by Lindsey Iler
“And if he doesn’t slip up, then what? We’ll have put an innocent girl in harm’s way, for what?” I argue. “Can you live with Palmer’s blood on your hands?”
“What about Reed’s blood, huh? What about her?” Byron flies from the couch, pressing his chest against mine. “Three hundred and sixty-five days she’s been gone. A year tomorrow. No leads. No closure for us or her family. Let’s remember where your loyalties lie, Marek,” he growls, taking a step away only to shove me backwards. He believes this will show who has the upper hand. When it comes to power, Byron will always believe he has the most. “Reed was yours, too.”
I hold up my hands, frustrated. “Let’s not get it twisted, Byron. She was always yours, whether or not she played with the rest of us.” More lies.
“Is that right? Because last time I checked, that girl had your back more times than not. Maybe have hers one last time.” Byron storms out of the living room with Dixon following him in silence.
“Whatever he wants to do . . .” Breaker starts.
I silence him with a pointed stare. “Yeah, I know. We live by, we die by.”
“Now, tell me how tonight was.” Breaker leans against one of the chairs. “It’s the least you could do for making me play a part in your scheme.”
My mind runs back through the night’s events. Palmer in the cafeteria. The way the light flickered on her cheeks from the lamp. Her boldness at the pool, stripping in front of me.
“She dragged me into the pool.” I rub my hand over the back of my neck. Whenever this comes up, I’m instantly dragged back to a place I’d prefer to keep in the past.
“But you can’t swim,” Breaker acknowledges.
I sigh a heavy breath, practically feeling my lungs filling with water again. “Weakness doesn’t come easy to me, and she somehow figured mine out in a matter of a day.”
“Something tells me you’ll get your strength back in her eyes very soon.” Breaker’s knowing tone is a reality check. “Try not to think of her as a girl who you care about, if that’s even what this is all about, Marek.”
“I don’t know what this is.” I stare at the screen. Palmer is undressing, then she slips between the sheets.
“It’s something, though”—Breaker’s eyebrow lifts, questioning the bullshit I’ve started with this girl— “and if what we think is right, then in the end, she shouldn’t care what we’ve done to get to the truth.”
“That’s how we’re going to justify it, then?” I face him, completely surprised by how the reality settles roughly on my conscience.
“We do whatever we have to do to survive, always, and for each other.” Breaker walks out of the living room, and I fall back into the couch. “Reed was one of us.”
My head pounds with the unknown. We could have this all wrong. Chasing ghosts and dragging someone innocent on the ride with us isn’t what we do. The Glass House Boys control the social hierarchy on campus. What we say, goes. What we say, doesn’t, is discarded. No questions asked. No evidence needed to support our reasoning.
To them, it’s our word that counts. Both a blessing and a curse. Power puts a target on our backs in a way nothing else can.
Our power may have been the catalyst for Reed’s unfortunate ending, and here we are walking Palmer right into the same trap.
Chapter Seven
Palmer
A knock on my door startles me, causing me to drop my mascara wand, leaving a dark smudge of makeup on the countertop. It’s only seven in the morning, a little too early for a visitor.
“I swear to God, Delaney, this better be important for you to be interrupting ME time!” I yell, buttoning my pressed white shirt.
I open the door and suck in a deep breath. Marek leans on the wall across from my room, his legs crossed at his ankles, looking every bit of the trouble he is.
“Coffee?” He offers the tray to me, and I carry them inside my room, placing them on the table. I never say no to coffee.
I check the orders and smile to see my usual favorites. He plucks his basic black coffee from the group and takes a long sip. A soft moan releases from his mouth, and like there’s a direct connection to my center, a ping of lust shoots through me.
He watches the front of my sweatpants like he can will them off my body. I fidget, knowing what he could be thinking. I pinch my thighs together to get some relief, and he grins, looking up at me through his long lashes.
