As I press the replay button, her breathless voice fills my room again.
“Wyatt,” Thea whimpers, innocent and sinful all at once. Her soft tone stirs my cock for another round. “Feels so good. I’m close.”
It had thrown me the first time I heard it, long enough to stop stroking my dick. She’d called out another man’s name and a righteous bout of jealousy surged through me. I’d never been possessive over my hookups, but something about her in that moment made me want to hear my name falling from those plump pink glossy lips before she came.
Now things click into place with the blood flow returning to my brain. This is all a case of mistaken identity. She texted the wrong number. Whoever this Wyatt guy is, he’s not me. And if I have anything to say about it, he won’t ever get to hear Thea moaning his name like that.
The games I play with her at school are out of petty boredom. I need more of this side of Thea. Things just got a lot more interesting.
The next time she makes those sounds, it’ll be because I drew them out of her.
My mouth curves in a mean smirk. I bet it will piss off her neighborhood busybody mother if she ever finds out her shy, mousy little daughter is naughty under those good grades and oversized granny sweaters. It’s time for some revenge for what that woman did, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.
If I’m going to do this, I have to be strategic. I can’t reveal myself yet. It will end this game too soon. Thea is the shy type who likes to get freaky in secret. She’ll piss her pants and take off running if I come at this too hard.
No, I have to take it slow and steady. Figure out my play and the next three possible moves ahead to find the right moment to unveil that it’s been me all along.
For now, I save her number to my phone and take care of the dirty tissues I dumped on the floor after cleaning myself up.
Thea doesn’t know it yet, but with one racy selfie, she stepped into my world.
Five
Connor
By the next week, I’ve settled into a new routine. Wake up, text the little mouse that lives next door, take care of my morning wood with help from photos of Thea’s sleepy eyes sparkling with mischief, shower for school, text her again—and so on throughout the day until I’m coming before bed to the image of Thea’s perfect tits. The best part of the game is passing Thea in the halls or in classes we share, completely unaware I know how she sounds when she’s about to come.
I’ve been keeping up the pretense that I’m this Wyatt guy she believes she’s messaging.
On Tuesday, the soccer team has a practice scrimmage after school. Half of us play positions to cover one team, and the rest play against us. We’re tied 1-1, but we’re coming up on the end of the game.
There’s nothing like the feeling of driving the ball toward the goal, the sweet grass-scented breeze in your hair, every nerve ending fizzling with energy. I love playing soccer. Always have, since my dad first put a ball in front of me.
My boy Devlin only has his head half in the game. I’ve pulled him up on it as captain once, but he keeps watching the girls track team. More specifically, the school’s charity case sitting nearby like she’s being subtle. Devlin got her kicked off the team because she pissed him off. Those two are bound to be fucking by the end of the year if they aren’t yet.
“Dev!” I shout, dribbling the ball while avoiding two mid-fielders. “You better quit making moon eyes at Davis when I make this pass.”
I check my periphery for him. One guy playing against us tries to break my footwork, but Devlin appears out of nowhere, like the lightning-quick devil I know, and picks up the pass I send him.
Satisfied laughter bubbles from my chest as Devlin’s attack turns merciless, whipping past the other team’s defenders and punting the ball with insane speed. It’s how he got his nickname, the dark devil of Silver Lake. Together we’re an unstoppable pair. The ball becomes a blur, cutting through the air and sailing past their goalie’s outstretched hands as he dives for the save.
Devlin turns back to me, a sharp, wicked smirk in place. He jogs to my side at a lazy pace. I shake my head, grinning at my best friend. He’s an asshole, but I love him. We get each other in a way the rest of the superficial idiots at this school don’t.
“We could’ve cinched that goal faster if you hadn’t been all goo-goo eyes for Davis. I told you last year, bro, you’ve got to just do her already, get your obsession out of your system.” I hook an arm around Devlin’s neck and rub my knuckles into his scalp. “Watching you two eye-fuck at lunch is not on my agenda for a second year in a row.”
