by Smoke , Lucy
"So, it's a family thing," I state. "You hate him because your father does."
He shoots me a dark look. "No," he says. "I hate him because of all the bullshit issues he and his fucking family have caused for me."
"Kate?" I guess.
Dean's face twists up into a grimace. "Kate's only part of a long list of shit Kincaid's pulled. She doesn't mean shit to me." I arch a brow. That can't be true. "Why do you even want to know?" he asks.
I shrug and slide off the bed myself, wincing as my head rolls with the movement. Shit, what the hell? I blink and the pain fades. Carefully, I pad across the room until I reach my own bag, and then I glare at him as I look down at my legs, knowing he's the one who undressed me. How I got to sleep so fast, though, I can't even begin to understand … and I don't want to think about it. Mostly because I think it's him. He's the reason I slept, and a part of me doesn't hate it.
"I'm just trying to understand why you lost your shit at the beach house," I tell him, shoving a hand into my bag and pulling out a pair of leggings. I turn away from him as I pull them up over my underwear and pinch the fabric as it bunches around random intervals.
Dean's answer is quiet and unexpected. "I said Kate didn't mean shit," he says. "I never said you didn't."
I pause in my movements, and slowly I stand up and turn to face him. "I'm not fucking Luc Kincaid."
"I know."
I walk forward until I'm standing in front of him. "Is that it?"
Dean tips his head back and stares at me down the long bridge of his nose. "Is what it?"
"I'm not stupid," I tell him. "I know there's a reason you won't tell me the truth. Why you're keeping shit about that night from me."
"I don't have all the information yet. Ava. I don't want to tell you until I have it all."
"You think I care?" I scoff.
He lifts his hand slowly as if he expects me to pull away. I think about it, but something holds me steady, keeps me there as he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against his chest until my chin bumps his collarbone.
"I will tell you," he whispers, bending his head so the words are breathed across my lips. "But let me find those responsible for it before I do. Please?"
Narrowing my eyes on his, I purse my lips. I consider it. He's got the resources, and I know that things didn't happen the way they did organically. Someone is behind the scenes—pulling the strings, and I do not take kindly to playing puppet to someone's puppet master.
"Fine," I allow. "But—" I cut him off before he can speak. I hold up a finger. "There's a time limit." He frowns. "One week." His frown deepens. "If you don't tell me what you've found in one week, I'll start looking on my own. And Dean?" I grin as he backs away, releasing me. "You won't like my methods."
* * *
Dean doesn't say a word as we pack our shit and check out. I don't know if he's thinking about what I said or if he's just lost in his own train of thought. He asks if I want to visit my mom again in the hospital before we head back to campus, but that one look yesterday had been enough for me, and I don't want to take the chance that she might actually be awake if I go see her a second time. I know he's got plans to get her set up in rehab, and a part of me that isn't completely blackened and dead inside appreciates it. As a kid, I always hoped that maybe, one day, if she were sober, things would change and she'd magically turn into one of the moms on TV.
I'm eighteen now. Even if that happens, I don't know if I can forgive and forget an entire childhood of abuse. No. Patricia will always be just Patricia to me. Not a parent. Not a mother. Just a deadened soul living in a corpse-like body. Who knows what'll happen to her after rehab? All I know is that it's no longer any of my business what she does.
The drive back to campus takes longer than it did on the way down. It feels like every thirty minutes, Dean pulls over for something or other—refilling the gas tank, to take a leak, to grab lunch. I don't complain, but my patience is wearing thin. Despite the full night of sleep, my head is pounding, and I can't forget that I've still got to make up the exams that I've missed because of this little trip.
It isn't until Dean drives past the entrance to Eastpoint University that I realize something's up. Sitting up in my seat, I turn and watch the buildings of the university pass by before settling my gaze on him.
"What are you doing?" I demand.
"Taking you home," he says.
"Uh, yeah, you missed it," I reply, gesturing behind us as if he hadn't seen the fucking sign. "Havers is back there."
