“Like what?” Spencer asks, voice hardening. He’s pretty intimidating, too, I have to admit—even in his, um, glorious Velma costume. “You can’t possibly look anymore guilty than you do now, so spill it. That’s what you wanted to talk to me about, isn’t it?”
“I came to warn you, you idiot,” Jack says, leaning in toward his brother’s face. “Why the hell do you think I came all the way up here to get you that day? Did you ever wonder who locked you in that cabin and why?”
“The Fellowship,” Church supplies, but Jack ignores him. Spencer’s right: he doesn’t seem like the villainous type, but he’s most definitely selfish and most definitely a coward. The only person Jack cares about is himself, almost the polar opposite of his brother. Spencer was willing to rewrite his whole world view to make sure I fit into it, and Jack wasn’t even willing to rearrange his schedule to meet with Spencer sooner.
“This cult, they’re real, sure. I saw them drag Jenica into the clearing by her hair, barefoot and wearing her freaking nightgown.” Ranger stiffens up at Jack’s words, and I realize with a start that it all makes sense. Jenica wrote that note to Lionel in her journal and tore the page out, like she was in a hurry, choosing to tear up her book instead of finding a separate piece of paper. And the way she cut off that last journal entry mid-sentence? She could’ve been writing in it when she heard or saw something, panicked, and then … she never even got the chance to get dressed before they got her. “They were wearing masks, but I recognized Rick’s voice. I mean, he was always yelling at her, pushing her, grabbing her by the neck.”
Mark and Selena stumble into the clearing behind us, making out and fumbling with each other’s clothes. I roll my eyes because, unfortunately, I’ve seen this particular routine before, and I wasn’t impressed. Mark’s dick is even smaller than Cody’s which, believe it or not, is smaller than any of the five boys in my … err, harem. Spencer, surprisingly, is the biggest.
Then again, I haven’t gotten much of a look at Church …
“What happened, Jack?” Spencer asks, softening his voice just enough that he’s being sympathetic, but not so much that Jack thinks this conversation is anywhere near over.
“They lit some candles, chanted some weird shit, and then they wrapped a rope around her neck and hung her from a tree.”
Our entire group goes silent, our collective breath held, as we think about that, about Jenica being dragged across the wet forest floor in her nightgown. My mind strays to that awful moment in the woods at the Twilight Slumber Camp. That could very well have been my last night on earth.
“And you just let them do it?” Ranger asks, his voice like a shard of ice, digging its way into my heart. If I were Jack, I’d run, and not from the cult, but from the little brother of the girl I failed to save.
“If they find out that I know, they’ll kill me,” Jack whispers as the twins stand with their backs to the rest of us, keeping careful watch over Selena and Mark. Based on her moans, however, I get the idea that she’s at least partway through faking an orgasm. “Besides, what was I supposed to do? Attack an entire group of psychos by myself? Call the police? They own the Nutmeg police. That, and the Fellowship has access to the whole campus, through the tunnels. They even have a church underneath the school. I’ve been all over that campus with a fine-toothed comb. Trust me, I know, I’ve seen some things I can never forget.”
“That’s some far-out shit, Jack,” Spencer says, but he doesn’t look entirely unconvinced.
“Half the school board and a good fourth of the staff is involved. Don’t believe me? Fine. But I fucking lived in that school. I know every inch of it. The families that are involved are powerful, and I wasn’t about to drag ours into that mess. Sorry, Ranger.” Jack looks over at Jenica’s brother with a small grimace and a flash of pain, and then quickly turns his attention to Church. “Maybe the Montagues have the resources to deal with this crap, but it wasn’t worth it to me. I’d just as soon stay out of their way, thanks.”
I scoot behind Spencer, so that I’m standing between him and Ranger, and then I take one of their hands in either of mine, joining them, and comforting them both in one fell swoop. It can’t be easy for Spencer to see his brother in this light, and I know it’s not easy for Ranger to hear any of this.
“Why lock me in the cabin then?” Spencer asks, and Jack gives him a look.
