by Rose, Renee
“Okay.” I pull back out onto the dirt road. “You hold the power,” I remind her.
But then I wish I hadn’t, because the look she sends me—the gratitude there—does all kinds of fucked up things with my head.
Chapter 5
Bailey
Cole pulls up in the alley behind our houses instead of on the street. I’m about to ask him why, when I catch sight of his dad standing on the back porch, staring us down with murder in his eyes.
“Fuck,” Cole mutters.
His dad looks off. Sweaty. Red-faced. Disheveled clothing and hair. He’s holding the customary beer bottle in his hand.
Chills run down my arms. Is Cole going to be in trouble for coming home with me—the enemy’s daughter—in his truck?
“Get out, Pink,” he says tightly, not taking his eyes off his dad.
I don’t wait. I dive out of the truck and jog around the far side of my house away from Cole’s house to the front door. Even though it feels like I severed a limb and left it in Cole’s cab, I’m almost grateful for the sudden parting. It saves me the awkwardness of figuring out what to say and trying to decipher what things will be like between us tomorrow.
My mom isn’t home yet which isn’t a surprise. She works late every night, sometimes until eight, trying to get the regulatory situation cleaned up at the brewery.
I pull out a box of mac ‘n cheese and put a pot of water on to boil.
And that’s when I hear it. Even though I know immediately who it is, I try to tell myself it won’t be them—not Cole and his dad yelling outside. Because I last saw them in back, and these voices are coming from the front.
I open the front door and choke on my own spit.
It’s a full-on brawl on the sidewalk. No, not a brawl. A one-sided fight with Cole’s dad on top and Cole covering his head and face and dodging the blows. Behind them, Casey screams, “Stop it!” from the flagstone steps. “Dad! Stop it!”
I scream too. I don’t know what I say—maybe Cole’s name.
His dad looks up, pauses to glare. It gives Cole time to scramble out from under him.
“Get back in your house,” his dad snarls at me. He slurs slightly, definitely drunk.
“Cole,” I rasp, my throat raw from screaming.
“Get in the house, Pink.” Cole spits a mouthful of blood out on the ground. His dad lunges again, but Cole dodges him.
I run back inside for my phone, then come back out, my thumb hovering over the keys to call 911. But I can’t bring myself to dial.
I refused to go into the sheriff’s today. I didn’t want my story spread far and wide.
Maybe Cole doesn’t want his home life problems public, either.
“Dad, stop!” Casey cries, hovering a few feet away. “Bring it back inside.”
Her dad takes Cole to the ground again, landing several bone-crunching punches that make me want to puke.
A neighbor shows up, the guy who lives across the street, I think. “That’s enough, Jerry,” he shouts, jumping into the fray and grabbing Cole’s dad’s shoulder. Jerry shakes him off. “John, help me get him off!” he shouts to another neighbor who’s come out to witness the horrific scene.
“You get inside,” he tells me. “You’re only making it worse.”
The words rattle inside my skull.
This is about me. And I’m making it worse. I turn and run to my house.
I don’t realize I’m sobbing until I’m inside, watching from the cracked door as the two neighbors drag Jerry off Cole.
“This can’t go on, Jerry,” the neighbor says. He finally succeeds in getting Jerry away and the drunk man shakes himself off and stalks past his flinching daughter to go inside.
The neighbor helps Cole to his feet.
I creep back out. I don’t know what I think I can do. All I know is I can’t just stay inside my house when Cole is suffering outside.
“Might be time to fight back, son,” the neighbor says to Cole in a low voice.
Cole throws the neighbor’s hand off his shoulder. “Go fuck yourself, Lon.”
“You watch your language, boy.” The neighbor’s tone turns sharp, but Cole gives it right back, crowding into his space without raising a fist. Bowing up, pushing his chest against the older man’s chest and eyeballing him like he wants to fight.
The neighbor, Lon, puts a hand on Cole’s chest and shoves him back. “I’m not your enemy.”
Blood drips down Cole’s nose and mouth, coating his lips. “Neither is he.” He jerks his head toward the house.
The neighbor shakes his head, turning away. “I know it.” There’s defeat in his tone and the slump of his shoulders.
There’s rage in Cole’s. He stalks up his steps and slams the front door, the sound reverberating all the way down to my soul.
I go inside, shutting my door as quietly as I can. And when the tears start falling, I try not to make a sound. And when I can’t hold in the sobs shaking through me so hard my bones ache, I cover my mouth and cry some more. I cry for the boy next door. I cry for the boy who hates me so he doesn’t have to hate his father.
Chapter 6
Cole
It’s past midnight when I wake up. My window’s open, moonlight streaming in.
That wasn’t what woke me, though.
It wasn’t the pain of the beating, either. That’s already half-healed. By tomorrow it will be nothing.
That’s the thing about wolf discipline. It’s more about dominance and humiliation than actual pain. Casey and I aren’t in real danger.
But that doesn’t mean the shit doesn’t hurt.
I rub the stubble on my chin and blink into the darkness. There’s a tug on my wolf, pulling me to the window. And I know exactly what I’m going to see when I look out.
