size of the veins protruding from both your necks. So relax.” She flips Emersyn on her other hip. “Jet’s father owns the motel I stayed at while I was…away.”

If I was hostile before, I’m downright murderous now.

“You stayed at the Harbor Inn?!” I yell, which is unnecessary because the music is pretty low…unlike Jet’s chances of getting socked before the night ends.

“You let her stay in that shithole?!” I slap his arm. “It’s filled with prostitutes and sleazy assholes!”

Jaxon’s turn to jump in. “Sleazy assholes? Where the hell were you staying, Nyx?”

Yes, yes. They have pet names too.

The two of them go on arguing about where she was hiding for weeks for reasons I still don’t fully comprehend.

I watch Jet the entire time, all cordial and smiley at Cameron as if he has any right to engage with my family.

It’s when Jet leans closer to Cameron to whisper in her ear that I’ve hit my boiling point.

“Uhm, hello?” I snap, bringing their secret conversation to a swift halt. “Tegan here. Spill!”

Jet’s shoulders sag as he focuses back on me, the boyish glint I fell in love with appearing in his eyes, and for a second we’re back at fourteen, doing photoshoots on the roof of our building.

Not brought together solely by chance, at another couple’s wedding, when we’ve spent hours upon hours daydreaming about what ours would look like.

“Tegan, let’s just go talk,” He says, defeated.

Absolutely fucking not.

I turn my head toward the doors to the hotel balcony, needing to pretend I’m far away from his magnetic essence.

The one I’ve been drawn to from the very first time we met.

The one drawing me closer, even now, as my body leans instinctively toward Jet, like muscle memory.

For so long I considered the boy version of Jet my lifeline, my everything. His pull may have been weakened by time and resentment, but it’s still strong enough to send tiny zips of electricity to my fingers. Making them want to reach out and touch his beautiful caramel skin.

See if those same sparks fly between us.

Or if they’re still clinging to the kids we used to be.

The ones I miss so much it hurts, even more so now.

“I have nothing to say…” The rest of my sentence sounds exactly how Jet looks. Broken. Tired. Sad for reasons only we know. “Just go.”

The little girl inside me is screaming at him not to do it again—not to give up on her so easily—but the adult on the outside knows she won’t make it out of here alive if this goes any further.

Jaxon’s wary eyes on Jet no longer do anything to fuel the fire in my belly, because it’s been snuffed out by the pain lining Jet’s gorgeous features.

It’s a pain only we comprehend, only we can relate to. Even after all these years apart. But this is not the time or the place to rip open tragic wounds.

Which is why Jet takes a step back, and straightens his jacket, his mind made up. “If there’s anything I’m good at besides relationship advice,” he says this directed toward Cameron, and I have no idea why because he’s the last person anyone should be seeking romantic tips from. “It’s knowing when to bow out.”

No argument there, he’s a fucking pro at walking away.

I’m falling deeper down memory lane when Jet adds, “Tegan, if you’d like to talk, you know where to find me.”

I watch Jet turn, my heart clenching when his back is to me, whispering something in Cameron’s ear before casting a glance over his shoulder at me one last time.

The second Jet is out of earshot, Cameron hands Emersyn to Jaxon and darts over to me.

“What the hell was that about?”

I don’t know if I should laugh or cry at how ironic it is that on the one day my introverted friend attempts to branch out into girl talk, the literal topic of conversation sneaks up behind me. Then comments on my childhood hobbies when we both know he was a part of every single one.

Jet was a skeleton I buried so deep in my closet in hopes he’d never get out. Not only is he out of my closet, he’s stealing the air out of my lungs from all the way across the room.

Drawing me closer without even a beckon.

“Remember the question you asked me earlier at your house? You know…while we were getting dressed?” Cameron asked if I’ve ever been in a serious relationship with a guy, and I kept it casual avoidance, even when she insisted I tell her who he was.

I couldn’t find it in myself to speak Jet’s name, to will him into an existence I tried so hard to erase.

Blinking over her shoulder, I catch him staring, forcing my eyes to lock with his.

Jet’s wounded gaze is so powerful, full of emotion and words left unsaid, it brings tears to threaten my eyes.

When the sight of him this way becomes too much I look down at my hands, breaking his hold on me once again to settle my heavy beating heart.

Cameron nods in response, probably recalling the conversation we had earlier in her room, or lack thereof.

Twisting one of my many bangles around my wrist, I mumble, “Well…you just met him.”