by Jacie Lennon
“You’ve”—grunt—“never cared”—grunt—“this much before,” Brock says in between sit-ups.
I give in, striking the mattress with one closed fist. “I’ve never had anything to lose before,” I say quietly, teeth clenched. “I told you I didn’t want to do this. We didn’t have to pull her out of bed and interrogate her like we were in the Mafia.”
“You don’t have a choice, man. We are a team. You know, the three, the triple threat, the Three Kings of Almadale Prep.” Brock’s mocking voice grates on my ears.
I know the terms people call us, and I have always secretly basked in the glory of being a king. We all have. But real life is interfering now, not that these two idiots would know anything about that.
“But she isn’t dumb, and neither is her mother. We couldn’t risk her room being bugged, so we had to take her out of the house. We talked about this.”
I scoff and stand, pacing the floor again, hands looped back around my neck. “I know. I’m not bailing.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Brock says, a rare laugh erupting out of him, as if the mere idea of me walking away from our little group were a joke.
It’s always been us, ever since we arrived at Almadale Prep, freshman year.
“Sit down. We got shit to discuss.” Brock grabs his T-shirt from the end of the bed and wipes his face off. “We had to get the ball rolling, see what she knows. I can’t tell if her little Miss Innocent act is just that—an act—but we sure as hell will find out.”
“I don’t think it’s an act.”
“We know you don’t. You always think the best of everyone. Maybe cut that shit out every once in a while.” Bodhi laughs and sits up, scooting up toward the headboard.
I plop down beside him, exhaling loudly. “She doesn’t know anything,” I grumble, tired of being harassed for my good nature.
The guys try to make me hard, but … I don’t know … maybe I don’t have it in me. Not that anyone else at Prep knows. They all think we are impenetrable, that nothing can get to us. That’s why my secret is so important to me. Nothing can jeopardize my future. Nothing.
“You don’t know that,” Brock says, leveling me with a serious look.
“I know she wasn’t acting.” I think of the way her blue eyes flashed in anger at us and how something about it brought out a strange, almost primal side of me.
“Of course she was. Everyone is always acting.” Bodhi laughs, sitting up beside me. “No one ever acts like themselves. You should know that most of all.”
“Fuck off,” I snarl.
“Chill.” Brock steps forward, pausing when his phone pings in his hand. He frowns as he swipes the screen, the silence growing longer in the room.
“What’s up?” Bodhi asks.
Brock’s head snaps up. “Nothing. I gotta split for a little while.”
“Drop me at the bus stop?” I ask, and he watches me for a minute, his stormy gaze unreadable.
“Damn, you are both abandoning me?” Bodhi whines, and we ignore him.
“Come on,” Brock says, giving me a chin up, and I follow him out.
We walk in silence. Brock is immersed in whatever he’s typing on his phone, so he doesn’t see me slow down at her door. I crane my neck, listening for any sounds but not hearing anything. Part of me wants to apologize to her, but I know I’d never hear the end of it from the guys if I did. She isn’t to be trusted—yet.
I keep replaying her wide eyes, ones I could get lost in if I were a different guy, and her shaking hands as we led her down the hallway. I feel like an ass. But I have more than just me to focus on now. I can’t be playing stupid games anymore.
Brock is silent as we climb in, checking his phone once more before putting the car in drive and pulling out. I can tell he’s got something on his mind, but if he wants to talk about it, he can let me know. We are tight, but we know when to push and when not to. I glance up at Landry’s window as we leave, and maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me, but I see movement.
“What do you know about Peyton Rossman?”
“Peyton Rossman?” I jerk my head to the side and study Brock. What an odd person to bring up.
There’s definitely history with her and Almadale Prep, but she left last year and hasn’t been seen since.
“That’s what I said,” Brock says.
