by Lucinda Dark
“Alright,” she said, “time to get to work.”
Olivia went through the new clothes Beth had bought me, pulled out new underwear and enough outfits to cover the mattress. Then, she set to what she considered work and I considered three hours of torture. My lips were painted purple. My eyes lined in kohl. My face smoothed of any imperfections.
“Does it come naturally to you?” I asked after she had plucked and tweezed my eyebrows into twin slender lines. “Or did you graduate from Dante’s Infernal School of Torment? Let me guess, top of your class?”
Olivia giggled and pronounced me done. “That’s it,” she said. “All that’s left is to get to the game and the party.” She pulled out a small bottle of vodka. “Want to pregame a little with me?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, but maybe you should let me drive if you’re going to do that.”
She shrugged and nudged the keys on the bed my way before she upended the bottle and swallowed, her eyes pinched shut against the burn.
“Alright,” she said, popping off the bottle with a sigh and a hiccup. “Time to go meet the girls at the game.”
With a grimace, I gestured for her to precede me. “Lead the way.”
I read an article once about the effects of having money on IQ levels. Researchers found that the more money someone had, the higher their IQ was. Something about being able to see the bigger picture and not having to worry about survival, allowing the people they based their study on to think more critically than those who had less money.
I don't know about the researchers, but I was pretty sure they didn't take into consideration the children of wealthy people. Because as I stood in the stands of St. Marion's stadium and watched the students of St. Marion, I was hard pressed to find anyone with an IQ in the double digits.
Booze flowed freely. The teachers attending were either being bought off or weren't paid well enough to care because even when a freshman nearly fell over one of the railings, nothing was said or done. And parents? I might have seen Jon and Beth somewhere when the game had first started, but Olivia had dragged me away and now they were lost in the crowd.
"So, are we winning?" I asked.
"I don't know," Olivia replied lifting a cup she'd purchased from the concession stand, now filled halfway—a mixture of Dr. Pepper and the Fireball one of her friends had smuggled in. She took a long drink and hiccupped.
Wonderful, I thought. The one girl that was willing to talk to me was already well on her way to being drunk.
"Hey, you're that new girl, right?" I turned and looked up as a tall, lanky guy in a yellow polo sidled up to my side.
"What gave me away?" I replied.
The guy grinned, flashing a somewhat crooked smile. "Never seen you here before; you going to the party afterwards?"
I glanced back as one of Olivia's friends began to pour more Fireball into their drinks and considered the possibility that I'd be dropping my new friend off long before the Priest party actually started. My dad always said plan B's were a necessary part of life. I turned back to the yellow polo guy. "I sure am," I said brightly. "And I'm super pumped about it. Are you going too?"
He laughed, turning his head as he shrugged. "Yeah, I thought I'd go, see if there was anyone worth talking to there." He looked back at me and I waited a beat as his gaze slid down, slowly crawling up the skin tight jeans and low cut t-shirt I was wearing. "I might see you there."
I bit my lip and batted my eyelashes. "I forget, where is it again? My friend's supposed to take me,"—I paused, looking back to Olivia meaningfully—"but I'll probably have to go alone now. If you're gonna be there, I don't wanna get lost."
"You got a cell?" he asked.
I pulled it out and handed it over. "It's new," I confessed as I punched in the code. "Still getting used to it."
"Here." He handed the phone back—with a new name and phone number that I knew I’d delete before I left the stands—but more importantly, with a new address in the GPS map coordinates. "Come find me when you get there," he said. "I'll ask you to dance or something."
"Ohmygod,” I gushed. “Totally. Thanks!"
Almost as soon as he had wandered off back to his friends, who all hooted and clapped him on the back, Olivia stumbled into my back and nearly made me drop the phone. "OhmyyyyyGaaaawwwwwwwdddddddd," she slurred. "Do you know who thash was?"
