by Eden O'Neill
“Any reason why my brother would come out here?” she asked me. “After all, you and your boys are his new besties, right?”
Hardly. I smirked. “I think we both know why I was hanging out with your brother.”
I’d done it to get to her, point blank. Me hanging with Bru pissed her off and was completely intentional.
She silenced as we walked through prairie grass. It was reaching up to our knees at this point. “You’re full of shit.”
“And I’m sure you’re about to tell me about it.” I used my cell to push some grass away. “Less talking. More moving.”
“You know what? I am going to tell you about it.”
I lifted my eyes but did smile. I really liked bugging this girl, getting under her skin. I turned around. “Give it to me.”
She frowned. “You put off this big dick energy.” I started to bow for the compliment, but she shoved me. Laughing, I stumbled back. She growled. “But you’re full of it. I know you are.”
“You do?” I cuffed my arms, and she nodded.
“I know for a fact you got Bru on that football team. A permanent spot, and you wouldn’t have done that unless he could play.”
“He can play.” And I had no problem admitting that. “So what?”
“So you care,” she ground out. “You may act like you don’t. That you’re just some vapid dark prince who has no soul.”
“Dark prince, huh?” I danced my eyebrows. “Be careful, Noa Sloane. You might be accidentally complimenting me.”
“I’m not.” Her face hardened. “Because behind that dark prince is just some little boy who’s completely scared of his feelings.” She homed in. “Even though they all show all over his face and in everything he does. You do care. You care about my brother. I’ve seen your friendship. I see how you treat him.”
I eyed her, letting her talk but merely out of curiosity now.
She got in my face. “And you wouldn’t be out here helping if you weren’t his friend. Then there’s what you did for me.”
“And what’s that exactly?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “There’ve been things. Little things I’ve noticed.”
I noticed she didn’t delve into those. Was it possible the little fighter was scared of some feelings too?
You sure are.
Her throat moved. “You wouldn’t do any of that stuff if you didn’t care. If you had no soul—”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I got in her face. “My soul died. Just this week actually, so congratulations. You have your dark fucking prince.”
I had nothing to lose anymore, no more sins to leave out on the table. I’d done the worst thing a person could possibly do.
And I’d do it again.
She scanned my eyes and didn’t fight me despite the fact I had her arm. I must have grabbed it when I got in her face.
“You’re a bad liar, Dorian Prinze,” she said, smelling too sweet this close. She wet her lips. “And what have you done?”
I didn’t like how she said that, cautious as if I were that tiny boy she spoke about. Like I was a little kid who needed coddling and protecting. I let go of her, and she grabbed my arm.
“Little fighter,” I warned, her hand coming up my chest. She touched me, my heart fucking pounding into her hand. Her fingers burned through my shirt, and I peeled them off. I dampened my mouth. “Sloane.”
She came closer, timid like she was worried.
But not for herself.
She got right into my space, our energies colliding.
“Do you ever let your guard down?” she asked, turning the tables on me. She frowned. “Or is it just so comfortable there in the dark?”
It was comfortable.
It was all I had.
It was me and my revenge, but somehow, this girl continued to fight her way through the layers of it.
My hand moved to her hip, and I opened my mouth. I had no idea what I was about to say.
The screams cut me off.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sloane
Dorian bolted, and I almost lost him in the tall grass.
That said something considering he grabbed me.
He dragged me literally alongside him. Two boys ahead of us were yelling and screaming. I didn’t recognize either one, and when the pair of us got in the clearing, I identified them as two boys from school. I didn’t know their names, but I recognized them as kids from the Court, Dorian’s posse.
The guys were shouting in the direction of a lake and where Dorian and I’d been searching, I hadn’t seen it until now. It’d been hidden behind the tall grass.
One of the boys was completely wet, like he’d gone in the water, which was crazy. The waves of dark water lapped in the night breeze, and it was basically pitch black out here.
“The fuck’s going on?” Dorian’s voice boomed in the air. He finally let go of me, and I nearly stumbled. He went so fast. Both boys shot around, and Dorian’s eyes expanded. “Ryder, what the hell?” he said to one of them before facing the other. “Josh, that you?”
The guys ran toward Dorian and me. The one he called Josh was wet, completely soaked when he got to us.
“It was an accident, Dorian,” Josh panted, his face completely red. “I went after him, but I couldn’t get him.”
Dorian’s face twitched. “Who?”
“That kid Bru from the team.” Josh shot his finger in the direction of the water. “We were trying to initiate him and—”
“Initiate him into what!” I screamed, but Dorian was shaking Josh.
“Bru’s fucking out there?” Dorian shot out, but when Josh nodded his head, he let go. He ran toward that dark water.
And went in.
He hiked his thick legs until the water got him to his waist. He glided in then, pulling broad strokes while the water lapped and chopped around him. He called Bru’s name, turning and going deeper into that dark water. The waves covered him, and I screamed, racing out toward him.
Ryder jerked me back.