I nod, squinting as I recall the last thing I heard of her. She was a scholarship student, like me. The Three Kings of Almadale Prep can be cruel, but the queens can be worse. Catty, mean, hateful. Whatever horrible adjective you want to pin on them is accurate, and Peyton was enemy number one when it came to them. The bullying got to the point where she got in a fight and was expelled and returned to her side—the poor side—of town, attending the public school in Loredo.
“Haven’t heard anything about her since she left,” I say with a shrug.
Brock whips in next to the bus stop.
“Is that who you are going to see?”
“Nah. Got a meeting with someone. I’d take you home, but I don’t have time.” He waits in silence, letting me know to get out.
I scowl. “What’s eating your ass?”
“Out, C.”
I narrow my eyes but decide I don’t have the energy to get into it about the mysterious shit he’s got going on right now. I slam the door, and he pulls away while I raise my middle finger at his disappearing taillights before taking a seat.
I step off the curb by the bus stop and shove my hands into my pockets. After a turn right and a walk down a dusty road, I arrive at Casa de Walters—my grandparents’ trailer and my current place of residence. If it were just me, I would walk out tonight. I wouldn’t return home, and I sure as shit wouldn’t talk to my grandparents ever again. The good-for-nothing sacks of air are technically my guardians but only for a little while. As soon as I turn eighteen in December, I’m fighting them for custody of my brother. My one reason for everything I do now.
I open the door as silently as possible and cringe when the hinges creak. A pile of shit, like the rest of the house. If you can even call this dump a house. My grandparents only took us in for the money. There is no goodness in their hearts. They didn’t have any business having a child, and their child, my mom, didn’t have any business having us, but here we are. Me and Abe against the world.
“Where you been?”
I freeze at the gruff voice. My grandpa’s large form is lying prone on the couch, and his head rises to look at me.
“Like you care.” I stride past him, but he sticks a foot out, catching my ankle and making me stumble.
“I didn’t ask you to back-talk me, boy.” He rises to sitting and rubs the back of his neck as he shifts it left and right.
My bet is, he’s been on that couch all damn day.
“Get me a beer. Let’s have a little chat.”
I stand still for a moment, weighing my options between walking away and the war that will create or being his bitch and fetching him a refreshing beverage.
My eyes fall on a framed picture, one of the few around here. I’m around ten, and Abe is cradled in my arms as I stare at him. He looks so small. He was tiny, a preemie, born addicted, and I spent nights up before school, watching him breathe, making sure he was going to be okay. Making sure we were going to be okay after our parents split from us. They didn’t want to take care of a preteen and an infant, more interested in chasing highs than being loving parents.
I stalk to the fridge, wrenching it open and pulling the bottle of beer, all but throwing it at Grandpa as he sits, still crouched on the edge of the couch.
“Delicious,” he says after a long pull, smacking his wrinkled lips together before leaning forward to set it on the table in front of him. “Sit.” His short demand brooks no argument.
An old, worn recliner rests diagonal to the couch. I reluctantly walk toward it and sit next to my grandpa.
“A little birdie tells me you are going to try and take Abe from us.” His posture is relaxed, but I kn
ow him for who he is. Someone who can strike fast and with accuracy you wouldn’t know he possessed.
My hands clench the armrests as I watch him pick up some papers from the end table, holding them pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
“Going through my things?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Oh no. This is my house, so everything in it belongs to me. I was doing a sweep of the room I let you stay in.”
I stay silent. I hoped that they wouldn’t get wind of me wanting to take Abe once I was of legal age. I printed some papers off at Bodhi and Brock’s house. I’m an idiot for bringing them back here, knowing that I don’t have privacy.
“Let me teach you something, boy. You might be turning eighteen soon, but Abe is only seven.”
“Yeah, you have eleven more years to milk money out of the system instead of being a real grandparent. That’s all we are to you. Not grandchildren, but dollar signs.” I can’t keep the pure anger from seeping into my voice, and I realize my mistake when Grandpa lunges from the couch, grabbing the collar of my shirt. My hands clench, but I hold back, knowing that hitting him will only make things worse for Abe.
