Play Rough

by Eva Ashwood

  I sit there for the rest of class, turning my thoughts over and over again in my head. There has to be some way to get the information Paul wants for the Jackals. One of the three men I’m living with has to know where the accountant lives, and it should be written down somewhere. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to get to it, which is kind of easier said than done.

  I can’t count on them all being gone at the same time again, or one of them leaving their phone unlocked so I can snoop, but I guess that’s what I’m going to have to hope for.

  The rest of class is a blur, and I don’t pay attention to any of it. Paul keeps himself busy looking at his phone, and when class is dismissed, I leave first like last time, getting to my feet and following the stream of students back out into the overcast morning.

  Levi is there waiting for me, like he always is, and he smiles when he sees me. It takes a lot to smile back, but I manage what I hope is close enough. He drapes an arm around me, the weight settling over my shoulders, and the gesture is comfortable, possessive, and familiar.

  Anyone who looks at us will think we’re a couple, and probably not give us a second look. It’s completely normal for pairs to walk around campus holding hands or with their arms around each other, and most of the time everyone else just tries to duck out of their way if they’re taking up too much space on the paths.

  We blend right in as if all of this is so perfectly natural, and I have no idea how to feel about that. I have no idea how to feel about any-fucking-thing anymore, especially not when it comes to the men I’m living with, and the anxious little knot in my stomach just seems to get bigger and bigger.

  I’ve already made my peace with the fact that I might die in my attempt to wreak havoc on the Black Roses.

  But even if I somehow survive all of this, I’m not sure my heart will make it out in one piece.

  17

  It becomes pretty clear that if I’m going to get the info I need, I’m going to have to step my game up. I can’t wait for opportunities to come to me—I’m going to have to create them myself.

  So over the next week, I start pushing harder to find out more stuff.

  I hang out around the guys more, finding ways to be around them. When Rory’s in the kitchen making food, I sit at the island, laughing at his jokes and teasing him while he does the same to me. When Levi’s working out downstairs, I go to watch, declining to join in, just admiring his form and making small talk.

  Spending time with Sloan is the trial it always seems to be, and things have been especially awkward since our date—if you can call it that—but I sit in the living room when he’s there, pretending to do my homework while watching him type on his phone or laptop.

  Rory and Levi make it easy, of course. They both seem into it and welcome my attention whenever I’m around. It gets to the point where they call for me to join them even if I’m just passing through one room on my way to another, and I usually do, hoping to be rewarded by some slip of the tongue or useful revelation.

  One night, all of us end up downstairs in the living room hanging out. It feels comfortable and easy, like it never used to at the beginning of this arrangement, but clearly we’re all getting used to our living situation.

  Sloan is working on his laptop, head bowed while his fingers fly across the keyboard and the trackpad. Rory has a movie on, something with loud explosions and bad car chases like he likes, and Sloan ignores it and us while he works. Levi seems to be reading something on his phone, but he glances up every now and then to check out what’s happening on the screen.

  I haven’t slept with either of them again, not since Levi and I fucked on the same couch Sloan and I are sitting on, and I’m trying to keep it that way.

  I know it’s a good way to get them to let their guard down around me, but it’s fucking up my own head too much. It makes me think they care about me, and it blurs the lines between lies and truth—between my act and what’s real. It’s too much to handle, and for my own sanity, I have to stop it. I can’t afford to get more compromised than I already am.

  So I just let the sexual tension simmer between us, never giving in to it.

  In some ways, that definitely makes it worse. It makes my attraction to them pull at me harder, and sometimes I find myself staring off into space, thinking about Rory’s hands on me or Levi kissing my neck. Every time I go into the garage, I can’t help but remember what Rory and I did on the hood of his car, and just sitting in the living room is enough to remind me that Levi ate me out like I was a piece of cake or something right there on the couch.

  It would be so easy to give in like I’ve done too many fucking times already, but instead I keep my walls up, making the barriers around my heart more secure than they’ve ever been.

  Even as I’ve spent more time around them than I usually do, Sloan’s been surly and closed off, like he always is, although he never openly objects to me being around. Usually, he seems content to pretend I don’t exist, except for a glance or two here and there.

  Rory and Levi are easier to play off of, and I lean into their interest in me, using the banter and flirting between us to piss Sloan off.

  I remember what he said about me not being able to make up my mind, and how he reacted when I teased him about maybe wanting to share me. He hardly ever says anything when the others flirt with me, just grinds his teeth and clenches his jaw, glaring at whatever’s in front of his face like he wishes he could set it on fire with his eyes and the force of his irritation alone.

  I’m doing the same thing tonight, just to see what kind of reaction I can get. Rory’s sitting in the armchair, and Levi’s on the floor, leaving Sloan and me on the couch. There’s not much space between us, which is a change from how it usually is.

  When I first started joining them for their “fucking around in the living room” time, I would sit way on the other side of the couch, putting the middle seat between us and keeping my distance. But gradually, I’ve been inching closer, day by day. Now there’s less than a foot of space keeping us apart, and I’ve been making a show of leaning over him and getting in Sloan’s space.

