Busted (Stacked Deck Book 11)

by Emilia Finn

  He ties a delicate bow on the underside of my wrist, checks his work and grins, then his eyes meet mine again and sparkle with pride.

  “They’re beautiful.” I blush a little. I’m not, like, embarrassed or shy or anything, but genetics means sometimes I blush. It’s just the way it is. “Thank you.”

  “Not nearly as beautiful as you.” He steps forward again, and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek.

  And Daddy… well, he growls like a manic, rabid dog. “Step back, boy.”

  “Daddy.” I look around Calvin and search for my mom. “Hold him down, please.”

  Laughing, she steps up to her husband and wraps her arm around his. She does as I ask. Holds him down. But then she looks to Calvin and holds his gaze. “Sports are fun, huh? Did you know I used to fight too?”

  “Mother.” I shake my head and groan at her less than subtle attempt at a threat, then stepping up to Calvin’s side, I wrap my arm around his and turn us. “It’s time to go. Goodbye, Mom. Daddy.”

  “Make good choices,” my brother coaches as we pass. “I’ll come looking at eleven. Respect yourself.”

  I have no choice but to shake my head and keep going.

  Brooke says nothing, since she already knows this routine. She’s walked it, she’s survived it. She smiles for me, winks in a way that conveys a million things sisters can convey without words – be safe, be smart, knock him the fuck out first, ask questions later.

  I pass Jon and Tink, then Luke, and jump forward when he squeezes the back of my neck, not in support, but because he knows it sends electricity down my spine and makes me squeal.

  He’s an asshole, and right this minute, while his identical twin looks all dapper in a suit, Luke wears sweatpants that have a distinct Cheetos-orange smudge on the thigh. He’s classy like that.

  Rob remembered his date at some point while Mom was tossing around her threats, so he stands at the front door now, having tied a ribbon of flowers around her wrist, and with her arm tucked around his, he smiles for me, and makes a teasing face when I roll my eyes at his playful smirk.

  He’s picking on me, and I don’t think either of us really know the underlying reason. Perhaps it’s because I’m a tomboy in a dress. A skater in heels. Perhaps Rob overhead Daddy talking about him being our bad influence, or Bry’s promise to come searching in a few short hours.

  Regardless, he screws with me, but when Calvin leads me to the door, Rob steps aside and pulls Grace along with him so I can step out first.

  At the bottom of my driveway, behind Mom’s car, is a lowered, high-powered racing car littered in dust from far too much time spent in the dirt. Beside that is Calvin’s mom’s station wagon.

  It’s not, like, Brady-Bunch-style from the seventies… it’s new. But still, it’s a station wagon. However, unless I want my brother or my father to drive me to prom, I don’t have a lot of choice but to slide into the front seat when Calvin opens the door.

  Tagging along shamelessly, since there’s no chance in hell Rob is letting me ride without him, he and Grace slide into the backseat with quiet, smiling chatter. The air is electric, the energy palpable. Because maybe I’m Calvin’s date tonight, and maybe Grace is Rob’s, but beneath that…

  I turn in my seat when Calvin climbs into the driver’s side, and when Rob’s eyes come to mine, I grin.

  “We’re going to prom,” I squeal and bounce in place. “And I’m going with my best friend!”

  “Yeah we are.” Grace slides into the middle of the long bench seat, fixes her seatbelt, and when she’s done, she grabs Rob’s hand and twines their fingers together. “This is gonna be so much fun,” she chirps. “I hope someone thought to spike the punch bowl.”

  Laughing as Calvin starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, I slide the silky fabric of my skirt up, and grab the flask of vodka tucked into my garter. I tap the side of the metal canister with my fake nails, and grin. “I bet someone awesome will take care of it.”

  “Lord help us all,” Rob groans. “Of course it’s gonna be you.”

  Rob

  Keeping an Eye on the Peacock

  Grace Rissata is every guy my age’s wet dream. Long hair, long torso, long legs that stop somewhere around her armpits. Add in that she’s a senior, she’s been doing gymnastics her whole life – hello flexibility – and then add the dress she wears tonight that shows off at least half of her stomach and most of her boobs, and I might arguably be the most envied man in this ballroom tonight.

