by James Tate
Steele heaved a huge sigh, like he was annoyed.
Fucking seriously?
"Look, Madison Kate, I know you think—"
"I don't think," I hissed back at him, cutting off whatever bullshit excuse he was about to spew at me. "I know. I know your buddies downstairs set me the fuck up, and now you're living in my father’s house? What the actual fuck, Steele?"
His lips twitched with another one of those half-smiles that I wanted to smack clean off his face. Or maybe kiss. But that was just my year of celibacy talking. But damn if I wasn’t interested to see what he could do with that pierced tongue.
"Alright, well... I'll give you a yell when the pizzas get here. Any preference?"
I blinked at him a couple of times, dumbfounded at his rapid change of subject.
Steele wrinkled his nose and clicked his tongue, his tongue stud making a sound against his teeth. "You look like an all or nothing kinda girl. Supreme or plain cheese?"
Furious, I closed the space between us in three long strides and shoved him with a hand to the center of his chest, pushing him back out into the hallway. I tried really hard not to think about how firm and defined his chest was, or about the teasing hints of ink peeking out of his collar. Instead, I slammed the door in his face and covered my face with my hands in exasperation.
"Okay, I'll order both!" Steele yelled through the door. "I can already tell we're going to have so much fun living together!" He laughed then, this deep, throaty chuckle that made a curl of fire ignite in my belly as his footsteps faded away. I wanted to yell and scream. Punch something. But that was the total opposite of everything Aunt Marie had been trying to teach me over the last year.
When I'd arrived on her doorstep in Cambodia, she'd seen how angry I was. How totally filled with hate. She'd done her best, I had to hand it to her. But I was a terrible meditation student, and all those feelings inside me had just festered.
"Fuck!" I shouted into my hands, smothering the sound of my own voice.
Exhausted, confused, and mad as hell, I flopped down on the frilly pink-and-purple comforter and screamed into the pillows. When I was done, I forced my body still.
One... two... three... four... five...
Calming breaths filled my lungs with each number, but they did little to shift the venom in my heart. I was doomed; I had accepted that months ago. Now, all I wanted was to drag those fuckers down with me. While I was probably willing to accept that Steele had very little to do with my arrest, I couldn't say the same for the other two. Green-eyes—Kody—had given me the hoodie with the key. And Blue-eyes? He'd delivered me right into the cops’ hands. He'd known exactly where to leave me at exactly the right time. He'd known what he was doing, and no amount of flirting from Steele would change that fact.
"Motherfuckers," I whispered aloud, blowing out a heavy breath. I was exhausted, my muscles all ached from the long flight, and my eyelids were like sandpaper. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next month... but I was shit out of luck on that front.
In just three days, come Monday morning, I'd be starting at Shadow Grove University.
With a groan, I rolled over on the awful comforter and fished my phone out of my bag. I needed to know that the fuck I'd just walked into here, and I knew just the person to fill me in.
If she'd speak to me, that was.
5
Bree didn't answer, but she also didn't have my new number and was probably call screening. Not that I blamed her; I used to do the same thing.
"Hey, Bree," I said when the voicemail beep sounded. "It's me, MK. I'm... uh... I'm back in Shadow Grove. Can you call me when you get this?" I paused, feeling awkward as fuck and guilty to the point of nausea. "I missed you, girl."
Before I could get all emotional and gushy on her voicemail, I ended the call and stared at my phone. Chances were, she wouldn't call me back. I couldn’t say I'd have done anything differently in her shoes, either. I'd been such a bitch last time I'd seen her, outside the courthouse when I'd been acquitted of my charges.
She'd refused to testify in my defense. Refused to show up and verify my statement of events. All because she was too scared of her father finding out she'd been at the Laughing Clown on Riot Night. Somehow, she'd made it home before the worst of the looting and damage had started. Somehow, her father still thought she was a perfect little angel and I was finally getting what I deserved for being such a bad influence on his darling girl. And Bree never spoke up.
I'd been so mad at her for so long, but while Aunt Marie had failed to help me let go of my hatred toward the three boys downstairs? She'd succeeded on Bree. I knew now that my friend was only doing what she needed to survive her own life. She’d still been a minor—as had I—so there was no way she could have testified without her parents’ consent. And straight up, she was terrified of her father. I couldn't hold that against her.
