by Eva Ashwood
It was nothing like the elegant instrumental I’d grown up with, the only thing that’d been allowed in my house. This music was thick with bass and heavy with vocals; a rhythmic Latin rap that Misael moved his hips to with ease.
I tried to keep up with him, but the feel of his body so close to mine and the scent of cloves that always seemed to cling to him distracted me. My feet kept tripping over each other, and I felt gangly and awkward.
“Loosen up, Princess. It’s just dancin’,” he said with a crooked grin, pulling me tighter into his hold and swiveling his hips against me.
My breath caught in my throat, and I clung harder to his shoulders, practically wrapping myself around him as I let him guide our movements. I could feel every inch of him, the firmness and solidness of his body. He was a little leaner than Bishop and Kace, but still big compared to me. I fit perfectly in his hold, my hips in his large hands…
As I gave myself over to the music, I finally found the rhythm with him, “loosening up”, as he called it. Following his movements was like moving through water, a liquid ease that rolled like the tide.
I loved it—and that was the most surprising part.
Even with my life turned upside down, even in this strange, often terrifying new world I found myself in, there were little parts of it that felt halfway normal. That felt good.
What would Dad think, I wondered, if he knew this was my new normal? What would Mom think?
But the honest truth was, in that moment, I didn’t really care.
It was late by the time the Lost Boys dropped me off at home. It was dark, the night sky hanging over the city like a shroud. My old home was less than fifteen miles away, but it truly did feel like it belonged in a separate world sometimes. Here, the sky wasn’t clear. You could barely see the stars glittering through the smog, but there was something endearing about that.
Or it was the alcohol. It might have been the alcohol.
We pulled up to the front of the house, laughing, more than a little tipsy. I was impressed that Bishop managed to drive steadily—but then I remembered he’d only had one beer, maybe part of a second one. I wondered if that was on purpose because he was the only one with a license, or if he just didn’t drink a lot.
To my surprise, he got out of the car with me, taking my arm as I slid out. I was grateful for the gesture; between being tipsy and having to carry my backpack and books, I probably wouldn’t have made it to the front door without going down in a heap.
“Try to stay outta trouble,” he said lightly as I fumbled with my key. He eventually took it from me after one, two, then three attempts to get it into the lock. I giggle-snorted.
“No trouble in my house,” I said, and then added before I could stop myself, “Mom would have to care for there to be trouble.”
His gaze flicked up to mine, and I suddenly wished he’d drunk a lot more beer at the warehouse. His hazel eyes were too clear, too perceptive as I scrambled to cover up my pain with a half-smile.
“Mm-hm. See, ya, Princess.” He reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering for a fraction of a second. “It was… a good day with you.”
I could have sworn he said it softly, like he actually meant it.
Fifteen
In the mental list of firsts I was accumulating, I could add another alongside “going to public school”, and “drinking beer”.
Having a hangover.
I was grateful it was the weekend, because there was no way I would’ve been able to get through one period of class, let alone seven plus lunch, with the massive freight train that was chugging its way along through my brain. My skull felt like it was going to split open, and I spent most of the morning snuggled under the blankets so that the sunlight filtering through the dingy, dirty windows didn’t make my headache worse.
Drinking, no matter how fun it was, had clearly been a mistake. Maybe next time I would need to take it slower. Or actually eat something beforehand.
It was around noon when I finally dragged myself out of bed. Mom was in her room like usual, her television on—I could hear the soft drone of voices from some game show. I decided not to bother her. While I didn’t think she would ask too many questions about where I’d been last night, I still didn’t want to risk the possibility of having to explain to her that I’d taken the evening off to chill out in a warehouse with three boys and drink.
Still, I paused just outside her bedroom door. I felt shitty about how hard she was taking all of this. I’d found small moments of happiness and levity, little pockets of sunshine amidst the gray clouds, but Mom didn’t have a school to go to—no way to meet new people, nothing to force her out of the house. I didn’t think there was any chance of her getting to know the neighborhood mothers or foster mothers either.
Sighing, I shook my head. Shower, water, food.
I checked them off in that order, and with each item I checked off my list, I felt progressively more human. By mid-afternoon, I felt good enough to make an attempt at sprucing up the house a bit—starting with those grimy windows.
Ava had left cleaning supplies for us, which had so far been left completely untouched. I was out of my depth, but a quick look at the labels revealed she’d left us with window cleaner and bleach.
Soon, I had my hair tied back, rags in my hands, and was using a small step stool I’d found in the tiny pantry in the corner of the kitchen to reach the outside windows. They looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in at least a decade; spiderwebs cluttered the corners of the window panes, and the grime I managed to scrub from the windows’ surfaces couldn’t be cleaned from the cracks that networked over the glass. It was an improvement though. It was better than nothing.
I had moved from the windows on the side of the house by the kitchen to the ones around the front when a voice behind me made me jump.
“Didn’t expect to see you out here working like a normal person, Princess.”
I paused, turning around. It was Kace.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, wiping off my hands on my rag. I glanced around, expecting the other Lost Boys to be with him, but he was alone.