“How’d you know what I order?” I ask and turn to grab the cappuccino first. His grin catches me off guard when I face him. “You know what, never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”
“Probably safer that way.” He sits on the edge of my mattress, thumbing the lid flap on his cup. “What has me curious is how indecisive you are. Three different orders every time. If you want a good buzz, Palmer, I can give you something to quench that thirst.”
“What are you even doing here, Marek?” I check my watch to distract myself from paying too much attention to the boy on my bed. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be hunting?”
It’s what they call the process of finding their next victim. At least that’s what Reed had told me. This was my worry when Marek and the boys started showing interest in me. Reed had fallen for it, and I’ve never understood how. For how smart of a girl she was, you’d think she’d know better than to fall for the charm of four sociopaths.
“Is that what you think I’m doing, hunting you?” He sets his cup on my bedside table, stands, and stalks over like a predator, inspecting a wounded animal he plans to rip the jugular out of. “That isn’t what this is at all.” One hand grips my hip, tugging me flush against him. “Girls who are hunted aren’t meaningful. They hold one purpose. To feed our egos and our thirst for the beautiful scream only a girl pushed to her edge can bring.”
“My sister?” I cover my throat.
“Was never hunted by us.” With slow, painful movements, he leans down and grazes his lips against the side of my neck.
“But she told me about it.” I shiver as he shows the other side of my neck attention.
“Think back, Palmer. Did she ever say she fell prey to us?” He taps my temple, and I recall every conversation. He’s right. “Reed didn’t need to be hunted. She willingly walked into our arms.”
“And I assume you expect me to do the same thing.” I stand up straight, hoping to show him I’m not afraid of him. But I am.
“I wouldn’t want you as bad as I do, if you did, Palmer. Like Breaker said, don’t make it easy for me.” His eyes are always so intense, like he’s holding back something and only willing to go so far until something stops him.
“You should go. I need to finish getting ready.” I walk to the door and hold it open. Privilege gives Marek the confidence to sit at the small table that divides the kitchen from the bedroom. “What are you doing?”
“I didn’t come here just to deliver coffee. I’m walking you to class, Palmer. I know today is the anniversary of . . .” He leans forward, gripping his cup so tight, I expect it to explode. He doesn’t finish his sentence, as if it’s too painful to acknowledge.
We watch each other for a minute, neither of us moving or uttering a single word. Like a standoff, we are choosing to challenge the other. I want him to leave. He wants to stay. The greatest war ever raged is happening between us right now.
“You won’t win. Now get dressed, or else you’ll make me late.” Marek leans back in his chair.
I snatch my socks and skirt from the table and head for the bathroom. The door springs back open as I close it. Marek’s large hand is the culprit. He stands boldly in front of me with hungry eyes, taking up too much space. His blues sparkle with desire.
“I said to get dressed, Palmer. I didn’t say to do it behind a closed door.” His tongue reaches out, running over his bottom lip.
“Marek,” I whisper.
His fingers dip into the side of my sweatpants and lower them until they fall to the floor, pooling at my feet. When he falls to his knees
, shock rolls through my heart. He helps me step out of the material, then grabs the black socks, working them onto my feet. He stands and lifts me onto the counter, tucking himself close between my thighs.
“You have no idea, do you?” His lips graze mine, and his hands dip into my hair.
“What?” I ask, tightening my legs around him, loving the way he feels there.
“How weak you make me.” He wastes no time capturing my mouth with his. His tongue dances and plays nicely with mine, giving just enough pressure to prove how badly he wants me. Through our lips, he whispers, “See, you’re going to make me late.”
When he moves away, putting a little bit of space between us, I miss the warmth his large body brings. He bends back down and slips the skirt onto my legs and lifts it until he can’t anymore.
“Jump down, baby.” A sweet kiss on the cheek is all it takes to make me putty in his hands. I do as he says, and he turns me around, roughly bending me over the counter. The skirt tightens on my hips as he raises the zipper.
A cool breeze hits the back of my thighs. A sting radiates over my ass, and I jolt upward.