“You’re joking, right? They’re after your fucking girlfriend. Each initiate has to get blood on their hands, and it has to be the person the cult’s chosen. No exceptions. She’s dangerous man, stay away from her. They only locked you in there to get you out of the way, but don’t think they won’t kill you, too, if it suits them. Pretty sure the only person they’re scared to touch is that one.” Jack flicks his hand in Church’s direction and then shakes his head, tucking his hands in his pockets and pulling out a bag of pills. “Now take these and pretend we were meeting to talk shop—and don’t say I’ve never gone out on a limb for you.”
Spencer does as his brother’s asked, but his face is pale, his mouth tight. I can tell that he’s pissed. Hard to say what he’s most upset about; we’re sort of dealing with a lot here.
Jack gives his brother a hug, and then disappears into the woods like he was never there. Spencer looks down at the pills briefly, and then tucks them into his pocket.
“You guys are in danger because of me,” I say, thinking on Jack’s words for a moment. The boys might actually be better off if I left for good, huh?
“You’re worth it, Chuck-let,” Spencer says, looking up and meeting my eyes. He turns his attention to Ranger, and the two boys spend a long moment studying each other. “Jenica’s worth it.”
Ranger nods, and we head back toward the party, leaving a groaning Selena and Mark in the darkness behind us.
Archibald Carson’s been ignoring me, and I don’t like it.
I mean, most seventeen-almost-eighteen-year olds do want to be ignored by their parents, but not after being told that, yes, they’re pretty certain that someone’s out to kill them. Dad knows things; Mr. Murphy knows things; Mr. Dave knows things.
Nathan, the annoying and seemingly useless night watchmen, has been following me around quite a bit lately at my dad’s behest. That makes me wonder if he’s a tad less creepy and a bit more on our side, but since I can’t exactly go up to him and ask what he knows about a mysterious cult lurking in underground tunnels beneath the school, I’m resigned to his presence.
“We never get to talk anymore,” Monica says, lying back on her bed with her dark hair trimmed short, her makeup relaxed and casual. This is a big turnaround for her, considering that in the past, she’d rather stay at home and miss a weekend of partying than be seen with a bit of bloating from her period.
“Um, I begged you to talk to me when I first got here, and you and Cody blew me off like nothing,” I remind her, twirling a bit of blond hair around one of my fingers and realizing that I’ve already just slipped back into my Valley Girl accent.
Monica cringes, but I get no satisfaction out of her reaction. It’s not fair for me to say that I forgive her, and then continue holding the Cody thing over her head. And honestly? She did me a favor. I’d take any one of my new beaus over Cody any day, let alone five deliciously rich assholes.
Wait.
Deliciously rich asshole? That sounds gross as fuck, like … a butthole covered in chocolate sauce or something. Gag. Vom.
“You’re right,” she says, sighing and closing her eyes for a moment. I know that she’s over Cody, and she seems happy, but also, I’m pretty sure she liked him far more than I ever did. His betrayal hurts. “I have no right to complain, but I miss you. It was never the same after you left, like the magic went when you did.”
I snort, and she lifts a lovely microbladed eyebrow at me.
“Please. The only magic I bring with me is an innate talent for pissing people off, a habit of blurting inappropriate things, and an obsession with romance. I’ve fallen in love with
every boy on the Student Council.” Speaking of … right after we get back from fall break, it’s go time. A week of debates followed by election day.
They might not be Student Council boys anymore.
And for someone like Aster Hayes to be president? No, thank you. Church is the fucking prince of this school. He’s on the brochures for crap’s sake.
“Where is your gaggle of boyfriends anyway?” Monica asks as I sit up and stretch an arm over my head, using the other to keep my phone more or less focused on my face.
“Well, two of them are practicing martial arts moves in the gym, another one of them is baking in the buff while his best friend does calculus next to him, and the last one is waiting just outside the cracked door of this room.”
“Sorry to ruin the gossip train,” Spencer says, peeking his head in, and then moving into the room when I gesture his way. “If you need to talk shit about me, I understand. Just make sure you let her know that I do, in fact, have the biggest dick of all the guys.”