He shrugged. “Bish thought you might have a hangover, but he had somethin’ to do. A thing came up,” he answered cryptically, holding up a greasy Burger King bag. “So I brought some hangover food.”
I blinked.
“Burger King is hangover food?”
“Anything greasy is hangover food. Sops up all the alcohol. Settles your stomach. You want it or not?”
Well, I wasn’t going to turn down Burger King. Not now that I knew it was so damn good. I took the bag, reaching in to find two of the same burgers I’d gotten last time, an order of regular fries, and an order of chicken fries.
“I’ll make sure to pay you back for it—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted, already turning around to head back toward his house. “Bish wanted you to have it.”
“You… you want to stay here for a bit?”
I stepped off the stool, moving toward him before stopping myself. I wasn’t quite sure why I’d asked, or why I really hoped he’d say yes. But it was the polite thing to offer, wasn’t it? I remembered at least that much from the lessons Mom had taught me.
He hesitated, turning his head slightly as his moss-green gaze caught mine. Then he shook his head.
“Nah. Got shit to do. See you at school, Princess.”
I had Kace’s random appearance on my mind all day on Monday. I was picked up by the Lost Boys as usual, but there wasn’t any hint of Kace’s visit, the fact that Bishop had apparently sent him, or really any conversation about our Friday excursion at all. They all seemed a little subdued; I wondered if it had anything to do with that “thing” Kace had mentioned, but I decided not to ask. I was already way too involved in these three boys’ lives.
The day started off fine. No one had forgotten over the weekend that I was under the protection of the Lost Boys, so the rest of the stude
nts left me alone as usual.
But I should’ve known that at Slateview, “fine” never lasted long.
It was just after lunch when shit hit the fan.
I was at my locker, swapping out my books. I had history next, with Mr. Tyson. He was by far my favorite teacher at Slateview, the only one who actually seemed to care about the students who walked through these doors. I liked his assignments, and I liked that he seemed to really enjoy history. It wasn’t my favorite subject, but at least he made it an interesting class.
With my history textbook in my hand, I was just about to close my locker when a large body suddenly slammed into the locker beside mine. I jumped back, clutching my books to my chest as my heart tried to crawl up my throat. For a fear-filled moment, I thought that the Lost Boys’ warning to the school had been for nothing. That Logan or someone even worse had decided to come for me after all.
But I wasn’t the target of the fight.
Two boys threw angry fists at each other, slamming each other against the lockers in a brawl that rivaled a pro wrestling match. I shrank back against the bay of lockers, keeping my books in front of me like a shield, my eyes wide as other students started cheering and shouting, egging the boys on. The crowd in the hallway had parted around them as if by magic, and the two boys crashed around the space, yelling and cursing at each other.
I glanced around, adrenaline flooding my veins as one of the boys slammed the other into a locker again, feet away from where I was standing. Where were the teachers? The admins? Was no one going to step in and stop this? Maybe they were just as used to it as the students were and just couldn’t be bothered to care anymore.
A door opened down the hallway, and I caught Mr. Tyson’s gaze. But even he looked on, shook his head, and retreated into his classroom.
I was so distracted by the sight of Mr. Tyson that I forgot to watch out for the fight. There was a shout and a grunt, and before I could react, one of the boys stumbled backward, plowing into me. My shoulder caught the lockers painfully, and I let out a yelp as my books tumbled from my arms.
“Watch it—!”
“You motherfucker—!”
“Break this shit the fuck up.”
The voice that spoke over the fighting boys was calm but cold. The shouts and taunts of the gathered students died out immediately, and I looked up, gripping my bruised shoulder with one hand.
It was Kace.
He pushed his way through the crowd without trouble, students parting for him quickly when they saw who it was. He grabbed one boy by the back of his shirt, pulling him off the other. But the guy obviously didn’t realize who it was breaking up the fight—or maybe he was just pissed enough to be reckless. He swung his arm back, his fist catching Kace in the face with a glancing blow. Kace reacted like lightning, his own right hook flying through the air to smash the boy in the face.
It didn’t knock him out, but it did knock him down.
Blood spurted from the boy’s nose. He curled up on the floor, hands clawing at his face as he whimpered and groaned.
“I thought I said break this shit up.” Kace said, standing over the downed boy’s body and glaring at the other one. “We don’t have a place for this dumb shit here. Now beat it before I beat you.”
It wasn’t just the two boys that followed his command, but the entire crowd. Someone darted forward to help the guy with the bloody face, and the hallway cleared out moments before the bell rang.
I blinked, staring around at the suddenly empty corridor. It was still a shock to me to see how much pull the Lost Boys had over the school. More than even the teachers, who did nothing to control their students’ actions. Not even Mr. Tyson had been willing or able to step in and stop the fight.
Kace hadn’t moved since he’d issued his order. He’d just stood still and silent, watching the other students scurry away, as if waiting for one to linger too long so he could pounce.
As the ringing of the bell faded, he glanced over at me. “You should get to class too.”