"Sit down, you're going to make me wreck."
My eyes widen, and I turn fully in my seat, watching as Eastpoint grows further and further away until we're turning onto a new street, and it disappears completely. Only then do I whip back around and notice that we’re taking a familiar path, one we'd taken just the weekend before.
We pass the long driveway that I already know leads to the Frazier house. "Dean..." His name slips out from between my lips, a warning. "Where the fuck are we going?"
He doesn't reply. Any normal girl might have gotten worried. Any normal girl might be concerned that he’s taking her out into the middle of bumfuck nowhere to kill her off, but I am not a normal girl—as he and I are both well fucking aware. I sit back in my seat and cross my arms, and with each mile that passes beneath the SUV, my confusion fades and my irritation rises.
Several minutes later, Dean pulls into a new driveway, an unfamiliar one. He bypasses what looks like a set of wrought iron gates and the trees on either side of the path part to make way for … a fucking mansion. Not like the Frazier house, but an even bigger one. My irritation completely falls away to make room for pure, unfiltered shock to take its place.
At least three stories of absolute decadence, the mansion is tall and wide and sprawling. The front lawn is immaculate, obviously cared for, and yet, I see no one around. It's like an abandoned palace. My head turns, eyes seeking it out, as we drive past the front and around to the side and into one of many garage entrances.
"Are you ready?" he asks as he cuts the engine.
I frown at him as my hackles rise. Something is definitely up. "Ready for what?" I ask. No sooner does the question escape my lips, though, the door to the house is thrown open, and Abel and Braxton appear in the entrance. This is where they live, I realize a split second later. I'm not dumb, but even I'm a little bewildered as to why it took me so long to piece together.
I'm still unbuckling my seatbelt when Abel pries open my door. Dean hasn't even gotten out. "You're here!" He beams up at me, long, tattooed arms coming up and closing around my waist as he pulls me out of the front seat and flips me over his shoulder.
I let out an oomph as he bounces me up and down on his shoulder. "What's wrong with you?" I complain, smacking the back of his head.
Brax steps behind him, smiling down at me. "He's just happy to see you," he says. Brax's wide palm falls onto the back of my head and rubs lightly before it disappears. "I am too, li'l savage."
"I can fucking see that," I reply. I just can't figure out why, and something tells me I'm not going to like it.
Abel laughs and hightails it back towards the door they'd just come from. Cool, conditioned air slips over my skin as we pass from the garage into the main house. Abel bends and deposits me onto the floor. As soon as he straightens, I arch a brow and cross my arms over my chest.
"Alright," I say. "Someone tell me what the fuck is going on."
Brax glances between us as Dean steps into the house and shuts the door behind him. "Take her upstairs," Brax suggests, nudging Abel. "Show her."
More of that same uncomfortable suspicion fills me. Abel nods and reaches for my hand, and I let him take it out of both curiosity and the need to just get this over with and whoop their asses for whatever they've done now. Abel pulls me along behind him and leads me out into what looks to be a foyer bigger than the trailer I grew up in. We follow the staircase up to the second floor and down a long hallway.
He stops
in front of an unmarked door and pulls a key out of his pocket, winking my way as he releases my hand and uses the key to unlock it and shove the door open. "Ta da!" He stands back and gestures for me to look inside.
I eye him as I carefully edge around his practically vibrating body to step into the room. The first thing I notice is all of the fucking light. Everything is bathed in the sunlight that's streaming in from the double-paned windows across the way. A giant light gray beanbag sits in the corner surrounded by pillows. A desk painted white faces the wall across from it. Gauzy curtains not unlike the hotel room Dean and I had spent the night in hang on either side of the windows. What's most noticeable, however, are two things:
One, the things in the room are all the things I had touched and looked at from the furniture store from our shopping trip.
And two, there doesn't seem to be a bed anywhere in the vicinity.
"You wanted to show me your sister's room?" I ask, turning back. "Why is there no bed?"