I grimaced as the smell of burning cinnamon lit fire to my nose. "Don't know, don't care," I said as she slung an arm around my waist.
Cheers rose up from the stands as people all around us screamed at something on the field. Over the sea of different colored heads, I watched as Maverick was rushed by his teammates. "Well," I said, "it looks like we won."
"Barbie?" I stiffened when Olivia's hand slapped over her mouth. "I don't feel so good."
I had a split second to either dive out of the way or let my new friend vomit all over my shirt, and in that split second, I chose option number three—turn her back towards the friends that had been encouraging her to drink more and let them take the brunt of her sickness.
Outraged screams ensued, male groans echoed in my ears, and the sounds of Olivia vomiting up the fifth of Fireball and twenty-four pack of light beer she and her pals had downed in the thirty minutes before the game had started.
Beer before liquor, never been sicker and all that.
Once she was done puking her guts up, I hauled Olivia off the bleachers and back to her Porsche. “Great friends,” I commented sarcastically. Not a single one of them had asked if she was okay. Instead, every single one of them had cried over their ruined clothes, and those who had managed to escape had quickly booked it.
“Nooooooo,” Olivia mumbled, stumbling along, clutching my arm. “I was supposhed to see Mav’rick tonight.”
“Yeah, well, maybe next time don’t get drunk before the game is even over.” I snatched her keys from her purse and hit the unlock button; her headlights flashed.
“I’m shorry,” she sniffled. “I jush, I dunno…” I propped her against the side of her car and opened the passenger side door. “I was nervous.”
When she didn’t move from the place I put her, I hefted her against my side once more and shoved her into the car, ducking inside long enough to clip her seatbelt for her and listen to a few more seconds of her grousing.
"You're going home," I said as I closed the driver's side door behind me and started up the car. The Porsche revved to life, giving me pause. Silent and deadly. I smoothed my hands over the leather steering wheel. Damn. Maybe I was in the wrong business.
"Noooooooo." Olivia's cry sucked the smile right off my face.
"Yes," I said, putting the car in reverse. "And"—I whipped the wheel as I sped out of the student parking lot—"you're going to let me borrow your car."
Twelve
Maverick
Sweat dripped down into my eyes as I stared straight ahead and made my way off the field. My fucking bones ached. Tonight had been a goddamn good game, but it’d been a battle. The other team had been just as good and their defenders—those motherfuckers had definitely tried to wipe us out.
As soon as I hit the locker room, I went straight for my locker, stripping out of my jersey as I went. Coach followed the lot of us into the room. The team spread out. Milner and Rosso popping a squat right in front of my goddamn locker. I scowled down at the pathetic excuse for a defensive lineman. It was a fucking wonder he’d blocked anyone tonight with his head so far up his ass.
Milner leaned back, his fingers curling around the edge of the bench as he looked at me and smirked. I slammed my locker closed and turned, crossing my arms over my chest and ignoring the little shit’s presence as best I could as Coach started his post-game wrap up speech. When we lost, these little speeches were long and grueling. He would point out every goddamn mistake we’d made on the field. But since we’d won, he was finished within a few minutes—telling each and every one of us to take a day to relax. Had we lost—he’d have ordered us back
on the same field we got our asses kicked on at dawn the next day.
I was damn glad we’d managed to pull through tonight because if there was one thing I didn’t need, it was the concern of making practice in the morning.
I headed for the showers and washed the sweat from my skin. Some of the guys hit their own shower stalls. Some packed up their shit and left—heading home to shower there and probably get some well deserved rest. And some—unfortunately for me—stayed behind to shoot the shit. I waited a good twenty minutes, ten minutes longer than it usually took for me to finish showering in the hopes that Milner and Rosso would leave, but no such luck.
Finally, I shut off the shower, grabbed a towel and went back to my locker. They sat in the same fucking place they’d been when the coach had finished up. I reached into my duffle bag and grabbed the set of clothes I’d placed in there earlier that didn’t reek of wet grass, dirt, and sweat. Quickly changing, I stuffed my dirty uniform into the bottom of my bag.