“Did you just spank me?” I grin, hating myself for how much I enjoyed the sharp intrusion.
“You don’t stay first in the class by being lazy.” He turns his back, bold and domineering, and leaves me to finish getting ready. “Don’t make me late again, Palmer.”
What the fuck just happened?
Marek does as he promises by walking me to class. Along the way he ignores everyone who attempts their hardest to grab his attention. Every so many steps, I sense he’s paying far more attention to me than anything else. His sly smile matches mine when we are caught eyeing each other. There is a thunderous wave of whispers as we make our way through campus. Sidelong glares prove something everyone believes.
We don’t belong next to each other.
“Ever notice how much this place looks like Hogwarts?” I slow my steps and set my stare on the highest peak of the row of buildings. With strong and distinct lines and architecture, this place is unbelievably historic.
“What are you doing, Palmer?” Marek back-pedals to where I’ve stopped in the center of the sidewalk and pulls on my arm.
I hold my ground. “I’m appreciating what I have.”
“Let me guess, this is some sort of rambling from losing your sister? Some lesson her short life taught you?” He steps up to me shoulder to shoulder, and we both take deep breaths as if we share a set of lungs.
“Do you have to be so crass all the time?” Marek Hawthorne would be struck down by the devil if he showed a glimmer of sensitivity. That is one thing I’m certain of. Bosses don’t tend to appreciate lax employees.
“It’s what I’m made up of.” He elbows me, and I follow him towards the lecture hall. “That and other things.”
“Please, divulge these other attributes that make you who you are because I don’t quite understand you.”
“Funny from a girl who spreads her legs as thin as my patience without batting an eyelash.”
“I was trying to live a little, for a second, trying to understand.”
“Your sister.” He interrupts. “You’re curious how it all worked. How we worked.”
“I thought if I put myself in her shoes, even for a night, I’d maybe see how she ended up the way she did.”
“We had nothing to do with what happened to her, Palmer.” His voice carries a strong force, unwavering as if he believes what he’s saying is true.
“I want to believe you.”
“You do believe me, or else you’re no better than any of us up on the hill. You’d be a girl who slept with two of the guys who are responsible for the brutal demise of your heart.” He steps in front of me and bends down to hook his stare into mine.
“How’d you know?” I reach for the necklace through my shirt, gripping tightly to the silver locket. The sharp edges of the skeleton key bite into my skin.
Marek watches my hand. “Your sister didn’t keep our secrets from you, but she didn’t keep yours, either.” He watches me so attentively, I don’t think he realizes when he reaches up and grabs ahold of the hidden key around his own neck.
“Your heart. It’s what we’d say to each other, when things got bad at home, when our parents arguing seemed to never let up, or when one of us was worried about something. Like a way of saying ‘someone in this world has your back’,” I explain, knowing he already understands everything I’m saying.
Memories of Reed take over. Panic sets in, much as it has done hundreds of times since she’s been gone. It’s the universe’s way of reminding me there’s a hole in place of her. Nothing is the same. Not our family. Not school. None of it seems real without her in it.
Marek grabs me, holding me out in front of him by my arms. “Get it together, Palmer. Don’t let anyone see you cracking.”
“But I am.” I wave my hand in front of my face, a lame attempt to calm myself. “I’m cracking right down the middle.”
“Does this happen often? The attacks?” Marek cradles my face in his hands. Uncertainty and something else I can’t quite place shine back at me.
I try to regulate my breathing, but nothing is working. I clench my hands together, only to release the tight hold and shake them out.
A warm finger brushes along my skin, wiping away the evidence of my sadness. Marek. My eyes flutter, and through the thick dark lashes lining my eyes, I see him watching me.
“You’re only as weak as you allow them to believe you to be. You’re only as strong as you allow yourself to be. When it hurts, when you’re missing her so bad that it feels like it’s all collapsing in on you, take a minute and pretend that I’m standing in front of you.” He releases me from his hold, grabs my hand, and rubs his thumb over the back of it. “Notice all of my features and say them out loud to yourself. It’s a way to ground yourself, to bring you back from that dark place.”
