“I know, right? Only I don’t agree with the first half of your theory. Nothing ever goes my way. I always feel like I’m sinking in a pile of shit.”
“Right.” She balks at the idea. “Anyway, if you’re not into weeding them out with your vagina, then who’s the better kisser? I’m pretty sure the answer lies somewhere in those kisses.”
I consider this a moment. Brielle might be onto something for once.
“Well, Marshall is amazing.” I bite down on my lower lip as an unholy fire consumes me from the inside. God, those visions, hell, that real life show and tell…
“You’re on a first name basis with Mr. Dudley?” She marvels at this as a car drives up the opposite side of the road and bleaches out her face with its headlights. “That’s pretty wild.”
I don’t dare tell her that before you sleep with someone you should probably be on a first name basis with them. Brielle slept with “Mr. Dudley” at least once or twice when he first arrived on Paragon, and was propagating his manwhore ways.
“Yes, Marshall is a great kisser. It’s sort of like he’s recharging my batteries at the same time. There’s definitely something magical about the way he does it. I think if I did end up with Marshall we’d be locked at the lips for like a year straight.” Or the hips.
“Knowing Dudley, you’ll be locked in much more interesting places. So now that we know Dudley is in a league of his own, which Oliver boy turns a mean tongue?”
“Must you be so graphic?” I riffle through an entire litany of kisses that I’ve shared with both Logan and Gage—scenes crop up from school, their bedrooms, the butterfly room, the bowling alley, those heady beach kisses. “In all fairness, I’ve kissed Gage at least twice as much as Logan if not more. Things were pretty intense between Gage and me last year because he was my boyfriend. But the war ended, and now Logan wants Gage the hell away from me.”
“What war?” She blinks into the road, and I shake my head into the blackened glass. “Oh, that Count crap? My mom wishes I would get serious about all that shit, but I think it’s ridiculous. She told me the Counts have formed an alliance. I think she called it the Steel Barricade. You know, it’s a part of that stuff your sisters are involved in.”
“Why the Steel Barricade?”
“Because you will never take them down, Skyla.” She offers me a pitiful look that spells out I’m sorry.
“Got it. It’s funny because that’s exactly what Logan and I set out to do—take down the Counts. And here we fought an entire war, and we’re still at square one.”
She shakes her head. “They’re stronger. Whatever you did to the Kraggers has everyone steaming. But they’re pretty confident they won the war. And if they didn’t, they’ll be coming after you hard.”
“What the hell did I ever do to the Kraggers? And, by the way, the verdict on the war isn’t in.” I writhe in my seat. “Why the hell my mother didn’t let me take the sword and secure a win for Celestra is beyond me. See? Nothing goes my way.”
“Pierce apparently told the Council some bullshit at a secret meeting. They’re watching you, Skyla. Every Count is to report for duty because this shit just got real. You better watch your back,” she says it quiet, as if she were simply relaying the threat, but I can tell deep down inside she feels an obligation to be a part of it.
“Every Count?”
She gives a solemn nod.
Logan is a Count. He swore his allegiance. Chloe’s a Count, too. Could that be what all the secret whispers in the hall have been about?
I wonder.
***
Chloe’s house is all decked out for the upcoming spooktacular otherwise known as Halloween. The entire front of the oversized bungalow is encased in miles of polyester cobwebs. Orange blinking lights line the periphery as if it Christmas itself were about to descend upon us.
Cars are littered up and down the street, and a knot tightens in my stomach from the visual. This is supposed to be Ellis’s street that cars are jaggedly parked on, his raucous music blaring from his oversized house. Now we’re all stuck at Chloe’s haunted hovel, all because I couldn’t keep my weapon by my side. I’m so pissed I could kick my own ass.
Music bumps and grinds into the solitude of night. I think Chloe’s little get together has morphed into an island-wide event.
We walk up and admire the overgrown fuzzy tarantulas spread over the yard. A giant pumpkin, far fatter than it is tall, sits prominently on the porch.
“Gee, you think we’ll get to bob for apples?” I quip as Bree gives a strong knock to the door.