“Fuck off.” Devlin shrugs my arm off. “I wouldn’t touch Davis’ cunt if it were the last one in the world.”
I bark out another laugh. “Even you don’t have that much self control. Pussy is pussy. You’d cave eventually.”
Devlin rolls his eyes. “Whatever, prick. If you’re so sure, you go fuck her.”
“Nah. You called dibs last year.” I hold up three fingers in a Boy Scout salute and solemnly intone, “Bro code is sacred.”
I get smacked upside the head for being a good friend. Dick.
“All right, guys,” I call. Sticking my fingers in my mouth, I whistle for the team to circle up on center field. They hustle over, wiping sweat from their brows with their practice jerseys. “Trent, you need to dig harder when the ball comes to our backs. Don’t slack because it’s practice, you lazy shit. Bad habits in practice make for bad habits in real games.”
Trent snorts and flips me off while Sean, our other center-back, shoves him with a smirk.
“First official game of the season on Friday. No partying the night before. I don’t want to hear any excuses—if I can manage, so can you.” I point at a few of the guys who are hard-up to get through the week without getting wild. A few murmurs of assent filter through the team. “Aight. Go shower off the stink, you disgusting fuckers.”
The team trickles toward the locker room entrance at the back of the school. Our coach waits for me to check in with him by the sidelines. He lets me run things since I made varsity captain last year, but offers insightful pointers I can’t see when I’m playing the game.
Devlin hangs around, fiddling with his phone while I finish up going over the schedule with the coach. Something distracted him today. Whatever it is, it’s been bugging him since yesterday. Maybe longer. He was weird over the weekend—weirder than usual. I’m used to most of his quirky shit after years of friendship, like his penchant for reading boring ass psychology books.
It was easier to weather Devlin’s brooding moods when his older cousin was around. Lucas Saint was king of this school last year, a grade ahead of us and this town’s golden boy with a golden arm. Too bad he pissed all that talent away to go to art school with his girlfriend.
With Lucas at college, Silver Lake High School belongs to Devlin and me. It’s our senior year. He’s our Devil Boy with his black hair, mischievous smile, and a wily streak the size of Texas. We’re the perfect match of deviants.
“What time does it start tonight?” Devlin asks.
The corner of my mouth lifts. The Ridgeview police chief’s son, Holden Landry, is organizing a fight ring. Because I have a copy of a positive drug test that would end Landry’s football dreams along with footage of him getting blitzed at a boat party over the summer, Devlin and I are getting a thirty percent cut of tonight’s winnings.
This is how things operate with us in charge.
“He’s taking bets until seven. Pick me up at nine?” I grab the bag of soccer balls and sling it over my shoulder as we walk to the locker rooms. Devlin is distracted by his phone again, obsessively checking his messages. “I’ll be at the usual spot down the block.”
“You’re like a junior high chick, the way you sneak out,” Devlin says absently.
“You know what my mom is like. Most of the time I wish someone would see me sneak out and run a story in the gossip column.” I gesture with my hands to highlight a headline. “I can s
ee it now, Chairwoman Bishop’s re-election campaign overshadowed by delinquent son.” A wistful sigh blows past my lips and I elbow Devlin. “It would solve so many of my problems.”
“At least she’s around.”
I bite back a reply. Devlin’s parents duck out on him pretty often. I haven’t seen them in three or four years.
Clapping my hand around his shoulder, I squeeze him closer in a half-hug. “Whatever. Tonight’s going to be awesome.”
The black shadow that passed over Devlin’s features clears, replaced by a devious gleam in his dark gaze.
The scent of weed and beer tinges the night air. It’s cooler than it was earlier now that the sun has gone down. September is still warm as hell during the day, but as soon as it’s nightfall the mountain air turns frigid.
A joint dangles from my lips as Devlin and I move through the crowd, bumping fists with people here and there. A dirty bass line plays from a wireless speaker, the distorted sound flooding the woods at the edge of the abandoned quarry off Blackhawk Road. After it closed it was filled in. Now all that remains is a gravel lot at the base of the mountain. A few Coyote Girls, townies, and chicks from the two public schools dance on truck beds in skintight ripped jeans and cowgirl boots. Laughter spills through the night and a sense of wild debauchery threads through everyone’s energy.
