Lost Boys: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Crazy Vicious Love Book 1)

by Eva Ashwood

  I flushed against my will and tightened my grip on the spoon as I resumed stirring.

  God, could he tell I was breathing harder? Could he see the blush spreading across my cheeks?

  I wished I could keep my reactions under control around these boys, but with every line we crossed, it seemed to be harder to control them, not easier.

  “Fine,” I conceded, partly just because I was desperate to say something. “But I’m finishing this and eating before we go. I want to at least make sure Mom has something to eat when she gets back—we haven’t exactly had a lot of food in the house.”

  Bishop shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  “You can have some too, if you want.”

  He actually looked surprised, drawing his head back as he straightened. “You’re offering me a meal?”

  “Well, it’s the least I can do. You’ve given me food before and stuff.”

  He blinked at me, his brows drawing together over his intense hazel eyes. “You’re so fucking weird for a rich girl.”

  “And you’re weird for a not-rich boy, so I guess we’re just both weird. Shut up and get a plate; they’re in the cabinet behind you. I think this is done. Probably.”

  Bishop laughed. “You don’t even know if the food is done? You’re makin’ me nervous, Princess.”

  I scowled at him, narrowing my eyes. “I’m still learning. Be nice, or you can stand there and watch me eat.”

  “Okay, okay.” He lifted his hands in mock innocence, a warm, deep laugh falling from his lips. “Chill out. Don’t you know what a joke is?”

  This was the loosest I’d seen Bishop—the most easy and relaxed. I wasn’t sure what had brought about the shift in him, but I couldn’t deny that I liked it.

  He got down the plates as I made the final preparations with the food. The house didn’t have a dining room, just a tiny table in one corner of the kitchen with two mismatched chairs. After serving up the pasta, we settled down across from each other, our knees brushing under the table.

  I looked down at the plate. It wasn’t the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, but I was beginning to learn that when it came to food, edibility was much more important than looks. Twirling my fork into the noodles, I took a bite.

  My jaw froze halfway through chewing as a single flavor overwhelmed me.

  Salt. Too much damn salt.

  Bishop coughed, forcing down his own first bite.

  “Well, it doesn’t taste like arsenic, so I guess that’s a plus.” He pulled a face, clearing his throat.

  I sighed, disappointment filling me. Dammit. I was so close. “Yeah… but it doesn’t taste edible, either.”

  “Easy fix.” His expression cleared, and he shrugged. “Let me show you.”

  To my surprise, he got up, going to the cupboards to rummage through them. I watched him with a curious gaze as he pulled out a bag of sugar. He spooned out a small helping onto my plate, and then onto his.

  “Mix it.” He jerked his chin toward the pasta and the little pile of sugar.

  I couldn’t see how it would possibly make anything better, but I did as he instructed, then took an experimental bite.

  “Oh… oh, wow.” My eyes widened. “That’s actually… good. How the hell did you do that?”

  Bishop shrugged, tucking into his own food. “When you’re always broke, you learn how to make food edible no matter what. Sauce too salty? Add a little sugar. Sauce too sugary? Add some salt. Or some spice. It’s all about balance. Honestly, Misael is a fucking wizard in the kitchen. Most of the stuff I know, I picked up from him. My foster mom can’t cook for shit.”

  “Huh. I’ll have to ask him for some tips then.”

  There were so many more questions I wanted to ask, so many more things I wanted to know about this boy’s life. I’d discovered that all three of the Lost Boys lived with foster families, but I didn’t know how they’d all ended up there.

  But Bishop had never been this easy-going and open before, and I was a little afraid that if I pushed too hard, he would realize he’d said too much and clam back up. So I didn’t push for more, and we fell into silence as we ate—but it was a comfortable, enjoyable kind of silence.

  Too soon, our food was finished. Bish stood up, taking our plates. “Get ready. I’ll clean up.”

