by Jo Raven
Smirking, I glance to the side and catch a guy watching me. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t put my finger on it. He’s dark-haired, lanky, leaning back on his stool in a lazy sprawl.
I avert my gaze, a shiver running down my spine.
The bartender asks for my ticket, then places my cocktail in front of me. I take a sip and swirl the ice cubes in the glass, the faint clinking sound soothing despite the heavy bass vibrating through the club.
It’s hypnotic. My body is shaking with it, trying to move to the rhythm. A kaleidoscope of colors swirls over the bar, creating mini explosions on the bottles lined up on the shelves.
“Hey.” The bartender appears again, sliding a shot glass in front of me. “From the guy over there.”
I turn to look and swallow hard. The same dark-haired man from before nods at me and lifts his own shot glass.
It’s whiskey, and it burns going down. A buzz starts in my head. I lick my lips, savoring the smoky flavor.
He’s not bad looking, I decide, giving the guy another quick look. Not sure I’d want to start anything with him, but he’s not all that hard on the eyes.
So when he gets up and comes over to me, I smile.
“Wanna dance?” he shouts over the music, and I shrug. I still have my cocktail, but what the hell, right? I’m here to have fun.
This is what fun looks like.
Taking a long gulp of my drink, I put it down and get up, letting him drag me to the dance floor.
We move among the hot, sweaty bodies, the music pounding through me, and I grin, letting my body sway to the beat. A couple of cute guys glance at me, and I wink.
Let’s party, baby.
But, belatedly, I realize the guy is still going, parting the crowd and emerging on the other side, at the dark far end of the club where booths and lone tables are taken up by kissing couples.
Um. “What are you doing?” He doesn’t reply, and I doubt I’d hear him over the music even if he did. In fact, I doubt he heard me, so I try again. “Stop.” I tug on his hold, trying to free my hand. “I said, stop.”
Still no reply. He’s moving fast, and I stumble after him. When he drags me toward an empty booth, I start to panic.
I dig in my heels and pull harder on his hand. “Let me go, let go right now!”
He yanks on my hand and slams me into the wall, suddenly looming over me. He’s really tall, and his eyes are hard, shiny and empty.
“Don’t I know you?” he asks, and maybe he does, who knows from where, but that’s not what’s on my mind right now.
“I said, let go,” I hiss, shoving at his chest with my free hand, the other one held between us in his bruising grip. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you? Leave me alone!”
He’s still looking at me, with that empty expression, though his dark brows have drawn together in a frown, as if he’s trying to puzzle this out. Where he knows me from—or why I’m resisting him?
Sicko.
And he hasn’t moved a muscle yet. He’s pressed too close to me, barely two inches separating our faces. His breath stinks of alcohol, and his body of chemicals and sweat. On a guy I like, I wouldn’t mind the smell of sweat. But on this one, it makes me want to throw up.
Fear keeps me still, so still. The rushing of blood in my ears and the beating of my heart are the only sounds I can hear, louder than the pounding music.
Is this how mice feel, I think, when a snake is about to strike? This cold panic that holds you like a spider’s web, like a fisherman’s net, so you can’t do anything but stare back?
“Man, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” a male voice says very close to my ear, and I jerk, my breathing uneven. “Let her go. Come on.”
The guy blinks. “Go away, Fen.”
“Nah, no can do. See, girl’s got her boyfriend searching the club for her. I thought to warn you. Can’t let you get beaten to a pulp now, can I?”
What is he talking about? A boyfriend? The only boyfriend I ever had was Quinn, back in Destiny, when I was seventeen, and we only ever kissed.
Tearing my gaze with difficulty from the asshole who’s still holding me, I glance sideways at the new guy, and in the flashing lights, I catch a glimpse of a handsome face and spiky hair.
“He won’t let me go,” I whisper, and my stomach churns.
Who is he? Is he my rescuer, or more trouble?
I’m dizzy.
I’m terrified.
The man’s empty eyes slide from me to this Fen guy. “I said, go the fuck away.”