It’s the perfect place for illicit partying in Ridgeview, the access road rarely used since the new highway was built. The only people that come through hit it up during the day for the old hiking trail that heads up into the Rockies.
I scan the crowd for Landry. Everyone is getting rowdy before the fights start. I’ve got something on almost every person here in my files, from my soccer teammates to the people who run in my crowd. Everyone is fair game. It’s become an ingrained habit, one I don’t plan on quitting anytime soon.
Landry is hanging by a classy white Jeep, thumbing through a wad of cash with a guy I don’t know while he flirts with the hot girl sitting on the hood. Maybe he’s a townie, but Landry hands him the cash, so he must run with him. He looks like an odd match to Landry, a punk with a leather jacket, messy dark hair, and a mean glint in his eyes when they land on me. I have no idea how Silver Lake’s starting quarterback and this guy could have crossed paths.
I leave Devlin with the guys and head for the Jeep. The girl Landry’s talking to lets her knees fall open and he steps between them with a wolfish grin. I recognize her as a poli-sci post-grad who joined my mom’s campaign staff over the summer.
“Did you close out the call for bets?” I ask as I lean against the Jeep. The campaign staffer’s eyes go wide when they land on me. I wink at her and tap my nose. “What mommy dearest doesn’t know, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” she answers with a strained cough.
To be extra welcoming since this is the first I’ve seen her at an SLHS party, I offer my joint. She hesitates, then accepts it, taking two hits and grabbing Landry to shotgun the smoke into his mouth.
“Nice,” I say.
Landry flips me off without breaking the kiss with the campaign staffer. His friend rolls his eyes and stalks off with a grunt.
Being discreet, I record a short video clip of them kissing to add to my blackmail collection. Papa Landry would blow his lid at the scandals his son is wracking up. What would be more interesting is if Landry’s younger sister shed her good girl veneer and proved to be even naughtier. With that tight little yoga bod she has, I wouldn’t mind seeing what sort of trouble she could get up to.
Cute as little Maisy Landry is, my mind drifts to Thea and those dime curves she keeps hidden under oversized clothes. I thumb into our message thread. The last text she sent to “Wyatt” was a selfie with a cake she baked after school. I didn’t give a shit about the cake, more interested in the fact her hair was tied up in perky pigtails. Fucking pigtails. I work my jaw as a bolt of heat shoots to my groin.
A surge of cheers drowns out the music, drawing me from my thoughts. People move in droves from where the cars are parked in the gravel lot into the tree line. The headlights spill into a clearing through the trees. I guess the first fight is starting.
Devlin finds me and we head over together. He hands me a beer and lights up a cigarette. We join the crowd circled around two guys duking it out, grunting when their punches land.
Fight Club rules apply, bare knuckles and no shirts. A few guys are positioned around the clearing to deal with any idiot filming for the likes on social media. Landry’s leather jacket friend is one of them, pushing a hand through his hair as he narrows his cold gaze on a couple of chicks taking selfies near us.
One of the fighters in the ring is on the student council at school, with string bean arms, cheeks already pink with exertion and they’ve barely begun. Thanks to my weekly summons from my dad to the school office before therapy, I also know Mr. Student Council was accused of peddling Adderall last week. He swings with gritted teeth and manages to clock his opponent in the chin. The other guy stumbles back a step to regroup, then comes in with a quick one-two jab to Student Council’s weakly guarded center.
The underground fighting is about letting out aggression. The betting is fun, but hardly any of us need the money. Ridgeview is a town that hit it rich in the gold rush era and the sun’s been shining down on us since.
Devlin snorts, the sound dark and amused as Student Council successfully takes down his larger opponent, using speed against strength to maneuver the force of gravity on his side. The bigger guy goes down and Student Council wails on him, blood staining his teeth from a split lip, pure murderous rage blazing in his eyes.