Still, I'd thrown away my old life the second I stepped off the plane in Cambodia. Now I had to deal with the consequences of that decision.
After several minutes staring at my blank phone, I gave up and took myself for a shower.
"Jesus fucking Christ," I muttered when I saw the princess-pink theme had carried over into the en suite. Pastel, fluffy towels, a glittery bath mat... even pink shampoo with a purple conditioner.
Whatever. It was Dad and Cherry's house; they could decorate however they wanted.
I took my time washing away the grit of my journey, then bundled up in a rose-colored towel to dry my hair. It was naturally wavy, but keeping it so long weighed it down a lot. All it needed was a blow-dry, admittedly a long one, then a quick swipe with straightening irons. Viola.
It was while I was rifling through my suitcase, hunting for underwear, that my phone lit up and started vibrating on my bed.
My stomach flipped with anxiety, knowing it wouldn't be my dad calling me. He was probably checked into the first-class lounge at the airport already, sipping on a cognac.
"Bree?" I answered, nervous as all hell. She'd been my best friend practically since birth, but it'd been almost a year since we'd properly talked. Way too long.
"MK," she replied, "holy fucking shit. It's actually you."
I bit my lip, at a loss for what to say.
"Sorry," she hurried to continue, "I had a moment there where I thought someone was pranking me. But holy shit. It's you. You're... back in Shadow Grove?"
"Yeah," I replied, swallowing the lump of awkwardness in my throat. "Hey, I should have called you sooner. I wanted to apologize for—"
"Whoa, no," she cut me off and my mouth turned dry. This was what I'd worried about. The rejection I'd been avoiding by just ignoring the problem. "No way, MK. I need to apologize to you. I was a totally self-absorbed bitch back then. You could have seriously gone to jail for shit you had nothing to do with, and I did nothing to help you out. Dude. I'm so freaking sorry."
The relief that her words provided was like an iron band being cut away from my heart. "Bree, girl, you have no idea..." I laughed then, a bit delirious in the absence of fear. "Let's call it even? I said some shitty, shitty things to you that day at the courthouse. I'm sorry."
Bree laughed, too. "Okay, we're both sorry. Let's put it behind us and pretend that chapter of our lives never happened, agreed?"
"Agreed," I replied, collapsing onto my bed and staring up at the ceiling. At least that wasn't pink. "So... what's new?"
My estranged friend started laughing then, so hard I actually worried it held an edge of hysteria. It made me wonder what the fuck had gone on with her in the last year. "Sorry, that's... Yeah, man, lots is new. How about you, though? You're back in Shadow Grove. When did that happen?"
"Uh, about an hour ago, I guess? Just caught a cab from the airport and met my new... housemates. That was a surprise..." I trailed off, waiting for her to fill in the blanks. Because she would. No question about it.
She made a sound, like she was sucking in a breath between her teeth. "Yeah, I bet. I'm guessing by
your unimpressed tone your dad didn't mention Arch and the boys?"
I frowned, and something curdled in my stomach. "Arch? That's Blue-eye's name?"
Bree paused a moment. "You're shitting me."
Now I was really getting a bad feeling. "Bree...?"
"Sorry, babe, just wrapping my brain around the fact that your dad never mentioned to you that his new girlfriend's son—and your future step-brother—is Archer D'Ath."
I choked on my own saliva and couldn't speak to reply.
"You remember the fighter we went to see on Riot Night?" She continued talking, not realizing I was having a fucking heart attack on my end of the phone. Bree seriously developed blinders when hot guys were involved. Or maybe she was deliberately acting blasé to spare my fragile feelings around that family. "Bet you never would have guessed he was Zane D'Ath's little brother, huh? Then again, his 'nickname' isn't all that original when you know his real name. Seriously, girl, where have you been? Under a rock? He's a legit celebrity now."
"Cambodia," I whispered, my voice hoarse from the panic attack threatening me. "I was in Cambodia."
