Drake had that fatherly smile back in place and I wanted to wipe it off with my fist.
“Sam, are you sure that’s how it happened?”
She tossed her head defiantly, eyes flashing. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not,” Drake said soothingly. “But I understand. He’s an older man, a bad boy. He’s got money and connections. What girl your age wouldn’t be infatuated with someone like him?”
Sam scoffed. “Excuse you, Mr. Lawyer, but what do you know about women my age?”
He chuckled. Of course he did, the evil son of a bitch. I guess ruining lives is funny when you’re above the law. “Trust me, I have plenty of experience with girls—I’m sorry, women—and their infatuations. I’m sure my own daughter would protect her boyfriend or crush as fiercely as you are protecting Damon. Ride or die, right?”
Ha. Wrong move, asshole. Sam narrowed her eyes at him until they were little more than glinting black between oversized lashes. “Yeah, no, I’m done. No more questions.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t your decision, Sam.”
She popped off a sharp laugh and crossed her arms over her chest, pursing her lips and raising a brow, silently challenging him.
“Sam, need I remind you that you swore an oath to tell the truth—and the whole truth?”
Her eyebrow rose higher. She kicked her foot, swinging it back and forth over her opposite knee, exuding exaggerated boredom.
Drake sighed. “Very well. No more questions, your honor.”
The judge ran a hand over her exhausted face. “Mr. Brown, your witness.”
Brown stood up and regarded Sam uneasily. He shuffled his papers, cleared his throat twice, then sat down again. “No questions, your honor.”
“Can I go?” Sam asked the judge bitchily.
“Yes. Please.”
Sam whipped her head aggressively at Drake and flounced back down the aisle to sit next to me. I caught her eye and touched my right ear. She covered hers self-consciously, then snapped her hand down to her side.
“Stuff it,” she said through her teeth.
I ignored her because Drake was talking again. “Your honor, as you can see, Mr. Arrow has quite a hold over the neighborhood teenagers. He’s charismatic, confident, and cool. A devastating combination on a good day. But, don’t you be fooled, it becomes a deadly combination when drugs are involved. I know he was selling drugs to Scraggle Joe. Officer Morton knows he was selling drugs to Scraggle Joe. Sam knows he was selling drugs to Scraggle Joe. The only reason Mr. Arrow is here today is because he was caught red-handed—for the second time.”
The judge frowned and looked down at the papers in front of her. “Are you referring to a juvenile case, Mr. Drake? Those records are supposed to be sealed.”
“Word gets around,” Drake said casually. “It is pertinent to this case because it exhibits a pattern. Arrested for possession at seventeen, arrested for distribution at twenty-one. At this rate, Mr. Arrow could be personally responsible for the overdose and subsequently, the deaths of dozens of people before he’s thirty, and the corruption of hundreds of innocent children. We have a duty to the community to stop him before he gets that far.”
The judge sighed heavily and my heart sank into the bottom of my feet. The judge didn’t like it, but she couldn’t argue with it. Brown could have argued, though. That is, if he was worth even half as much as the cheap suit he wore. The judge looked at the public defender and pressed her lips together.
“Mr. Brown, why shouldn’t I move this hearing to trial? Why shouldn’t I throw the book at your client and approve the full charges against him?”
Yeah, Brown. Why? Come on. Drake’s argument is all conjecture. The evidence is circumstantial. I’m no lawyer, but I watch enough TV to know bullshit arguments when I hear them. I glared into the back of Brown’s balding head, willing him to hear my thoughts.
Brown stood and slid a wounded glance in Drake’s general direction. “Your honor, it was only four grams. Hardly worth the trouble.”
She blinked at him in disbelief. “That’s your argument, Brown? That putting a criminal behind bars would be too much work, might as well let him go? Are you even paying attention?”
“I—um—yes, your honor. I am. But you know how it is around here. You have people coming through here pushing kilos of drugs. Not to mention rapists and murderers and just—horrible people. Damon’s a nice kid. A good kid. And hell, it was just a few grams.”
