“It’s eight at night.” Her voice was dry and devoid of emotion.
“Sorry. Practice ran late. I meant to stop by earlier. I was hoping to speak to Kennedy. I saw you all move in the other day and hadn’t had a chance to say—”
The door slammed shut in my face.
I grinned. The old battle-ax had shut the door on me. Now I knew where Kennedy got her spunk from, at least.
I walked around the side of the house and spotted a big oak tree that split not far from the ground. I hopped up, got my footing, and started climbing it. In a couple minutes, I was inching along a thick branch that brought me within jumping distance of the sloped roof outside Kennedy’s window.
I decided a fall from this height would be more irritating than tragic and went for it.
My feet slipped, knocking a shingle loose, but I managed to catch the shutter outside the window and hold myself in place. I got my footing and then tried the window.
It slid open. I ducked inside, pushing aside a lacy curtain.
Score.
7
Kennedy
I woke to the sound of rustling bottles and drawers. I rubbed my eyes, vaguely expecting to see my mom with some new round of medication I was supposed to start taking.
Instead, I saw all six foot three of Tristan Blackwood standing in my bedroom.
At night.
I yanked my covers up. I was just sleeping in my underwear, and I tried to quickly replay whether I’d already pulled the covers up when I woke, or if they’d been bunched at the foot of my bed like they were on most hot nights.
“What the fuck,” I hissed in an angry whisper. The last thing I needed was my mom walking into this. God only knew what she would think she was seeing.
Tristan turned, apparently unconcerned by the fact that he was in my room.
I noticed the open window for the first time and pieced it together, even if I still didn’t quite believe it. Had he actually climbed in my window? Seriously?
“You take all this shit?” He asked, holding up a bottle of pills and turning his head sideways to look at it. “Why are all the labels ripped off?”
I shook my head. I had no idea what was going on, but answering his questions was the last thing on my mind. “Get out of my room. Now!”
Tristan shook another bottle, and set it down, apparently not satisfied.
“What are you looking for?”
He scrutinized another bottle, then tossed it to the ground. “One that looks important. Are you dying, or something? Why do you take so much of this shit?”
I wasn’t sure why, but his question made me want to crawl into my bed and hide under the covers. I gave a shrug I hoped looked casual. “My mom says it’s better if I don’t know all the details about my conditions.”
Tristan turned his full attention on me, eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know what diseases you have? Or why you take these?”
“My mom’s a nurse.” My voice was tight, and I hated that I felt like I needed to answer his questions, even though he was crossing so many lines I’d lost track. All I needed to know was I was wearing nothing but my underwear and Tristan Blackwood was standing just a few feet away from me. The only thing separating us was my comforter, which I was clutching like my life depended on it. I especially hated how I couldn’t stop thinking that he’d probably laugh if he saw my body—how disappointing the view would be compared to the girls he probably was used to.
But I didn’t want to know or care what Tristan would think of my body. It was irrelevant, even if my brain kept fixating on it.
“So?” He asked. “I’d want to know what was wrong with me.”
“You’re an asshole. Mystery solved.” I wanted to clap a hand over my mouth, but that would’ve meant letting go of the comforter.
Tristan tilted his head, still watching me with those narrowed, wolfish eyes. He walked to my bed and put his hand on my thigh through the comforter. It was a hard squeeze at first, and then he slowly slid it upwards. “Can you feel that?”
I squirmed backwards, trying to get away from his touch. “Yes. I’m not in a wheelchair because I’m paralyzed. I’m always dizzy, and it’s worse when I stand. The chair keeps me from falling and getting hurt.”
He let his hand linger on my leg for another heartbeat, then took it away, returning to my drawers to look through the bottles. “So, it works, then?”
“What works?”
“Never mind.” He smirked to himself. Tristan finally settled on a bottle, unscrewed the cap, and held up one of the green pills inside. “Whatever, this will do.” He shoved it in his pocket.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking this to my house. You want it, you’ve got to come and get it.”
“You told me to leave you alone.”
He shrugged. “School hasn’t started yet, and I’m bored after practice. Keeping tabs on you will be my little hobby for now. So I can count on you to take a little joy ride to my place later, right?”
“Fine. I’ll come but leave the pills. I take them every morning.”
He checked his phone. “Great. I guess I’ll be seeing you in a few hours then, won’t I?”
I took all my pills, minus the one from the bottle Tristan swiped, and went to the bathroom to get ready. I carefully stood from my chair, using the bathroom counter to keep myself steady while I looked at my reflection. I was still wearing the bra and panties from the night before, and I couldn’t help wondering if Tristan had seen me like this before he woke me. I ran my eyes across my body, trying to see myself through his mind.
I felt a wave of revulsion pass through me. I was so plain and pale and just… not. I wasn’t the kind of girl that guys like Tristan wanted. I was the kind they bullied, and that was exactly what pissed me off so much about all of this. He made me want to be more than normal. He made me wish I was strong and sexy and confident—the kind of girl who could turn a blind eye to him and make him seethe for being ignored. I wished I was the kind of girl guys like him craved, because then I wouldn’t feel so powerless and pathetic.
