by J Bree
Technically, I did meet him in foster care, back when his name was still Johnny, his best friend was Matteo, and together they taught me the meaning of ride or die. Until one day they weren’t. My heart feels sore in my chest just thinking about it.
“Come on, little girl, I’m glad to be of service.” Illi does a ridiculous little bow and I snort with laughter watching it. He’s too fucking huge to look anything but hulking and intimidating.
“I’m not stupid, there’s no way I’m getting in that car,” Viola snaps, and I decide I love her a little less.
I hold my hand up to stop her from running off, then pull out my phone. I hit dial on the Coyote’s number.
“Trouble, Wolf?” he asks, smug and playful as always.
I smirk and I’m sure he can hear it in my voice. “Hello, Jackson. It’s your dear friend Lips here. Viola is all packed up and ready to have a sleepover at your place though she’s unhappy that our mutual friend Illi will be driving her over.”
The Coyote groans. “Seriously? You’re trying to get him to drive her?”
“You do understand I’m at school and have no car, right?” I snark and he laughs at me.
“C’mon Lips, we both know your little harem has plenty of vehicles for you to borrow. Alexander has eight Ferraris, for fuck’s sake.”
Eight?! Jesus.
“That’s beside the point. Tell her to get in,” I hiss, and hand Viola the phone.
She looks at it like I’m handing her a snake or some shit and I try to make my smile sweet. Avery cackles at me so I clearly fucking failed.
While she’s busy arguing with her maybe boyfriend, I sidle up to Illi and bump my shoulder against him like we’re close or some shit. “How’s things?”
He smirks. “Great. I’ve killed eleven guys this week for our little crew. I took on a job up the coast while I was there with Iris too, so send me your bank details so I can tithe to you.”
Tithe, the cheeky shithead. I snort at him. “Fuck off, I’m not taking your money. Consider it payment for running around after me.”
He laughs. “Kid, I live for this shit. I even got to torture the last guy. I julienned him as if I were a sous chef and he was nothing but a fucking carrot. I’ll send you the tape, looks fucking sick.”
Avery gags dramatically from where she’s eavesdropping and Illi roars with laughter at her. Their easy acceptance of each other is such a fucking gift to me, I wish the guys would take a leaf out of Aves’ book and just welcome him into the fold. It’s not like he wants to move in, he’s got an amazing apartment overlooking the docks in a shady looking warehouse so he can… work from home if required. He does that a little less now Odie lives there too.
“I’ve moved Odie to a safe house, kid. Since the video of you getting freaky with the mob boy started circulating the lowlifes have been coming at us in droves.”
I freeze. Video circulating? Illi notices and swears under his breath. “I thought you knew about it? Sorry. You got more enemies than the Jackal, I’m guessing?”
Avery snorts. “Lips collects them, like trinkets and pets. Nothing she loves more than pissing people off by living her very best life.”
I groan at her. “I’m just trying to survive! Fuck. Okay, What do you need from me, Illi? Name it, it’s yours.”
He scoffs at me and bumps shoulders. “Whatever. I’m your brother remember? I’ll drop the prissy girl off at the Coyote’s bunker and then I’ll go hunting. Maybe it’s time to take the fight to D’Ardo. Stop defending and start attacking. Speaking of that, any of your boys good with a gun?”
I swallow. “Harley and Ash are. I’m not sure about Blaise. I’ll check.”
I wait until family dinner on Friday to bring up the gun question.
Avery cooks a stir fry and for once I take Ash up on his offer of whiskey to go with our meal. I feel like a nice buzz will help me with the headache this is going to cause me. I wait until the table is quiet, the guys all shoveling the food into their mouths like they’re starved Mounty street girls, and then I ask Blaise.
The guys all pause their eating. Avery continues, unruffled and smug because she knew it was coming. There’s nothing that girl loves more than to be in on the joke.
He blinks at me owlishly, and Harley swears viciously. “What the fuck has happened now? We aren’t going to make it to fucking senior year at this rate.”