  I was surprised by his offer, but I nodded and headed to my room to change. My misguided attempt at making my wardrobe fit in at Slateview had left me with very few clothes that weren’t distressed in some way, but I was actually starting to feel comfortable in them.

  It didn’t feel so much like a costume anymore.

  After trying on a couple of outfits, I settled on something that seemed appropriate. I pulled my light blonde hair back into a ponytail, peering at my face in the tiny mirror on the dresser before deciding against any more makeup. Then I headed back out to meet Bishop.

  Well, here goes nothing.

  Eighteen

  I never would’ve thought I’d feel out of place when it came to a party. I’d been to so many with my parents that the concept of “social gathering” was probably ingrained in my DNA somewhere, to be honest.

  Smiles, politics, and flattery. Cocktails, five to seven course meals, and glasses full of the finest champagne—those were all the things I was used to at the parties I’d attended.

  But a party with Slateview students was nothing like the refined parties I was used to making appearances at with my parents. When we pulled up to the house a couple miles from where Mom and I lived, there were already dozens of cars out front, haphazardly parked alongside the worn-out sidewalk. Deep, pounding bass blared from within, and I got the distinct impression that most of the neighbors didn’t care, since the central house on the block wasn’t the only one where something was going on.

  It did seem, however, that the central house was the main hub of entertainment. It was the one that the Lost Boys parked in front of in a space that felt suspiciously like it had been reserved for them.

  As we walked inside, I recognized faces from school, kids everywhere holding red plastic cups and moving their bodies to the music that sounded even louder now.

  The other thing I noticed quickly was how much skin was on display. It was everywhere.

  I would’ve felt overdressed if it weren’t for the fact that I had on a pair of cut-off shorts made from custom tailored jeans and a crop top that I’d fashioned out of one of my old shirts—my outfit was still tame compared to some girls, but at least I didn’t stand out too badly.

  When I’d stepped out of the bedroom, Bishop had said I had a surprisingly good figure for a little rich girl. I was still trying to figure out what that was supposed to mean as we made our way through the house, the Lost Boys flanking me as if they dared anyone to cross my path or even look at me funny.

  No one did. It was almost comical—and maybe it was due to the copious amounts of alcohol being consumed—but people actually said hello to me. Jovial, red faces grinned or nodded in my direction, Solo cups were lifted up in cheers, and the Lost Boys were greeted with the respect I was sure they’d spent years earning.

  I was grateful for the fact that we moved quickly through the main section of the house, not lingering too long. It was the loudest and most chaotic area, and honestly, we’d been at the party less than five minutes and my ears had already started hurting. Instead of mingling with the “common folk”, as Misael playfully muttered into my ear, we headed toward the “VIP section”.

  I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but I was pretty sure there wouldn’t be champagne in crystal flutes in that section either.

  The VIP section was downstairs, in the basement, away from the heated gyrating of half-naked girls on boys with lustful interest in their eyes. There was still music down here, but at least the volume was tolerable, and on the couch situated in front of an old-school, big-backed television, sat Liam and Jessica. They were locked in a make-out session to rival anything I had seen upstairs, Liam’s hands at Jessica’s
hips as she sat straddling his waist. I had the decency to blush, but the shock kept me looking. The Lost Boys didn’t even blink.

  “Hey. You knew we were coming, you degenerates,” Bishop said, giving the couch a kick as he laughed.

  Misael gave a wolf whistle, plopping down onto the couch while Jessica climbed off Liam’s lap. She rolled her eyes, adjusting her top back into place to cover her bra, but Liam actually looked a little embarrassed. I would be, too, if my friends had just burst in on… that.

  I took the chair beside where Misael ended up, Bishop taking a chair opposite me. Kace didn’t sit at all, instead choosing to stand off to Bishop’s side. He looked the least affected by the scene; I wondered if he even cared about being at a party to begin with, with how bored he seemed to be about the whole thing.