"Uh, okay," Bree laughed, but it was a forced sound. She was definitely trying to breeze past the whole subject to keep things normal. "I'm sure there's internet there. Anyway, your head must have just exploded. Damn, I wish I'd waited to tell you in person so I could see your face right now. Take a selfie for me?"
"Fuck you," I croaked back at her, and she cackled, sounding a bit more like herself. "My head did just explode. I didn't even know Zane had a brother."
"Half-brother," Bree explained. "Cherry was Damien's second wife, much younger. Have you met the boys yet? Kody and Steele? I'm not even going to lie here; you're officially the luckiest bitch in Shadow Grove. Probably the world. Those three are thermo-nuclear hot." Nice change of subject, Bree. Good save.
"Met them?" I spluttered, regaining a bit of my brain power after the shock of Blue-eye's real identity. "Those three are the pricks who framed me on Riot Night."
There was a long pause on the phone, followed by "Oh, shit."
"Yep."
"So... not going to be creating your own reverse harem out of your new living arrangements then?" There was an edge of laughter in her voice, and I wished we were having this chat in person. So I could smack her.
"I can safely say I'd rather set my pubic hair on fire than join an orgy with those three assholes," I informed Bree, my voice sarcastic and full of disgust. Hate. "I'd rather stick rusty pins under my toenails, then dance in pointe shoes for an hour. I'd rather—"
"Pizza's here," a deep, husky voice interrupted me, and I sat bolt upright on my pretty pink bed.
"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," I snarled. I was still holding the phone to my ear, but my sole focus was on the shirtless, tattoo-covered demon lounging against my open door. "Don't you know how to knock, Archer?" I sneered his name with disdain, and the corners of his full lips pulled up in a smug smile.
"Oh shit, did he hear you?" Bree asked in my ear, then dissolved into giggles. I loved her, but fuck, I hated her sometimes.
The blue-eyed bastard just shrugged those perfectly toned shoulders. "Apparently not. You coming down for food, or did you have better things to do? Like sticking pins under your nails, perhaps?"
I glowered at him, refusing to feel embarrassed for being overheard.
"Oh, for the record, Princess Danvers? You can't set your pubic hair on fire when you don't have any." He shot me a knowing wink, then disappeared out of my room again while I dropped my phone and frantically grabbed for the edges of my towel. Yep. Sure enough, when I'd sat up in such a shock, the flaps of my towel had fallen open. While I wasn't exactly sitting there spread eagle with my full vagina on display, he'd definitely seen enough to know I maintained regular laser hair removal appointments. Yes, even while in Cambodia.
Motherfucker.
Retrieving my phone, I found the call still connected, so I put it back to my ear. "I fucking hate him, Bree. I hate that asshole more than anything I've ever hated." My hands were trembling with the adrenaline rush facing Archer had caused, and I fumbled for my underwear.
Bree made a sympathetic sound on her end. "You hate him more than Zane?"
I froze, ice forming in my gut and a chill sweeping over me. "I don't hate Zane, Bree. I'm terrified of him. Big difference."
She blew out a breath, the phone picking up the sound of it. "Yeah, I get that. Kinda a dick move for your dad to date Cherry, huh?"
"No shit." I bit the edge of my lip as way too many thoughts and emotions bumped around my brain, fighting for supremacy. "Zane murdered my mom, and now Dad has invited the devil's own family into his house. Either he has the shortest memory in history or Cherry's vagina is made of diamonds."
Bree laughed a humorless laugh. She knew what I meant. "Yep, 'cause the only thing your dad loves more than himself is money."
Old grief welled up in my throat at the reminder of my mother’s brutal death. It'd taken years of therapy to work through my trauma, and the only lingering effect now was my mild claustrophobia. Not too bad, considering at age eleven I'd been locked in a closet while my mom was murdered just twenty feet away.
“I’m so sorry, girl,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, “this is a shitty situation.”
I swallowed heavily, pushing aside those seven year old emotions and fears.
“What the fuck is he thinking, dating the widow of Damien D’Ath? She probably still has ties to the Reapers, for fucks sake.” I was just thinking out loud, but Bree replied anyway.
“Supposedly not, but like… it sort of plays into your dad’s whole marketing bullshit of a clean and shiny Shadow Grove. What better way to prove the gangs are no longer a threat, right?”