“You think you are grown? You know nothing about the real world. It’s gonna eat you up and spit you out on your ass, and don’t think we will allow Abe to take the fall with you.”
“Like you fucking care.”
“Make no mistake, boy. You won’t win.” His fingers slowly uncurl, my wrinkled shirt lying stretched out against my neck. With his gnarled hands, he makes a show of holding the papers back up, ripping them down the middle and throwing them at my feet. He swipes the beer bottle off the table where he set it earlier and stalks out the door.
I fight the urge to put my fist through the wall, and instead, I stand and continue down the hallway, stopping at my and Abe’s room to lean against the doorway. I see the lump of his body under the covers in his bed, soft snores drifting out, and I close my eyes.
I’ve never seen Grandpa go after him, but his demeanor is deceiving. One minute, he’s happy, and the next, he’s striking me. I wouldn’t put it past him to start in on Abe now that he’s a little older.
I have to get him out of here.
4
Landry
The morning light wakes me up, filtering into my empty room, and I toss the covers off, a nice sweat coating my body since I slept in sweatpants and a hoodie. I creep to the window, glancing out to see what is visible in daylight.
My room looks out over the side driveway that leads to the detached garage, but I can also spot half of the pool that spans part of the backyard if I crane my neck the right way. I’m going to get some good workouts in there. I’ve never been much of a runner or weight lifter, but put me in a pool, and I can outswim anyone.
My stomach growls, letting me know that if I don’t get breakfast soon, it will revolt. I grab my toothbrush off the counter in the bathroom and take the edge off my morning breath in case I encounter anyone downstairs. I have no idea if the boys came back last night, as I was too busy trying to get some shut-eye.
Shuffling down the front stairs, I turn toward the back hallway, where Mom pointed out the kitchen when I came in yesterday. I head straight for the fridge, and after perusing the shelves, I grab a yogurt and a water. As I shut the door, a figure looms behind it. I scream and clutch my chest, the water bottle falling from my grip and rolling across the floor. One of the twins stops it with his bare foot as he chuckles. Based on the laughter alone, I deduce that this has to be Bodhi. I’m not sure Brock ever smiles. Once I meet his face, his nose ring confirms my suspicion. As he’s bending down to retrieve the dropped bottle, my gaze locks on his naked body. Okay, not all the way naked, but he doesn’t have a shirt on. Small water droplets dot his tanned skin and roll down cut abs. Down, down, down.
Nope, not going there.
I jerk my eyes up to his amused face, scowling once I realize he caught my perusal, and I hold my hand out.
He steps forward, leaving a trail of water on the floor, and puts the water bottle in my hand, his fingertips brushing my palm.
“Look your fill, little sis. I work hard for this body,” he says, winking, and I want to punch him in the face.
“First of all, I wasn’t looking like that. You are half-naked, so my eyes are going to see—”
“Uh-huh, continue,” he prompts, rolling his hand in the air.
“Second, quit calling me sis. I am not your sister.”
“I feel a little pent-up anger in your tone, sis. That doesn’t sound healthy. Tell me, when was the last time you, ahem, got some?”
My mouth drops open, and I take a second to recover.
He throws up a hand, propping his hip on the island next to us. “Wait, don’t tell me. A year ago, with your boyfriend. You were sooo in love, and he was a two-pump chump. Amiright?” He swipes a banana out of the fruit holder and peels it as I stare at him.
“Don’t think you’ll be getting me to divulge my sex secrets.”
“Sex secrets,” Bodhi mimics with a high-pitched tone. “I highly doubt you have sex secrets.” He snorts and takes another bite of banana.
I peel the top of my yogurt open and start pulling out drawers, looking for a spoon. Bodhi steps back, opening the drawer he was leaning against and producing one from within. His wet hair hangs messily across his forehead, and a necklace rings his throat. I can’t help but notice all these little things about him. He clears his throat, and I realize, once again, I’ve been caught ogling.
