What I want, more than anything, is to just float on nothing and enjoy the bliss of it.
“But I don’t understand why,” I say, and my voice is petulant. The Boy shifts on his side of me, and I feel the feral smile from the boys at his back.
I asked him, when he first let me meet them, where they came from. He had smiled, a terrifying smile, and shrugged. I stole them.
But for all that he is an admitted thief and a child to his core, with a refusal to face reality—he is captivating. Which is why I’m here, perched on the edge of a cliff, staring down at the lagoon.
It’s a favorite spot for the Boy and his pack. When they swim here, mock water battles that will never be enacted, their voices turn violently loud, echoing across the stretches of the small island like a demented pack of wolves.
I sit on my rock most days and watch, my head pounding and my heart in my throat as the Boy fights them down until they collapse and surrender to him, until he is laughing, giddy with triumph, water running off him as he swims to me and throws himself down, replete with victory.
I like him, when he is like that, content and indolent at my side.
That Boy is nowhere in evidence, now. Now, he’s vibrating with excited tension, leaning so far out over the rocks, I’m terrified, for a moment, that he will fall.
The lagoon seems very small from this height.
“You’ve seen me jump, Gwendy,” he teases, and the boys chorus him. “It’s perfectly harmless.”
I stare at him, disbelieving.
I have seen him jump. And I’ve seen the water churn red, when one of the boys didn’t judge properly, when he plunged into the water and slammed into the rocks.
We don’t talk about that boy. It happened weeks and weeks ago, when the Boy first brought me here. Before I put names to the faces that cluster around the fire at night and flash, teeth gleaming, in the woods.
Vaguely, I wonder if anyone knew his name. If he had a mother who will miss him.
How did any of these boys come to be here?
I stole them.
The words seem more like a warning, and they cause me to shiver, convulsively. He’s watching me, slanted eyes smiling and knowing. It bothers me.
“Just once, Gwendy. Show me you can fly.” There is a taunt in his tone, and one of them laughs, disbelieving.
They don’t think I can. Because I am fragile, the Boy’s favorite playmate, a shiny find that he has yet to tire of. But not one of them. Not a boy lost to the wild, accepted to the pack.
I am a girl, and there has never been one before, and they do not trust me.
I push forward, and I hear the wind in the trees, the gasps of astonishment, and his laughter, ringing like a clear bell. I see the world tumble end over end, and the force of the air, pushing against me, begging me to stay, and I scream.
Not a scream of terror. I would never give that to the pack. But a scream of defiant triumph, and for a frozen eternity, suspended between air and water and rock, I soar.
And when the water closes over my head, ending my scream, cutting short my freedom, I float.
A door clangs, and I jerk in the stationary, the water sloshing against the sides.
James.
Even from here, I can see sadness and desperation playing across his features and smell the stale beer on his breath. The stench wrinkles my nose, and I look away.
I am in no mood for bad boy pirates. Not tonight.
“Please,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Gwendolyn, just talk to me. She refuses to even see me. How can I make her see reason if she won’t even see me?”
“She doesn’t want to see reason,” I say simply. “You hurt her. You screwed up. This is the consequence.”
Pain flares in his eyes, and he shakes his head, hard. “No. There has to be something I can do. Anything.” Another hard shake of his head. “This can’t be all there is. She can’t walk away from me because of one mistake.”
I jerk from the boat, furious suddenly. At James for hurting Orchid, at Peter for making me care, at my brother and my dead parents and the Boy who won’t leave me the fuck alone, and the whole world, because I’m not being rational. I’m done being rational. I’m hurt and I’m angry.
And James, in his rumpled shirt and dirty jeans, his midnight black hair mussed from raking his fingers through it, his strange blue eyes too sharp and demanding and so fucking broken—
“How dare you?” I spit. James blinks, and I step out of the stationary. “You did this. You broke her heart. She can do whatever the hell she wants. Why do you idiots think it’s okay to hurt us, and we’ll pop along like it doesn’t matter? Why is that okay to you?”