I was about to obey just like every other student had—the impulse to follow Kace’s commands was almost too strong to ignore, and I really did need to get to class. But as I bent to pick up my books, I glanced up at him. The kid who’d hit him hadn’t gotten in a good shot, but a small line of blood dripped from Kace’s nose anyway, and his knuckles were smeared with it.
Tugging my bottom lip between my teeth, I hesitated, warring with myself. It’s not your business, Cora. This isn’t one of the stipulations of your agreement with them.
But even as the rational voice in my head reminded me of that, I remembered the weekend and the food Kace had brought me to combat my hangover—something I was pretty sure Bishop hadn’t actually told him to do.
He had taken care of me.
And although it was probably stupid of me, I wanted to take care of him too.
Sixteen
Making a snap decision, I shook my head and reached out, taking hold of the blond boy’s un-bloodied hand to drag him along.
There was resistance, but he didn’t actually stop me. I knew he could’ve if he’d wanted to, so I kept tugging, accepting that as a win.
“What are you doing?” He sounded honestly confused for the first time since I’d met him.
“Cleaning you up, Mr. I-Want-To-Be-A-UFC-Fighter.”
“Do you even know what UFC is?” he asked. There was something almost like suspicion in his voice, though he let me pull him along to the bathroom. I chose the men’s room, figuring it was better for me to invade that one than to invite Kace into the ladies’ room.
“Yeah. My father actually liked watching it. Said it was his trashy guilty pleasure,” I explained with a shrug. “Although he never let me watch.”
I set down my books and school bag just inside the bathroom door, went to the paper towel dispenser, and then crossed to the sink to soak them. When they were wet, I waved Kace over.
“Give me your hand,” I instructed.
His brow quirked, his broad features registering surprise, but he said nothing. Shockingly, he did what I asked with no resistance, holding out his bloodied hand with his knuckles up. I took it, dabbing the blood from his skin where he’d punched the boy.
The sight of blood had never bothered me, thank goodness, although I did feel a little queasy when I remembered the loud crunch I’d heard as his fist had connected with the boy’s nose and the spray of blood that had erupted like a geyser.
“Why did you do that?” I asked, keeping my gaze trained on the back of his hand as I worked.
“What?”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what. Stop the fight. You guys aren’t exactly the Hardy Boys, but you’re all very much about… I don’t know, stepping in when something bad is about to happen. Or is in the process of happening. I just don’t get it.”
His knuckles were clean, but I lingered on them a little longer, noticing the weight of his hand in mine, the warmth of his skin.
As I moved on to his nose, he shrugged.
“There’s nothing you need to get. We keep order in the school. Sometimes you need to use violence to keep order.”
I’d studiously avoided his gaze as I worked on his knuckles, but now that I was cleaning up his bloodied nose, it was impossible. Against my will, my gaze trailed up, catching on his light, moss-green eyes.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I murmured.
“Of course it does. You show that you’re bigger and badder than the moron who’s parading all over, waving his dick around, you get to come out on top. Bish, Misael, and I? We dominate. We just don’t do it indiscriminately. There’s a method. A reason. When people behave, we’re fine with them. When they don’t, they get what Caleb got.”
Ah, so that’s what that boy’s name is.
Still, it was a little strange.
“How can you dominate and call it a good thing?” My curiosity was genuine as I pulled away, moving to pull more dry paper towels from the dispenser.
; Kace laughed. “Domination ain’t always a bad thing, Princess. You might actually enjoy it if you weren’t so prim and proper.”
I paused on my way back to him, my footsteps stuttering to a halt. That concept had never even occurred to me. And the way he said it, that I might enjoy it…
It sounded like…
Oh.
I blushed but resumed walking quickly, trying to hide the thoughts racing through my mind, hoping Kace hadn’t noticed my reaction to his words. Stepping close to him again, I dabbed at his face and knuckles with the dry paper towels, keeping my movements fast and barely daring to inhale.
He was so big, his presence so overwhelming, and I was standing so close to him that I felt tiny in comparison. He had a faintly spicy scent, an addictive aroma that seemed to cling to his skin. He was wearing a dark t-shirt today, its color a striking contrast to the light blond of his hair. It stretched across his chest as he shifted beneath my touch.
“You’re curious,” he murmured, his voice a soft rasp. “You want to know what it’s like. I can see it in your eyes.”
My gaze flicked to his, my heart rate picking up so fast it left me dizzy.
Oh God. He did notice. How does he always notice so much?
“I—I don’t know what you mean.” My voice was low as I moved to grab the collection of paper towels to throw them away. But before I could step away from him, Kace reached out and threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of my head, stopping me in place.
“Don’t you?” he asked, looking me dead in the eyes.
This was the closest I’d been to Kace since my first encounter with the Lost Boys. He wasn’t like Misael or Bishop, who invaded my space on a regular basis. He’d seemed to intentionally keep his distance… until now.
Now, his grip on my hair tightened, making a slight stinging sensation spread across my scalp. He used his hold on me to tilt my head back a little, and before I could speak, before I could even gasp, he pressed his lips to mine.
Fire ran through me, the same intense blaze that’d raged inside me when Bishop had kissed me, making liquid heat pool low in my core.