“More like Adam’s apples.” She gives a playful wink. “And I believe that would be you. I’m only interested in one boy—and as it turns out, he can’t stand the sight of me.”
“That’s not true.” I so hate Drake right now for making Brielle feel like crap.
Em lets us in and offers her signature scowl to the two of us before grunting out a hello.
A thicket of bodies rush to and fro as the scent of something sweet lights up the house. I spot Chloe placing a row of fresh baked brownies onto a platter and wonder what special ingredient she’s added to enhance our evening entertainment. I wouldn’t put it past Chloe to gift us all the runs and then lock down the bathrooms. She’s original that way.
“Look who’s here?” She smears it with enough sarcasm to let everyone in on the fact I’m her least favorite guest. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t feel the need to protect Giselle. I’m so over senior pranks—senior year already. Come to think of it, every day at West feels like a prank.
“Emerson and I were just talking about old times.” Chloe shoots me a look that sends my heart thumping in a panic. Shit. I believe the sum total of what “Emerson” remembers is still set to zero. “We were talking about those delicious Skyla-free days.” She gazes off a moment staring into the flocked navy wallpaper as if reliving the time that predated the disastrous day that destiny crossed our paths. “Anyhoo.” She picks up the plate and leads us into the living room where the rest of the squad sits huddled by the fire.
“Now—” Chloe pulls a miniature remote from her pocket and turns down the music a couple of notches. The crowd protests with a series of groans and boos, but Chloe ignores their pleas and refuses to return it to gunshot-level decibels. “We need to discuss the bonding exercise.”
“The what?” Brielle asks before popping a brownie into her mouth and moaning with delight. “Mmm, so good.”
I shoot her a look. Brielle should totally know better. If she vomits blood before midnight, she’ll know exactly who to blame—herself.
Chloe smirks over at Bree. “It’s the shared activity we’re going to engage in to bind our sisterhood as West’s most successful cheer team. We swept All States, even with Skyla.” She shoots me a look. The fire crackles and claws at her skin with its citrine reflection. Something about the way she’s been verbally knifing me lately is starting to get under my skin. I’m so damn sick of Chloe and her head games, of her face. I should commit the ultimate grievance against her and drag Gage upstairs as soon as he arrives and make love to him on the unholy of holies, Chloe Bishop’s bed.
I bleed a slow spreading smile as I take in the visual. Gage lying over me naked and beautiful while I clutch at Chloe’s bed sheets, writhing over her pillow in ecstasy.
Giselle glares over at Chloe in that Goth Emerson sort of way and I almost get a tear in my eye because I’m so damned impressed.
“I thought we agreed to stop bashing people.” Giselle belts it out using her lower register. “It makes you look like an asshole, Chloe. Everyone here likes Skyla except for you.”
Shit. Giselle is so never going to let this go. I knew she was too damn nice for her own good.
“Who here likes Skyla, raise your hand.” Chloe glances around our little circle for defectors.
Giselle and Bree raise their hands while the rest of the group offers nothing but cold-hearted stares.
“I’m OK either way,” Em pipes up.
Yes! That felt like a hard-won victory. I knew Em had a pair of balls hiding under that cheer skirt.
“I don’t.” Michelle cinches her nose in my direction as if I just let off a foul odor. “The sooner you have your ménage a trois with Logan and Gage, the sooner I can get back with Dudley.” Michelle still wants Marshall. She hungers for him, and I’m the only one standing in her way. I take her in while the fire dances over her skin, her long dark hair, her tawny colored skin. I would have to roast weeks in a tanning salon to achieve that bronzed glow. And she’s got those wicked almond-shaped eyes. Every girl would die to be Michelle, and every boy would pay cash money to bang her. She’s already slept with Marshall. My stomach bites with acid at the thought. He’s already tasted her, loved her in such intimate ways. He’s the one that saved her when she died. That might be the very grievance that has my mother tying him to Cerberus’s back and sending him to hell. I’d love to blame Michelle for Marshall’s impending demise, but the truth is, if he does pay with his life, the blame will fall squarely over my shoulders. I’m a death sentence to everyone I know and love—in the end I might just break every heart that has ever bothered to love me.