  Well, almost the most envied.

  Yet, I can’t take my eyes off EmKat as she goes wild on the dance floor with Football Head. They don’t dance inappropriately, and hell, there hasn’t been a single slow song yet, but still, she’s stunning, and he holds her ribs the way a man holds a woman when he’s begging for a broken face.

  She’s older than me, that’s already been established. But she’s smaller, and has impulse control issues, which means it’s my responsibility to take care of her. But if you asked her, she’d swear she doesn’t need protection.

  She clutches to her red cup of spiked punch like she knows it’s limited, and though I also have a cup filled with the same stuff, I drink much slower, much more responsibly. Because eventually, she may need me to watch over her, especially if she chugs her serving, and I’ll be damned if I’m messy and unable to do what needs to be done.

  This is my lot in life, my burden to bear; protector of EmKat Kincaid, the youngest peacock, the chihuahua with a bulldog’s mind.

  “Rob?” Grace rarely suffers from low self -esteem, but perhaps tonight is where it begins, all because her date is busy watching another woman. “Hey, Rob, you in there?”

  I glance down when her words click in my brain, but my brows come together with a scowl when she reaches up and moves my face. She plasters her body to mine as we dance, forces my gaze down as though to look at her cleavage, and grins when my eyes obey her command.

  I’m tipsy, I’m a guy, and she’s showing them off.

  “You’re really distracted.” She speaks over the volume of the music, and transitions from holding my face to stroking it. “I’d hate to think I’m messing with your schedule by asking you to be here with me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I’m not really, as I go back to watching Em. My blood heats when Football Head’s hand leaves her ribs… and stops on her ass.

  “It’s my job to take care of her.” I look back to Grace, but nod in Em’s direction. “She’s my responsibility, and Fuckface is getting handsy.”

  “Well, perhaps I’m kinda hoping you’ll focus on me a bit.” She slides the pad of her thumb along my bottom lip and makes my heart stop dead. “You could get handsy with me, and I’ll probably even like it.”

  “I could—” I blink. Once. Twice. “Huh?”

  Laughing, she gives up on subtlety, takes my hand, and places it on her ass. Fuck, but I’m only a guy. A virgin, inexperienced and curious. “Touch me, Rob. I promise, you might even like it.”

  “But I don’t… I’m not…”

  She leaves my hand on her ass, reaches up, and sliding her fingers into my hair, she pulls me down until our lips slam together, and the taste of vodka and juice mingles between us. Her tongue lashes out first, soft and wet, probing and aggressive, and when the music changes to something a little slower, Grace changes our rhythm. She glues her limber body to mine, wraps both arms around my neck, and in the darkness while alcohol swirls in my brain, she intoxicates me and leads us through a night that would forever change my life.

  It’s just a kiss. Just a dance. But it’s so much more while, just fifty feet to my left, Emma does the same, but with a fucking jock.

  She’s louder about it. Laughier. But from the corner of my eye, I catch the way she throws her arms around his shoulders, and mid laugh, mid whatever-the-fuck-she-was-saying, he crashes his lips to hers and steals something that can never be retrieved.

  But she’s not sad. She’s not in distress. And maybe the warmth in this
room is making the alcohol move faster in my blood, because my head turns woozy, and somehow, my tongue follows Grace’s.

  Fuck it.

  This is prom, and I’m a fucking virgin. I’m only fifteen, so it’s not like I’m behind the curve on this, but when Grace’s hand slides to my crotch and she makes us both aware at least half of my body is game, I pull back only long enough to chug the rest of my drink.

  I gasp when the vodka coalesced at the bottom burns on its way down, then I toss the cup and slide my hand up to hold the knot of hair at the back of Grace’s head. Lights and music and laughter, squealing girls, and horny guys. Darkness makes it easier to be impulsive, and Grace’s tongue steals my ability to think clearly.

  I check my watch with lightning-fast speed – it’s not yet ten – which means I have time to sneak out and back in again before Em makes bad choices.

