by Angel Lawson
But.
I can’t. This is a long game. The first step in getting Trip to trust us, and if we bolt now he’ll never tell me what I need to know, and we’ll never fully take him down and I’ll never get the truth about Hope.
I take a step into the room. It’s an office. The desk is glass. The computer along with the furnishings, sleek and modern. A massive abstract painting hangs on one wall and a shelf with carefully curated books and objects lines the other. Patrice leans against the desk. Another tattoo peeks out from under her skirt, positioned on her outer thigh.
“Have something for me?” she asks.
Hawk reaches for the envelope and hands it to her. She opens it and inside are two tiny envelopes. Each one has our name on it.
She holds them out and we take them, opening them at the same time. A tiny pill, no bigger than a pin-head, falls out.
“What is this?” Hawk asks.
“This,” Patrice says, with twinkling eyes, “is your mission, if you choose to accept it.”
I hold up the pill. “You want us to take drugs?”
“Everyone here is taking it. Consider it an experiment.”
“We’re not taking unidentified drugs.”
Patrice rolls her eyes. “It’s not going to kill you. In fact, it’s pretty damn amazing. It’s not addictive, it’s not going to turn you into a lunatic. The worst thing it does is give you a giddy rush.” She reaches into her own pocket and pulls out a similar pill and pops it in her mouth. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”
“And if we don’t?” Hawk asks.
“Then you get back in the car and go back to wherever you came from. I’d assume that whatever arrangement you have with Trip is over. He likes his associates to be invested in the product. It’s pretty standard.”
Hawk gives me a hard look. “We’re not doing this.”
I know he’s right. I know it, but at the same time I’m looking for something Hawk isn’t; answers to the question that’s weighed me down for months.
“I’m in,” I say, refusing to lose this opportunity.
Hawk’s jaw tightens, and his eyes darken, furious at me for stepping out of line. I pop the pill in my mouth before he can do anything about it, flash my tongue to Patrice so she sees that I’ve done it, and feel it melt away.
The boy next to me shakes his head. “If something bad happens…”
“It’s on me. Sure. Whatever.”
“No,” he replies, looking between me and Patrice, “it’s on Trip. I’ll make that fucker pay.”
Then he does the unthinkable, popping the pill in his mouth and swallowing it down. I shouldn’t be surprised. There’s one thing about the K-Boys. If someone goes down, they all go down. I’m not in this decision alone.
19
Hawk
There’s nothing to do but wait.
That and try to get over the fact I’m furious with Eden for taking that pill. I should have picked her up and dragged her out of the house, called off this whole thing and gone to Dorian.
Dorian. If the drugs don’t kill me, he will.
But I saw the look in her eye. The desperation. This is about more than taking down Trip and his scheme. It’s about Hope. It’s always about Hope.
Like all good leaders, I swallow the pill, ready to go down with my team.
Patrice leaves us in the office with a smirk and a wink. I hate these people, with their fancy houses and glass desks and petty, dangerous games. They’re bored. Poor people don’t have time to be bored because we’re always hustling for the next meal, the next dollar, a safe bed.
“I’m sorry,” Eden says when we’re alone. She runs her fingers down the glass shelves, poking at books and trinkets. Mostly avoiding looking at me. I’ve been struggling since the car ride over when I helped her with her dress. The sight of her in just her bra and panties…let’s just say I wasn’t prepared for it and the imagery is burned into my memory. Seeing her in the dress and those fuck-me boots didn’t make things any better.
“No, we agreed to this. I think we both knew there’d be a catch.”
She pauses over a frame, head tilted. “Do these people look familiar to you?”
I walk over, getting a strong whiff of her shampoo in the process, and look at the photo. It’s older—a family—two kids, two parents, a magnificent, tropical, beach view behind them. I point to the younger-looking boy. “Is that—”
“Trip. Yeah, I think so.” She picks up the photo. “He told me has an older brother who went to college to perfect his skills in making drugs.”