The judge rubbed the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand. I felt her frustration, and had a whole helping of my own to add to it. There was only one way this could go from here. Damn Drake, and double damn that idiot Brown.
“Well then, Mr. Arrow, it seems I have no choice but to move this to trial. You failed to post bail at your initial hearing. I assume your financial situation remains unchanged?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, your honor.”
Damon’s voice cut through my rage and hit a depressing nerve. I’d never heard him sound so defeated.
“Very well. I’ll keep the bail where it is, then. You will be informed of your date of trial by the end of the day. Court dismissed.”
A heavy weight fell across my shoulders. I sat there until they led my brother away before forcing myself to process what just happened. He should have walked. It was his first adult crime. It should have been a misdemeanor. He should have had a bench hearing and walked with probation. I’d seen it happen over and over again. You get to hear a lot of stories like that when you hang out with Eddie and his people. I ground my teeth and glared hotly at the asshole prosecutor.
“Leave it alone,” Sam said, tugging on my shirt. “Come on, I have to talk to you.”
I followed her out of the courthouse numbly, feeling my anger and disgust roil inside me as if I was observing it from the outside. Once the weak winter sun hit my face, I snapped back into myself and was blindsided by the overwhelming urge to bury my fist in a tree.
“Look at me,” Sam said sharply. “That wasn’t Morton’s usual beat, he’s a lying sack of shit. Nobody polices that alley, nobody. He must have been tipped off.”
“By who?” I’d rip their goddamn heads off. I swear to god, I would.
Sam gave me a look like I was stupid and rolled her eyes. She glanced around twice before finally letting her words slip. “You didn’t catch that lawyer’s last name, did you?”
“Drake,” I said automatically. It left a bad taste in my mouth.
“Well…?”
“Well what, Sam?”
She huffed an annoyed sigh and rolled her eyes. “So? So, who else do we know named Drake? Someone who’s been glued to your hip every day for the last four damn months? Someone who could have easily, easily, figured out your brother’s patterns just by listening to you talk to him?”
I shook my head. “She wouldn’t. She’s not—look, we don’t even know if he has a daughter—”
“Were you even listening to a word he said? He said he has a daughter, Blayze. Right on the stand. And check it out.” She shoved her phone in my face.
I took it out of her hands gingerly, as if it would bite me. Not that that was the wrong attitude to have. There spread across the screen was Arlena, wearing something that would have paid my rent for six months, smiling out at me from under Prosecutor Drake’s arm. The digital frame around the photo declared in scrawling sparkly pink font that she was Daddy’s Princess.
Blood rushed in my ears and I saw red. “That fucking bitch.”
3
I hadn’t heard from Blayze all weekend, but I hadn’t really expected to. He’d already told me that he would be busy Friday, and I kinda just assumed that he was, like I was, caught up in the chaos of back-to-school prep. Winter break had always been the important one as far as that went—not only were all my supplies used up by then, but all of last year’s fashions were out of style. I’d been so distracted by him that I hadn’t even planned out how to handle that part. If it wasn’t for
my mother, I’d be well on my way to going back to school with neither the supplies I needed nor the linen necessary to cover my body.
“Oh, look at this one!” My mother pulled a powder-blue sweater off of the rack and held it up for me. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“Too gorgeous,” I sighed. I looked around at the huge department store, my eyes skimming price tags. Nobody at Burnaby High would be caught dead shopping here, nobody but me. “Let’s go to Box Mart.”
My mother’s eyes widened as if I’d slapped her with an open palm. “Box Mart? Are you out of your mind? All you can get there are—” she shuddered delicately. “—Poly blends.”
“They sell cotton,” I argued weakly.
“But not cashmere,” Mom sniffed. “Feel it, honey. Come on. Isn’t that just the softest thing you’ve ever touched in your life?”
I ran my fingers over the fabric and felt the tug of wanting before pushing it away begrudgingly. “I can’t wear this to school, mom, you know that. I just barely earned a respectable standing there. If I walk in with this on, it’ll be like painting a target on my back.”