“Come on, man. You don’t want trouble, not tonight. Plenty of chicks around. Take your pick.”
“Damn you. Spoiling my fun.” The hold on my wrist slackens. “Pass her back to her boyfriend, or whatever the fuck. I’m going to get another drink.”
“Yeah. You know I’ll always have your back,” Fen says, and grabs my other wrist. “Come on, sweet cheeks. Let’s get you back where you belong.”
Where do I belong? Everything’s fuzzy. My knees buckle.
“Whoa.” He grabs my elbow with his other hand. “Easy there.”
“Can’t breathe,” I mumble.
Memories crowd the back of my mind, trying to break free, memories I keep under lock and key. Hands shoving me into a corner, pawing at me, tearing at my clothes.
Nothing happened, I remind myself. Nothing that matters happened. I got away.
But here’s the catch: in my mind, in my dreams, I didn’t.
“You had a shock,” the guy, Fen, says. “Let’s get you some fresh air. You didn’t take anything, right?” He pulls me away from the wall, in an indeterminate direction. “E? Any other drug? Didn’t let anyone spike your drink?”
I shake my head, then stop when the nausea worsens.
“Good,” he grinds out, and hauls me along faster. “Come on.”
I should stop him. Yank my hand away. This is going exactly the same way as before, when he rescued me. He’s going to take me out—where, into an alley?
God.
“Stop, just… stop.” I manage to slow him down and pull my hand back. “Ow. Let go.” I’ll have such bruises there come tomorrow. Don’t boys really know their strength, or are they doing it on purpose? “I’m not looking for a hook-up, okay?”
And I mean it. My heart is hammering behind my ribs, and darkness is seeping into the edges of my vision. The sounds of ragged breathing fill my ears, the stench of old, sour sweat and the sweetness of weed…
“Wait a minute.” To my surprise, he lets go, turning to face me, lifting a brow. “You think I want you?”
“I…” I stammer, fear an icy current running through my veins.
He laughs, shakes his head. “You look like you’re gonna puke. I was helping you to the door, that’s all.”
Now why do I want to punch him in his handsome face? All of a sudden, I feel embarrassed and offended. Why is he so amused that I might think he wants me? Plenty of boys want me, thank you very much. What’s so frigging special about him?
Taking a better look at him, I’m struck with another case of déjà vu. What’s up with that tonight, huh? I mean, it’s hard to really make out his face in the flashing lights and half-darkness. Am I seeing things?
“There’s the door.” He gestures. “Feel free to go and puke on your own.”
What a douche. Lifting my chin, I start toward the outline of the door, the Exit sign on it glowing faintly. But my legs feel strangely heavy, and the pounding in my head is growing louder. The world tilts sharply, and I’m falling.
“Fuck.” His hand comes under my elbow, steadying me, pulling me up. “Sure you didn’t take anything? No shame in confessing, you know.”
“To you?” I snap, angry at having to accept his help after all, and at how good he smells, pressed so close to me—unlike the other douchebag from before.
“Well, sure, if you like,” he replies easily, “you can confess to me.”
“Shut up. Just… shut up.” All I want is to shove hi
s arrogant ass away—only he’s already opening the door with his free hand, and we’re stepping out into the muggy air of the back alley.
The beat of the music falls away as the door swings closed behind us. His hand is still clamped on my elbow, and I’m grateful for that as we go down two steps I hadn’t noticed.
Finally on level ground, I take a deep breath stinking of trash and urine and probably vomit, when I notice two figures a few feet away.
I don’t know the girl she’s talking to, but I’d know the one with her back to me in a dark room full of people.
Sydney, her red curls cascading on her shoulders, her skirt barely covering her ass. I helped her into that skirt earlier tonight.
My head is spinning despite the fresh air and the quiet.
What is she doing here? I expected to see her with her friends, but instead she’s talking to an unfamiliar girl with pixie features and pigtails, a girl in a long overcoat, in spite of the heat coming off the asphalt. She has that coat open, showing something to Sydney.