“Inky, dark hair. Crystal blue eyes. A tight jawline. Your silver chain. The most immense soul.” I rattle everything off like it’s a grocery list, not like it’s everything he’s made of.
A goofy grin crosses Marek’s face. “See?” He runs his fingers over my collarbone and down to my hand, mingling his among mine until our hands are linked. “Your breathing is already calming.”
“Did you do that for selfish reasons, to hear the truth about what I see when I look at you?” I eye our connection, assuming he’s seconds away from dropping my hand. Instead, he guides me into the building. “Because what I see is different than what the rest of them see.”
“You shouldn’t see anything special in me, Palmer.” He deposits me into my seat. Surprisingly, he leans down on the top of my desk, resting his mouth against my ear. “The only interesting thing about me is you.”
His perfect lips glide away from my ear and over my cheek. The movement is slow and sensual. We have an audience, and still, I don’t push him away. What we’d shared in Byron’s bedroom is on display for our classmates to see. Leaning into him as his lips hit mine isn’t the best idea. We both shoot forward like a firework in the sky. Explosive. Unruly. Magical.
“Okay, you two, get a room,” Byron calls out, giving Marek and me no choice but to separate. He stands behind Marek, forcing him to step aside. “Or better yet, Palmer, find mine.” His accusation is a whisper, allowing only the three of us to bear witness to his words.
“Go fuck yourself,” I whisper, shoving him away from my desk. He stumbles a little bit, earning me an appreciative laugh from Marek.
With methodical movements, Byron runs his brown, sultry eyes up and down my body. “I know what that mouth can do, so I can only imagine what that tight little pussy of yours is capable of doing to a man. Weakening their knees, buckling their resistance, transforming their entire soul from a single pulse.” He licks his lips and backs away.
The class is none-the-wiser of our teacher’s words. They are blissfully in their own worlds, unaware of the debauchery happening unde
r their own noses. Those who the Glass House Boys allow in know the rules. No one utters a single word. Secrets run this place. Always have.
“What my sister ever saw in Byron Decatur is a mystery to me,” I whisper as Marek takes the chair next to me.
“Sometimes we don’t need to understand others, Palmer. Sometimes it’s better to believe they see something redeemable.” He pulls out his notebook and leans back in his seat.
His stare shifts over his shoulder. Dixon sits next to Marek, while Breaker plops down next to me. The three of them stay silent yet manage to say so much by the seats they occupy during class. A single choice shifts the entire dynamic of our student body.
“He’s right. You don’t understand us, and yet, you aren’t running away.” Breaker winks, chewing the cap on his pen while seeming to focus on the front of the class.
Byron blathers on about today’s lesson. I don’t comprehend a single word, too self-aware of the gods sitting beside me, choosing to make a silent declaration. Problem is, I seem to be the only one willing to acknowledge what they’re doing.
I lean towards Breaker, covering my mouth to hide my words. “Would you believe me if I had my own selfish reasons for not running away?”
“You’re a Weston. I’d expect nothing less.” He turns his head, bringing us nose to nose, and inspects my lips. I wet them with my tongue. Did he just moan? He wouldn’t try to kiss me, would he?
Marek clears his throat, and my notepads hit the floor. Breaker snickers as I bend over and come face-to-face with Marek cleaning up the mess he’s made.
“I don’t like the way you’re looking at him.” A jealous Marek is a sight to behold. He’s all anger and grimace.
“He’s the one who was getting awfully close to my lips.” My eyes widen from Marek’s disapproval. “Not that it’s any of your business who I kiss or don’t kiss.”
“Don’t ever apologize for wanting me, baby,” Breaker whispers over my shoulder. The playful tone in his voice proves what I already know. He’s the jokester among these stoic and harsh boys.