Abel's grin seems to grow smaller, and then it turns completely upside down as he grimaces. I'm missing something. It must be something big too, by the look on his face. Dean steps into the room and nods towards the closet. "Take a look in there," he says.
Frowning, I step away from them and grab the handles of the closet doors, pulling them open. My mouth drops. All of the breath in my body leaves. My eyelashes flutter as I jerk my gaze across the straight row of clothes. My clothes. All of my shit is in here. On the floor, still have full of some of the shit they hadn’t hung up, are my duffle bags. Duffle bags that I know I left behind in my dorm room.
I slam the doors and turn back to the three of them—two of them, I mentally correct since Brax is hovering out of my reach in the hallway. Smart move on his part. "You didn't." Did I say I wasn't dumb? Well, I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I'm a goddamn idiot. A drooling, brain dead, bitch with a really bad temper. "Dean." I glare at him and take a step closer. "Tell me you didn't fucking move me into this fucking house."
Surprise of all surprises, he doesn't say a word. Because he can't. He can't tell me what I want to hear because it would be a lie. "You don't like it?" Abel asks.
"No!" I snap, turning on him—the new target of my wrath. "You said this was for your fucking sister. You lied to me!"
"I didn't lie," he argues with a light shrug. "I just didn't tell you the whole truth."
I can't deal with him. "Where's the bed?" I demand, whipping my gaze back to Dean. Maybe there's some hope. Maybe they didn't intend for this to seem like I'd be staying with them indefinitely. I hadn't looked through the closet thoroughly. Maybe it's only a few of my things—doesn’t make this shit any better, doesn’t make me any less angry, but it might mean they’re not the dumb fucks I certainly think they are right now.
My hope dies a fiery death as Dean looks me right in my motherfucking eyes and shakes his head. "You don't sleep anywhere but with me, baby," he says. "This?" He gestures to the room at my back. "Is just when you need some space."
Space? Does he think I don't need space right fucking now? My heart jumps into my throat. I can hear it pounding in my ears. My nerves are shaking beneath my skin. I feel like I'm coming undone—unraveling. I don't think about my actions. I just react to the violence inside of me, letting it loose on the nearest person. I pull my fist back and punch Dean right in his stupid face and then shove him against the wall to get past him.
Brax, surprisingly, steps back as I stumble into the hallway. When he looks at me—my wide eyes and flaring nostrils—I think he sees it. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of keys as I hear Dean curse from inside the room.
"Go," he says. "I'll hold him off, but it won't last long."
I don't even take a second to thank him. I snatch the keys from his grip and make a break for it. My feet carry me back the way I came, through the house that smells like millions of dollars and feels like a fucking tomb of money and back into the garage. I click the unlock button on the key fob and follow the sound of clicking doors and the sight of flashing headlights until I come to a black, unassuming Lexus several paces down from the SUV. I get in, slam the key into the ignition, and slap the button at the top of the dash that opens the garage door directly behind the car.
Even through the windows of the car, I hear something crash, and I realize I left the door to the house open as Dean comes barreling out seconds later. Blood on his upper lip and an angry look in his eyes. Why the fuck is he angry? I think. He has nothing to be angry about.
I shove the car in reverse and screech out of the garage, leaving him and his fucking mansion behind me as I push the gas pedal to the floor.
19
Dean
I'm going to fucking kill him. Before the headlights of Braxton's Lexus are even to the end of the driveway, I'm turning back towards the garage. Brax stands there, arms crossed over his chest, and stares at me. My fist goes flying, connecting with the side of his jaw. Brax's head snaps to the side and his arms drop.
"Why the fuck would you let her go like that?" I demand. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
Brax lifts a hand to the side of his jaw and opens and closes his mouth, working it as if making sure it still moves properly. "I was thinking that if you didn't let her go now, then there's no way in hell she'll come back," he states.
"She has to come back," Abel says from the doorway. "All her shit's here."
I don't take my eyes off Brax. Despite what Abel says, if Avalon makes up her mind and she doesn't want to be here, she'll leave her shit. She's not like the kind of girls we grew up with. She's never had anything special, and it won't take anything for her to start over with literally the clothes on her back.