“So, this is his house.”
“His family’s, I guess.”
I grimace. “Perfect. It’s like being in the devil’s lair.”
“Come on,” I say, needing some air. I grab her hand and lead her back through the house. The music seems both louder and both further away. The clumps of party-goers fuzzy. They’re loud; laughing and dancing. A few making out, their bodies intertwined and pressed against whatever surface they can find. The room is full of beautiful people and as much as we should stick out—we don’t. Eden is gorgeous and looks like she’s belonged here her whole life.
I walk back through the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of water out of the cooler. I hear a familiar voice from the corner. Eden and I both look over and see Rochelle sitting with a group of guys.
“Did you know she was coming?” I ask.
Eden shakes her head.
“Do you want to go talk to her?”
“No. I don’t think so. I don’t want her involved in what we’re doing.”
I nod and see that off the back of the house is a huge porch with a stone fireplace. Comfortable seating is arranged around the fire. Those couches look nicer than anything I’ve ever had in a home.
Without letting go of her hand, I lead Eden over to the railing. There’s a breathtaking view of Asherville below—all darkness with dots of lights that look like stars.
“I don’t know how the protocol works with these people,” he admits. “Everything here is so clean. So, presentable. Like, I know they’re dirty and dangerous, as much or more than anyone back in the Park, but it’s different.”
“You just described the last two months,” she says, her pupils pulsing dark. “What I want to know is, say we keep this up. Graduate from Sparrowood. What happens then? Do we go back to Kingston? Or do we fight through the college track. Student loans and all-nighters? And if we do that, will we ever truly feel like we fit in or will it always be this way? A square peg in a round hole?”
It’s probably the most she’s ever spoken to me and I wonder if it’s the drugs. Her dark hair blows gently with the wind, and although there are dozens of other people out here it feels like we’re all alone, caught in a muffled bubble.
“I figured I’d spend my life in jail. Still do sometimes.”
“That would be a waste.”
The strands of her hair twist across her face and I reach forward, grazing her cheeks with my fingers, tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes are wide, doe-like, and without thinking I brush my thumb along her puffy, pink lips.
She jerks back and I drop my hand. “Uh, wow, sorry.” I run my hands through my hair and my fingertips tingle. “I think…”
“It’s okay,” she says, cutting me off. “It just surprised me. Usually you’re not so…”
“So what?” I’m insanely curious.
“Gentle.”
She’s right, of course. I’m big, brash, and intense. Everything I do is hard. Fighting. Football. Leading. Kissing. Fu—
“It’s okay,” she continues. “Just surprising.”
Our eyes link and it’s like I can see the stars reflecting back. A moment later I feel her fingers on my chest, toying with a button. My hand slides under her hair, behind her neck.
Warning bells ring in my head. Faint and distant, but they’re not as loud as the pounding of my heart and the want below the belt. Eden bites down on her bottom lip, and my knees quake. That lip tastes like heaven.
/> She runs her hands up and down the front of my shirt and mine wander down her back. Every worry, every concern is lost in a blaze of heat, and I confess, “All I’ve wanted since the day of the fight is to kiss you again.”
Her chin lifts up and she holds my eye. “What are you waiting for?”
Honestly? I have no fucking clue.
I don’t do it though, not here. I grab her hand and take her back in the house, back through the kitchen, down the hall. I feel Rochelle’s eyes on us as we walk past, but ignore all outside distraction, opening doors, finding two occupied by people enjoying their own privacy. At the end of the hall I enter one that’s dark, and empty. Pulling Eden in, I slam the door shut and press my hands on both sides of her head.
“Are you serious?” I ask, needing to know. I feel weird. Crazy. “Do you really want me to kiss you?”
“Are you going to make me beg?” Her lips move to my neck. Her mouth is warm—hot—and every inch of my skin burns. She tugs my shirt out of the waist of my pants, plucks at the buttons. I find her mouth, brushing my lips against hers, knowing that this isn’t for show. This is real.
