by Angel Lawson
“This isn’t your world, sweetheart.”
“I’m managing.”
His jaw tightens and he looks me up and down. “So I’ve heard.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“I heard how you handled my cousin.” I scowl, and he chuckles. “Luke is a pervert and sadist. He never should have been in a place like this—too easy.”
“Gross.”
“You know I’m not like that. I’m not into forcing girls into my company. Sure, if an opportunity presents itself and an agreement can be made, I’ll make an offer using whatever leverage I have, but actual assault?” He shakes his head in distaste. “No thanks.”
I fight back the rage. He’s okay with blackmail but not rape. He’s as much of a narcissist as his cousin. I know Trip lured my sister in somehow, and she’s never been seen again. “All I know is that you’re more charming than your cousin, but I’m also aware of the cautionary tale of a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”
He smiles like a lamb.
“You don’t know it now, Eden Warren, but I think the two of us are going to be good friends.” He raises his cup in a toast. “Oh, and if you’re looking for something familiar, I’m happy to be a comfort.”
I roll my eyes and ignore the way my skin crawls. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He wanders away, instantly falling into a few conversations, already at home with the other Brats. I tip the contents of my drink into my mouth and feel the questioning eyes of the three K-Boys from across the room.
I ignore them, too, and continue to tidy the kitchen. This isn’t about them.
Or at least, that’s my perspective. I’m taking a bag of trash down the hall to the chute when I sense someone behind me. I glance back and see Hawk jaw tense, eyes tight.
“You lost?” I ask, stopping before the little door in the wall. The bag is packed with trash and I struggle a little bit, trying to navigate the slot. Hawk doesn’t say anything, just takes the bag from me and shoves it down the chute, the door snapping back in place.
“What were you doing with Cohen?”
“Why do you think I was doing anything?” I ask innocently.
“Because as much as you hated me back on the streets, it was nothing compared to how much you loathed him.” His arms fold over his chest, giving me a view of that long, lean muscle in his forearm. Why is that so sexy?
“We all came here for a reason, Hawk. You’re getting an education. Theo’s clean for the first time in years. Gray isn’t roaming the streets.” I push my hair out of my eyes. “I want to know what happened to my sister, and Trip is the answer.”
“How far are you willing to take it? Because fucking around with Trip is a rabbit hole you may not make it out of.”
The implication is clear. Hope probably didn’t. Why do I think I can?
“I can take care of myself, Hawk, and even if I can’t, you and I have no obligation to one another. Our arrangement is over. You don’t need to protect me anymore.”
His gray eyes spark and a chill runs down my spine. It’s similar to the way he looked at me before and after the fight. Full of adrenaline and emotion. It both scares me and thrills me, both of which are dumb. Trip Cohen may be a rabbit hole. Sawyer Hawkins is quicksand.
“I know our arrangement is over, but that doesn’t mean I’m throwing you to the wolves, Eden.”
I inch away from him and see Adam and Phillip down the hall. They’re glaring in our direction. I have no doubt they’re still bitter about losing their rooms and being put on probation. Jerking my head in their direction, I say, “You’ve got your own worries. There’s no way they’re letting this go so easily. And if that’s not a problem, I’m sure you can find another damsel that needs your help.”
I turn, walking away with my heart hammering like a drum. I feel a hand grip my shoulder and spin me around so I’m face-to-face with him. I fight a tremble under the weight of his hand.
“Do what you want, Princess, but let me make one thing clear. I never thought of you as a damsel, and I sure as hell know that you don’t need help.”
With that he storms off, leaving me in the hallway with the thumping music and a few curious glances. I slap on a mask of composure as I walk back into the party, pretending that the altercation with Hawk hadn’t drained the fun out of me and that I’m not ready for this night to be over.
9
Gray
“Something tells me those aren’t really your pajamas.”
Two long braids hang in my face along with a pair of breasts in a tank so tight I can see the outline, shape, and color of her nipples. I drag my eyes up and see a girl from my history class leaning over. I think her name is Bridget.
“Well,” I say, leaning back in my chair and smoothing out my jeans, “I sleep in the nude, so it seemed inappropriate to show up like that.”
I hear a snort behind me and glance back. Eden shakes her head and dramatically rolls her eyes, before walking off.
“Excuse me,” I say to Bridget, flashing her an apologetic grin. She pouts, crossing her arms under her chest, making her boobs even bigger. Willpower is not my strong suit.
The party crowd is thinning. Trip and the girls he showed up with wisely left a while back. Hawk was about one second from tearing his heart out. Theo’s playing video games on the massive flat screen Rochelle’s father bought her. I’ve kept an eye on him most of the night. He seems good, and thankfully, I haven’t seen any drugs floating around. That doesn’t mean they’re not here, though.
Hawk vanished a while ago, after following Eden into the hall. From the scowl on her face when she came back, I have to assume whatever transpired between them didn’t go well, and he left. This is not his scene.
“You need any help?” I ask Eden, as she cleans the kitchen. After talking to Trip, she’s spent the rest of the party tidying up like a maniac.
“No.” She looks back at Bridget, who’s still pouting across the room. “Don’t you want to show her your real pajamas?”