“I haven’t seen enough of Church’s yet to know for sure,” I blurt, and then I groan and fall back into the pillows. “Okay, I’m hanging up now. You bring out the ho in me.”
“Every girl has a ho inside, waiting to liberate her from the puritanical shackles of our modesty-based society that shames women for having natural pleasure and dominion over their own bodies. Enjoy all that dick, and we’ll talk soon!”
She ends the call, and I, in my infinite grace and poise, drop the phone right on my face by accident. Spencer’s right there in an instant, pulling me up and into his arms, like I’m actually suffering much more than bruised pride.
“Ah, Chuck-let, you’re bleeding,” he says, reaching up with the edge of his blazer sleeve to wipe some of the red away. I try to slap his hand back, so he doesn’t stain his uniform, but he ignores me and dabs the liquid away from my upper lip. “It’s gonna be hard to kiss you now, babe.”
“Babe?” I ask, lifting a skeptical brow in his direction. But he’s impossible not to like, with those cocksure grins, vibrant eyes, and silver hair. His face is a bit more angular, like the twins’, but he has a squarer jaw, closer to Ranger’s. “That’s a new one.”
“I’m testing out extra nicknames, just so I’ve got fun things to call you from across the room. Babe seemed pretty tame, but knowing how much you love insults like condom face, ass pig, and toilet brush, I figure I’ll get creative next time. I’m playing around with my little slice of hot sauce toast, in homage to your favorite breakfast food.”
Aww, he remembers that I like to douse my French toast in hot sauce … Too freaking cute.
“You want to yell hey, hot sauce toast! across a crowded room, then that’s your choice. Just don’t expect me to answer.” Spencer smirks and leans in, kissing a drop of ruby red blood away from the corner of my mouth. I smack him away again, but he just chuckles and burrows his face against the side of my neck. “Don’t you know about, like diseases and stuff? Don’t lick my blood, that’s gross.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. What diseases could you possibly have?” He sits up and looks me over in my white-button down and plaid skirt like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “I took your virginity, after all, and I’m clean as a whistle.”
“Mm-hmm.” I give him a look, but his expression is tender, and I know he’s just being playful. “You know,” I begin softly, looking down at my lap and forgetting about my split lip for a second. “I always wanted a boy who’d love me in a ballgown and a face full of makeup, but also love me just as much in sweatpants with a pimple on my nose.”
“Like the one you have now?” Spencer says knowingly, and I balk at him.
“I do not have a pimple! What is wrong with you, Spencer Hargrove?” he grins at me, and then reaches up to brush back some of my hair. After that talk with Jack on Halloween, I was sure he was going to draw into himself. Spencer’s always said he hates lies more than anything else, and Jack’s clearly been lying to him for years. But instead of freaking out and running away, he’s here, and he’s dealing with it. I’m proud of him. “I’m trying to be poetic and romantic and—”
“I was getting ready to suck your dick, Charlotte Carson. I was looking up the ins and outs of anal sex, and if silicone lube was better than water-based—it is.” He pauses and smiles at me in a way that breaks my fucking heart and sews it back together all in a single glance. “If you think that I wouldn’t love you in sweatpants and pimples, then you’re just not paying attention.”
“Love me, huh?” I ask, and Spencer lifts a dark brow. My heart is beating out of my chest, thinking about Ranger’s confession and wondering if I could be so lucky to hear that phrase twice.
“You know I love you, Chuck.” He shrugs his shoulders again, like it’s no big deal. But it is. It is a big deal. I lean forward, placing one of my hands on his legs, lips parted gently, waiting. “Shit, you can’t look at me like that.”
“Say it again,” I tell him, leaning even farther forward, knowing that the top buttons on my shirt are undone, and that I’m sitting in just such a way that there’s maximum cleavage going on.
“I’m not afraid of the L-word,” he says, flashing a foxy smirk in my direction and then reaching up a single finger to brush down the side of my throat. “I love you, Chuck-let.”
