“Sorry,” I murmured. “What did you say?”
Warren smiled winningly at me, his Ken doll face fixing into a perfectly symmetrical grin. “Go out with me.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised by the invitation; Warren hadn’t exactly been subtle in his admiration of me since he’d formally introduced himself two weeks ago. Still, I’d been dreading this moment, tried to delay it by being friendly but coolly disinterested in him. Maybe the Cressida I’d been at eighteen, desperate for love and completely naïve, would have enjoyed Warren’s attention. As it was now, I found him kind of annoying. He wore Axe body spray, for one. What grown man wore Axe body spray?
“Oh, yes, or oh, no?” Warren joked.
I opened my mouth to respond when I felt eyes on me. It didn’t make any sense but I knew the texture of the gaze, the way they fell hot on my skin then slid possessively through my hair over my cheeks and neck like a physical caress. There were words in that gaze, ones that spoke of deviant plans for my body, promises that they would one day come true.
King’s eyes on my skin spoke to me more eloquently than any man ever had before, excepting him. It made me wonder what his hands would say on my skin if given the chance.
Now, I could feel their jealousy heavy and hot as I leaned into Warren.
“Oh, no,” I said softly to my colleague. “I’m sorry, but I’m not even technically divorced yet. It’s too soon.”
Warren was already nodding, leaning towards me with an accepting smile. “Of course, I knew you’d say that. I can wait.”
“Really, I wouldn’t. I was married for eight years, it will take a while to get over that.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You’re not old enough to have been married that long.”
Irritation prickled through me. “Well, I was.”
“You must have been a child bride,” he joked. “No wonder it didn’t work out.
I winced because his words hit a little too close to home. Eighteen was too early to get married and my parents should have known that instead of cultivating it. They’d practically handed me over to William the minute the ink was dry on my high school diploma.
My phone pinged loudly in my pocket. I checked the screen, thankful for the reprieve until I saw the message there.
Lysander: In the parking lot.
Nothing good could come from my ex-con brother loitering at my place of employment, especially at a prep school like EBA where everyone was judged on their wealth and propriety.
“Excuse me, Warren,” I muttered without looking up as I slipped my phone in my pocket and sped-walked around the corner to the parking lot.
The U-shaped lot was mostly empty, students and faculty off-grounds for lunchtime, and I didn’t know if Sander had a car or not. I stood near the Science building, squinting into the sun trying to find him when a large hand clamped down on my shoulder and dragged me behind the bushes.
I let out a loud squeak before I could control the reaction and then glared up at Sander once he had me settled between himself and the wall.
“What in the world are you doing here?” I hissed.
My big brother crossed his arms across his barrel chest and glowered down at me. I hadn’t seen him in three months but he wasn’t much changed. Prison had done that to him two years ago. He’d never been an upstanding citizen but after six years behind bars, he’d emerged tatted and roughed up in a way he’d never been before. There were scars on his hands, hands that I knew could make beautiful music, and harsh lines between his brows from a now permanent scowl. He was still beautiful to me and until I’d met King, I’d believed him to be the most handsome man in the world. What little girl doesn’t think her older brother is hero worthy? Especially when they very literally save your life?
His stern face broke into a small smile. “Good to see you too, princess.”
My heart broke open, crashing through my stupid anxiety at anyone seeing me with my thuggish looking brother. I threw my arms around his thick neck and peppered his face in kisses. His rumbling laugh worked through me as he wrapped me up in his bear hug.
“Missed you,” I whispered brokenly.
“Missed you too.”
We held each other for a long minute before he carefully placed me on the ground. I kept his hand in mine, rubbing the ridged calluses with my thumb.
“You look good,” he said. “Divorce never looked so good.”
“Thanks,” I beamed. “But not divorced yet. William still won’t sign the papers.”
Immediately Lysander’s face turned stony. “No fuckin’ way.”
“Sander, please,” I put my hand on his arm to calm him because there was no one more volatile than my brother. “Don’t worry about it. I’m doing really well.”
He stared hard at me for a second before nodding curtly. “Seems so. Got yourself a fancy teaching job at a fancy school. Thought you wanted to go back to school?”
“I need money for that. But I’m happy here for now, really. The other teachers have been really welcoming and the kids are good, really bright.”
“How you doin’ for money?” he asked, cutting right to the point of his visit.
I bit my lip. It was never easy to say, when Lysander brought up money, if he was going to ask for or offer it.
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“I’m fine, honey. I bought a tiny house by the water. It needs some fixing but it’s alright.”
“Got furniture?”
“A bit,” I assured him with a little shrug and a smile. “I pilfered some stuff from our storage unit before I moved up here.”
“Your mum and dad help?” It was always ‘your’ parents with him even though they were his as much as mine by blood. He hadn’t talked to them in years. The last time they did was seared on my brain, my father’s face as he shouted at Lysander for leading me down the wrong path right along with him and my mother’s wailing sobs. Now, they didn’t even mentioned Sander. He was worse than dead to them. It was as if he had never existed.
So, I got why he called them mine and not his.