She had a pretty valid theory.
"Hey, I better go," I told Bree, hopping on one foot while trying to pull some jeans on. "The guys ordered pizza, and now that I know who he is, I refuse to cower in my room like a scared little girl." Because I'd done that enough in my life. Zane had haunted my nightmares for too long, but I was different now. I was stronger.
"Good luck, girl," Bree offered. "When can we catch up? Want me to come by later tonight? We can hit up Cold Stone for ice cream or something."
As badly as I wanted to say yes, a yawn tugged at my jaw. "Rain check. I'm dead in the water after flying today. Do you have plans tomorrow?"
"None that I can't change. I'll pick you up at eight."
I blanched. "Make it ten, girl."
Bree laughed. "'Kay, see you at eight!"
She hung up before I could contradict her again, so I shot her a quick text message.
Me: ten o'clock and not a minute earlier
Her reply came quickly.
Bree: missed you, MK. Followed by kissy-face emojis.
Ugh. I couldn't argue with that. Bree was my long-lost sister.
I tossed my phone onto the bed and finished getting dressed. I’d meant it when I said I refused to be intimidated by these boys. I couldn't afford to get my own place, not until my trust fund hit when I was twenty-one—two and a half years away—and I had lost my acceptance to the various Ivy Leagues who'd once wanted me. My only hope for a future was to attend SGU and live with my father.
There was no way in hell I'd share the house with those three. Not after what they’d done and not knowing who he was. Nope. There was only one course of action here.
Archer D'Ath and his boys needed to go.
6
In the space of time it took for me to wander—slowly—from my room down to the kitchen, I was able to conduct several fruitful Google searches on my phone. In fairness, I did get lost within the enormous house twice, but by the time my nose caught the scent of pizza, I felt like I knew my enemy better.
Archer D’Ath was their ring leader. The clown who bore the worst of my anger over Riot Night. His significantly older brother, Zane, was the leader of the Shadow Grove Reapers—he’d taken over when their father had d
ied several years ago in a shooting. Thanks to gossip sites and social media, I knew that Archer had recently signed a contract with the UFC—Ultimate Fighter Championship—and had already picked up several lucrative sponsors in the form of athletic brands and sports drinks. He'd done several small "introduction" fights, but his big break was coming up after Halloween in the form of a televised title fight. Sure explained his stacked physique and quick reflexes when I’d punched him.
Admittedly, I was a bit smug that my punch had landed at all, now that I knew who he was.
Stooge two: Kodiak Jones, also known inside my poisonous thoughts as Green-eyes. An MMA fighter, like his buddy Archer, but on a promising path as a trainer rather than a star. He was all over Instagram—and I mean all freaking over it—as some kind of fitness model, personal trainer, and all around social media pinup boy. He, Archer, and Steele seemed to have some kind of cult following for their edgy, shirtless, bad boy pictures, which were so painfully staged it was laughable. Posers.
That brought me to number three. Gray-eyes. Max Steele. The first time I'd found his full name, I'd done a double take. Surely his parents hadn't actually named him Max Steele? But yep. Sure enough...
"Find anything good?" the gray-eyed hottie in question asked, snatching my phone out of my hand and scrolling. "Oh, ugh. Don't form your opinions based on this shit," he told me, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "These profiles are run by our PR manager."
My brows shot up. "You have a PR manager? For what?"
Steele grinned, handing my phone back. "Ah, I see you didn't get that far into your internet searches yet, huh? Too bad, guess you have to get to know me the old-fashioned way."
His eyes sparkled with challenge, and my fingers curled into a fist. If he thought we were going to be engaging in cute banter over pizza, he was dead fucking wrong.
"Lighten up, Madison Kate," he sighed. "Are you always so serious?"
I scowled harder. "When faced with the prospect of sharing a house with the three people I hate more than anyone on this Earth? Yeah. I am." Brushing past him, I followed the aroma of pizza sauce and cooked cheese until I found the other two boys sprawled out on the couch in front of an enormous flat-screen TV. Several open boxes of pizza lay on the low table in front of them, half gone already, while the two of them battled it out in some intense car racing game via PlayStation.