Is she jealous? I doubt it. This girl runs hot and cold. One minute she’ll drag me into a tight corner and kiss me until I’m hard and panting. The next she’ll ignore me like I’m dirt under her shoe. Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I love the push and pull, unable to get enough of her. That’s why I scoot between her and the counter and say, “I’d rather show you.”
She blinks, and I see the slightest bit of fire in her eyes. Maybe she is jealous.
“I’m really not in the mood.”
“Because of Trip or Hawk?”
“Can I say both?”
I lean against the counter and laugh. “I think that’s fair. What did they do?”
“Trip didn’t do anything but act like his normal, egotistical self,” she says, “but your boy thinks he needs to get involved anyway. I told him to back off and he got all pissy. I don’t need to babysit him and his emotions.”
I nod. “He feels like he needs to keep an eye on you.”
“Why? I’m not a K-Boy. There’s no obligation.”
That makes me laugh. “Of course, there is. He’s our leader, and whether you like it or not, you’re one of us.”
“No. We had an arrangement,” she says in a low voice. “It was temporary.”
“Princess, I know you liked it solo out on the streets, but if you think there weren’t people watching your back out there, you’re more self-absorbed than I thought. No one gets by alone out there, and no one is getting by alone in here.”
She steps back like I’ve slapped her. I probably have, with a big dose of reality.
“So you were there when I was getting propositioned? When I had my shit stolen, and beaten up on the way home from school? You were supporting me when I bought drugs for my junkie mom, so she wouldn’t try to sell our belongings, or worse, herself for a fix. What about when her boyfriends tried to grope and touch me? When I pushed a bookshelf against my door at night to keep them out?” I take a breath. “And don’t you dare admit you were ther
e when Hope went missing, and I was combing the streets looking for her.” She presses her hands against my chest and pushes me. “You’re full of shit. You know the difference between you guys and Trip? At least he doesn’t pretend to be a good guy. He doesn’t act like he’s not getting something from everyone.”
I wrap my hands around her wrists. “I’m sorry your life sucked, Princess. Join the fucking Kingston club. But don’t throw us in the same bin as Trip Cohen now. We may have our flaws, but we’re not predators. No wonder Hawk got pissed. That’s unacceptable.”
“You don’t know who I am or what I’m doing.”
Along with her wrists I hold her eye, licking my bottom lip. “I know what you like, Princess, and how puffy your lips get when I kiss them.” My voice is low and just for her to hear. “I know that what’s going on between us is more than an arrangement, even if you don’t want to admit it.”
She swallows, the words caught in her throat. For some ridiculous reason, I want—no need—her to tell me I’m right, that the times we spent pressed up against on another was more than just a game.
“Gray? Eden? Everything cool?”
Theo’s voice cuts through the moment. She glances over.
“Perfectly.” She rips her hands away from me. Reluctantly, I let her go. She walks out of the kitchen and shouts, “All right! Everybody out!”
“What?” Rochelle says, sitting on Adam’s lap, her fingers stroking his chest.
Eden walks past the remaining partiers and heads to her room, slamming the door behind her.
“What the hell did you say to her?” Theo asks, forehead furrowed.
“Nothing,” I reply, trying to figure it out myself. “I told her that we’d always look out for her, but she doesn’t want it.”
“Maybe she just needs some space. She’s been struggling with me at swim, too. One minute wanting to face her fears. The next busting my balls.”
Eden Warren had always been an enigma. A loner and a risk taker. If we thought she was going to let us in easily, we should have known better. My biggest fear, though, is that she’s still focused on getting the truth, alone.
Finding it may be more dangerous than anything we’ve run into yet.
10
Eden
Word spreads quickly about the self-defense class. Morgan and Stella tell the cheer squad, and Rochelle blasts it on social media. It comes to my attention pretty quickly that it doesn’t hurt that Dorian is teaching the class.
To say the girls at the school have a collective crush on him would be an understatement.
The class is held after dinner, during our free hours. Coach Dawson greets all of us as we arrive, directing us to the bleachers. As we sit, I’m thankful that it’s not just Dorian leading the class. Our relationship already crosses a few lines—we’re not just student/counselor—he’s part of the reason I’m at the school in the first place. He knows who I am, about my history, where I’m from, and unlike the other girls in the room, I know the same about him.
Despite what I’d said to both Hawk and Gray, there is a connection that the five of us have, one that makes me uncomfortable, and that’s why I’m making efforts to cut ties. For their sakes as well as my own.
“Damn,” Rochelle says, as she gets a good look at Dorian. “I may need to make an appointment with Mr. Miller about the stress of college applications.”
“I had to go in to talk to him the other day about my math grade,” Morgan says. “It was almost too much. Have you ever seen someone so sexy?”
Even Stella agrees, and she’s completely devoted to her boyfriend. In a way, it makes me feel better that my attraction to him isn’t that out of line. Maybe I’m a normal girl after all.
“You danced with him at the fundraiser, right?” Morgan asks.
“Uh, yes. Just briefly.”
“I would have died,” she says. “Feeling those arms around me. You just know he’s built under all that. You can tell in the way his shirts fit.”