“Don’t,” he urged. Josh took my other arm. Ryder’s expression turned grim. “You’ll get lost too.”
Lost.
This isn’t happening.
My brother wasn’t out there right now, and Dorian hadn’t just gone underneath the dark water to get him.
I couldn’t even see Dorian now. He’d disappeared, and I shoved both the guys off me.
“Bru!” I went into ankle-deep water, cupping my mouth. “Dorian!”
My gaze searched rapidly through the moving waves, but no words returned to me. The lake was so dark and completely unsteady.
No.
Sickness swirled my gut, and I honest to God thought I’d be sick all over myself. I couldn’t breathe, but I tread deeper into the water. I couldn’t just stand here and do nothing.
“Bru!” I swam up to my waist, whirling around. “Dorian!”
“Sloane!”
Dorian’s voice shot me in his direction, his voice and his voice alone. I couldn’t see him. It was too dark, but a large shadow was coming closer and closer through the dim water.
He was dragging something.
Dorian was on his back, physically dragging another body with him. He labored, pulling his arm through the water while his other one grappled around another. I recognized my brother under his arm.
He wasn’t moving.
My brother was chillingly still, his eyes closed and his limbs simply wading in the water.
“Bruno!” His name shrieked from my lips as I stroked out to meet the pair. At this point, Ryder and Josh caught wind of what was going on, and both boys swam out to assist.
With Dorian’s help, they were able to get my brother onto the shore, but as soon as they laid him down, my brother lay limp. Panicked, neither Josh nor Ryder knew what to do, but Dorian dove in.
“He’s not breathing,” he said, and I almost did throw up then. Dorian cleared the way and out of nowhere, he started performing CPR. H
e began chest compressions, performing mouth to mouth right after. The first set did nothing, and I watched in horror as my kid brother continued not to breathe.
“Bru,” I gasped. My brother was completely ghost white.
“Come on, Bru. Fuck,” Dorian gritted, his blond hair soaked and sopping over his brow. He pressed his big hands to my brother’s chest again, and out of nowhere, my brother gasped and coughed up water.
Oh my God.
“Bru!” I reached for him, but Dorian guided him to his side. My brother spat out more water then, gagging on it.
“Get it out, man,” Dorian called, and I didn’t know what to say.
He’d just saved my brother’s life.
He’d just done that. Right here in front of me. Able to breathe again, my brother looked at me, and I nearly decked him in his face.
“Bruno Sloane, what the fuck were you thinking?” I chose to say to my brother instead, shaking. “Why would you go out there? Why would you do that?”
“I’m sorry,” he panted. His hug was so weak in return. “I was stupid. I’m sorry.”
He needed to do better than that. I pulled back, and Dorian and I helped him sit up. At this point, Dorian was on his knees, but he was shouting.
Ryder and Josh were the victims.
“What was this?” Dorian roared, his face completely red. He shot a hand toward Bru. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is. You know that shit is fucking banned—”
“What shit?”
Dorian whipped around in my direction, his big body panting with heavy breaths. He pulled back his hair. “A haze,” he said, nearly growling at Ryder and Josh. Dorian frowned. “We used to do them a long time ago.”
“Who’s we?”
Dorian’s expression traveled grim. He outlined his lips. “Old members of the Court. Not us, but our fathers and their fathers. It used to be a way they used to initiate new members.”
I faced Bru. “Is that what this was?”
Bru said nothing, rubbing his arm. “Sloane...”
“What is the haze?” I asked Dorian. I raised and dropped a hand. “Go and kill yourself?”
“I had to just make it across the lake,” Bru admitted, frowning. He couldn’t even look at me at this point. He put a hand on the ground. “They told me if I made it across, I was in.”
I couldn’t believe this. All of this was so ridiculous, and Dorian was seething. He shot a finger toward Bru, but faced the other boys. “This shit is banned, bro. Fucking banned for a reason.”
He started to grab Ryder since he was closer, but the boy raised his hands.
“Wolf told us we had to,” Ryder shrieked, turning his face before the blow that was obviously coming. He waved his hands before Dorian could strike. “He said we had to, or the Sloane kid couldn’t get in.” He frowned at him. “You didn’t know?”
By the look of shock that struck Dorian’s lovely face, it appeared he hadn’t.
But that didn’t mean much to me.
This was how he operated, him and his crazier-than-fuck friends. They did this shit to people. All bred from the same cloth.
And I was apparently very, very wrong about him.
I was wrong about everything. It didn’t matter if Dorian Prinze had a soul or not. It didn’t matter if he cared. This was still the wicked Legacy he came from, and there was no place for Bru in it.
That went double for me.
The result would be nothing but poison and most certainly would end in my brother’s death. I started to help Bru up, putting my shoulder under his arm. I got him to his feet, but when Dorian started to assist, I raised my hand.
“Stop it,” I said, his eyes twitching. I shook my head. “Just don’t. I appreciate what you did. Saving my brother, but don’t.”
I did appreciate it. He did save my brother’s life, but we couldn’t do this shit. This was some fucked-up mess.