The guy still holding my elbow—I’d forgotten about him for a second—hisses a curse under his breath, and yanks me backward.
What’s going on here? All those little bags hanging from the inside of the pixie girl’s coat… Oh God. Are those drugs?
I open my mouth to call for Syd, and his other hand presses over my mouth, stopping me.
“Come on,” Fen whispers in my ear, lifting his hand, and his scent hits me again, spicy and mouthwatering. “We’re going back inside.” He hauls me up the two steps and back into the club before I can formulate any objection. “Now.”
“Wait. What are you doing?”
“Saving your ass.” He’s still hauling me deeper into the club, his grip like a vise. “You don’t wanna be a witness to a drug deal, trust me. Stay the fuck away from that girl.”
“I can’t.”
“Steer clear of any of—” He stops so suddenly I almost fall and faces me. “What? Why can’t you?”
I swallow hard. “She’s my bestie.”
We’ve stopped near the long expanse of the bar. The guy’s looking at me, and I stare at his face. God, he’s so hot. His mouth is pursed in annoyance, his eyes narrowed, and he’s gorgeous.
That expression… it reminds me of someone I used to know, and that feeling of recognition hits me again.
“She’s bad news,” he says, and jabs a finger in the direction we came from. “You’d stay away from her if you had any fucking sense.”
Or maybe I’m mistaking annoyance for recognition? “Yeah? And what about your buddy? Talk about bad news.”
His mouth tightens more. “Stay away from that asshole, too.”
Someone is calling my name, and turning, I see Sydney. She’s waving at me, all bright smiles. Jeez. “All I’m saying is, you keep really bad company, so you’re one to talk.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t know shit. Seb is my goddamn brother.”
Chapter Two
Jarett
I know her. I know exactly who she is, and I’m about to say her name—when her junkie friend appears and starts dragging her away from me.
Starting after them, I get distracted by memories pelting me. Small things, like her taking my hand as we walk down the street, of talking about her family, about school, about everything. She talked, and I listened, and it felt like home for a while.
Until she moved away, vanished from my life, and I tried to erase every memory I had of her.
Yeah, I know her name. Augusta something. Wellston? Walton? I’m pretty sure it’s her. But she doesn’t call herself that.
Gigi. That’s what she calls herself. I remember now.
Gigi.
She’s gone in the dancing crowd, and I’m still following her. I force myself to stop before I make such a big mistake. Things have changed. I keep forgetting that. I’m not the boy who used to walk with her down the street.
I’ve fucking changed, falling into the spin of the world around me, carried away on the current, out of control.
What would Connor think of me if he saw me these days, I wonder. He’d have lectured me about right and wrong, about ethics, and then made me do a hundred push-ups and skip dinner as punishment. That was his parenting method. His philosophy of education.
But Connor’s dead. Everyone who’s ever given a damn about me is dead or dying.
So what the hell does it matter?
Maybe this is who I really am. Bad to the core. Everything I’ve done follows me. You can’t outrun your own shadow, right?
Two shapes detach themselves from the bar and approach me. My back stiffens as Mav and Angel come to stand on either side of me.
“Chasing skirts tonight?” Mav drawls, tapping an unlit cigarette on his Marlboro pack. “Who’s the chick?”
Fuck. “Nobody.”
“Well, little Ms. Nobody has a nice rack,” Angel says, and I don’t have to look at his face to know he’s leering like a sick old fuck. “Where’s your brother?”
“I’ll look for him.”
“You do that,” Mav says, “and then we hit the next club. This one was a bust. Oh and…” He slams a hand on my shoulder, gripping tight, “…you wanna get your dick wet, dude, go ahead, but not on a work night, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” I grind out between my teeth. “Get your paw off me.”
He tsks. “Attitude. Need to work on that, Jarett.”
My whole body is tense, strung like a wire. At least their focus is off her now. “Should I get hold of my brother and go, or stay and chat?”
“Maybe you want my fist in your face?” Mav’s grip tightens, until my teeth are gritting from the pain. “Huh?”