“Even if your love for me gets you killed?” I ask, pausing and glancing away, toward one of Church’s coffee posters. Part of me wonders what would happen if I ran, if the cult would eventually give up. If I weren’t here, would the boys be safer? Maybe they could just hire private security for me, and I could wait this out back in Santa Cruz? The thought is crushing, but now that we know what we’re dealing with, I can’t help but wonder.
Then again, if the families behind this are in the league of—or at least close to—the power and influence of the Montagues, then I don’t imagine they’d let me go quite that easily.
“I’d rather die for love than live without knowing how bad it hurts,” Spencer says, smiling. “Now say you love me back, and let’s do it before those other assholes show up.”
“I love you, Spencer Hargrove,” I say, and I mean it, I do.
The thing is, I’m pretty sure I love all five of the boys. Equally.
What’s a girl to do?
“My dad is never going to let me go,” I say, sitting on the counter in my skirt and loving the power shift I feel in this kitchen. A year ago, I was remaking quiches and being locked out of the dining room while Ross sniveled and snickered next to Spencer. Now, I’m sitting here and being pampered by a horde of lovesick boys.
I tap my crossed ankles against the cabinet and think what a difference a skirt can make. Essentially, I’m a femme fatale now. I own these boys.
“Get off that fucking counter and finish this fruit tart,” Ranger says, pointing at the freshly baked crust which is seriously bereft of fruit. “And make it cute. We need to up our game on Insta. Our feed is garbage.”
With a roll of my eyes, I slide off the counter, and then duck like a damn ninja when the twins toss two chocolate chip cookies in my direction, like they’re throwing-stars or something.
“You’re getting better at that,” they say in unison, like they’re surprised about it. The thing is, they shouldn’t be. I’ve been working really hard in the gym and doing my best to memorize everything they’ve taught me. I even have the sore muscles to prove it. “What a shame.”
“We liked pegging you in the face and back with food,” Tobias remarks, parking his elbow on the counter and putting his chin in his hand. “It’s just not the same, with you getting all badass on us and stuff.”
Ranger grabs a clean spatula from the drawer beside the stove and swats Tobias in the ass with it.
“Get up and finish your cream puffs. The bake-off against Everly is going to be brutal this year, and I intend to win. I’m not letting lazy good-for-nothings ruin my chances—especially not after finding out Jenica was bullied at Everly because of some cu
lt.”
“Maybe you want to take that apron off, get naked, and finish the cream puffs yourself with some special sauce?” Tobias grins at his own joke, and then pales when Ranger turns a thundering look his direction.
“Get back to work, you little pissant,” he snarls, and Tobias scurries off to do as he’s told. Church, on the other hand, has already finished his tiramisu, and is now sitting in one of the armchairs, working on his Jenica notes.
“Speaking of Libby and the stone,” Church says, glancing up with amber eyes. He’s got a small espresso on the arm of his chair, and a muffin with a chocolate-coated coffee bean on the top sitting on the plate next to it. “Her possession of it would indicate that she’s a member of the Fellowship,” he continues, staring at the screen of his iPad. “Which would make Selena our most likely candidate for the female attacker.”
“Technically, yeah, but what about Ranger?” Spencer asks, pointing over at his friend. He’s still working on some boiled bagels that smell heavenly. “If this shit is, like, passed down to everyone in a family, how could Ranger’s dad be a part of it when Jenica and Ranger aren’t?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out during fall break,” Ranger says, determined to finish icing his three-layer pink cake with the fondant roses waiting to be put on it. “We’ll snoop and dig and sleuth, and then if worse comes to worst, I’ll confront his ass with the evidence.”
“Like I said, my dad is never going to let me go,” I repeat, restarting our conversation about fall break. Dad and I always spend Thanksgiving together, so the chance of him letting me out of the country for a weeklong trip is laughable. “Besides, I don’t have a passport.”
“You will not confront him,” Church tells Ranger, ignoring me and putting the iPad aside as he rises to his feet to help Micah with some fairly fucked-up looking macarons. At least I’m not the only one who struggles in the kitchen sometimes. Church whips an apron over his hips and looks pointedly at Ranger. “Your father is no stranger to scandal. If he could get rid of Jenica, then surely he’d get rid of you, too.”
The Forever Crew Page 16