“Did you catch that new chick? She was smoking hot.”
I stiffened at Milner’s comment. There was only one new chick. Barbie.
“Smoking?” Russo replied. “That girl’s on fire. With an ass like that and those tits—she can’t be a fucking virgin.”
I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder.
“Who gives a shit if she’s a virgin,” Milner chuckled. “Virgins can fuck as well as experienced women.”
Russo groaned in dismay. “Nah, man. Virgins are all shy and shit. I don’t want a girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
My knuckles went white against the strap of my duffle.
“Virgins can be taught,” Milner said nonchalantly. “Besides, it doesn’t matter if she’s a virgin or not. After I’m done with her, she definitely won’t be. Do you think she’ll be at the Priest party tonight?”
“Saw her with Olivia, she’ll definitely be there,” Russo replied. The tension in my body coiled tighter and tighter.
“Then maybe I’ll see if I can’t find out just how innocent the new girl is,” Milner paused, a cocky grin lifting the corner of his mouth, “tonight,” he finished.
Slamming the door to my locker shut, I turned slowly. Russo glanced back and had the decency to appear somewhat apprehensive. Milner, however, merely tipped his head back and looked at me.
“Oh sorry, man, she’s like your new sister, right? Hope you’re not offended or anything. It’s a compliment, really. Your new sis is hot as hell.”
“She’s not my sister,” I said, “but I’d stay far away from her if I were you.”
“Oh?” He lifted a brow, his lips quirking with barely restrained amusement. “Why is that? Is she off limits? Did you already call dibs? Gonna get a little action close to home?”
Russo—despite his apprehensiveness—released a weak chuckle. The sound was quickly cut off when I shot him a look that promised retribution if he kept that shit up.
Hitching my duffle up further on my shoulder, I rounded the bench before Milner. “You put your hands on Barbie Steele,” I said, keeping my tone low and even, “and you and I will have a problem. We clear?”
Milner’s eyes sharpened and he gritted his teeth. Milner was still a new player on the team. I, on the other hand, had been defensive captain for at least two years. It was rare that I ever used my authority against anyone, but I wouldn’t back down when it came to something as important as this. Barbie Steele was trouble with a capital fucking T. I felt that in my gut.
Yeah, maybe I found her sharp crystal blue eyes striking. And yeah, she had a body that could turn a fucking monk to rock in his pants. But there was no way in hell I was going there. And neither would Jeremy fucking Milner.
After another moment of tense silence, Milner held his hands up in defeat. “Yeah, man, we’re clear.” He pushed himself up from the bench and came toe to toe with me. I didn’t let an inch of the irritation I felt show on my face, but instead, remained as placid as fucking possible. This little dickweed wasn’t going to push me.
“Stay away from her,” I said, “or else.”
With that, I turned and strode towards the double doors leading out of the locker room. I punched through and headed for the parking lot. Would she be at the Priest party? Milner had asked. I’d heard about the after party of course, but I’d never considered that Barbie might go. My plan had been to go, see some of the guys, show my face, and leave.
Torin hadn’t thrown a Priest party in two years. Not since everything had fallen apart. Not since … Maryanne. All I wanted to do was show him that I didn’t care. I could treat him just like he treated me. I could be apathetic. I could act as though we didn’t know each other, as if we hadn’t been as close as brothers once. Though that’s all it would be—an act.
I clenched my fist and headed for my truck. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out as I tossed my duffle into the backseat and got into the front.
Mom: Great game honey! Your father and I are so proud of you. We’re gonna head into the city for the weekend. Text us if you need anything. Love you.
I tossed my phone into the cupholder and cranked the engine. My parents were good, well-meaning people. They were smart. So, why the hell had they let someone like Barbie Steele into our lives?