  Jessica leaned over toward me, smirking. The red lipstick she wore hadn’t even smeared during her heavy make-out session. I was impressed.

  “I see they dragged you out for this little shindig. Hope it’s not too overwhelming. Somehow, I doubt uptown parties are like this.”

  “Uh… no, it’s not overwhelming,” I lied. “It’s just… different? I’m not sure what I should be doing, to be honest.”

  “Whatever you want!” She laughed. “Aren’t you used to doing that?”

  I snorted softly. “No. Not like how you’re thinking anyway. Most of the parties I’ve been to weren’t for, you know, drinking and dancing and stuff. Most of the time it was for business.”

  Jessica groaned. “Boooring. What kinda people throw parties for business?”

  “Rich people?” I offered. She cocked her head, eyeing me for a second before seeming to realize I was just joking. Then she laughed again.

  “Fair enough. C’mon, loosen up! I’m glad the guys invited you. You gotta relax and let your hair down a little—show those fuckers up there you’re not just some stuck up rich bitch.”

  She stood and walked across the room, and when she looked back at me expectantly, I realized she wanted me to follow her. I got up too, shooting a glance over my shoulder at the guys and Liam. They were already engrossed in a conversation, but Bishop looked up and gave a slight nod, which I took to mean I was allowed to go with Jessica.

  I followed her to a little makeshift bar that consisted of a long length of plywood set on top of two kegs. A row of coolers sat underneath that setup, and Jessica reached inside one to grab two drinks—wine coolers, I was pretty sure they were called. They were more friendly looking than the beers I’d shared with the guys at the warehouse. The bright colors made them look more like punch than booze. She popped them open and handed me the electric green one, keeping the pink one for herself.

  I eyed the label. Green apple. Sounded a lot better than a lager. My suspicions were confirmed when I tipped it back. Sourness hit my tongue first, followed by a strong, sweet apple taste that made me smack my lips.

  “Good shit, huh?” Jessica asked with a smirk. “They’re my go-to drink at these things. Takes longer to really get smashed. Means you enjoy more, ironically.”

  “I thought the point with these things was to get smashed?”

  “Nah, ’cause then you can’t remember anything. Where’s the fun in that? Not like that’ll stop the people upstairs from getting smashed. But whatever. They have fun, hopefully they don’t break too much shit, they come back for more next time—as the hostess, it works out well for me.”

  I took another sip of the wine cooler, enjoyed the sweet fizz on my tongue. “Why is that so good for you?”

  She arched a brow. “Oh, come on now. You of all people should understand the power of social standing. People know they can have a good time here. If people like you, like what you do for them, they’re more likely to do things for you too.”

  “So… these aren’t really your friends? Like everyone that’s here?”

  Jessica laughed. “Were all the people who attended your family’s parties your friends?”

  I almost answered in the affirmative but stopped myself. Because how could I answer “yes” when none of them had stuck around after my father got arrested?

  The dark-haired girl smiled at me, almost sadly. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Cordelia. If it makes you feel any better, I like that you’re here—not for your social standing or whatever shit, but just ’cause I like you. You’re pretty chill for a rich girl.” She grinned, waggling her eyebrows. “And the boys inviting you over means a lot, sooo…”

  I took another sip, wishing the drink could cool the flush rising in my cheeks. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it isn’t like they just invite girls with them everywhere they go. I mean, I guess you’re aware they share sometimes, but that doesn’t mean every time—and it doesn’t mean every girl gets the pleasure of being out in public with them. I don’t know the extent of your arrangement, but they wouldn’t drag you out here if they didn’t want you here. You get it?”

  Honestly? No, I didn’t. But it didn’t stop me from glancing their way, my gaze curious as I watched Bishop and Misael banter back and forth with each other. Even Kace seemed in a better mood now that there was a beer in his hand.

  I shifted, turning back to face Jessica.

  “So… they like me?”

  I didn’t see how on Earth that could possibly be true—especially when, as far as I knew, they still hated my father with a burning vengeance.

