His fist collides with my face and I crash into the kitchen cabinet. He usually stops at one punch, but today he goes for a second, hitting the other side of my face. My old man used to be a bare-knuckle champion in his day and he throws a mean punch, but he's drunk and sloppy. He goes for another, and without thinking, I duck and swing—just like he taught me. He goes crashing to the floor and the entire caravan shakes. He's out cold. Damn it.
I grab my leather jacket and a bottle of Jack, and I leave, slamming the door behind me. I could go to Poppy's, but I try not to do that. When my ma died, she was the only person who understood. When my dad started beating on me all the time, I always ran to her house. I still do. She always lets me sleep in her bed, never turns me away. Her and Connor are my best friends, but with Poppy, its...different. I see the way she looks at me sometimes. It's the same way all the other girls look at me right before I kiss them—sometimes sleep with them. The problem is, I want that with Poppy, and Poppy isn't a girl you do that with. I can't lose her because some days she feels like the only thing that keeps me going.
So, I head to Lola's house.
She lives in one of the big expensive houses a few streets away, and her dad works late. I can go drinking with Poppy and Connor, but the pair of them are just so good. Lola though, she goes to private school and you know what they say about private school girls...
I ring her bell and she answers, wearing her school uniform. My eyes trace over her tight blouse with the top three buttons undone and that Catholic school-girl skirt she rolls up enough that it barely brushes her mid-thigh. Those damn knee-high socks are topped with ribbons, and god, those fuckin' socks do something to me.
"Hey, Brandon." She bites her lip and twists a strand of her long blonde hair around her finger.
I hold up the bottle of Jack and smile. "Fancy a party?" She shoves the door open and I brush past her, slipping my hand beneath her skirt. "Have I ever told you how much I like this uniform?"
She giggles and closes the door.
* * *
"Oh my god. I think my dad's home," Lola says, yanking the duvet up to cover her naked chest as she waves her hand through the air in a piss-poor attempt to dissipate the thick cloud of smoke. It smells like Snoopdog just moved into her bedroom, and there's a roach still burning on the little clay plate sat on her bedside table. We are so fucked.
"What? Now?"
"You need to leave.” She grabs my boxers and throws them at me. “Right now!"
I yank my underwear on and nearly fall flat on my face as I try to step into my jeans. The floorboard on the landing creaks. Damn it, where the hell is my shirt? "Shit. Gotta go." I give her a quick kiss, grab the roach and shove it between my lips before I force the window up. Screw the shirt. I swipe the near empty bottle of Jack and throw my leg over the sill just as her bedroom door flies open.
"What the..." her dad’s eyes land on me and his face goes red as all fuck.
"Aw, fuck." I jump for the garage roof and hit it hard, landing on my knees on the asphalt top. The bottle skitters across the roof and falls, smashing to pieces on the concrete below.
"You get back here, you little fucker!" Her dad shouts from her bedroom window. Shit. By the time I get off the roof and make it around the front, he's at the front door, holding a—fuck, is that a shotgun? I have never run so fast in my damn life.
18
Poppy
16 years old
There's not a cloud in the sky and the sun is unforgiving today. Connor and I walk down the sidewalk, arms linked. Chloe McMasters and a group of girls from school strut toward us, hips swinging. She winks at Connor. I glance at him, but he didn't even notice.
"Hey, Con," she sings, and I roll my eyes. "I like that shirt. Blue looks good on you."
"Thanks," he grins as they walk past, and they giggle.
It's so annoying. Con's the captain of the rugby team so all of the girls give him attention—him and Brandon. Brandon’s always gotten attention because well, he's just a bad boy and he's Brandon. The girls fall over themselves for Connor because he's pretty and polite and smart. "You going to do your A levels?" he asks.
"Yeah, think so. Think I'm going to do nursing," I say. "My mom was a nurse and her mom was a nurse, so I figured maybe I'd be good at it."
"Aw, I think you'd be a great nurse. You're all smiles and good at making people feel better." He playfully pinches my side and I get those stupid flitter flutters in my stomach.
"Are you going to do them?"
"Don't know."
I nod.
"We both know Brandon's not," he says.