I could tell as soon as I saw her—all pale skin, blonde hair, sharp tongue—she was going to be bad news. Bad news with a side of bitchiness and a whole lot of lip. As searing as her sarcasm was though, it only made me want to shove her against a wall and devour the place from which all of her smartass comments came. Barbie was a temptation I didn’t want or need.
Thirteen
Barbie
Irritation continued to eat at my insides as the back tires of Olivia's Porsche spun and spit out gravel from the small road leading towards the Priest estate. She was a sweet enough girl—willing to talk to me despite the bullshit of Rachel fucking Harris—but she was also a hot mess. Hot messes could get me killed. It was actually probably a good thing she hadn’t been able to attend the post-game after party.
As I swerved into the opening of the estate’s driveway following the GPS directions, my mouth dropped. All Olivia's talk of possible mafia connections suddenly made sense. A tall, stone building came into view—with no less than three balconies across the front upper floors. At minimum, there were three stories, but as I rounded the side of the mansion, I spotted a cluster of smaller buildings several yards beyond the main building.
I released a slow whistle as I followed the line of cars pulling up to the valet at the front door. Lights. Cameras. A fountain five tiers high with a spring of water raining down in the middle of a lawn that could grace the covers of any garden and home magazine. I was starting to think a t-shirt and jeans would be severely underdressed when I noticed the people getting out of the other cars.
I recognized the two girls that exited the car in front of me, tossing their keys to a lanky young man who promptly got in and drove their car away as they teetered in high heels and short skirts towards the front door of the mansion. It wasn't that I would be underdressed, I thought, more like … overdressed.
"Here you are, Ms. Steele." Another valet handed me a small slip of paper as I got out of the running car. "The number to your Porsche. We'll have someone grab it for you when you're ready to leave."
"Thanks," I said without bothering to correct him.
I headed for the double front doors. Golden light spilled out as they were opened by two ushers and pounding pop-rock music drifted out.
My eyebrows shot up as I came to a screeching halt just twenty feet inside the doorway. There, in the main hub of the mansion, was a nearly floor to ceiling painting. Torin, and what I guessed were his infamous sister and father, in 19th century Victorian regalia. While my eyes were automatically drawn to the one person in the painting I had met, I yanked my gaze away from Torin and scanned the images of his sister and father.
While Torin's sister was a beauty—thick caramel hair that was tied ba
ck into a careful chignon—it was the image of the older man in the picture that gave me chills. Even from a painting, I had never seen eyes so devoid of emotion. He stood like a regal monarch of old, but there was no pride in his stance. There was no pride for a man who truly believed all he wanted was at his fingertips, and that was what he looked like—more God than man. And if he was truly a vampire, I had no doubt in my mind that he was beyond dangerous.
Which begged the question: Who was Torin Priest?
Was he the son of a business magnate? Or a vampire progeny not yet turned? Why would vamps want a human child?
"Hey, you're Liv's new friend, aren't you?" One of the girls I'd seen just outside getting out of a bright red Maserati interrupted my thoughts when she stopped next to me at the top of the small staircase leading into the main part of the mansion. "Is she here with you?"
"I took her home," I said. "She got sick."
"Awww, bummer. She's missing the greatest Priest party yet."
"Hey." I grabbed the girl's arm before she could walk off. "Where's Torin?" I needed to know where he was so I could make sure he wouldn’t catch me when I went snooping.
The girl lifted one perfectly sculpted blonde brow, just slightly darker than my own. "Why do you want to know?"
I sighed and gripped her arm harder. "Because I do," I said.
“If you’re planning on seducing Torin Priest, you’ve got a lot to learn, new girl,” she spat at me, all venom and unnecessary jealousy.
I blinked slowly. “Location?” I prompted when she said nothing more.
“I’m not going to tell you,” she growled as she tugged on her arm. I clamped down harder, digging my nails into her skin with an annoyed sigh. “Ouch! Let go of me!”