“I’m not giving up Dudley.” Did I just say that out loud? “So about senior prank, I was thinking of rubbing down all the windows with butter.” Ha! I completely just pulled that one out of my ass, but it’s totally brill!
“Not giving up Dudley, huh?” Chloe pumps an artificial smile. “Then I’ll take Gage.”
“I was just thinking of having Gage up in your bedroom.” I swivel my neck like I’m about to go gangster on her choppy-haired ass.
A collective ooh moves around our little circle.
“I guess that means I get Logan.” Lexy steps up to the plate as if I were auctioning off boyfriends.
“Nobody gets anybody,” I say it sharply, and an entire group of people turn and gawk in our direction. “Back to the prank.” It comes out a little too loud. “We’ll put red dye in all the toilets.” I sit back smugly because that, too, was spontaneously manufactured from my rear end. I should totally be a consultant for high school seniors the world over.
Nat makes a face. “Those are totally juvenile ideas. We need to do something big like drag a couch over to senior lawn and set it on fire.” Her copper locks bounce with approval at the five-alarm disaster spewing from her lips.
“Enough with the fifth grade hijinks.” Chloe bites the words out. “We need something far more sophisticated, something fierce—something deadly. I was thinking of a hostage situation.”
Figures. Chloe’s prank involves a medley of her specialties—prisoners and death.
“Listen”—Brielle pushes out a breath—“I’m all for ‘bonding’ with you guys, but I’d rather do it outside of the pen. Let’s think legal, and naked boys.”
Brielle always has her priorities straight.
Giselle leans in. “No, I think we should go with Chloe’s idea.” Her voice drags out each word, slow and strained through a falsified evil. “Tell them the plan.” She nods into her partner in soon-to-be crime, and for a moment I’m terrified that sweet, innocent Giselle is being overexposed to large, lethal doses of backstabbing Bishop.
Chloe tosses her chin back and looks down at the lot of us. “We dig up a body from the cemetery and bring it to homecoming.”
Little did I know when Chloe suggested a hostage situation it would likely involve Dr. Oliver because digging up a corpse will be done over his dead body.
“What?” I recoil from the insanity. Technically I’ve already done that, and I happen to be glaring at the fruit of my labor right this very minute.
“But whose body?” Lexy asks as if the ID of said corpse had better be sporting a designer label, a simple dead Joe Blow just won’t do.
Chloe seeps out a satanic smile. Her chest broadens as if puffing out with pride, “Kate’s.”
A collective gasp fills our mist.
“Kate was our friend,” I whisper in the event our nosy peers get wind of this carcass catastrophe in the making. “We can’t do that. It’s despicable.” Never mind the fact I killed her. It was a total accident. I knew I had no business stepping into a pair of skis.
Nat takes in an ever-expanding breath. I bet she’s so virally pissed she wants to initiate Chloe as the acting corpse on duty. I’ll help.
“You know”—Nat tilts her head thoughtfully—“Kate always dreamed of being homecoming queen.”
“What?” I glance around at the cold-as-marble expressions of my cheer peers and am astonished that nary a one of them is up for keeping Kate cozy in her casket where she belongs on homecoming and every other day of the fucking year.
“Then it’s settled.” Chloe puts her hand out, and one by one the girls pile on top of her as if we were on the field. Brielle offers an apologetic smile in my direction, following the lemmings right off the cliff.
“Et tu?” I shake my head at Brielle, disapproving of her need to feel accepted no matter who gets dug up in the process.
“Bless you,” Giselle whispers, and I glance to the ceiling.
“Skyla?” Chloe’s voice lowers an octave and momentarily scares the crap out of me. “What do you say? Are we in this together? Cheer sisters forever?”
Giselle gives the hint of a nod in my direction, so I place my hand square over Brielle’s.
Perfect. Brielle presses out a sad smile. Too bad Skyla will never see what’s coming.