Even so, my heart stutters.
The little human is standing outside. Standing underneath my window, looking up.
Like she’s waiting for me and she knew I’d come. Prickles run across my skin.
She’s in the same dress she wore today—another short one, blue and white stripes. She lost the Converse, though. She’s barefooted on the crushed granite. Which must hurt her tender human feet.
I’m in gym shorts. I pull on a black tank top as I stare down at her.
She’s standing there like a fucking tribute. A virginal offering.
She must really feel guilty.
I shove the window open and pop the screen out. It’s not the first time I’ve climbed out this window, but I try not to make it look too easy when I scale across the patio overhang and drop to the gravel in front of her. “Hey.”
She’s crying. Silent tears that streak down her pale cheeks. I wonder if she ever stopped. If she’s been leaking those salty tears since she saw the ugliness that is my dad shit-faced. The scent of her tears does something to me. Makes me itchy and raw, with the need to smash things with my fists.
“Stop it.” I sound menacing. I’m not sorry. She silently called me out here. She’s gonna get what she gets. I advance on her like a fucking predator.
She backs up. She must sense how dangerous I am right now. How unhinged.
“Was it because of me?”
Of course it was because of her. But I’m not going to say that. That shit isn’t her fault.
Instead, I growl, “Stop crying for me.”
Her big brown eyes are wide. I wonder how well she can see me in the dark. Not nearly as well as I can see her.
“Stop it,” I command. “I’m the one who got the beatdown.”
“Cole.” It’s a broken syllable. Small and quavering. So much emotion packed into one sound. Apology. Pleading. Desperation, even.
My control snaps. I snatch her face up to mine with a hand behind her head and devour her mouth. It tastes like all the emotion I heard.
Except more.
I savor gratitude and soft, supple generosity. Pent up anger. Grief.
Desire.
I scoop my forearm under her ass to pick he
r up and slam her back against the tan stucco of her house.
She opens her lips for me, lets me in. It’s not how I imagined it.
It’s better.
More raw. Sweeter, even though I’m fucking brutal with my attack. Her lips twist over mine with the same intensity, her nails claw into my bare shoulders. I shove the bulge of my cock in the cradle of her legs, even though I know it will probably scare the shit out of her.
I keep kissing, fucking her mouth with my tongue. The cut on my lip reopens and blood seeps into the kiss.
Good.
Let her taste how I bled for her. I’m going to make her bleed too. Need to taste it on my lips. Have it smeared over my cock. Maybe not tonight, but I’m going to get it.
I shift to grab her ass with both hands, squeeze and knead those firm globes. I catch skin with one of my fingers and lust ratchets higher. I thrust against the thin fabric of her panties, rubbing my cock over her clit.
The sweet smell of her arousal fills my nostrils.
She wants it.
I break the kiss and drop my head into the crook of her neck, biting down on the flesh there. I stay like that, my body mashed up against hers, a slow grind at the juncture of her thighs. We’re both breathing hard.
I need to put her down. Send her back inside.
I know she’s not ready for all the things I want to do to her. And my control is shit right now.
Need sky high.
But instead of letting her go, I go dirty. I let my fingertips trace along the seam of her ass. She gasps and squirms, her inner thighs tightening around my waist as she tries unsuccessfully to squeeze her cheeks together.
Yeah, baby. I’ll take that too, eventually.
But I’m not that big an asshole tonight.
“You’d better get back inside, Pink,” I breathe against her neck. My lips brush her skin. She tastes so fucking good.
She whimpers softly but doesn’t move.
I realize I’m torturing her. Her body’s turned on, revved up to go and now I’m going to send her in.
It’s a torture to me, too, but I can take it. A teen wolf my age has already been fighting this shit for at least four years. At least the moon’s not full.
I give her another hard kiss. I go in boldly for her asshole this time, rubbing firmly as I thrust my cock against her wet panties and suck on her lips.
She bucks a little.
Fates, did she just orgasm?
I think she might have.
That nearly tears me apart.
Like my eye color probably changed and I have to stop the very wolf-sounding snarl from coming out of my throat.
I force myself to set her feet down, but all the while I’m stroking her ass, squeezing, kneading, loving it up with both palms. All the while, I’m kissing the hell out of her.
She tastes so fucking good.
“Get inside,” I growl. My voice sounds three octaves lower than usual, and rough as sandpaper. “Before I fucking ruin you.”
She’s trembling. Her whole body’s shaking, and she has to hang on to my forearms to stand on her feet.
“How do you know I’m not already ruined?” She sounds breathless.
I let out a mirthless laugh and lean my forehead against hers. “I know. Because I’ve already decided I’m gonna be the guy to destroy you. Now get inside.”
She doesn’t move. Her breaths are short. Her body still trembles. “You're still holding on to me,” she says.
Ah. So I am. My hands are still cupping her delicious ass. I still have her trapped between my body and the house.
I ease back, biting back the groan of disappointment at losing contact.
And then, because I can, because I want to, I catch her wrists, turn her slowly to face the house and press her palms flat against the rough texture of the stucco.