Avery laughs, flicking her wrist at him the way a cat plays with it’s prey. “We’re doing a fine job. And you can’t talk, it’s your fan club that is causing all the issues. The video being leaked reeks of Annabelle. Or possibly Ms. Turner. They both stink of desperation so it can be hard to differentiate sometimes.”
Blaise snickers at the dark look Harley gives her but she’s right. I stay out of it, as always, and nudge Blaise with my foot under the table.
He gives me a little mocking smirk. “Footsies during dinner with Avery? Star, I would have never pegged you as the type to flirt with danger.”
Ash chuckles at my withering look and Harley mutters, “She does more than fucking flirt with it.”
I roll my eyes at them all. “Just answer the question, Morrison. Do you know how to use a gun? Properly, not just point and pull the trigger. I mean like, assemble, reload, clean, the whole fucking shebang.”
He looks uneasy at me again. “I do. I’d rather not though. I’m more a beat-the-life-out-of-them kind of guy.”
Ash flicks a sliver of carrot at him. “That isn’t any better so don’t think you have the moral high ground. You’re saying you want to feel the life leave your victim rather than have the clinical, impersonal kill.”
Blaise glares at him. “Oh, are we trading psychotic tendencies now? What’s your preferred method of killing a man?”
Ash smirks and says, “Whatever is required to make sure they stay dead.”
I should find this conversation unsettling.
Whelp, I don’t. I’m suddenly squirming in my chair at the dark parts of them all.
I clear my throat twice, a sure giveaway of what is on my mind from the looks they all give me, and say, “I’m going to get everyone ghost guns. Completely untraceable. Just for emergencies now that the Jackal is being careless and sending guys out to catch us unaware.”
The guys all share a look and something tightens in my chest. Avery slips her hand in mine, ready to take my side with whatever they’re planning, and I’m so fucking glad she’s with me.
Finally, Ash takes a sip of his bourbon and pegs me with a look. “We need to stop with this ‘waiting around’ bullshit and start being offensive. He’s not going to stop until we take him out.”
I try not to groan at him but it escapes me anyway. “Do you understand the risks of that? Really? Do you get how much blood will be on your hands, and the cleanup involved? I know we have the finances to back us but fuck, it’s a lot. I’ve lived it. I woke up every day knowing I’m going to kill countless people and pray I’m not going to go down for it. Are you all prepared for that too? Because I’ve been working my ass off to keep you all out of it and… clean.”
Harley cuts me a look, arrogant and haughty. “We’re not clean though, are we? None of us are. Even Morrison has blood on him. We’re going to figure this out and we’re going to fucking kill the Jackal and every last one of his loyal followers. No more peaceful attempts at resolution.”
I give Blaise a curious look, interested to know what blood he has on him. I know he’s not afraid of a fight, and will jump in to defend his friends without a second thought, but I’d never guessed he’d done anything more than that.
They’re all watching me, watching for an answer and I’m not sure I really have one but I squeeze Avery’s hand anyway and say, “Okay. Offensive it is. We’ll hunt the Jackal.”
Chapter Twenty
Friday morning I find Blaise missing from our history class, and I can’t concentrate on a thing the cougar whore says because I don’t know where the fuck he is. When Harley notices me twitching and t
ells me he’s gone to an appointment in Haven and I send the utter dickhead a pissy text about security and threats and murderous sociopaths stalking us all.
He ignores me.
Ash walks up to my room with me and collapses on the couch with a sigh, throwing his bag down and ripping his shoes off. Avery’s mother hen act drops in an instant and she’s snarling at him for messing shit up. I head to the coffee machine. Caffeine is necessary for my survival.
Blaise arrives to family dinner half an hour later covered in bandages and for a second my heart stops, then I see the easy grin on his face and I know he’s fine. He winks at me and I blush when Avery cackles at the stupefied look I give him.
“I told you, I’m filling in the rest of my canvas, Star.” He murmurs as he bundles me into his arms, kissing me chastely under Avery’s watchful glare.