  They all wanted me, were attracted to me. I was pretty sure of that. But it was entirely possible to be completely drawn to someone physically and still not be sure if you liked them at all, as evidenced by my own feelings about the Lost Boys.

  Jessica tossed her hair over her shoulder, laughing.

  “Who the fuck knows with those three? I just know they keep glancing over here when you’re not looking at them. Maybe friend isn’t a good word for it—but they’re all interested in you.”

  Again, a little thrill went through me. I couldn’t decide whether to be terrified by her statement or to lean into the mutual attraction that seemed to hang like a cloud over me and the Lost Boys, to throw myself into those feelings and indulge in them. To kill the last vestiges of the prim and proper Cora that still lived inside me.

  God, when did my life get so damn confusing?

  Jessica and I continued to talk, and I continued to steal glances at the Lost Boys now and then when I could. I thought I was discrete about it, but sometimes I would catch one of their gazes, and they’d always linger when I did.

  I had to wonder if what Jessica said was true—that there was something indefinable drawing them to me and me to them. It wasn’t like we hadn’t crossed several lines already. All three of them had had their hands on me at one point or another.

  About an hour into the night—and a couple of wine coolers that had me comfortably buzzed—Bishop got a call. He was in the middle of telling a story, talking animatedly as he glanced down to check the caller ID. As soon as he registered the name on the screen, his expression hardened and he answered, rising from the couch.

  “Yeah, it’s Bish. What do you need?”

  He sounded surprisingly serious, like he was talking to someone that held authority. It was a strange change from how he usually was, namely because if anything, Bishop was always the authority in any situation. It sent a shiver down my spine to watch him listen silently to whoever was on the other end of the call. He nodded, gave an affirmation, and then hung up.

  “Looks like we got a job,” he said. I was surprised to see how weary he looked at the thought of it. But, a job? This late? And I’d never heard any of the Lost Boys talk about having work before.

  Then again, I had seen them suspiciously leaning over into spooky black cars, so it was hard to say what kind of “work” it was that they might be doing.

  Misael sighed, then quickly finished up his beer.

  “Weak. Always when we’re trying to have some damn fun.” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

  “At least we get paid,” Kace
muttered, downing his beer too before chucking the empty bottle in a bin near the bar. He looked over to me. “Finish that up. You’re coming with.”

  I stared at the three of them in confusion.

  “What? To work?”

  “Yeah. If we leave you here without us, you’ll be a sitting duck. People will get too shit-faced to remember the rules, and even if we break their fuckin’ knees for it tomorrow, it won’t undo what they did.”

  “Jessica and Liam are here.”

  “Jessica and Liam will be boning in an hour. Come on. We don’t have all night.”

  It would be stupid to argue. I could tell none of the guys were going to bend on this. And besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to argue—there’d been something in Kace’s tone that made a shiver of fear pass down my spine. The Lost Boys’ feelings for me might be growing murky and complex, but for a lot of kids at Slateview, things were still very black and white. They hated me, and if they got a chance to fuck with me, they might take it if they were drunk enough to forget the consequences.

  Jessica gave me a wink, already crawling back on to Liam’s lap. “Come back around sometime, Cordelia!”

  “It’s Cora—you can call me Cora,” I corrected.

  Before she could answer, I was following Bishop, Kace, and Misael out of the house.

  Nineteen

  Misael drove this time—something new, but I wasn’t going to question it, even knowing that Bishop was the only one with a license. I was mostly interested in what we were doing. Or, rather, what the guys were doing.

  After all, I was the only one out of the loop on this one, and being the only one out of the loop, I felt like I needed to sit back and observe until I knew exactly what I’d been brought along for. It couldn’t be anything too bad, or they wouldn’t have brought me. They didn’t want me alone with kids from Slateview, so obviously they wouldn’t bring me into something worse.

  That’s what I told myself anyway.