"Yeah, no kidding. I'm surprised he didn't get kicked out. No college would take him."
"Fuck,” someone shouts. “Fuck!"
Connor and I stop right outside my gate.
"Was that...Brandon?" Connor asks.
"I think so."
"Fuck!" Yep. That is Brandon for sure.
"I'll beat your arse," some man shouts, "you fucking pikey."
And there comes Brandon, rounding the corner of the street. No shirt. No shoes. And he's holding onto his unzipped pants as he books it down the sidewalk. There's a muscular man chasing after him with a—shotgun—and right behind him a girl is screaming: “Dad! Stop it. Leave him alone.”
"For the love of God," Connor sighs and tosses his head back as we both step to the side.
"Going through your window, poss," Brandon huffs through his breathing as he whirls past us. He hurries down the street and hooks a left.
The man stops a few houses down from mine and leans over his knees panting. His daughter—Lola Stevens—buries her face in her hands. He turns around and glares at her. "What the hell are you doing with that piece of shit?"
"You've ruined my life, Daddy!"
"Boys like him are no good, Lola. No good." He turns back to the street. "You come back 'round my girl again and I'll beat your arse, you little fucker." And then the man aims the shotgun in the air. Bam. Connor and I both jump when the man fires off the gun. "I mean it!" He shouts before turning around and snatching his daughter by the arm. "And you..."
"Wow!" Connor says. "Just wow."
I nudge him. "Come on, you wouldn't expect any less out of Brandon, now would you?"
"Not at all."
We open the little iron gate and walk into my garden. As soon as we get to the front porch, I see Brandon peeking through the living room curtains. I open the door and can hear his heavy breathing.
"He's gone, right? Like gone, gone?"
"Gone, gone?" I ask as I close the door behind Connor. "Yes, he left right after he fired off that shotgun..." I stare at him. "What in the hell, Brandon?"
He falls back against the wall, clutching his bare chest and I fight to keep my eyes on his face. Damn him for being so hot. It's a sin, honestly, and makes me question my morals on a daily basis because Brandon O'Kieffe is nothing but bad news.
Me and Connor go over to the couch and turn on the TV. Brandon comes and flops down next to me. The pungent smell of weed and whiskey and sweat nearly knock me over. "Dear God." I shove him away. "You smell disgusting!"
"Aw, poss." He wraps his arm around my neck and head locks me against his arm pit. "Take a good long whiff."
I punch him. "Get off. Get your nasty weed and Lola Stevens self off of me."
Connor starts laughing.
"Lola Stevens is not nasty. I mean, have you seen her socks?" He lets me go and glances at Connor. "I mean, you have seen those socks, right?"
Connor shrugs. "The socks are...yeah..."
Rolling my eyes, I grab a throw pillow and smack Connor in the face with it. "I expect more out of you."
He grabs the pillow and tosses it to the floor. "Out of me, why?"
"Look at that one." I thumb toward Brandon.
Connor grins. "Yeah, well, it's Brandon, and he's....well, he's just Bran. Hell, he's been nicking shit since he was nine."
"Please, nabbing lollipops from the post office doesn'
t count."
Connor sighs. "Yeah Bran. If you're in a shop and it's supposed to cost money, you're nicking it."
He shakes his head and groans. "Aren't we supposed to go over to the evil ginger's house tonight?"
"Hope. Her name is Hope..." I say.
"She promised to show me the distillery, you know those big ole' vats of whiskey." He grins.
Yes, exactly what Brandon needs—to go to a place that has enough whiskey to drown half of Ireland. "Yeah, yeah. We're going, but promise me you aren't going to steal anything from her house?"
He grins. "You know the rules, possum. If it ain't nailed down."
I groan and drag my hand over my face. "Brandon!"
"Fine! I won't nick shit off the ginger."
"Thank you."
19
Brandon
16 years old
My head is still swimming from all the dope and Jack. We creep around the side of the factory and Hope holds out her hand, halting us. She leans around the corner. I can't help but look at her arse when her skirt rides up. Poppy catches me and swats me.
"What?" I hiss.
"You're a pervert," she whispers.