With a sigh, I pushed the thought from my mind and went through my morning routine with all the tedious slowness my conditions required. A bath, because showers were a recipe for falls. Sitting in front of the vanity in my room to put on makeup, because standing at the mirror safely required at least one hand at all times. And of course, I had to fight the nausea that came shortly after taking my pills for most of the morning.
As soon as my mom kissed me goodbye and left for work, I went out back and headed for Tristan’s house.
I spent most of my way there thinking of what I’d say. I also briefly considered going back and getting the broom handle, attaching a knife to the end, and just spearing him through the heart to be done with it. Unfortunately, my wheelchair wasn’t much of a chariot, and I doubted I’d manage more than pissing him off even more—if that was possible.
He was lounging with a group of people on the front porch of the towering mansion. There were a couple girls with the group of guys that I didn’t recognize, but the guys were the ones from the other day. The four hot asshole football players. It wasn’t the catchiest name for their group, so I made a mental note to work on that later.
Tristan stood up from the porch when he saw me. I slowed, feeling the weight of everyone’s collective eyes as I came closer. I didn’t belong in their world, and they all knew it. Tristan knew it better than all of them, and I was starting to think he took sick pleasure in dragging me into moments like this.
“Can I just have them and go?” I asked.
“If you agree to come with us, sure,” Tristan said. He carelessly tossed the bottle up and then caught it without looking. “Cause I think the medicine you really need is a good time. We’re all going to the jailhouse tonight. You should come.”
“C’mon, man.” Logan stood, trying to get Tristan’s attention.
Tristan ignored him, keeping his gaze locked on me. All of them were watchin
g. Somewhere, beneath the nervous, panicked heartbeat pounding in my ears, there was a smart way out of this. Whatever it was, I couldn’t find it. All I could feel was the stupid, embarrassing voice whispering to me—that maybe if I could just prove I wasn’t a complete wuss, he’d see me as less of a victim and stop tormenting me. Maybe all I needed to do was go along with this and prove myself. Somehow.
I swallowed hard. “Sure, fine. I’ve got nothing going on.”
Tristan laughed. “She has nothing going on,” he said quietly. “Good. We’ll pick you up once your mom leaves. I assume mommy wouldn’t approve of our field trip, right?”
I blushed. “That’s fine.”
“Gage, you in?” Tristan asked.
“Count me out. I’ve got shit to handle tonight,” Gage stood, setting down a beer bottle on the steps of the porch. He nodded his head to the girl he was with, but she took a look at Tristan and shook her head. Gage didn’t appear to care, and he walked towards one of the expensive looking cars parked out front.
“Pussy,” Cassian spat. “More like he doesn’t want to risk making his daddy mad if anyone finds out where we’re going.”
Logan put his hand on Tristan’s shoulder and started saying something to him in a low voice. Tristan’s expression darkened, and he finally gave Logan a shove.
“Why don’t you go with Gage, then?” Tristan asked.
Logan stared him down. Finally, he looked to me, then shook his head and sat back down.
The look on Logan’s face made my stomach go cold. What had I just agreed to?
There was a knock on my door just a few minutes after my mom left. I was already in my chair, waiting in the living room. I could still back out. All I had to do was say “no.” Sure, Tristan wasn’t the type of guy who was used to hearing the word, but I also didn’t think he would take things to the level of kidnapping, either. At least, I hoped he wouldn’t…
“Open the door, Wheels,” he shouted through the door. “I know you’re in there.”
I squeezed the wheels of my chair, closing my eyes. I’d wanted to be normal for so long. Maybe the best and only shot I’d ever get was this. I wasn’t stupid enough to think Tristan planned to show me a great time tonight and make me one of his pals. No, but there was at least a chance he’d get carried away having fun and forget about me long enough for me to enjoy myself. Right?
I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
Tristan was waiting there with his forearm on the frame and an amused look on his face. “Did you doll yourself up for me, Wheels?”
I clenched my teeth. “I’m a girl. You said we were going somewhere. I tried to look nice because that’s what people do when they go somewhere.”
Tristan moved behind my chair and started pushing me.
“Don’t. I can do it myself.”
“Yeah, and you also can’t stop me from doing it for you.” He leaned down so his breath was hot against my ear. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for control. And what’s easier to control than the girl who is stuck in a chair?”
I stared straight ahead, then squeezed my hands as hard as I could against both wheels, bringing my chair to a lurching stop that made Tristan stumble and nearly tip us both over. He cursed under his breath. “Whatever, push yourself if it makes you happy.”
He stalked ahead of me toward Logan’s truck. Cassian was sitting in the back, watching me like a vulture might watch a field mouse. The girls from earlier were up front with Logan.
Without asking, Tristan lifted me out of the chair. Cassian turned and reached for me, like he was expecting Tristan to hand me up to him. Instead, Tristan walked up to the back of the truck bed and stepped his way up with an impressive combination of balance and strength.
All the swaying around made my head spin, but not so much that I couldn’t see Cassian eying him. Tristan set me in a sitting position and then hopped back down to get my chair, which he loaded up with us.