She frowned at me and touched my cheek. “This is the BMW all over again, isn’t it?” she sighed. “Honey, you have got to stop living down to people’s worst expectations. You can afford to dress nicely, so why don’t you?”
“Because nobody else can,” I exploded, frustrated. The real reason was that I didn’t want to outshine Blayze. Not that it would really be outshining. He had a thrift-store punk style that I absolutely loved. I couldn’t hang off his leather-bound arm in cashmere unless I was willing to end the school year in a black catsuit and a school-wide sing-off. I shook my head. I’d watched way too many musicals over winter break. I bet nobody else at the school had. God, I was so out of my depth.
“Just forget it,” I said. “I’ve got enough clothes to make it through the rest of the school year.”
This time Mom actually paled. “You’re joking.”
I shook my head and turned toward the door. She whimpered at the cashmere sweater for a second, then tossed it back on the rack and trotted after me.
“Okay, okay, you win. We’ll go to—” she pulled a face. “—Box Mart.”
“Thank you,” I said, relieved. “You’re the best Mom ever.”
She shook her head and looked at me doubtfully. In the end, I got the wardrobe I needed. Cute, but low-key. Good colors in cotton-poly blends. Just preppy enough to contrast nicely with Blayze’s aesthetic, but not so preppy that people would wonder if I’d lost a bet.
I was up too late Sunday night trying to decide what to wear the next day. Whatever I wore, I wanted it to take Blayze’s breath away, but I didn’t want to stand out too much in the halls between classes. It was a conundrum that consumed my attention way longer than it should have, but eventually I decided on something a little tight and low-cut in a nice dark green to bring out my eyes. Something that wouldn’t take much effort to look appealing in while staying in good standing with the school’s dress code. Not that they really paid attention to that kind of thing. There were girls there who wore skirts that barely covered their crevices and I’d never seen a single one of them called into the principal’s office.
Satisfied with my outfit, I crawled into bed, yawning so hard it brought tears to my eyes. I wasn’t mad at the exhaustion, though. The sooner I got to sleep, the faster the time would pass and before I knew it, I’d be back in Blayze’s arms. God, I was such a sucker. But sometimes a girl can’t help feeling what she feels and wanting what she wants. And there was no questioning that, when it came to Blayze, my feelings were high and my wants were him.
Just before I fell asleep I grabbed my phone and opened it to the last text he’d sent me.
Goodnight, sweet princess. Only the most beautiful dreams for the most beautiful girl.
I wanted to tell him how excited I was to see him again, but I didn’t want to come off as needy or clingy or whatever. Blayze seemed to be the type to value his independence and personal space. Hell, I’d never even been to his house. Rather than expose myself as a softie, I clutched my phone to my heart and breathed deeply, imagining his scent. One more night, then I would be in his arms again.
* * *
“Are you ready for this?” Blayze asked, his wavy brown hair falling over his forehead, his eyes dark with desire. His bare shoulders hovered hazily in my view, and the sweat on his body glittered like diamonds. His hands were pressed against my waist. Carousel horses spun around us and a dizzying, blaring song was playing in the background.
It didn’t occur to me to wonder why we were doing this at a carnival. I leaned into him as he brushed the hair out of my face and dipped his head down, his blazing red mouth inches from mine. Needing to be as close to him as possible, I lunged up and kissed him as a bubbly, ethereal lust rippled over my body.
“Yes, Blayze,” I murmured. “Please. I’m not drunk this time.”
“Yes you are,” he mumbled against my throat. “Don’t you remember, Arlena? Arlena? Arlena?”
“Why are you saying my name so much?”
“Arlena!” His voice pitched higher. “Turn off your alarm and get up for school!”
Blayze and the carousel and everything popped like a bubble, replaced by the dingy grey slant of my bedroom ceiling. “Damn it!”
“Arlena!” Mom shouted from downstairs. “Do I need to come up there with ice water?”
“No,” I shouted back. “I’m up, I’m up.”
“You’re late!”
Groaning, I looked at the time on my phone. “I’m not late yet,” I told her. “I have time for a shower.”