  One night, I purposefully put my drink on the end table at his side of the couch and then leaned right into his personal space to retrieve it, making him glare at me and lean away. I’ve “dropped” my phone between the cushions and had to lean in closer to fish it out, and sometimes I just get close to him for the hell of it.

  On the outside, I’m sure it looks like I’m just flirting with him. Either that or trying to get on his nerves. But really, there’s a method to it.

  Sloan types his password into his computer every night, sometimes more than once if he gets distracted enough by whatever’s on TV and the laptop goes to sleep. Getting close enough to him has let me see as he types his password in. I never stare for too long, not wanting him to figure me out—just enough to get a couple of digits each night, filing them away in my brain.

  Of course, Sloan’s password isn’t something as simple as a name or a date. It’s a long string of letters and numbers that don’t seem to make sense together at all. It’s a strong fucking password, probably because he’s paranoid as hell, but it doesn’t matter. I’m close.

  Tonight, he manages to lose focus for long enough that the laptop screen goes black while he watches a chase scene play out on the screen.

  The hero runs through the woods after the man who killed his girlfriend, the two of them dodging fallen trees and getting whipped in the face by spindly branches as they run.

  “Imagine doing this shit in real life,” Rory says, gesturing to the TV. “Like, you’re all pissed off because here’s the dude you’ve been chasing for months, right in front of you, then you’ve got to run a fucking marathon to catch him. It’s bullshit. I’d probably trip over one of those conveniently placed fallen logs and break my damned leg.”

  “Then you’d have to start the chase all over again,” Levi chimes in, not even watching the movie. “But would you? Or would it teach
you something about forgiveness?”

  Rory snorts. “Yeah, no. It would teach me to hunt him down somewhere with fewer hazards. Or to just shoot him in the head next time instead of monologuing about how my dearly departed lover is watching me from heaven or whatever the fuck.”

  Even Sloan snorts in amusement at that, and I take the opportunity to lean into his space slowly, pretending to stretch.

  He glances down and sees his screen has timed out, and quickly types in the password. My eyes slide to the right at the perfect time, and I’ve got it. The last digit I need. I memorize it and resolve to write it down when I get back to my room, and a sense of triumph fills me.

  I follow the motion of my stretch until my shoulder brushes Sloan’s, and he reacts to my presence. His brow furrows, but he doesn’t pull away, and that familiar heat flares between us almost immediately.

  It’s a strange sort of pull that always crops up, the one we’re constantly fighting against. Our eyes meet, and I know he feels it, too. But that look is gone in a flash, replaced by the usual storm of shadows in his gray eyes.

  He’s been stressed and on edge since the night he got shot, and I know he must have his dad breathing down his neck about relations between the two gangs.

  A moment later, Levi gets up from his spot on the floor and settles on the other end of the couch, offering a distraction from Sloan for the moment. I have what I need anyway, so I lean away from Sloan and into Levi, settling against his side.

  He and Rory don’t act jealous of each other at all now, even though I give attention to both of them, and they both know the other one has hooked up with me. I don’t know if they’ve talked it out or if they’re both just cool with it, but there’s no tension between them at all anymore.

  Sloan, on the other hand, still seems to get jealous, and it’s entirely because he won’t take what he wants. The other two have no problems touching me or kissing my cheek, draping their arms around me when we’re sitting together.

  Hell, the other day Rory patted my ass as Levi and I were heading out so he could take me to school, and Levi just laughed and told Rory it was too early to be horny. Sloan looked like he was about to smash the mug in his hand to pieces.

  So, yeah. He’s holding himself back for whatever reason, and he’s mad that the other two aren’t.

  But in reality, they don’t have a reason to. I’m here and encouraging them, so of course they’re going for it. If I told them to fuck off, they’d probably respect that, too.

  Sloan won’t let himself take any kind of encouragement, and back when he did give in, it was always immediately followed by him getting angry. There’s got to be a reason, of course, and I’m not sure if I believe that it’s just because he has gang stuff to think about.

  Levi and Rory have gang shit to worry about too, and they don’t seem to have an issue giving in to what they want. Rory’s been flirting with me since the moment we met.

  Maybe it’s because Sloan feels guilty. I don’t even know if that’s an emotion he’s capable of feeling, but he did kill my dad, and he knows it. Maybe that’s what’s making him hold back. I wonder if he thinks about it every time he looks at me the way I do when I look at him.

  The thought of it sends a shiver down my spine, and I lean more solidly against Levi, turning my attention back to the TV.

  It doesn’t matter what Sloan thinks or feels.

  All that matters is that I just got one step closer to my goal.

  18

  I lie in bed for a little longer than usual the next day, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. I feel like I might have had bad dreams again in the night, but at least this time I can’t really remember them. There’s just the vague feeling of unease and dread that usually comes after a nightmare, and I can’t get my brain to think about anything else.

  It’s the sort of thing I was always able to talk to my dad about, but of course, that’s not an option anymore. So I do the next best thing and call Scarlett.

  She answers on the third ring, sounding like she’s still in bed herself. “Hey, Mercy. Is everything okay?”