James takes a cautious step toward me, his eyes worried. “Gwendolyn?”
He reaches out, touches me gently on the arm. I jerk away from him and stumble. His arms come around me, catching me and holding me steady as the world sways.
His touch is carefully casual, with none of the sexual heat he’s shown in the past. And that calms me. “Steady, sweetie,” he murmurs, and when I nod sharply, he lets me go and steps back. Giving me space to breath and sort through the sudden change in him.
“What happened?” he asks, peering at me. I stare at him, taking in the dirty clothes and the unwashed hair, the bags under his eyes.
James looks awful.
“Are you ok?” I ask.
He makes a sharp motion with one hand, dismissing my concern. “Of course not. The woman I love won’t speak to me. But this is about you. Talk to me, Gwendolyn. What happened?”
I don’t know why—if it’s because he’s showing interest, or because I really think he cares about Orchid—or maybe the simplicity of my loneliness, but I do. I tell him about Peter and the bliss that being with him has given me, and the picnic. I don’t tell him about the orgasm or the panic in him after it.
“I don’t understand what the issue is,” he says, slowly.
“When we went to his room, after. There was a girl there. A girl he knows. One he hasn’t told me about.”
James winces. “Not what you want to find.”
“Definitely not sprawled on his bed, no,” I say. He whistles. Pulls out a flask and takes a long sip.
“What are you going to do?”
I can smell the rum on his breath, and the reek of desperation. I close my eyes and take the flask from him.
It burns, all the way down, and when I look at him, a fire is burning in my belly, fueling my anger.
“I’m gonna take him back from that bitch.”
James’ eyebrow go up, and he laughs.
Chapter 17
I twitch in my seat, waiting for Peter. He hasn’t called in the past two days, and despite my own instincts, I haven’t called him. I’ve let him have this time with Belle. Because she must be important.
But I refuse to be replaced by a half-grown little girl with some absurd idea that he belongs to her.
Peter is mine. And fuck her for thinking otherwise.
The door swings open, and I straighten, watching as a few AGZ brothers spill into the room. Tank is one, and his eyes dart toward me and then jerk away.
My heart drops. He’s not here. And from the way Tank is acting, he’s not coming. None of the boys would tempt Peter’s temper by watching me in front of him—it’s almost disturbing the way they ignore me so completely.
I gather my books and stalk down to where they’re sitting, too loud and rowdy for this quiet class. Tank sighs, facing me. “We can’t talk to you, Gwen.”
“Where the hell is he?” I demand.
“Not coming.”
“Is she here?”
His eyes dart away, nervous, and my stomach twists. “How long is she going to be here, Tank?”
“Gwen, I can’t,” he says, his voice sharp and desperate. “You have no idea how mad he’ll be.”
“I don’t care,” I hiss, leaning into him. He jerks back, and I’m aware of the other boys watching us with wide eyes. “You know what’ll piss h
im off more? If I tell him you won’t leave me alone. I’ll do it, Tank. Answer the fucking question.”
His eyes are wide and disbelieving. “You’re insane,” he mutters, almost awed.
“Certi-fucking-fiably,” I snap.
“She’s here for good. She moved into the AGZ house yesterday.”
“It’s a frat house,” I say, not sure I’m hearing this right.
The other boys laugh, like they can’t quite believe I’m using that argument. I shoot a look at them, but none are talking.
None of them are brave enough to cross Peter like that.
“Dude. AGZ is Peter’s. No one is going to tell him no.”
Why. Why? It doesn’t make any sense. I stare at him, unseeing, until he makes a low, distressed noise. It jerks me back to my self, and I flush.
I leave as the professor is entering, and I don’t bother giving him an explanation.
“Why are you here?”
I give Orchid a pointed look. “Because I’m pissed and I’m going to go yell at Peter. Why are you?”