I shrugged carefully because I didn’t want him to fly into a rage as I knew he would if he felt someone had wronged me, even if it was my own parents. “They aren’t very pleased with me right now. You know how much they love William.”
They still spent every Sunday night having dinner with him. Dad went fishing with him the first Saturday of every month just as they had done since before I hit puberty, and mum made him casseroles to keep in the fridge now that his (and I’m quoting her on this) ‘wife had abandoned him.’
I only spoke to my mother, and even then, only when she called me in an attempt to guilt trip or shame me into going back to William.
I didn’t say any of that because Lysander was unpredictable, loyal beyond belief to those he loved (only me, that I was aware of), and a little bit crazy.
“They should love you more,” Sander said.
I shrugged again. It hurt even though I wanted it not to. I was coming around to the fact that they weren’t great people, that very nearly gifting their daughter to their best friend who was nearly twenty years her senior was not okay, and that cutting her off without emotional or financial support when she finally left him was ridiculously cruel. But I wasn’t there yet.
“You love me enough for anyone,” I said, squeezing his hand. “And anyway, I’m making it work. It’s good for me to be on my own and struggle. I’ve never done that before.”
“Good,” he said, meaning it with all his heart even though he only gave me a brisk nod.
There was a little pause where I waited for him to tell me his real reason for ambushing me at my school and he pretended his only motivation was making sure I was all right.
“Need you to do something for me,” he finally grunted.
Damn.
“Okay, what do you need?” I asked as if it was no big deal.
And it wasn’t. Lysander never had much of a future. He hated our parents, began binge drink
ing and partying at the age of twelve and never turned back from a life of poor decisions. Our parents threw him out of the house when I was ten and he was fifteen but he’d still found ways to see me, to buy me little gifts and take me out to the movies. He was and always had been my little secret, my minor rebellion. I’d been giving him money since I was eleven, first from my allowance and then from my joint account with William. It wasn’t unusual for him to ask. He’d only had odd jobs before and now that he was an ex-con, it was even harder for him to find work.
Only now, I didn’t have my parents or William’s money and I barely had any of my own.
So, I was hoping whatever he needed didn’t involve a whole bunch of zeroes.
“I heard you been spending some time with a brother from The Fallen MC,” he said, instead.
What?
I gaped at him as shock, horror and disbelief raged through me. How could Sander have possibly known that? I knew he liked to ‘keep an eye on me’ but how far did that extend, because he would have literally had to be stalking me to find out about the minimal time I spent with King.
And if he knew, who else did?
I shuddered.
“How did you hear that?” I demanded, only it was too breathless to really be an order.
He crossed his arms again and stared at me, not willing to answer.
“For Pete’s sake, Sander, I spent like two days with the guy. How do you know about that?” I cried, heedless of keeping a low profile now that I was panicking.
People finding out I had an ex-convict as a brother was way lower on the totem pole than them finding out I’d made out with a student.
“Doesn’t matter. I need you to get me a job at Zeus Garro’s garage.”
“What?”
He repeated his statement then said, “I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important, princess.”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know where you heard I was hanging out with a biker but the fact is, I’m not. I ended it before it even started. I mean, come on, Sander, me with a man like that? I don’t think so.”
I laughed nervously because there was a large part of me that wanted to be the kind of girl who would attract and keep a man like that.
Sander raised a brow at me. “Don’t need to know the details. Don’t even need you to date the guy. Do need that job, Cressida. Like I said, wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t super important.”
It was easy to understand what he meant. He wouldn’t ask unless it meant the difference between staying out of jail or going back in, or maybe even the difference between life and death.
I wanted to be appalled, but even though Lysander had never asked me to personally extend a favor like this to him, I’d seen him do it to others before. This was the way of his outlaw life, favor exchanges, manipulations of people and laws, demands and acts that would make a normal human crumble. He thrived on them now, excelled at his criminal life.
I didn’t judge him for it. I’d helped buy it for him so I never judged him for it.
But he’d never asked me to take part in it.
“You can’t ask him yourself?” I ventured.
“Nope. Zeus Garro’s a smart guy, wouldn’t let someone on to that compound unless he was trusted.”
“I’m not trusted. I’ve never even met Zeus Garro.”
“This guy that you aren’t seein’ anymore. He go quietly when you cut him loose?” he asked, somewhat bizarrely.
“Ugh, not really,” I admitted.
He nodded. “Then I’m thinkin’ you’ll meet Zeus Garro sooner than you think. Gotta get goin’, text me when you’ve sealed the deal for me.”
“I really can’t promise anything,” I tried again, desperately. “I can’t see that guy again, Sander. And even if I did, I don’t think he’s the kinda guy to just blindly do what I ask.”
My brother hesitated then lifted his big, scarred hand to palm my cheek. I pressed myself into it, as always starved for affection.
“I need you to do it, you’ll do it. Best thing in my life, princess. I know you won’t let me down.”
I stared at him as he patted my cheek then turned and disappeared around the corner.
“Well, crap,” I huffed as I closed my eyes and hit my head against the wall.
When I opened them again, King was there.