She doesn’t expect the sharp smack of my hand on her ass. Her gasp is part yelp. I squeeze and rub away the sting, and lean close to put my lips beside her ear. “Don’t get smart with me, Pink.”
The fresh scent of her arousal greets me, making it pure torture to let her go.
I release her wrists but slap her ass one more time. “Get inside.” My palm tingles with the impact. I’m sure her ass will for more than a few minutes.
Good. I want her to feel me.
Feel the pain I choose to give her.
And the pleasure.
I’m going to give it to her every way I desire.
And she’s going to love taking it.
Chapter 7
Bailey
I go through my first few classes the next day in a stupor. I should be exhausted but I’m not. I’m keyed up. Antsy. A little sick. Nervous. Confused. And underneath it all simmers excitement I’m afraid to even acknowledge or let out.
Cole Muchmore kissed me.
I mean really and thoroughly kissed me.
And it felt like he doused me in lighter fluid and sparked a match, because my whole body is still on fire. My skin is branded everywhere he touched.
I want more of it—so much more.
And even though he promised more—in the most threatening kind of way—I have no idea what to expect from him today, and that terrifies me.
And even more pressing, I have to figure out what I’m going to do about the Brumgard situation. Last night turned into such a cluster, I couldn’t think straight.
I still don’t want to run to the principal or the police. I’m already a leper at this school. I don’t need this kind of stigma, too.
The idea that appeals to me most is just avoiding the whole thing. Not returning to class. Blackmailing him for an A and my recommendations.
No, that’s a lie. Ditching class and getting out of work doesn’t excite me.
What I’d prefer is a teacher with integrity, who would’ve actually worked with me on starting a newspaper. But that’s an impossibility. There will be no Wolf Ridge High newspaper. No chance to get a byline and build my clips for my college paper. No opportunity to make a difference and leave my mark on this school.
I fantasize about walking into class with my head held high. Brumgard should be the one who wants to hide, not me. But when the time comes for class, I feel like puking. I stand at my locker, even though I don’t need any books. I’m hiding there.
Okay, if I’m completely honest with myself, I’d admit I’m waiting for Cole to appear. To tell me what to do. Or be my shield. Or just offer some kind of support.
But that’s stupid.
He may have kissed me last night, but it doesn’t mean he plans to continue anything. Yesterday could’ve been a one-off. Twenty-four hours of crazytown where the shit hit the fan for each of us and we stood by each other.
The halls start clearing out, kids heading into their classes before the late bell rings. I suck in my breath and close my locker.
Cole’s coming down the hall surrounded by his pack of friends. I expect to see his face bruised and swollen, but it’s not. In fact, I can hardly tell anything happened last night. I guess he wasn’t hurt as bad as I thought. He’s listening to a friend now and doesn’t look at me.
And that settles it.
No way in hell I am going in that classroom. I’m way too raw and exposed. I can’t pretend everything’s okay when it’s so not.
As the group of alpha-holes pass, I duck my head, looking at the ground. Only at the last minute, I can’t help myself. I look over at Cole again.
He looks too. At the same moment.
Nothing changes on his face; his cocky smirk is firmly in place. If I blinked I would miss it, but he winks at me.
And just like that, the world is right again.
No, not right. But so much better. I can breathe. I can think clearly.
I savor that wink—a shared secret between us—and I keep walking, straight out the door to the little patch of shady trees Rayne showed me.
Like Cole said, I don’t have to go to class if I don’t want to.
In fact, I could pr
obably still work on this newspaper project as my own personal independent study. It can be part of my blackmail. Brumgard has to publish whatever I put together.
Feeling much better, I pull out a notebook and try to recall the list of potential articles I brainstormed on his whiteboard yesterday.
Cole was right. I do hold the power.
And I intend to use it.
* * *
Cole
Brumgard’s nose is swollen three times the normal size and both his eyes are black. I hear him tell a kid he had a door opened on his face as I’m walking in.
He’s gonna have a door shut on his dick if he so much as mentions Bailey’s name.
Bailey had that same pale pinched look on her face before class that she had yesterday—fates, was it only yesterday? Feels like weeks ago. It makes me want to punch Brumgard all over again.
But I’m glad she didn’t come to class.
She shouldn’t ever have to sit through another Brumgard lecture.
And I will personally make sure he writes her the best goddamn college recommendations ever created. I saunter over to his desk and read the papers on it until the bell rings and he comes over. Anger and fear flicker over his face at the sight of me.
I lean in close, taking advantage of the shuffling in the room as kids sit down to say what I have to say. Fates know, most of the class has shifter hearing and Brumgard doesn’t, so speaking in a low voice isn’t going to work if anyone’s listening.
I scent his fear.
“Bailey’s not coming to class, but you’re not going to mark her absent,” I murmur.
I don’t wait for his answer. I know he’s going to do what I ask.
He has to. I have so much fucking leverage over this man right now, it’s crazy.
I head to my seat where I plop down, fold my arms over my chest and glower at him as he starts the lecture.
Every time he looks my way, he loses his cool and stammers, forgetting what he’s saying. I glory over the sweat dripping down his forehead.