  “Come on,” Grace purrs and brushes her hand over my cock again. She spins on her heels, grabs on to my tie to lead me around like a docile puppy – which, I guess, is exactly what I am – and minutes after that, I find myself just three floors above the ballroom that prom is being hosted in.

  Grace came prepared: hotel room already booked, a key already tucked into her garter. She leads me from the elevator into the room, tosses a mini bottle of vodka into my hands as soon as the door closes, and just a shameful few minutes after that…

  Fuck.

  My head pounds, and my tongue is dry and swollen… like it’s roadkill, and not a joined and living part of my body. Sunlight filters through my bedroom window while I sprawl on the top bunk, above my sheet and blankets, and choke past the stench of whatever is on my breath.

  On the bunk below me, Luke plays with a game on his phone that sounds an awful lot like slot machines, except he’s losing a lot, and doesn’t seem to be all that sad about it.

  “Guys who drank lemonade all night do not wake up feeling the way you feel, little brother.”

  I stay where I am, leave my eyes closed, and try with all my might to command my tongue to detach itself from my body and bury itself in the yard. “Emma supplied the booze.”

  He snorts and moves so that the whole bunk structure rocks. “Of course she did. Either she didn’t drink as much as you, or her kidneys work better than yours, because I don’t think she stinks like you do today.”

  “She’s here?”

  He makes a sound in the back of his throat, a ‘dunno’ that I’ve been able to translate my whole life. “The world isn’t on fire, which means she’s home. Bobby would have murdered you by now if she wasn’t.”

  “True.” I try to turn in bed, to my side, then over, and grunt when I flop to my back and crack my eyes open. “I think I got drunk last night,” I admit. “Like, really really drunk.” Then reality hits me. “Mom and Dad are gonna whoop me.”

  “Yup,” he pops the P, and chuckles. “Mom is rage-cleaning downstairs.”

  “Fuck.” I would cry, if only my body wasn’t dehydrated to the point of death. “Rage-cleaning is the worst.”

  “You puked on your way in the door.” He just tosses more at me. More truth bombs. More reason for me to die just as soon as I can sit up. “You got Em home, walked her to her door, and to be fair,” he chuckles, “you acted sober enough to get her in, but then it’s like your shield slipped. As soon as her door closed, you let it all go, tripped up our steps, walked in, and puked on the tile at Mom’s feet.”

  The jingling bells of his game stop, then the bed shakes to the same tune as Luke’s grunts. He climbs to his feet, rests his arms on my mattress, and grins when I turn my head and meet his eyes. “You are fifteen, and you puked on Mom’s feet.”

  “I’m dead.”

  He nods, solemn and sad. “You’re dead. But I can’t say I’ve enjoyed sharing everything with you all these years. With you out of the picture, it’s finally gonna be my time to shine.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Robert. Fucking. Hart.” Mom’s enraged voice echoes all the way from downstairs and arrows straight for my heart. “One of you just got up, which means you’re both awake.”

  I growl for Luke, since it was his feet that touched the floor and alerted Mom to the fact that I didn’t die in my sleep.

  “Get your stupid ass down these stairs now. You enjoyed your actions. Now you reap the consequences.”

  “I think it might have been best if I died,” I mumble.

  Luke shrugs. “That ship already sailed. Brush your teeth before going down. I can taste the booze in the air. Mom will kill you if she can smell it too.”

  “I don’t know that it’ll matter.” I push up to sit.

  My body aches, and I’m genuinely curious about the state of my kidneys right now. No way did I get this fucked up on the contents of Em’s flask, which means whatever I consumed in that hotel room was potent, and perhaps lots of.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s in my pores.” I swing my legs over the side of my bed, accidentally kicking Luke as I go, but I can’t seem to find a single shred of sympathy for him. He’s a big boy, and he’s moments away from being an only child anyway.

  “Robert! Now.”

  “Ugh.” I push aside the sickness swirling in my stomach, and jumping down to the floor on aching legs that almost buckle from the impact, I glance down and groan at my boxer shorts. That’s all I wear. A black pair, splattered with drops of something I don’t want to dissect too closely. So I cross the room to the closet Luke and I share, and because I don’t really give a fuck about anything right now, I dig a hand into a pile of clothes, yank out a pair of shorts and a shirt, I pull them on and hobble my way to the door. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

  “It’s ironic,” he jokes as I move through the door. “Em calls me Pukey Lukey… do you get the irony?”