Dorian raised a hand, like he actually did care. “Sloane…”
I raised and dropped mine. “I just can’t with you, okay?” I studied the area, all of us drenched and two of us almost dead. That was the result of him and his people. All of this was on them, on Wolf. My jaw clenched. “I can’t have anything to do with this toxic, elitist shit.”
It really would kill us in the end, and it might kill Dorian himself.
And how beautiful he was. Dorian stood still in that dark moonlight, his wet T-shirt clinging to his big body, his jeans damp and doing the same. He really did appear that dark prince.
But it wasn’t a compliment. He was toxic, and he came from cruelty. It didn’t matter if he showed me flashes of something else.
Dorian’s hands clenched at his sides, like he was doing all he could not to do something else. I carted my brother away, no time to see what he’d do.
I didn’t care anyway.
“This wasn’t his fault,” Bru said, angling a look back. He shook his head. “Sloane—”
“Don’t.” My brother hadn’t listened to me at all since we’d gotten there.
He was going to listen now.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dorian - age 17
Thatch had asked me to meet him at the computer lab today, and it couldn’t have been good.
He had asked me to come alone.
He’d only do that if he wasn’t sure about my reaction to something and wanted to spare me from showcasing that reaction to our other friends. This was his way of looking out for me.
I didn’t ask for it.
We were all in this together, but I showed up alone like he’d asked. He was in front of the computer when I came to him, his permanent place as of late.
He’d even been skipping classes to do research for me, research for Charlie. These days, our search was feeling very much like the first forty-eight hours of a murder.
Except it had been months.
The time between Charlie’s death and today had been far too long, and the trail on figuring shit out was getting cold.
Thatch’s face was grim.
“I can’t find her, man.” He had his hands together, laced on the computer desk. He eyed me over his shoulder. “I’ve tried everything. All my contacts have led to nothing.” He sat back. “I even reached out to my dad’s contacts.”
Thatcher had a few, all of us did, but we could only do so much poking around before our fathers caught wind of what we were doing. The four of us did what we could with names we’d heard over dinner conversations throughout the years and only made contact with them anonymously. We did nothing in a way that could be traced back to a pack of high school kids.
We couldn’t take the risk.
No one was stopping us. No one was stopping me from gaining the truth about what had happened to Charlie last year.
Not even our own goddamn parents.
They might put a hold on this whole thing knowing we were trying to work up shit. Our parents were trying to move on after what had happened, but they wouldn’t be able to completely unless they knew the truth. The four of us didn’t have enough evidence to give that to them unfortunately. So, at the present, we were conducting our own research.
Which was apparently turning up dry.
I wet my mouth. It was goddamn dry like the fucking Sahara. I touched my lips to my fist. “There has to be something else.”
“I’m telling you there isn’t.” He looked pained, his brow twisted with frustration and anguish. No one wanted this to work more than him. All of us were equally invested. Charlie Lindquist was our brother, all of ours. Not just mine. Thatch shook his head. “I’m fucking sorry. I fucking suck—”
I rubbed his shoulder. The guy had dark circles under his eyes and shit. I wondered if he slept, his nights spent pacing like I did. We were too young to be putting ourselves through all this stress. Especially Thatcher and Wells. They were barely sixteen, sophomores.
I only knew Thatch in particular was giving himself a hard time because he was a computer wiz and should’ve been able to find anyo
ne. He’d learned from the best. His father’s internet security company reached all over the world. We should have been able to find this bitch.
“Mayberry’s wiped off the face of the earth.” Thatcher sat back. “I can’t find her. Not without help.”
Our dear headmaster had skipped town after what had happened to Charlie. She’d claimed it was the stress and strain from witnessing the murder-suicide that had happened as a result of her abusive husband.
Except we knew the truth.
We’d found out the truth through Thatcher. At least, in part.
Charlie had been very careful about his contact with Principal Mayberry. In fact, once the police had issued my parents Charlie’s personal belongings, we’d searched, but there had been no conversations with himself and that bitch Mayberry.
But thanks to Thatcher, not all of Charlie’s secrets had died with him. Thatcher had been able to get us into Charlie’s social media accounts. One in particular showed a direct back-and-forth exchange between Charlie himself and an anonymous handle. The conversation discussed running away together. No names were given, but whoever it was had specifically asked Charlie to be with them.
He’d obviously decided to.
This wasn’t enough to implicate Mayberry, though. The bitch had obviously deleted her account. Nothing but a blank profile picture made it look like Charlie had been talking with himself that day. The pair of them also had been very good. They’d used no names or identifiable information. Neither Charlie nor Mayberry wanted anyone to know what they’d been planning.
We needed the source herself to admit her sins. She needed to admit what had really happened that night, but all leads were turning up dry and our hacker, Thatch, was getting defeated.
“I don’t know how much more I can do,” he said, swiveling back around to the computer. “Maybe if we had our dads’ contacts.”
That’d fix everything if our dads would have been on board with our theories.
We didn’t have enough evidence.