Hope spins around and her lips kick up on one side. "Like what you see, cunt? Ain't never gonna have none of this ginger arse." She laughs.
"I mean, I'd do you from behind, with your face in the pillow."
"I'd fuck Poppy before I would fuck you,” she says.
I grin. "Well, be my guest. We don't mind, do we, Con?"
Connor chokes on a laugh and Poppy swats him, too. "Perverts," she mutters under her breath.
"Come on, coast is clear." Hope hurries around the side, pulling a set of keys from her pocket. She unlocks a side door and we slip inside.
The smell of fermented grain hangs thick in the air, but it’s dark as shit. There’s a click and the fluorescent lights buzz on. And there, right in front of me, are rows upon rows of huge wooden tubs filled to the brim with whiskey.
"Fuck my life," I say and drag in a deep breath.
"Yep," Hope says. "The crown jewel of my family."
"Holy fuck." A slow grin pulls at my lips and I narrow my eyes at Hope. "Ever go swimming in whiskey?"
"Why the hell would I do that?"
"Why wouldn't you? Live a little, ginge." I wink at her and grab the bottom of my shirt, pulling it over my head. Her eyes go straight to my stomach, lingering there. "Like what you see?"
"Brandon...what are you doing?" Poppy asks.
"Don't ask him that, Poppy," Connor says. "Just don't ask him."
I unbutton my jeans and shove them down my legs.
"Okay, Bran, now what are you doing?" Connor groans. "No one needs to see your dick."
I throw my head back on a laugh. "So don't look."
Hope stares at me, cocking a brow. "You wouldn't."
I shove my boxers down until I'm bollock naked. "I would. I bet you all the weed I have in my caravan, and that's a fucking lot, that you won't get in here, ginge," I say.
"Oh my god." Poppy hangs her head to her chest and shakes it. "He's naked. I just saw his penis, and I can't unsee that."
I swing my dick around and it slaps my thighs. Poppy squeals. Connor just puts his head in his hands. I hoist myself up to the edge of the tub, and then I jump in. The whiskey’s warmer than I thought it’d be.
"I'm fucking swimming in whiskey!"
"Hey...” Hope exhales. “How much weed do you have in that caravan, cunt?"
"Hope," Poppy glances up, "please don't tell me—"
"Enough to get arrested."
"Aw, fuck it." And before I can utter another word, the soulless ginger has grabbed the bottom of her dress and yanked it over her head. Even though I can't stand her, I still look at her. One, I haven't ever seen a redhead naked...and two, well she's a fucking girl.
"No underwear," I say. "Not surprising. Always knew you were a sleazy whore."
Hope glares at me.
"Amazing!" Poppy says. "They are fucking mental."
Connor shrugs, his eyes glued to Hope's ass as she makes her way toward the tub. She grabs onto the sides and throws her leg over, giving me a view I never thought I'd see...and then she falls in. "You even think about touching me," she holds her finger up, "I'll fucking murder you in your sleep and eat your soul."
"I'm not into ginger bush," I say, slowly back stroking around the outside of the tub. "Come on, Con. It's whiskey! You can't turn down the chance to swim in it. You'll get to eighty years old, be shitting on yourself, and you'll regret that one time you could have soaked your balls in some McGrath whiskey."
Connor sighs and tilts his head to the side.
Poppy stares at him. "You cannot be serious," she mumbles. "You are not going to get in there with those two idiots?"
He shrugs sheepishly. "He's right though." And then he's yanking his t-shirt over his head and dropping trou, although, he leaves his boxers on. He hops over the edge and falls in with a splash. Poppy just shakes her head, watching us.
"Just you, possum." I'm not gonna lie, my dick gets a little twitch just thinking about her naked.
She glares at me, crossing her arms over her chest. "I have no desire to swim in whiskey, Brandon O'Kieffe."
"Aw, come on, possum." I grip the side of the tub and hoist myself up so the wooden edge is just covering my dick. I flash her the grin that always makes the girls wanna kiss me, and she swallows hard, her eyes dropping from my chest down to my stomach. I try not to laugh. I know I look good. Every girl I meet tells me so. If there's one thing fighting is good for, it's abs and girls.