“Oh man…” Angel tugs on his beard and rolls his eyes. “Let him go, Mav. We should get out of here and hit the next joint, see if we can get rid of the merch tonight.”
Mav still doesn’t let go, and adrenaline spikes in my blood, turning my vision red. “Go on, Jarett. Find your good-for-nothing brother and come find us at the exit. Just don’t get lost running after any more skirts, we clear?”
“Got it,” I force out, my hands clenching at my sides. “Now hands. Off.”
Mav chuckles and lets go, amused because he’s top dog, and I’m dirt under his shoes. I’m used to that. Been that way all my life. What they don’t know is that I’m not dirt, I’m a thorn that will cut through them, and I won’t be put down.
Not as long as I have a goal.
Such as getting my brother out of this fucking mess and through the night in one piece. Living one day at a time. Following through with my promise to myself that I won’t lose anyone.
Not again.
Seb grumbles and fights me when I haul him away from a new chick he’s found and is slobbering all over, but I’m having none of that fucking shit.
“Stop thinking with your damn dick for a minute and move.” I yank him through the club, anger churning in my gut. “We need to go.”
“What’s the damn hurry? I was just about to—”
“—get your rocks off? I don’t give a shit, dude. We’re blowing this joint right the hell now. Mav’s orders.”
“Well, fuck.” He stops fighting me at last and follows me to the front exit—not that I loosen my grip on his forearm. “Job fell through?”
“Yeah.”
“Who fucked it up this time? Was it Mav and Angel, or—?”
“Shut your trap, Seb, anyone can hear you. Jesus Christ.”
“You’re not my nanny, man.”
Really? My fist itches to fly into his smug mouth that spews all that stupid-ass stuff every day, with no real repercussions.
Know why?
Cuz I’m the whipping boy. If the gang are pissed with him, they turn to me. I’m the responsible brother, even if I’m younger. I’m the sensible, unemotional, handy muscle, a watch-out for the gang’s dealings and for keeping my brother in line.
I’m my brother’s—and my mother’s—keeper.
&nb
sp; And I’m lucky to have that, to have them. I just have to remember it in times like this when my patience runs thin and I’m in danger of decking Seb and leaving.
Leaving has always been my default state. It’s an urge I struggle with every morning. I could just walk out, walk away and not look back.
So damn tempting.
“There you are.” Angel throws Seb a hard look. “Let’s go.”
We step out of the club and hurry toward Angel’s car, an old silver Jaguar. Maverick lights up and sucks hungrily on his cigarette as Angel unlocks the car with a beep, and we climb inside, not speaking a word.
It’s midnight, according to the glowing numbers on my phone, and weariness is a weight around my neck. Weariness and tension, never releasing its claws, always coiling my muscles tighter until my head pounds and my vision blurs.
This fucking shit I’m forced to do, day in and day out, every goddamn night of the week. Of my life.
It’ll never end, will it? I’ve always known, and yet I kept hoping, until I realized there is no fucking way out.
No way out alive.
Chapter Three
Gigi
When I started school here, in this town almost three years ago, it was horrible, as things often were those days. Leaving all my friends back in Destiny still stung. Plus, back there I knew the bullies. There was Ross and his buddies, and I knew how to avoid them.
Not that he picked so much on me as on my sister, but still. I know about bullies. I know them well. Calling you names, tripping you in hallways, stalking you on social media and posting insults, tearing your locker open and filling it with used condoms, ripping your backpack to shreds, cornering you and lifting your skirt, just short of raping you right in front of everyone.
But here they weren’t any better.
Sydney, my bestie, suffered from them as much as I did, or so she says. But she had three boys protecting her, and she said I should do the same.
Easier said than done.
The first time I talked to Jarett, I’d just been following him from a distance all the way from the school bus stop. I’d started doing that at the beginning of the school year. The strategy was simple: choose a tall, muscular, mean-looking boy walking in the direction of my house and stick close to him. Pretend you know him, that you’re walking home together.