He was on the other side of the bushes, in the narrow pathway between the Science building and the forest that bracketed the left side of the property. At first, I thought he was just leaning against the wall smoking, looking like a modern day James Dean with his worn black leather jacket shrugged on over his school uniform, the curl of smoke escaping from his lips like a white scarf lifted in the cold wind. His hair was down and chaotic even though I’d noticed over the last few weeks that he liked to harness it with a little bit of leather cord he kept tied to his right wrist. He looked like a poster child for the original bad boy.
I was startled out of staring at him by the arrival of the same hulking man from the parking lot at Mac’s Grocer that had acted as his sidekick. He approached King with a chin lift, and then they did that ultra-masculine hand-clasp back-slap thing that I’d only seen people do in movies.
“Don’t like this,” King muttered as he threw his cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his boot.
“Bro,” was the only thing his friend said, yet it seemed to convey more.
King’s shoulders were hitched to his ears, his hands in his pockets as he kicked at the grass. “I know it’s gotta be done. Don’t like this shit at EBA, just sayin’. I worked fuckin’ hard to get in here, Mute.”
Mute. Appropriate name. He grunted in response.
“I mean, fuck, I get it. No one messes with The Fallen. But doin’ this at school is sketchy,” King griped, his hands in his hair making it even messier.
“Might not come to anything,” Mute suggested but King slanted him a ‘get real’ look and even he didn’t look too convinced.
“King, my man!”
All of our eyes shot to Carson Gentry. He was by far and away the richest boy at Entrance Bay Academy, and also one of the prettiest. As in, his eyelashes got caught in his eyebrows and his irises were a golden brown so deep a girl could fall into them like molasses. He had good hair, good teeth and a body honed by endless soccer practices. The EBA girls loved him more than they loved anyone. Or they had, until King Kyle Garro showed up in his leather jacket with all that golden hair and corruptible grin.
As one, King and Mute jerked their chins at him.
It wasn’t a practiced move but it screamed cool in a way that had Carson Gentry’s rich guy arrogance wilting.
“So, ugh, you got the good stuff?” he asked them.
Adrenaline coursed through me until the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
Oh, my God.
Was I witnessing what I thought I was witnessing?
I frantically looked for a way out of the situation. If I could sneak away before I truly heard anything, I didn’t have to report it, right?
But there was no way to slide by undetected in the narrow pathway or slip unseen between the bushes by the wall. I was skinny but I wasn’t that tiny.
“Maybe. Depends on what information you got for me,” King rumbled.
His voice was octaves lower than his normal charming tones, almost always filled with laughter even when he wasn’t being funny or amused. Now, it was dark and forceful. A shudder ripped up my spine, leaving behind a tangible ache.
“What are you talking about, my man?” Carson said with an uneasy smile.
“Not your man, Carson. Heard you’ve been getting your shit from some other dealer. What’s up with that?” King questioned.
“Don’t know where you heard that, man, but it’s not true,” Carson repeated, but he shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably.
I hated that one of my students was asking for drugs but I hated particularly that it was Carson. He was a bright kid with sad eyes, probably because of the
bruises that he often claimed were from football practice but that the coach and his teachers knew better were from his wildly unpopular in town father.
King and his friend shared a brief look that was merely a flicker of eye contact before Mute took one large menacing step forward. With his enormous bulk, a six-foot miniature Hulk with severely buzzed black hair and a huge neck tattoo of some kind of red reptile, it didn’t surprise me that Carson’s shaky grin disappeared to be replaced with an ‘oh my goodness, I’m going to crap my pants’ expression.
He held up his hands beseechingly. “Dude, one time I get product from someone else and you’re flipping out?”
King stood up from his lean against the wall and uncrossed his arms as he turned fully away from me to face Carson. “Flippin’ out? If you think this is me ‘flippin’ out’ then you better brace yourself because if you don’t tell me in two fuckin’ seconds who supplied you, I’m gonna show you what it actually looks like when I flip the fuck out on your ass.”
“Whoa, whoa, fuck, okay!” he practically yelled as Mute slowly moved towards him, hemming him into the wall. “I got some mediocre weed from this guy named Hector.”
“Mexican,” Mute grunted.
King ignored him, his entire body stiff and radiating fury, but I had a feeling this was a significant insight.
“Where’d you hear about ‘im?” King asked.
“Dude,” Carson whined.
King stepped closer and calmly hoisted Carson by his dress shirt into the air before he thrust him hard against the wall.
My gasp was drowned out by Carson’s warbled whimper. I knew it was well beyond time to do something about what was taking place but I couldn’t bring myself to move. It wasn’t so much that I was scared, though I was. The problem was, I was only scared just enough to ignite the desire at the base of my belly. The monster that slumbered like Sleeping Beauty’s dragon inside my gut was rumbling, stretching and yawning as it had when I’d viewed a similar scene with King in the grocery store parking lot. Just like then, she wanted in on the action, to laugh in the face of the scared punk who dared to fuck with such a beautiful King. She wanted to revel in their power, bathe in Carson’s fear and try her own hand at manipulation.
Lessons In Corruption (The Fallen Men Series Book 1) Page 9