17
Desperate Measures
A strong pair of hands tweak my shoulders, and I spring to my feet to meet Gage.
I’m thrilled he’s here and pulling me free from the bond I had just entered into with Satan, a.k.a. Chloe.
Her party is an insane dud, just like her.
“Who the hell digs up their dead friends in time for homecoming?” I whisper as we drift into the crowd.
“What?” His sexy dark brows pitch together, and I can’t help but give a little smile.
“My reaction exactly.”
“Do you want to elaborate?” His dimples go off, and it takes way too much resistance to keep from diving a kiss over one.
“Not really.” I glance past his shoulder. Just as I suspected Chloe is watching us like a hawk. If it were the old days, Gage and I would be enjoying the feast of one another’s mouths. The faint memory of Gage’s tongue having free reign in my mouth melts me on an intimate level. It feels far more erotic than I remember—suddenly I’m hungry for those exotic stolen kisses.
“What’s on your mind?” A dreamy smile crops up and his dimples ignite like flares because he so knows where my mind is at.
“I was just thinking about the way you used to kiss me.” I pinch my lips to the side, filled with remorse over the fact I said those words in past tense. It leaves me to wonder if they’ll ever be present tense again.
He pushes in close until I find myself backed against the wall, and my stomach explodes with heat.
“Skyla,” he whispers it, slow and steady, like a steam engine about to pull into the station—and right about now, I so want to be that station. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.”
I shoot a quick glance around the room.
“He’s not here yet.” Gage wraps an arm around my waist and begins leading me through the crowd. “Logan had a meeting tonight. He wouldn’t say with whom.”
“Chloe’s here so that eliminates her from the equation.”
Gage slinks us upstairs, ignoring the catcalls of the girls sitting on the steps.
He walks us down the hall and opens the door on the end with caution.
“All’s clear.” His dimples wink as he pulls me backward into Chloe’s bedroom.
“Wow,” I say as I take in the dark brown walls, most likely the blood of some poor soul that had the misfortune of getting in Chloe’s way. “She is so going to kill us.”
A black wrought iron cage sits in the corner, stretching to the ceiling as an ode to the once imprisonment of Nev. C
hloe loved Nevermore, and yet she was insistent on locking him up like a criminal. Chloe turns every day into a hostage situation for those unlucky enough to be around her.
Gage secures his grip over my waist and peppers my face with kisses.
“Gage,” I moan as he tumbles us onto Chloe’s mattress.
Holy shit I was totally kidding earlier when I fantasized about having sex with Gage on Chloe’s bed.
A tiny laugh rumbles from my chest.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I’m doing this.” He peels a hot kiss from my ear to the edge of my lip before hiking up on his elbow and gazing down at me. Gage blesses me with those cobalt eyes. “I want to kiss you. I don’t ever want you to forget how it feels—how we feel.” The words drum from his chest to mine, and every luscious vibration trickles down to that intimate place I long for him to be. “Can I kiss you, Skyla? I’d love to try and sway your decision.” His lips lower over mine until he’s just a breath away, and I’m wild with agony for him to do it.
Damn Brielle and her kiss off. I wouldn’t put it past her to have run the idea by all three suitors.
A moan emits from my throat.
“I heard, yes.” Gage lands his lips over mine, soft, sultry. I don’t ever remember his lips feeling so supple, so damn cushiony. I want to sink my teeth into them. He doesn’t go after me with his tongue like Marshall did when presented the opportunity. Gage makes me ache for it, beg. He wants a hand written invitation with a promise attached.
Oh, what the hell.
I stroke my tongue over his in slow, careful sweeps. Then, just as I was hoping, Gage loses it. He clasps onto my wrists and clips them over my head, kissing me with an intensity reserved for servicemen leaving for duty, for people headed to the space station with the prospect of never coming back, with the fervor of a dying man. These were desperate measures, final hour gasps of breath, kisses you surrendered your soul to.
My hands fumble for his jeans, and I run my fingers along the inside band of his briefs before Gage captures me as if I were a criminal.
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