It’s violent, unhinged, and fucking glorious.
Landry steps into the ring and blows on a whistle clenched between his teeth. Grabbing Student Council’s wrist and wrenching it into the air, he barks, “Winner. Next challenger in the ring in two minutes, or you forfeit your buy-in.”
The crowd shuffles, waiting for the next person to step forward. Once they do, another match starts. Student Council goes down in two hits, knocked out and sprawled in the dirt.
As the following fighter enters the clearing, my phone goes off in my back pocket. Devlin exchanges a curious glance with me as I step away from the crowd. The name on the screen has me grinding my teeth. Mom.
I debate not taking it, feeling a muscle jump in my cheek from how hard my jaw locks. If I ignore it, she’ll only hound me once I get home. Big fat FML either way. What a pain in the ass.
“I’ve gotta take this. I’ll be back,” I tell Devlin before I jog away from the party. Lifting the phone to my ear, I answer, “What?”
“Is that any way to answer your mother, Connor?”
“I could’ve not answered,” I say dismissively as I pass the cars where some people are still hanging out and talking, and head for the old storage building.
“Where are you? It sounded loud when you answered.” The judgement is clear in her tone.
Rolling my eyes and scrubbing a palm over my face, I lean against the rusty corrugated metal siding, kicking at the weeds popping out of the gravel at my feet. “People from school. We’re hanging out at a friend’s house.”
She hums on the line, uppity even in her non-verbal communication. That socialite upbringing always shines best when she’s disappointed by whatever way I’m embarrassing her now.
I don’t have all night for this. “What do you want?”
“Have you checked the schedule? Angela should have updated the mobile calendar. The children’s hospital dinner benefit is coming up. This is your reminder that the entire family must be present. We have to show a united family front for the voters.”
For the voters. I bring the phone away from my ear to scoff.
Everything she does is for her constituents. It’s the only reason she wants me at this charity event and that dinner, all of these bullshit parties so she can trot out the happy family pony show. Meanwhile, that home-wrecker Damien sleeps in our house and makes Mom breakfast. He stupidly offered m
e coffee this morning and I threatened to dump the fresh pot over his head.
“Connor,” Mom says on the line. I bring the phone back to my ear. “We’re almost there. We’ve worked this hard and all that’s left is the finish line when elections come up. Understood?”
“Roger.” She can’t see, but I give a sharp salute anyway.
Before she can add any other stipulations, I hang up and stomp back through the parked cars to the clearing in the woods. Adrenaline and anger rush through my veins. My breathing has picked up and my vision shrinks around the edges, focused on the ring.
Devlin steps in my path. His expression tightens around his eyes when he takes me in. “You good?”
“My mom,” I say.
It’s all the explanation I need with him. His dark brows hike up and he stands aside. He knows how I get after a call with her. I strip out of my henley and toss it to him.
“Give me your phone, too.”
I hand it over and spot Landry’s friend edging toward me. Pointing at him, I say, “Nah uh, dude. You might run with Landry, but he’s not in charge here.”
The leather jacket punk looks to Holden for confirmation. Landry nods and jerks his head to the ring. His friend picks at random and kicks one of the fighters back into the crowd. Before he’s done, I’m stepping in, mouth pulled in a jagged, wild curve.
I square up with the guy who entered after Student Council was KO’d. He’s bigger than me, bulkier, but he’s tired. He swings and I dodge, smirk stretching wider. A flash of worry crosses my opponent’s face. He backs off a couple of steps, trying to lure me in. I don’t take the obvious bait, instead waiting for him to come at me again. When he does, I pop him in the chin.
A fist comes against my forearm as I block his blow, but I make a mistake in my stance, giving a clean opening for the guy to punch my face. Shit, I don’t even care if I bruise. Maybe I’ll get real lucky and it’ll last long enough to make me look extra good next to Mom for her stupid fucking campaign benefit.
Ruthless Bishop: Dark New Adult High School Bully Romance (Sinners and Saints Book 3) Page 4