“All that” is a simple hoodie and track pants. But she’s right. Dorian has a way of wearing his clothes—perfectly fitted so you get just the right hint of the lines of his body. All it does is make me want to see what’s underneath, to see what happens when the cool, calm exterior is removed and—
Coach Dawson blows his whistle, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Thank you for joining us,” Dorian says, standing in front of the bleachers. “It’s good to see so many people interested in learning self-defense. This will be a four-week session. Each week we’ll discuss and show you a series of moves that will help you defend yourself against an unwanted attacker. Then we’ll test them out so that you’re comfortable using them if necessary.”
“Can’t we just kick them in the balls?” someone shouts from the stands.
Most of the room laughs, including me. I would have loved to have castrated Luke.
Dorian winces. “You can, and in some situations, I’d encourage it, but that may not be the most effective way to handle each situation. Self-defense is not just about being physical. It’s about self-awareness. Self-control. Self-preservation.”
Coach Dawson steps up. “We’ve got a short video to watch before we get started.”
A screen rolls down from the ceiling and Coach Dawson uses a remote to start the video. It starts off with a few scenes; women walking to their car alone. Going to the bank machine in the dark. Sitting at a bar and not watching their drink as someone slips a drug into it. The images make me angry. They’re both true and frustrating. Why the hell do we have to watch our backs every second of the day doing perfectly normal things?
“I’m getting some water,” I say to Rochelle and climb down the bleachers. The water fountain is against the wall near the locker room door. I bend over and take a gulp, trying to control my temper. When I stand, I see Dorian a few feet away. He frowns when he sees my annoyed look.
“What’s wrong?” he whispers, coming closer.
“Nothing.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’m not buying that.”
“I just hate that women are presented as weak and victims. We should be able to walk to our cars or sit at a bar without being assaulted.”
“Of course, you should.”
“I mean, if anyone should sit in a program, it should be the guys in this school with their shitty boundaries and predatory behavior.”
“You specifically asked for this class.”
I sigh and lean against the cinderblock wall. “I know. I’m just annoyed.”
He moves to lean next to me, his face shadowy in the darkened room. “You’re right. The guys should be hearing this—or something like it—but even then, you can’t be sure they’re listening.”
“They’re never listening. Well, maybe to their cocks.” He gives me a look. “Sorry, but it’s true.”
“Do you talk like that to shock me?”
I glare at him, knowing there’s a little truth to his question. I want to get a rise out of him—shake that solid exterior. “No. I don’t even think about it. I guess sometimes I forget.”
He frowns. “Forget what?”
“That you’re an authority figure or whatever—and not one of us—them. A K-Boy.”
“I’ve worked pretty damn hard to shed the image.”
I know I shouldn’t say what I’m about to, but I do anyway. “To the rest of the world, you’re pulling it off. You’re just a young do-gooder trying to save a bunch of fuc—screwed-up kids.” I step closer and lean in. “But for me? I can smell it on you. The street. The Park.” I take his hand in mine. “I feel the calluses—the scars. You can take us out of the Park, but you can’t take the Park out of us. That includes you.”
He swallows thickly but removes his hand from mine. “All that matters in these walls is that they see the do-gooder, and as long as you’re in here, it’s important that you see that person, too.”
I raise an eyebrow, wondering if I’ve struck a nerve. “I understand. No talking about co
cks around you anymore.”
His shakes his head and pushes off the wall, heading back across the floor. The video stops, and the lights turn back on. I blink at the glare, feeling exposed in the bright light. I ease back into the crowd, my heart hammering and hands shaking from our encounter.
11
Eden
For the first month I’d been at school, I’d managed to avoid one of the biggest activities: football. The K-Boys and I had been more worried about parties, blackmail, and getting our footing than participating in school spirit. But it turns out Sparrowood made it to the playoffs, and they have a new player named Sawyer Hawkins, and the whole school is abuzz.
“Do I really have to wear this?” I ask Rochelle, who seems to be an expert. Stella and Morgan have already left since they’re both on the cheer squad, but they confirmed that each game has a theme. Tonight’s is Hawaiian, which means we’re supposed to wear wild, tropical-printed shirts and leis.
“It’s fun. Stop being so concerned with everything and just have a good time.”
“I’m just not much of a joiner.”
“Really?” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve never noticed.”
I’d only relented because of what Hawk said about me stepping into Camille’s shoes. Sitting in my room with a book on a Friday night won’t win me any popularity points. The self-defense club has been a good step, but if the students at Sparrowood are going to accept me as part of their new leadership and loop me in on the underground activities, I have to step it up.
That’s why I follow Ro’s lead and wear the clothing she gives me. It’s a black cropped athletic bra, the red floral shirt and a pair of super-short, up-my-ass jean shorts.
She French-braids my hair and tucks a fake flower behind my ear. I pull on my sneakers and follow her downstairs. Covering my exposed stomach, I ask, “Exactly why do we have to show so much skin?”
“For the handprints, silly.”
I have no idea what that means until we walk up to the stadium and the cheerleaders are out front with cups of paint, glitter and other crafty-looking items. They’re coating their hands in paint and then stamping them on people’s arms, legs, stomachs, and backs.