Connor groans. "Get your ass and saggy balls out of my face."
"Eww," Hope says with a snicker.
"Come on, poss. Promise I won't look." That's a damn lie and I know it, but she doesn't have to. I cover my eyes with my hand. "See?"
"I hate you," she mumbles.
I make the tiniest slit I can in my fingers and peek through. She shimmies out of her jeans, then takes a deep breath before she pulls her top over her head. She's wearing white cotton underwear with a matching bra. I bite my lip, and my dick twitch turns into a full-blown hard-on. Damn, I’ve dreamt about Poppy naked so many times, and I always wake up feeling guilty because she's my friend…and Connor’s. There's a splash as she drops into the tub, underwear still on. I move my hand from my eyes and she hunkers down in the whiskey, glaring at me.
"Happy now?" she huffs.
No, because now I can't get out until this boner disappears. Which might take a while. Look at Con. I turn towards Connor and he's glaring at me. "What?" I ask.
"Nothing," he mumbles.
"I didn't look!"
His eye twitches. Damn he's getting jealous when it comes to her. He needs to just seal the deal already. Problem is, everyone can see that he's obsessed with Poppy. Everyone except Poppy. I'm pretty sure she might still have a crush on me. God knows why. I mean, I've fucked half the girls in school, and I tell her about it!
"If someone finds a pube in their whiskey, my dad is going to kill me," Hope says, splashing some whiskey at me.
"Well, if it's ginger, yeah." I laugh.
"You're a cunt."
* * *
Hope’s parents are away for the weekend, so we go back to her house and change after we finish swimming in her whiskey.
I pull a bag of weed from my pocket and toss it to Hope's bedroom floor. Grinning, she lays on her stomach, reaching under her bead for something. When she sits back up, she’s holding onto a massive red glass bong.
She grabs the bottle of water from the nightstand, fills the bong, then starts packing the bowl with weed. "You go first.” She hands it to me. “I don't trust you not to give me some pikey, laced shit."
I roll my eyes and take out my lighter, holding the flame to the grass. It smolders. I press my lips to the mouthpiece and drag in a long breath, the water bubbling when I do. The smoke fills my lungs. I hold it, fighting back a cough. Hope watches through narrowed eyes
as I finally let the smoke roll through my lips. I shrug. “See, you’re not going to die.”
"Potheads," Poppy says, laying across Hope's bed and putting her head in Connor's lap.
I shrug. "Old Man McGinty says being sixteen is about smoking weed, fucking girls, and getting arrested."
"And Old Man McGinty has four ex-wives and a gnadless sheep named Arnold..." Poppy laughs.
"He has four ex-wives because he fucks a hooker every Friday night." I laugh.
Connor laughs so hard he snorts. "Marla. The hooker with the short dress and no teeth."
I take another hit from the bong. "She's all class," I say through a strained breath. Hope snatches the bong away from me and lights it, drawing in a breath.
"Want a hit, Poppy?" Hope says through a cough. "Shit, that's strong."
"Christmas tree," I say with a smile.
"What?"
"Burning the Christmas tree."
"I'm pretty sure it's just called tree, Bran." Connor laughs.
"Yeah, except this shit's so good it's like Christmas," I say.
"You are such an idiot," Poppy says as she sits up and takes the bong from Hope. What the hell is she doing? I feel bad. Without me, I'm pretty sure Poppy would be the perfect good girl, with her perfect good guy, Connor, at her side, and I guess that's the way it should be. I think I corrupt her, and it bothers me.
"You don't have to do that, poss. You're the good girl, remember?" I wink at her.
"I know." She glares at me. "But I like Christmas."
Giggling, Hope holds the lighter and Poppy sucks so hard her cheeks cave in. When Hope pulls the plug out of the bong, Poppy's eyes go red as shit and she starts hacking. Connor jumps up, grabs a bottle of water, and hands it to her. She damn near sucks it all down in one gulp. "Now," Hope says, patting her on the back as she continues to cough. "You're going to feel a little...weird."
"Weird?"
"Yeah, weird. Like your heart is going to start racing and you'll get all heavy and everything will be funny."
Pre-war: A War Series Novella Page 7