She flushes. “James has Bio with me.”
“So you’re gonna take an incomplete because of the pirate?” I ask, snorting.
She tilts her head. “Pirate?”
I wave a dismissive hand. “He’s such a charming rake. And unapologetic about it. And he’s drunk all the time. How is that not a pirate?”
She laughs, a startled noise, and I flash her a grin as I strip out of my sweater. I tug on a tight top and shrug back into my leather coat, fluffing my hair.
I’m not Belle, but I know Peter wants me. That has to count for something.
I hesitate. “Orchid?”
She glances at me. “Yeah?”
“You need to talk to James. He’s sorry—he misses you. And you miss him. Don’t throw away something good because you’re hurt.”
She shakes her head. “It’s more than hurt, Gwen. You know that.”
“I do. But—” I flounder, not sure what to say. I’m not sure how to tell her he loves her. I’m not convinced she would believe it. I didn’t, until I saw the despair in his eyes. “Just. Talk to him.”
Orchid hesitates, the first time I’ve seen her hesitate—even in her anger and depression, she’s been unquestioning that it was right. But she nods, slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
I give her a tiny smile and pull the door shut behind me.
There is something eerie about approaching AGZ house. It’s quiet, and the frat brothers are never quiet. There is a tension that screams at me, and I almost—almost—turn away. A curtain shifts upstairs, and I can picture Belle, with her icy blonde hair and her triumphant smirk, sprawled on Peter’s bed.
That propels me up the front steps.
I don’t knock. I’m too angry to consider that it’s bad form to barge into someone else’s home unannounced.
Belle is sitting on the staircase, her legs stretched in front of her. Her gaze is frank and a little amused. “You took longer than I expected, Gwen.”
“I’m not here to see you,” I grit out.
“I know. But Thief went to run an errand for me, so you’ll either have to leave, or you’ll have to deal with my company. And we both know your just dying of curiosity. Aren’t you?”
“How the hell would you know that?” I snap, finally letting my gaze rest on her. “Where are the others?”
“Class. Out—I wanted us to be alone.”
I laugh. “And they listen to you?” I don’t believe her. The AGZ brothers are odd, but they are loyal to Peter. I don’t think they realize anyone else exists.
“Of course,” Belle says, her smile wide. “The boys adore me—and Peter won’t tolerate them ignoring me. You have to know by now he takes obedience very seriously.”
“I don’t have time for this,” I mutter, looking away. Hating that she is allowed that voice, when I’m barely acknowledged. “Tell Peter I came by,” I say abruptly.
“Why?” she asks, her voice laughing. “Why on earth would I help you?”
“Because he wants to be with me. That’s his choice—“
“Yes, and it’s a bloody stupid one. Do you think just because he’s my friend, I’ll respect and allow him to make stupid decisions? He would destroy himself for you. For your happiness. Who the hell do you think you are?”
I can’t breathe. I can’t process what she’s saying.
She moves, so suddenly I’m not sure how it’s possible, but she’s in front of me suddenly, too close, dangerously close, and her eyes are furious bits of sapphire. “Thief is mine,” she snarls. “And I won’t give him to you just because he’s obsessed. Go away, Gwen. Go away and leave us alone.”
I shudder. There is something about her voice that calls to memories, and I want to puzzle through it. I open my mouth to demand answers.
And then she punches me.
Chapter 18
There’s a few seconds—long enough for my heartbeat to stutter—and then pain explodes through my face, so blinding my eyes water. I scream, and Belle makes a tsking noise. She wavers before my eyes, shifting on her feet. Or maybe that’s my vision, swimming through the pain.
“What the fuck?” I shout through the pain, and she laughs.
The little bitch actually laughs.
“I don’t like you, Gwendolyn Barrie. And I want you to vanish, so Thief can move on with his life.”