Isn’t it?
She feels real. Amazingly real. Hands inching under my shirt. I kiss her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. Her hips push into mine and I hiss, jerking back because fuck, I’m hard. Ridiculously, offensively, terrifyingly so.
“I’ve felt it before,” she says, hand skimming the front of my jeans. “When I sit on your lap and fake unity. I didn’t think you could fake that, though.”
“You make me lose control.”
She laughs. “Hardly. You’re a fortress.”
I look up, breathing heavy, and hold her eyes. They’re glazed. Hooded. I stroke her hair. “You’re so beautiful. From the first day I saw you, I knew I wanted you.”
“At Sparrowood?” she asks, fingers slipping down the waistband of my jeans.
My stomach hollows and the confession rolls off my tongue.
“In Kingston. At the Park.” She frowns, and I touch her chin again, making her focus on me. “From the first day, Eden. We were just fucking kids, but I knew. I always knew, and then I failed you. I failed you, because I was so hung up on watching your every move, trying to get up the nerve…that I wasn’t doing my job out there in the Park, and it ruined any real chance I’d ever have to have you for my own.”
I can’t believe I said all that. That I admitted it to her. My tongue feels like it’s not part of my body. My mind drifts in a million directions. Her lips are so plump, so kissable; her body so small and perfect. I want to protect her, crush her, consume her.
My words hang in the air and I force myself to look at her, hold her eye. I feel the intensity pouring off of her. The disappointment. The pain.
“Prove it,” she says suddenly, fingers at the hem of her skirt. Revealing more of her tanned thigh.
“W-what?”
“Prove that you want me.”
There’s nothing I want more. Nothing.
“What if I fail again?” I don’t trust myself. She makes my head spin. Like right now, I don’t feel like myself.
“I trust you, Sawyer. More than you know.”
My name rolls off her lips like a dream. I lean forward, noses almost touching. “You trust me?”
She swallows and then nods.
I kiss her mouth, igniting a surge of electricity between us. She kisses me back and I sweep my tongue against hers, tasting, exploring, winding her up until she’s begging for breath. I stop and kiss her nose, her chin, and both her shoulders. I lift her arm and kiss the bend of her elbow, the bumps of her knuckles.
Her back is against the wall, her breathing heavy, and I run my hands down her sides and then drop to my knees, staring at the sliver of skin between the boots and her skirt. That dangerous, alluring skin that’s been begging for my touch since she got out of the car.
Her fingers twist in my hair. I look up at this goddess, the only person I’d submit to like this, and hopefully convey that, yeah, I’m ready to prove it.
20
Eden
For a minute I wonder if I’m in the pool with Theo. My arms feel light, my legs like they’re treading water, my mind submerged. But I’m not in the water—I mostly know this because I’m not scared. The door behind my back is hard and the boy kneeling before me gorgeous. His words drift upward like poetry.
The center of my body aches. Want, want, want. I tell him to prove it. To take that longing away, but he’s evil, winding me up, slowing me down, kissing, touching, loving.
There’s no other word.
Loving.
He starts with my boots, lowering the zipper inch by inch. As my flesh is revealed he kisses it, down, down, down past my knees, to my shins and ankles and feet. Sawyer Hawkins is holding my feet.
He tosses the boots behind me and gently presses his warm lips against the bridge. His begins the slow, painstaking journey back up; fingers grazing my ankles. The heat of his lips, lingering over my calves and knees. He bites my flesh, then licks it clean. He’s slow. Diligent. When he looks up his eyes are full of stars.
If he asked me to climb to the moon, I’d do it. If he stripped off all my clothes, I wouldn’t care. He doesn’t do either, just taking his time. Kissing, stroking, loving.
What had he said before? That it was always me?
I fight for the words. Was it a dream? A memory? A hoax.
With my hands, I force him to look up at me. I stroke his cheeks.
“Hawk?”
His eyebrow lifts. I smooth it with a finger.