He wasn’t wrong; it’s been a while. And the last time was with my ex-boyfriend. I flush with anger as I think about how he was technically right about my last encounter.
Jerk.
“Were you swimming?” I take a quick bite of my yogurt.
“Nope. I was running through a sprinkler in the yard,” he shoots back, and I can’t help but smile at the visual. “Yes, I was swimming.”
“Cool. I’ll probably head out there after I finish breakfast.”
“That’s breakfast?”
We both turn at the voice that interrupts us, looking at Corbin leaning against the kitchen doorframe.
“It’s first breakfast,” I say, and he raises one eyebrow.
“My kinda woman,” Bodhi says, raising his hand toward me for a fist bump before shooting a grin at Corbin.
I swear I hear him growl.
“Well, I’m coming to second breakfast. You wanna come, C?” Bodhi asks.
I finish the last bite of my yogurt before pinning both of them with a look.
“I didn’t invite either of you to second breakfast,” I say as I watch Corbin push off the door.
His eyes stay fastened on me as he steps around us to open the fridge, finally looking away.
I feel naked, as if he could strip off my clothes with a look. I’ve never been this attracted to someone I just met, especially not someone who barely talks and who likes to kidnap me in the middle of the night.
“What’s for second breakfast?” Corbin’s deep voice comes from inside the fridge, and I shiver.
Me, lying open on the table.
“I usually have eggs and maybe avocado toast or something.”
He closes the fridge and narrows his eyes on me.
“It’s a date.” He steps around me, and I slowly turn, my eyes trailing him as he walks out of the room.
My mind jumps to last night, in the garage, as I watched Corbin lean against the car door. After a swim and second breakfast, I’m going to need to fish my vibrator out of the suitcase I still haven’t unpacked. I’m way past due for some me time, and maybe it will take the edge off of this testosterone cloud I’m walking through in this house.
“Damn,” Bodhi says, causing me to jump, as I forgot he was here.
“Yeah …” Damn.
I touch the wall of the pool, and I pop up, laps completed and muscles burning. A wave of water rushes over the side as I emerge, and I take in the sight in front of me. I couldn’t completely appreciate this poo
l from the vantage point of my room window, but now that I’m out here, I’m booking my next lap session.
The pool is one of those infinity ones, where the water looks like it doesn’t end on one side. It drifts over the edge that drops down, making way for the gorgeous gardens the deck overlooks. I pull my goggles off of my head and spin around, laying my head back and closing my eyes. Resting my arms against the infinity wall, I let the sun dry my face and lazily kick my legs in the warm water.
I haven’t heard from my dad since I arrived yesterday, but that’s not out of the norm. Uprooting my life during my senior year was not in my plans, but here I am. Sighing, I raise my head and open my eyes, shrieking for the second time this morning when I see three guys seated on the loungers beside the pool, staring at me.
“You’ve got to quit scaring me,” I growl, breathing heavily.
I push off the side and swim toward the stairs, pulling myself out and grabbing my towel on the seat next to Corbin. He still stares at me with those hard eyes, and I’m starting to think that’s his normal expression.
“Cute suit, sis,” Bodhi says, smiling at me.
I glance down at my functional one-piece that I swim in. It’s not a string bikini, but who swims laps in one of those?
“Thanks,” I say dryly, running the towel down the length of my hair and squeezing. “What are you doing out here?”
“Waiting for you.”
“What are you, my personal escorts for the year?” I wrap the towel around my middle and walk toward the door.
I can hear the three chairs rustle as the guys get up to follow me. I watch their reflections in the windows that line the patio. There’s no denying how attractive all three of them are. I’d have to be dead to not see their appeal. They all are tall with bed-tousled hair, broad shoulders that taper to a trim waist. Their clothes hang on them like they were personally tailored for their bodies—and they probably were. Tanned skin makes their eyes stand out, and right now, I can tell they are all watching me. I cringe, thinking about my long brown hair that hangs in a wet ponytail and utilitarian one-piece swimsuit.