She slaps me, hard, and I shriek as she throws her weight into me, pushing me against the wall. Her arm is braced against my neck, and she’s pushed up on her tiptoes, strained to the tip of her height as she chokes me. “Leave us alone,” she hisses.
“Peter,” I gasp, “Came to. Me.”
Rage washes over her face, and I lash out, catching a handful of short hair and yanking her back. The tiny girl squeals in surprise and then yelps when I slam her head into the wall. She smiles at me through a mess of blood and throws herself at me.
I’m cursing and clawing at her when two arms wrap around me, yanking me away from Belle. Screaming, she punches the AGZ brother who wrestled her away from me. She catches sight of me where I’m being held still, and she screeches, jerking so suddenly, she almost breaks free. The brother curses and yanks her back, lifting her off her feet and spinning to pin her to a wall.
“Calm the fuck down,” Tank shouts. “What the hell are you doing here, Gwen? Did Agreus call you?
“I don’t come because he snaps his fingers, Tank,” I snarl.
He sighs, releasing me. His eyes narrow when I turn to face him, and I wonder how bad I look. For the first time, it occurs to me that I’m going to have a helluva a time explaining this fight to Micah.
“Tiny, he is going to kick your ass,” Tank mutters.
“Get that whore out of my house.”
He growls and jerks her around to face him. “He’s ordered her untouchable. You broke his word, Belle. How do you think he’s going to react to that?”
She sniffs, haughtily. “Thief’s orders are for you and the boys. They don’t apply to me.”
His lips thin. “This one applies to everyone.”
Belle’s eyes widen, and then she shrugs. Twists away from the boys who are still gripping her by the arm, and starts up the stairs. Her expression has settled into disgusted resignation. “What the hell does he think he can do to me?”
There is something very final and bleak about her question, and she gives me one last glare before she turns, stalking up the staircase. My adrenaline is fading, and my face feels incredibly fuzzy and distant.
And hurts like hell.
Tank looks at me and curses softly. “Peter is gonna kick my ass.”
“She needs to go,” one of the brothers says, his voice tight.
“No shit, Jaks. I can’t send her out like that, though. She looks like death. Go get one of his shirts. She can change and clean up.”
“He’ll be—“
“Furious if we let her wander the damn campus looking like this,” Tank snarls. “So do what
you’re fucking told and she’ll be gone sooner.”
He doesn’t wait to see if they obey. Instead he jerks me by the arm and points. “Kitchen.”
It’s very odd, being the center of conversation and attention, when the people discussing you seem determined to pretend you don’t exist. But Tank is trying to be helpful, so I follow him into the kitchen, where he wets a rag and grabs a bag of frozen peas from the fridge. “Clean up. Then this on your face—it’ll keep the swelling down. What the hell did you say to her?”
“Nothing. She told me to leave him alone, and then she attacked me.” I pause and glare. “She needs a fucking warning label. The girl isn’t quite sane.”
And I would know.
Tank sighs. A shirt comes sailing into the room, and he grabs it and holds it out to me. “Put this on.”
“I want some answers,” I say petulantly.
He nods. “And you’ll need to talk to Peter for that. I’m not saying a thing.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Because he won’t let me.”
“That is so fucked up,” I spit.
Tank smirks. “You want an escort? It’s getting dark.”
“No,” I say, exhausted suddenly. “I think I’ve had enough of Peter’s brand of crazy for the night.”
He nods and walks me to the door. There is no further discussion, no talk at all. He just waits while I open the door and step out.
And then he lets it swing shut with a loud slam.
Chapter 19
Orchid isn’t in our room, which means I can sneak in without questions. With the anger and adrenaline wearing off, I’m left in pain. Blinding, consuming pain.
There were fights, in Pembrooke, and Brecken Ridge before that. Not often—they catered to the elite crazy, and fighting was uncouth in a way that was unacceptable.
Seeing people and islands that don’t exist was one thing. Punching your roommate was quite another.
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