“I’m really tired.” Slowly, I slide down the wall. A puddle on the floor.
“Eden?” He sounds so far away. Maybe we are in the pool? “Princess?”
His words drift past me and soon I am floating, lifted off the floor and in his strong arms. His gray eyes are dark, worried. I touch the line of his jaw, so sharp I wonder if it can cut flesh.
Soon we’re moving and bright light glares in my eyes, music pulses in my ears. I turn my head, seeing a long hallway. I see a mirror. I see myself. Myself but different. Hair longer. Streaked with gold. Eyelids coated in glitter. I reach up and touch my eyelid. Nothing comes off. The reflection doesn’t mimic.
“Let’s get you out of here, Princess.” Hawk’s voice is rough.
Wait!
I remember going outside.
I remember getting in the car.
I remember Hawk, eyes worried, arms strong.
And that’s it.
“I know what I saw.”
“Are you sure? You took the pill, too.”
“I did, but it didn’t hit me the same way. I was a little fucked up but not out of it. They probably didn’t account for the weight difference.”
“You don’t think you made it up?”
“No.”
“Fuck.”
“Quiet. Both of you.”
“It was her and she sure as hell didn’t look like she was being forced.”
Consciousness seeps in slowly, like walking through a fog. Before I open my eyes, I feel the mattress beneath me. The blanket spread over my body. The voices alert me to the fact I’m probably not in my bed. Also, the smell. It smells like Hawk.
I open my eyes and look around. Sure enough, I’m in Hawk’s room and all three boys either stand or sit nearby.
“Hey,” Gray says, smile on his pretty lips. It doesn’t wipe away the worry in his eyes. “You’re up.”
“What time is it?” I ask first, although that’s the least of my questions.
“Noon.”
“Shit.” I sit up. “I missed the whole morning classes?”
“It’s okay. Dorian wrote you a note,” Theo says.
“Dorian knows about last night?” I look at Hawk. First of all, I’m not even sure what happened last night. I remember getting to the party and finding Patrice. I remember taking the pill. Everything after that is a blur and makes my skin prick.
“I didn’t give him specifics,”
Hawk replies, not exactly meeting my eyes. “I told him we were following up on something with Trip. He didn’t press.”
I sigh with relief and push down the covers. That’s when I realize I’m not in the dress I wore last night. I’m wearing a big, gray T-shirt. My legs are bare. I look over and see it hanging over the back of the desk chair. Oh god.
“Can we have a minute,” Hawk says to the guys.
“Yeah,” Theo says, giving me an encouraging grin. “Find us later, okay?”
He and Gray walk out the door and I want to shout for them to stay, but the door clicks behind them, leaving me and Hawk alone.
“How are you feeling?”
“Confused, but not bad, physically,” I reply truthfully. “Embarrassed, more than anything, I guess.”
He pulls out the desk chair and moves it closer to the bed. A slash of concern marks his forehead. “Embarrassed about what?”
“You tell me. I can’t remember much about what happened last night.”
He rubs his face but still won’t meet my eye. “You didn’t miss much. Just a lame party. When it looked like you were struggling, I got us out of there.”
Deep down I know this isn’t true. My skin tingles just looking at him and other parts, well damn, they’re responding as well. I always have a nervous flutter in my belly when I’m around Hawk. Today, I have a boiling heat that twists tight like a coil. I remember him talking, telling me things and knowing I loved hearing it. I also remember being confused while he was carrying me back to the car. “The specifics are fuzzy. Did you carry me all the way back?”
“Good thing you’re light as a feather.”
“Well, I’m sorry if I did anything weird or strange. I’m not used to taking things like that. It was stupid. We should have said no.”
“It was a risk we decided to take. Trip already cornered me this morning. He’s impressed we went through with it. Patrice must have told him we’d followed orders. In the long run, neither of us got hurt and we created some loyalty.”
“Did you tell him we know that it was his house?”
He shakes his head. “No. I figure he’ll let us know when he’s ready.”