"We agreed," I snap. "That she would move in. Why are you acting like you don't want her here?" The question is for Brax, and he knows it.
"I do want her here, asshole," he replies. "But I don't want to fucking cage her like you do."
"I'm not going to keep her from seeing her friends," I say, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, he barks out a laugh, shaking his head so that the dark curls of his hair fall over his forehead.
"Friends? What fucking friends?" he asks. "Corina? That bitch can't be trusted. Rylie? Oh ... some great friend that program girl is. Face it. She has no friends. I want her here. I do."
"Then, why?" I demand. I scrub my hands down my face and then lower them to my sides. "Why would you just let her go?" I feel wild—jittery—as if all of the nerves in my skin are alive and jumping around just beneath the surface. She left. Just fucking ran. What if I can't find her again? What if she doesn't come back?
"My car's tagged," Brax says slowly. "She doesn't know that." He takes a step towards me, but I can't. I back up. If he fucking touches me right now, I'm bound to lay him out. He may be a big bastard, but we've sparred enough for me to know his weak spots. It won't be easy, but I'm too angry right now. Too volatile.
"Dean..." Brax looks at me—really fucking looks at me. He stares me down like he's always done since we were kids. Back when none of us were as free to do what we wanted. Back when our respective fathers controlled more than they do now. Times are changing though, we are changing, and soon it'll be us in those chairs. "I saw her face, Dean," he tells me. "She was going to run either way. At least, when she comes back, she'll think she has someone on her side."
"Hey, I'm on her side!" Abel calls from the doorway.
Both of us ignore him. "I'm doing this for her," I say.
"I know." Brax nods. "But she doesn't know that. You two haven't worked out what's going on between you yet. You've got her here, and she's mad about being tricked. Let her deal in her own way. With my car, we've got her on GPS tracking."
"Thank fuck it's not my Mustang," Abel mutters, and it takes everything in me not to stomp over to him and shove my fist in his mouth.
I hate to admit it, but Braxton is right. Avalon is like me in her need for control. I grit my teeth and glare at him. "So what the fuck now then?" I
ask. "How long do I fucking wait?"
Brax sighs and then surprises me with a grin. "Do you trust me?"
I meet his gaze with a serious expression. "With my fucking life." Always. Forever. Till the end of time. If the world is burning, I want these two fuckers at my side. And her. I don't know how or why, but in the last few months, I've fixated on one Miss Avalon Manning in a way that I can objectively say is unhealthy. I crave her touch, her smell, her fucking body like no other. When I close my eyes at night, I dream of her. And when I eat, I want to taste nothing but her on my tongue.
"Then know that I will get your girl." He takes two steps forward, and this time, I don't move away. His hand comes down on my shoulder and squeezes roughly. "I'm going after her, and I'm going to help her. I'll text you when she's ready for you, and you can come get her."
Through clenched teeth, I blow out a stressed breath. "Don't..." I start only to stop and take another breath. "Don't let her run," I tell him. "Please." It cuts me to say it because a part of me understands her need for it. Running. Danger. Cliff diving. Shit, I bet that's what she's doing right now. I groan. I don't mind the fucked up shit she does. Hell, even if she felt like killing someone, I'd be down, but I just want to be there. With her. In the midst of all her shit. I want to play witness to Avalon's life, and for me, that entails everything—from her break downs to her rising fire. Like a phoenix reborn from the ashes, I know she's going to wreck the world we live in, and like the fucking masochist I am, I want to bathe in her fire.
"I won't, my man," Brax replies. "I won't."
20
Avalon
I stomp on the gas and force the little black car to go faster. Speeding through yellow lights, cutting corners, I don't have a fucking clue where I'm going. Where can I go? All I know is that I can't breathe, and it's all that asshole's fault. I let loose a scream at the windshield and punch the steering wheel. The hard leather reverberates against my knuckles, but I don’t feel any better. If anything, I feel even angrier.