“Are you going to tell me what you got?” I grumble and he laughs at me.
“You’ll have to wait and see. Or bribe me, I’m easily bought. Flash me some pink, Wolf.”
I jab him in the stomach but his solid muscles only hurts my hand. Ash smirks at me and tugs me over to sit on his lap in front of the TV while we wait for dinner. Avery is on an Italian kick and refuses to let me help out now she’s making pasta by hand.
She’s the weirdest rich kid in the fucking building but god do I love her.
“Stop giving my sister lustful looks, Mounty,” Ash snarks, and I elbow him.
“She’s my favorite, I hope you know that,” I snark back and he slips his hand down my waist until he gets to the hem of my shorts. My eyes flare and then narrow at him.
“I’m your favorite,” he mumbles into the skin on my neck.
I shake my head, mostly to clear it. “Nope. Definitely Avery. You’re my second favorite Beaumont though, so don’t feel too bad about it.”
His eyes fucking sparkle at me with evil intent and I gulp. I try to move out of his lap and his arms only tighten, trapping me.
“Don’t run off. I’m fucking hungry, Mounty.”
I blush. My heart stutters in my chest at the warm honey tone in his voice, something I’ve never heard from him before. Even when we had laid together in bed all those months ago in the Bay, his dirty talk had been whispered and decisive. Not this coaxing.
I can’t fucking handle Ash Beaumont seduction if it’s like this.
“Dinner’s ready!” Avery calls out, and Ash huffs.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to get my hands on you at this rate,” he grouses, and I kiss him sweetly because I’m just as fucking frustrated.
We all take our usual seats at the table and Harley has already changed into his swim uniform to leave as soon as he’s eaten something. The second I see it I remember the last time I saw him wearing it and heat floods my body until I’m blushing like an idiot.
I stare at my plate like it’s the answer to all my damn problems because there’s no way Avery won’t notice the puddle I’ve turned into. Dammit, I’m drooling again.
Blaise unwraps one of his hands so he can handle his fork but I’m too busy trying not to ogle Harley to see the new ink.
“Did you get stars tattooed on you? You know that tattoos are the curse of relationships, the kiss of death,” Avery says in a haughty tone, spinning her long strands of fettuccine perfectly between her fork and spoon.
Blaise gives me a look and I smile at him. I don’t think tattoos are the kiss of death for fucking anything. I’m just not that superstitious.
His foot runs along mine under the table and my smile turns into a grin. His eyes fucking sparkle at me and I flush, looking back down at my food and refusing to look at him. Great. So only Ash is safe for now, because he’s snarling at his sister.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Joey was coming to the Hannaford Family Dinner?”
Ugh. The stupid dinner all juniors and seniors have to attend, even if they’re emancipated orphans, to sit and discuss their bright futures with their teachers and families. Fucking yay.
I glance up and see him glaring at Avery, all fire and rage that I don’t usually see him aiming at his sister.
Oh fuck.
“You know as well as I do that Lips had Senior removed from the picture until graduation, so he’s sending Joey in his stead. There’s nothing I could do to stop it, but why would I tell you about it any sooner than I have to? Harley is already an insomniac, we don’t need two sleep-deprived, grumpy assholes in the family.”
Ash scoffs and downs the rest of his bourbon in one gulp.
What a lovely dinner we’re having.
Blaise shoos Avery out of the door for her ballet class and flicks the lock with a little flourish.
“Oh, look. I find myself alone with my Star. Whatever shall I do?”
I smirk and point at our textbooks. “Studying is what you shall do.”
He laughs at me and pulls his tie off, popping the first few buttons open on his shirt. Fuck. He’s worked out that little trick too, the one where my brain melts the second any of my guys start showing extra skin.
I’m fucking doomed.
“You have three assignments due next week,” I croak, so fucking ready to cave and he smirks at me.
“I’m just getting comfortable. Didn’t you want to see my new tattoos?”
Right. Tattoos. Yes.