  “Fuck up.” I swing the door closed, and regret my actions immediately when the slamming wood sears my brain and makes my body ache.

  I don’t understand how a sound can make my internal organs hurt, but then again, I’ve never been drunk before. So I guess this is one of those things we must endure as payment for the night before.

  I risk death by veering into the bathroom instead of going straight downstairs, but I pee and brush my teeth in record time, then I walk back out again and pass Luke as he waits at the top of the stairs with a wicked grin.

  He won’t actually let Mom kill me. But he’ll sure as fuck enjoy watching her tear me to pieces.

  I shuffle downstairs, but the lower I go, the more I suck up my pain and put on a show of normalcy. Puking, groaning, and complaining won’t help my case when Mom gets started. So I pull myself together, slap my own cheeks as I step onto the tile flooring at the bottom, then, feeling a little perkier than I did a minute ago – or at least, that’s the lie I tell myself – I follow the scent of pine cleaner into the kitchen, where I find Mom standing over a bucket and holding a mop handle in her hands.

  At the counter, Dad sits with a stony face and a cup of coffee resting between his hands. But worse, so much worse, is EmKat’s dad, the man I was named for, my godfather, and every other connection we’ve created over the years. He’s in fight mode, and I’m the sucker with the target on his face.

  “Shit.” I say it, I mean it. “I messed up.” I speak to them all, but most of all, to Bobby. “I was supposed to be the responsible one, I was supposed to have her back, but—”

  “Where’d you get the alcohol?” Mom asks. “That’s the first problem. You’re fifteen, Rob, which means you can’t buy that shit on your own. First, we stomp out your supplier, then we move into the next portion of today.”

  I can’t tell them that EmKat had a flask. They wouldn’t believe me even if I did. But there’s no chance I’ll snitch on her. Zero chance, so I sigh and glance across the kitchen to the cabinet I know holds liquor. “I stole a little and took it to the dance.”

  “Ours?” Mom brings a thumb back and pokes her own chest. “We supplied you?”

  “No, Mom. I s
tole. I knew better than to touch it.”

  She looks to Bobby. “We were the supplier.”

  Dad drops his head and rubs a palm over his face. “Fuck.”

  “I’m sorry.” I take a step forward, though I don’t really know what I’ll do once I reach… whoever. “I was being impulsive, and I figured it was only a little, so it wouldn’t matter. Then there was a little more at the dance, so I had too much.”

  “And my daughter?” Bobby growls. “You supplied her too?”

  “No!” My stomach whooshes and threatens to make another mess at Mom’s feet. “I didn’t see EmKat drink at all.” Lie, Rob. Lie your fucking ass off. “She was having normal fun. Dancing and stuff. No alcohol.”

  “And since I trusted her with you, I then put her at risk,” Bobby snarls. “How did you plan to keep my baby safe if you couldn’t even stand up?” He pushes to his feet and slams his stool back with the momentum. “How can you expect me to trust you with her, when you can’t even control your fucking shit and stay sharp?”

  “Bobby,” Dad rumbles. “Cool it.”

  “I will not risk her!” Bobby roars. “I will tolerate a lot, Rob. I know it’s fun to let loose and get wild, and I know you have a penchant for bullshit stunts, but I will not risk my fucking daughter!”

  He shoves away from the counter, and strides around to where Mom stands. He stands over her, and stands over me. Snatching the mop from her hands, he slams it against my chest until my lungs empty out.

  “Whatever punishment your parents dole out to you is from them. It’s separate. But I control your access to Em, and I’m calling it.”

  “Calling it?” My stomach drops with sickening speed. “Calling what?”

  “I don’t trust you.” He comes closer and leans down to catch my eye. “I do not fucking trust you. Not with her. So now you gotta earn that back.”

  “Daddy!” Em rushes into my kitchen and skids to a stop between me and him. “Daddy, stop.”