by Lucy Smoke
—a special case.” He refocuses on me, his face tightening with an
uncomfortable sadness that makes me want to take a step away. When he
moves forward and lifts his arm as if he means to touch me, I automatically
bring my hands up and he stops. Lips thinning, he sighs and drops his arms
again. “I’m sorry you never got to speak with him. He was a good man. I’m
truly sorry for everything that you’ve gone through because of this.” He
gestures to the picture in my hand, reminding me that I’m still digging my
fingers into the sides of it, likely ruining the pretty wood frame.
“There’s no reason to be sorry,” I say. “It’s not like I need to know him to
know who I am.” And yet, why is there a hole in my chest that burns at the
thought that the man in this photograph is a piece of me? Biologically, yes,
but more than that. He was the one that wanted me. According to Patricia,
he’d begged for my fucking existence. I can’t help but wonder how different
things might have been had he survived to raise me. Had he survived long
enough for me to meet him.
I look down at the photograph once more, touching the glass. This was
the man my mother had loved. The one who’d changed everything. It’s a
tragedy that he was the one who died so young. Even as fucked up as I am, I
can recognize that much.
“Do you know who else was giving her money?” Dean asks, moving so
that he’s closer than before. When he steps up to my back, I don’t hesitate to
lean into him. I sigh and turn my head when his hand comes up and touches
my side, gripping tightly. Then my eyes are back on the man across from us,
watching and waiting for an answer.
Nicholas stiffens at Dean’s inquiry. “I’m fixing the situation, Dean, and I
recommend you keep your nose out of it while I do so. You have your targets
and I have mine.”
“So, you know and you just won’t tell us,” Dean says. “Which means it’s
the same person we’re after.”
“You are not going after them,” Nicholas barks, his head tilting forward.
He and Dean lock eyes, and against my spine, I can feel the vibration of
Dean’s anger. I know, it’s only the fact that I’m here, standing between the
two of them, that keeps him from losing the tight grip he has on his control.
“Focus on finding the girl,” he orders.
“We are,” I tell him, dragging his attention back to me. “And make no
mistake, we will find her and she will pay for her part in this. They all will.
I’m not going to be satisfied with just her. I want everyone who had a hand in
my kidnapping, my torture, my rape”—he flinches, but doesn’t look
particularly surprised—“everything that happened to me to suffer for it.”
“They will,” Dean swears it too, his chest bumping my back.
“I’m choosing to focus on Corina right now, Mr. Carter,” I tell the man in
front of us. “But you should be warned, if you don’t have a handle on this by
the time I’m done, you’re going to fall right along with them. You said that
what happened nineteen years ago was the result of my parents’ actions—as
well as yours. If the result of what happened all those years ago was
everything that’s happened to me in the last four months, then I can assure
you—whoever is behind this will pay.” I pause a beat and look him dead in
the eyes. “With their lives.”
Nicholas doesn’t say anything for several long moments and then a small
glimmer of amusement crosses his face and he smiles. “Even when you’re
threatening to kill people, you’re so much like him,” he says. “He was just as
volatile and dangerous, though he didn’t look it.” I frown, but before I can
respond, he turns his attention to Dean.
“I doubt you’ll listen to me, but I should say it anyway,” he begins. “I
know I suggested that finding the girl was a priority, but perhaps the two of
you should take some time away from Eastpoint. It might feel like your
summer has just started, but the new semester will be here before you know
it. Perhaps you should try being kids for a little while longer. Trust that I will
handle things. You can pick up your search when you get back. Go and play
and maybe when the school year starts back up again, this will all be a
horrible memory in your rearview mirror.
A scowl overtakes my face. Though he doesn’t sound condescending, the
words he spouts are enough to have my blood boiling. Reaching down, I grab
Dean’s hand and pull on it as I head for the door. Dean, with his long legs,
however, reaches it ahead of me. It seems as though we’ve traded places
now. He’s no longer a rioting ball of rage, and I am. He takes the photo frame
from my hand and I turn back to face Nicholas Carter.
“Why would we trust you to take care of things when we’ve always had
to take care of it ourselves?” I ask him. Before he can answer, however, I
hold up a hand. He may look at me and see his best friend’s daughter, but
what he should look at me and see is someone who is just as deadly and
capable as his son.
Dean puts a restraining hand on my shoulder and pulls me back against
him. I look up, but his eyes aren’t focused on me; they’re on his father.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “This will be over before the new semester begins.
How it ends, though, depends on you.” My earlier thoughts cross my mind,
and I already know the answer. “It depends on whether we find you as our
ally or our enemy, Dad. I suggest you tread lightly.”