Tristan sat uncomfortably close to me while Cassian sat across from us. My mom would’ve had a heart attack if she knew I was sitting unsecured in the back of a pickup truck that was flying down backcountry roads at night. She definitely would’ve died if she saw the boys I was riding with.
Despite everything, the thought made me grin a little. I could pretend, at least while nobody was talking. I tried to imagine this was normal—that the cold rush of wind in my hair and the silent thrill of a night out with the football guys was just how I rolled.
Except the metallic rattle of my wheelchair with every bump was like a screeching reminder that it was all a fantasy. That, and the fact that I was sitting beside Tristan, who might as well have been a black hole that sucked up any nearby happiness with ravenous hunger.
We pulled off the main road and drove up the switchbacks for a few minutes before Logan brought the truck to a stop. The gears of his vehicle groaned in protest when he shifted them into park. I briefly wondered how screwed we’d be if the old truck refused to start when it was time to go home.
Tristan helped me into my chair, but the way nobody was really talking had already started to make icy fingers prickle across my skin. It felt like something was going on, and I was the only one who wasn’t in on it.
The old jailhouse Tristan mentioned was a looming, dark square of a building in the middle of the woods. It must’ve been really old, and it looked ridiculously haunted.
A hundred questions popped into my head, but the silence of the entire group crunching their way through the forest while Tristan pushed my chair felt too oppressive. I didn’t want to be the one to break it.
They had to widen a hole in the fence that had been cut at some point to make room for my wheelchair but managed to squeeze me through.
Once we were inside the building, I felt minor relief to see that it looked like kids really did come here to party. There were some signs of recent activity—a few cups, some fast food wrappers, and an oddly expensive looking set of speakers and electronic gear.
I looked skeptically at the setup.
Logan was the first to talk. “Only people we trust know about this place. It’s kind of like the go-to party spot when nobody’s house is available. Cassian bought all this shit, anyway, so it’s not like he’ll care if it gets stolen.”
“I’ll happily fuck up anyone who tries,” Cassian said, sounding almost bored. Something about his violent indifference unsettled me, like he could seriously hurt someone and not even feel the slightest bit of remorse.
Tristan pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and then loud music burst from the speakers. He chucked his phone on a ratty leather sofa that looked like it had been dragged from a dumpster somewhere and brought here.
“Want a tour?” He asked, taking my chair and pushing me toward another room.
My eyes darted around. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. The two girls that had come watched Tristan go with sullen expressions, but quickly turned their attention to Logan and Cassian. Logan fished some cards out of his jacket and Cassian pulled a rotting floorboard up, revealing a secret stash of liquor.
“Cards sounds fun.” I looked toward the group of people, unable to help thinking how I’d probably be safer in a group than alone with Tristan, if that was his plan.
“Nah.” Tristan’s lips curled up slightly. “You’re not here for cards.”
“Why am I here?” I tried not to let too much fear spill into my voice.
“You’re here because I want to make sure you don’t forget.” He pushed my chair toward a row of old, rusted jail cells that shot off from the main room where the music was playing.
I tried to stop the wheels of my chair, but this time, Tristan was ready for it, and all I succeeded in doing was hurting my hands when I squeezed the unyielding rubber.
“Wait.” Desperation was creeping into my voice, no matter how hard I tried to shove it down.
“Nah.” Tristan’s voice was cold. Frightening. He pushed me inside one of the small jail cells, t
hen slammed the door shut before I could stop him. Just when I was wondering if he even knew how to lock the doors, he produced a set of keys so rusty that I was worried one might break off in the lock if he tried to use it.
“Tristan. Stop! Please.”
Ignoring me, he slid the key in and twisted. There was a heavy click of metal that made my heart sink. I was fighting back tears, but I didn’t want him to see me cry.
He put his hands on the bars and watched me, eyes blazing. “This is for having the balls to accuse me of stealing your glasses. Maybe you’ll take me seriously next time I tell you to do something.”
“Tristan,” I pleaded in a desperate whisper. “Just let me go. I won’t even tell anyone.”
He pulled my glasses from his jacket pocket, looking down at them thoughtfully. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed them through the bars of the cell and into my lap.
Breathing heavily, I put them on. The world sharpened, and so did my view of Tristan Blackwood. But I didn’t need glasses to see that he was a monster. He pulled out his phone, tapped his finger on the screen a few times, and with each tap, the sound of the music from the other room got louder.
He left, heading back for the group. I tried yelling for help, but nobody came. Either the music was too loud, or none of them cared.
I closed my eyes, trying to find a way to calm down. But I couldn’t. I kept running through all the possible scenarios. One way this ended was them leaving me here, maybe forever. I’d have to pray that I had cell phone service so I could call my mom. I could call the police, but I’d probably get in legal trouble for being here and my mom would find out. One way or another, the only way out of here without Tristan’s help was digging myself into more trouble with mom, which also would definitely mean she’d keep homeschooling me.
But Logan seemed to have something resembling a heart. I didn’t really believe he’d let them leave without me. At least I hoped he wouldn’t.
Ruthless Love Page 4