“Make it snappy!”
Snappy? My whole body felt like melted butter. All I wanted to do was go back to that dream and live there forever. Sighing, I grabbed my clothes and floated to the bathroom. Blayze. His name sent shivers down my spine and heat to my loins. Does anyone even say loins anymore? They should. It’s a good word. Loins, loins…ugh, I’m annoying myself.
I thought about Blayze in the shower, trying to satisfy the unrelenting need he had stoked in my core. It was no use. Sure, I could get myself there, but it just wouldn’t be the same. At least I assumed it wouldn’t have. I was imagining what it would be like if these were his hands instead of mine, his body pressed against me, inside of me—
“Arlena! You’re going to miss the bell!”
Damn it! Okay, back burner that thought. I rinsed myself off quickly and dried the water from my skin even faster. There was no time to be cute—a quick blow dry and my cute outfit, and I was ready to go.
“I’m coming!” I called, taking the steps two at a time.
Breakfast smells burnt, but as of recent, it always did. It didn’t use to be that way. The last place we lived in had good appliances. Hell, it had good everything. This place, however, was old and falling apart and I still didn’t really understand why we had to stay here, but Mom kept telling me to make the best of it. I wasn’t sure how, there was only so much a few posters and fairy lights could do for a tiny, shabby, slanted bedroom.
“Breakfast,” Mom said as I went by her. She was holding a wrap in my direction and I grabbed it.
“Thank you, I love you, you’re wonderful,” I told her as I kissed her cheek.
She slanted a brow at me, suspicion etched in every corner of her face. “Somebody’s in a good mood today.”
Definitely suspicious. Or was she? I couldn’t tell. She just looked bemused, but then again, she had looked that way ever since we moved here. I think she was still trying to figure out what the heck we were doing here, too.
I grinned at her and shrug. “Just feels like a good day to be alive, is all.”
She laughed and shooed me out the door, reminding me once again that I was way too late to be dragging my feet and acting all funny. When my foot hit the outside, I was on cloud nine, breathing in the crisp, fresh air and reveling in the anticipation of seeing Blayze again. A flash of crimson on my stoop s
topped me in my tracks, however. I rove my eyes over the single, perfect red rose sitting just a few inches ahead of me before bending down to pick it up. Pulling it to my nose, I inhaled deeply, the scent trickling through my heart like sparkling happiness, making it flutter. Blayze. My rugged knight. Not just heart-stoppingly handsome, but downright romantic, too.
Skipping on sunshine, I went to the garage door. It was one of those old ones that you had to open manually. I swear, technology around here was like fifty years behind. The only high-tech thing in the whole neighborhood was the camera on the traffic light. Everything else was the same as it had been ten years ago or longer. I never really understood how money affected things like that until I moved here. I never realized that not every school had the same books, or that not every kid in a generation had the same access to technology. Coming here had been one long culture shock, only made bearable by Blayze’s attention.
As I slid the garage door open, my BMW winked dully back at me. It was filthy and I was dying to take it to the carwash, but letting it stay dirty felt like the most appropriate thing to do. Even with Blayze in my corner, it wouldn’t do me any good to flash my family’s money around at school. Not that any of the kids there would do anything to my car, but it was the principle of the thing. If I drove to school in a shiny, taken care of vehicle when everybody else was lucky to drive anything at all, people weren’t going to like me much. So I kept the car dirty, not wanting to relive the feelings I had to deal with when I first started going to Burnaby. It wasn’t that the people had been openly hostile, but they were definitely intent on keeping me out of their social circles. I thought I’d have to spend my entire senior year alone and lonely until I met Blayze. People respected Blayze, and Blayze had publicly claimed me as his own. The harassment stopped immediately after that. I even started making friends outside of Blayze.
I looped my rose over my rearview mirror and tossed my backpack in the passenger seat. After I pulled the car out of the garage, I had to park it and go back to close the stupid garage door, otherwise Dad’s Firebird and Mom’s Mercedes would be at the mercy of the neighborhood kids.
Manic: A Dark Bully Romance Page 3