  I smile, grabbing one of my pillows and holding it to my chest. She can always tell when there’s something going on, even before I’ve said anything.

  “I guess,” I reply, biting my lip. “I didn’t sleep great.”

  “Bad dreams?”

  “Probably. I don’t remember them, but I feel like there must have been.”

  “I friggin’ hate that,” she says. “It’s like acid reflux or something. That shitty feeling lingering afterwards.”

  She’s right, and it makes me smile again. “Yeah, exactly. I just needed someone to talk to, I guess. There’s so much going on in my head, and I can’t go to the guys, for obvious reasons.”

  Scarlett hums in agreement, then sighs softly. “Mercy… I’m worried.”

  “About what?”

  “About you,” she says. “Do you think maybe you’re getting in too deep?” I open my mouth to reply, but she rushes on, finishing her thought. “I know you want to get back at the Black Roses. I really do, and I totally understand why. Sloan killing your dad is horrible, and I wouldn’t be able to look past that either. But… if you fuck with their money, that’s big. That’s huge, Mercy. It’s unforgivable. If they find out who gave the Jackals the info, they’ll kill you too.”

  She’s not wrong. A few days ago, I filled Scarlett in on what I learned from snooping through Levi’s phone and the guys’ rooms. She’s been supportive as hell, but even then, I could see the worry in her face. And I can’t blame her. It’s a dangerous game to play, and considering what happened to Dad because he fucked up one of the Black Roses’ business dealings, it could go pretty badly for me if they found out.

  But I can’t stop. I have to follow through on this. It’s the only way I’m ever going to get the closure I need from this whole fucking mess. I’m in too deep now to pull back.

  “It’ll be okay, Scar,” I tell her, hoping I sound convincing.

  She sighs again, and I know she doesn’t believe me, but there’s not much choice in the matter. She probably knows that too.

  “You always say that,” she murmurs. “I just wish it was true sometimes.”

  That sparks a laugh out of me that sounds more bitter than anything else. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “I love you, Mercy. Okay? Be careful.”

  “I love you too, Scar. I will.”

  It’s the way we end most of our conversations these days. Scarlett practically begging me to be careful and me promising I will. I think I’ve been living up to it lately. Sure, there have been risks, but I haven’t been caught yet. My tracks are covered, and none of the guys know anything is going on. It’s the best plan I’ve got, and I can’t give up now.

  There’s a soft click when the call ends, and I lie back on the bed for a second before rolling onto my side and then getting up. I can’t just laze around all day, even though it sounds fucking tempting as hell.

  I get dressed and open my door, my stomach growling. Maybe I’ll make an omelet or something for a late breakfast and hope that makes me feel better.

  Before I can get to the stairs, I run into Rory. He’s dressed down and comfortable looking, and he does that thing where he gives me a slow once over when he sees me. I’m just wearing yoga pants and a t-shirt, but appreciation still lights up his eyes.

  “Hey, Hurricane. Can you help me with something?” he asks, turning on the big, pleading eyes.

  In spite of myself, I laugh. “I think you’re beyond help, Rory. I’m sorry to be the one to break that to you.”

  He rolls his eyes but still looks amused. “No, I need help with an actual, practical problem. Only your expertise will do.”

  “Okay, sure,” I agree, and he grins, leading me to his bedroom.

  This is only the third time I’ve ever actually been in his room, and I have a vivid memory of the first time, when I burst in on him while he was only wearing a towel. That seems like such a
long time ago.

  I snuck in once while all the guys were gone to rummage around and look for shit. This time, I’ve been invited in, and that makes all the difference. It’s a nice room, and it reflects his personality. Homey touches everywhere, but mostly neat. He acts like a chaotic mess sometimes, but really he’s organized and dependable under all of that.

  “So what’s going on?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from his bed, which is mostly made.

  “It’s Piper’s birthday soon,” he explains. “And I need to pick out a gift for her. Can you help me?” He turns on the puppy dog eyes again, and I hate how charming it is.

  My brows furrow. “Why are you asking me? She’s your daughter.”

  “I know.” He makes a face. “It’s just this feels like the first birthday where she’s really fully aware of things, you know? The first few were just for me and Jen, really. We got her presents and everything, but who knows if it was stuff she actually wanted. Now she has opinions.”

  He says it like the weight of his daughter’s opinions are a very serious thing, and I guess they probably are. For all that Rory is confident and outgoing, he also cares a surprising amount about what people think. Especially people who are close to him. So it makes sense that he doesn’t want to mess this up.

  It would be easier to tell him I have no idea how to help him and leave him to it, but instead, I step over to his desk where he has his laptop open and multiple online shopping pages pulled up.

  The choices are all over the place, ranging from a little table that comes with a massive collection of crayons, markers, and chalky watercolors, to a princess castle that looks big enough for a small child to actually live in.

  “Did you run this one by Jen?” I ask him, pointing at the castle. “Because that seems like a big thing to set up in her backyard.”

  “I know,” Rory agrees. “That one’s more just a concept, I guess. I just need a woman’s opinion.”