25
AVALON
WHEN WE GET BACK TO HAVERS DORM, BRAX IS SITTING IN THE SUV WITH
an arm hanging out the window and a lit cigarette between his fingers. Dean
and I stop by the car.
"Where's Abel?" I ask as Dean pops open the passenger door and leans in,
shoving his phone into the console.
Brax blows out a long breath of smoke and then nods towards the dorm.
"Having a fit with the chick," he says.
I groan and turn towards the building. "Tell Abel we're leaving," Dean
calls out.
"Will do," I call over my shoulder. I'm only a few steps away, though,
when the sound of Brax’s tone reaches my ears.
Braxton asks in a low voice, "What the hell happened, man?"
I keep walking but turn my head as Dean's response flows back. "We'll
talk about it at home."
I've got the drive there to decide if I should tell the guys what Nicholas
Carter revealed today. My parents had both gone to Eastpoint. More than
that, my dad had been his best friend. There's no real reason to hide the fact
from them other than it'll remind me that I'm an orphan now and the one
parent that had actually wanted me has been long since six feet under,
pushing daisies.
I pinch my lips together and head into the building, taking the stairs two
at a time until I reach the second floor. I'm halfway down the hall when I hear
cursing.
"—such a fucking prude!" Abel snaps.
"Well, you don't need to be such a fucking dick," Rylie replies. I stop a
few feet in front of the door. My eyebrows rise. Well, damn. Little miss 'stay
; away from the Sick Boys for your own good' has certainly found her voice,
and she's apparently using it to let Abel know exactly what she thinks of him.
Abel's voice rumbles through the wood, but whatever he says is muffled
as Rylie raises hers once more. "Did I ask for your opinion?" she demands. "I
don't even know why we're having this conversation. It was a goddamn
mistake. Just … get out. Get out and go get me a new computer. You want
me to work for you, I need equipment."
I take that as my cue to help a poor bitch out. I knock loudly on the door
and then twist the handle, noting that they've been so involved in whatever
they were talking about that neither of them had bothered to flip the door
lock. It opens into the same dorm room I left nearly an hour before, only this
time, Rylie and Abel are much closer than they were before and far more
tense.
Abel blows out a breath and turns towards me. Anger flashes in Rylie's
expression, along with something else I'm sure she doesn't want me to notice.
I don't say anything as Abel grabs something off the spare desk and storms
past me into the hallway.
He doesn't ask me any questions. He doesn't wait for me to follow, he just
starts walking. Recalling what Dean told me before I came up here, I lean out
the door and call down the hall. "Dean says we're leaving so get your ass in
the car!"
He flips me off over his shoulder, making me chuckle. "I'll see your ass
down there, Ava!" he yells back.
Shaking my head, I move back into the room and shut the door behind
me. Rylie doesn't say anything and, instead, jumps into cleaning—really,
she's just trying to look busy. I let her do so for several moments, though,
because the room could use a cleaning. When she's managed to clear off her
bed and develop a sizable pile of trash in the already stacked can under her
desk, I decide enough is enough.
"So," I begin, crossing my arms and leaning against the door, "want to tell
me what that was about?"
She snorts. "It was nothing," she replies. "Just telling a rich boy that he
can't always have everything he wants."
I hum in my throat. "Is that a fact?"
Rylie's purple hair flies to the side as she jerks her head my way and gives
me a dark glare. "Yes," she snaps, "it is." She moves across the room and tosses some candy wrappers under her desk. They hit the rim of the trash can
and fall to the floor but she doesn't notice. She goes back to straighten the
sheets on her bed. "It's nothing," she says.
Lifting my arms in an acknowledgment of surrender, I shrug. "Okay, if
you say so. Don't take off my head." I wait a beat and then, "It just seems a
little more than nothing to me."
Rylie's head rolls back on her shoulders and she covers her face with her
hands, groaning. "What do you want, Ava?" she asks. "You know you could
just command me to tell you what's going on and if I deny you, you can go to
your boyfriend and he'll make me."
"Yeah, I could," I agree, "but we both know I don't roll like that. I want to
know because we decided to be friends … or are you regretting that decision
now?"
Her hands come down and another glare is thrown my way. This is what I
need, I realize. Something to take my mind off of all of the seriousness that's
plagued my life in the last several weeks.
“It’s times like these that I really wish I knew how to fight,” she admits.
“I really wish I could punch you.”
I laugh. “Any time you want to learn, I’d be happy to give you a beating.”
“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “I just bet you would.” Despite her words, she
laughs too. Rylie shuffles across the room and slumps onto the side of her
twin-sized bed. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” she finally says after
a long quiet moment. “It’s not going to affect whoever you’re tracking
down.”
“I’m not asking because of that,” I tell her.
Her thin arms hang down between her legs and her toes barely skim the
floor. She sighs. “I know,” is all she says.