I nod and he peels the bandages, tape, and plastic away from the puffy, raw skin of his hands and neck. Avery was right, he’s now covered in stars. There’s even a little one inked behind his ear, right where he usually kisses me.
“You’ll have to tape me up again. My hands are killing me,” he grumbles, and I go to rummage around in the bathroom for the first aid kit. I’m especially good at taping hands back together with all of the practice I now get with Blaise and Harley’s boxing, and Ash’s fight club matches.
Once he’s looking more bandaged than a mummy I try to get him to study but he’s too damn jittery.
“I’d concentrate better if you were naked,” he drawls, running a thumb over the swell of my chest. I bat his hand away.
“No you fucking wouldn’t. If you fail this test I will be so pissed.”
He shrugs. “I won’t. I’ve been studying at night before bed too. I’m going to pass these classes and next year we’ll take all the same classes again so I can keep an eye on you, and then we’ll go on tour together before you run off to college to become a doctor or an astrophysicist or… whatever the fuck geniuses become.”
I smile at him and close the textbook. “Why would I go on tour with you? Do you need a groupie on hand at all times or something?”
He leans back on the cushions, smug and relaxed. I bite my lip at the sight of him, all bandaged up, secretly marked with me. Maybe I hate my name a little less.
“I like the idea of you being there for my every need, but no. I meant because you’re going to be singing with me. I’m going to release your song on the album… if I ever fucking release it.” He sighs, and rubs his eyes.
“Why haven’t you? I mean, the songs have been done for months.”
Fuck it, I climb into his lap. He groans in frustration when he can barely hold me, but I do my best to avoid pressing on any raw patches.
“I’m thinking about leaving my label. Don’t tell anyone that, not even Ash. He’ll have a fucking aneurysm at me over it. But they keep interfering with the song writing and I’m just… I write and play to get shit out of my head. Because I love that I can turn the weird thoughts and pain into something I can hand to someone else. The band’s agent wants me to clean up the lyrics and go more mainstream. He didn’t like the new songs, he said they’re too raw. Fuck him.”
I frown at him and say, “They’re amazing. They’re the best songs you’ve written so far. I should know, I’ve heard them all.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me, playful again. “You haven’t though, have you? You never did open my present.”
Fuck. I hadn’t.
I shake my head and he smiles at me. He cup
s my face gently, pushing my hair away from my face and kissing me sweetly.
“I was so pissed that day. I’d put my fucking heart in that box and you wouldn’t open it. I can’t blame you, I’d been such a fucking dick to you, but I had put myself out there and hoped you’d see it… see me. It doesn’t matter, Star, I have you now. My little muse. My sweet Nightingale, pretty and sings so sweet.”
He starts to ramble, my crush only getting worse as he begins to describe all of his favorite parts of me, most of them naked body parts, but some of them immensely more intimate, like the scar the bullet from Diarmuid’s gun left on my skin and the soft patch of skin on my shoulder they all seem to be obsessed with.
I wait until Avery heads to ballet the next afternoon and I dig out the package Blaise had sent me, untouched and hidden in my duffle bag under my bed. I’d been so tempted, so many times, over the summer break but it was like Schrodinger’s box. What if I opened it and it was just candy, something small and meaningless? Or, more terrifyingly, what if it wasn’t?
Now I know it’s his heart, I have to see what it is.
I use my knife to slice the tape open and my hands shake as I lift the lid. I find a notebook and an iPod older than the one we now share.
I grab the notebook first and find poems, lyrics, stories, etchings in the margins and gold ink accents everywhere. The lyrics are all of his new songs, things he’s written in the last two years, but they’re all just a little different from the polished versions he’s given me to listen to. I read the entire notebook, cover to cover, in disbelief.
It’s about me.
The whole thing is a love story about me.
The drawings are of my hands, the scars on my leg, the dark shadows of my eyelashes on my cheeks.
The plump curve of my lips.
The songs have my name in them, over and over again, the longing and worship on Harley’s face is reflected in the melodies of Blaise’s songs. I can’t breathe to read them, my lungs squeezing tight until I feel dizzy.