That’s it. That’s all I get. And that’s all I’m going to get for now, I
acknowledge. Discomfort shoots through me as I take a step towards her, but
I shove it down and keep moving until I’m next to her. I turn and lean into
the side of the bed, reaching over and nudging her arm until she huffs out a
breath and curses.
“I’m fucked up, Ava,” she whispers. “A lot more fucked up than you
could possibly know. Possibly even more than you.”
A snort escapes me. “Doubtful, but I’ll let you keep thinking that,” I say.
It makes sense in a way. For each and every person, their problems seem like
the end of the world. Because for every individual, there’s no getting away.
You can’t ever just stop being who you are. There’s no leaving the body
you’re born in. You can alter it. Change it. Fuck it up. Fix it up. But there’s
no leaving … the only way to do that is a path that once crossed can never be
recrossed. We each have to live with the sins we create.
“Go,” Rylie says, “the guys are waiting for you.”
“You gonna be okay up here?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
I push off the bed and look around. “Finish cleaning,” I tell her, “then eat
something.”
“I’ve got some Twizzlers in the desk,” Rylie offers as if to let me know
she’ll consume something, but her words only irritate me.
“Actual fucking food, Rylie,” I snap, making her head jerk up at my tone.
“I’ll take care of it,” she says, frowning.
“If I find out you’re not eating,” I warn her, “I’ll send Abel back, and this
time, I’ll make sure he can’t leave.”
She rolls her eyes again. “What’re you gonna do, tough chick?” she
challenges. “Handcuff us together?”
I shrug. “I’ll do what I need to—and that’s not such a bad idea.”
Her face blanches and she nods. “Fine. I’ll go get something to eat. Just
… don’t send him back. Not tonight.”
“Done.” I turn to go. I’m across the room with my hand on the doorknob
when she says something that makes me pause.
“Thanks, Ava…” Her voice sounds hoarse and I resist the urge to look
back especially when she croaks out a, “for caring.”
I twist the knob but don’t immediately pull it open. “Someone has to,
Rylie,” I tell her. “If you’re not going to give a shit about yourself, how can
you expect someone else to?” It’s a harsh statement and possibly the wrong
fucking thing to say, but I’m no therapist. I don’t know her background. I
don’t know her story. But those words are the very ones I told myself
growing up. So, in some messed up circle of life kinda way, I hope they help
her. I really do.
26
DEAN
"YOU'RE FUCKING CRAZY." YEAH, MAYBE I AM, BUT I CAN'T HELP BUT
wonder—despite my anger and irritation and hatred for the man—if my
father hadn't been the least bit right. For the last several weeks, the four of us
had holed ourselves up in Eastpoint. I might’ve lost my mind because I think
I'
m going to actually take my old man's advice. Getting out of Eastpoint
actually doesn't sound like such a shit idea. We'd been so fucking focused on
tracking down Corina, on helping Avalon, that we hadn't taken a breather.
Abel and Brax can go do whatever the fuck it is they do these days—find
some girl to fuck between the two of them, and Avalon and I can lock
ourselves up in some suite and disappear for a few days.
In the grand scheme of things, two or three days isn't a long time, but
maybe it's what we need. She's on edge. I'm on edge. Hell, we're all on edge.
I just want to get back to where we were—her and me.
At times like this, I'd call Viks, but that asshole is dead to me. At least, I
wish I could say that. He's been texting me regularly since I took Avalon to
meet him. Asking me how things are going, asking me about her. He knows
what I want to talk about. He always was good at guessing, but now I don't
want to talk to him. Not anymore.
And that too is a lie.
"Think about it," I say as Abel crosses in front of me for what feels like
the hundredth time. I've got no fucking clue what's going on in his head, but
he's been acting like a shit since we got back from campus. It's unlike him to
not want to take a trip. He's the party fucking king. "Even the party we held
for Avalon's graduation was really just a front to get Luc alone," I argue.
"It is summer break," Braxton points out. "We're gonna need to start
gearing up for the next football season. Training isn't far off. Early starters
and a new influx of program students will be arriving after that."
"We've got people for that. What's Bairns for if she can't handle the
program students?" Abel barks.
"Of course, but we need to make sure that no more surprises are coming
our way," I say.
"Surprises like me?" Avalon pipes up as she comes around the corner
from the kitchen with a soda in hand. She pops the tab, the hiss of
carbonation releasing the only sound as she takes a big drink and walks
across the room before taking a seat on the couch and crossing her legs.
"Take it as a compliment, savage girl," Brax suggests with a wink.
She rolls her eyes, and I reach up to pinch the bridge of my nose. A dull
thudding headache is beginning to blossom inside my skull. I want nothing