“I’m so proud of you,” mom says. “You have no idea. At your age….whew.” She blows out a breath, “I wasn’t even half as good.”
That’s not exactly true. I’ve seen videos of my mom dancing. She was as close to perfection as perfection gets. But I like the fact that she’s nice to my ego. It’s one of the starkest contrasts between her and my dad.
“Mrs. Malone,” one of the ladies from her makeup team interrupts us. “We’re getting close to the time you should be leaving.”
Mom pinches my cheeks again before rushing back to her chair. The entire time she sits there, she has her eyes on me. In them, I see pride. In them, I see love. It’s crazy just how different she is from my dad. Not that he doesn’t love me. I’m sure he does. He just…well, he just isn’t very good at showing it sometimes.
***
Less than an hour later, we’re stepping outside of the Limo. We picked Janelle up on the way here, so I’ve got my favorite person by my side. And dad… Well, dad’s not here yet, he and Janelle’s dad had to work a little bit later. I’m perfectly fine with that, especially since I’ve already spotted Elias.
“Sweetie,” mom says, and pulls me closer to her side before bending down to whisper in my ear. “I see the way that you’re looking at him.”
“I was really mean to him last time, mom,” I confess. She’s not as cruel as dad when it comes to Elias. Of course, she doesn’t want me talking to him, but I don’t get the feeling that she’ll give me up for adoption if I disobey her.
Mom shakes her head at me. “Be careful, Kira. You know your father. If he even thinks that you catch a whiff of Elias Dressler…” She doesn’t finish her statement. She doesn’t have to.
“I’ll just apologize. That’s it,” I say.
She doesn’t nod, but she doesn’t shake her head either. Probable deniability, I guess. I’m not quite sure what the word means, but she’s said it to me quite a few times. Always when she doesn’t quite allow me to do something but doesn’t stop me from doing it either. Just at that moment a few other adults storm toward her, pulling her away from our conversation.
“You girls be good,” she yells back at me and Janelle. “And Kira, don’t forget…in an hour you need to start getting ready. I’ll come find you, just in case you need some help.”
Janelle and I practically sprint around back and into the garden. This event is a little different from most of the ones my family attends. For starters, it’s not just some big fancy building. We’re in an actual house, with an actual garden. It’s a lot freer here and I like it a lot better already.
A quick stroll through the garden and then I’m inside my house, looking for the room that has my name taped onto the door. It’s where I’m supposed to get changed when I’m ready to dance. Janelle spots the room first and drags me along, giddily pushing the door open. Both our mouths drop wide as we feast our eyes upon the room. It’s absolutely stunning. And a heck of a lot better than the bathrooms I’m used to changing in in events like this.
I drop my bag on the small, grey, velvety sofa in the corner of the room and then we’re tearing through the place like we’re trying to set an Olympic record.
“Okay, so, if you want to talk to him, now’s your chance.” Janelle yanks on my arm. I look up and lo and behold he’s there, a group of friends around him, and a don’t-mess-with-me look set sharp in his jaw.
I can feel my palms sweating. Maybe if I strap on my ballet shoes, I’ll feel less nervous about talking to Elias. Of course, that’s not going to happen, so I’ll just have to work up the courage some other way.
“Come on, Kira. You don’t have all day.”
“Okay, okay,” I whisper back.
One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. Four.
I try to steady a smile on my face as I walk toward Elias. The fact that he’s watching me walk toward him and his friends doesn’t help my nervousness.
“You mind if I talk to you for a second?” I ask. I’ve got my hands clasped tightly in front of me, which is probably the only reason I’m not shaking like a damn leaf right now.
“You’re already talking,” Elias says. His words sting. But I try my best not to show just how much.
One of his friends, a bushy eyebrowed kid with chestnut hair, laughs. Elias shoots him a gaze that could double freeze fire and that laughter stops within a heartbeat. There’s no questioning who the head of the pack is here.
“Okay. Yeah. I guess you have a point,” I say. “Well. About Sally. I just wanted to apologize for-“
“No worries. Don’t sweat it. Not a problem at all.” Three ways of saying the same damn thing. None of them effective because:
1. I am worrying.
2. I’m sweating profusely.
3. I kinda feel like it was a problem.
“Okay. Well, yeah. I mean, I just…It’s just that…I didn’t mean what I said that day, okay. I liked Sally and I’m sorry that she’s no longer around.”
“I said don’t sweat it, Kira.” I don’t like the tone of his voice, but I can’t exactly blame him for it.
“All’s forgiven?” I ask.
He laughs a little at that. “Something like that,” he says, then snaps his fingers and gestures for his ‘boys’ to trot behind him…
For the rest of the night, I barely see Elias. I don’t think anything of it. There are a crap load of kids at this event. Plus, we’ve already said our pieces to each other. I’m not happy about the way things went, but I can’t change them either. After all, I can’t continue to run after him just to barely mutter a couple of words.
I head to the room I’ve been assigned, excited to escape reality for a moment. I already feel a heck of a lot better as I peel my backpack open. And then, reaching inside, my stomach drops. I search around for my water bottle, but it’s not there. Which is just what I expect. So why the hell is my bag wet? And why the hell are my ballet shoes drenched? I pull them out, and that’s when I catch a whiff of something pungent. Piss. There’s no way it’s anything else.
I pull the shoes to my nostrils and then fling them across the room, wishing that I could throw my hands away right along with them. Who the hell would do something like this? Well, the answer is easy, honestly, but… No. No. Elias isn’t that mean. In fact, he isn’t mean at all. We had a fight, sure. But this kind of vengeance…it’s…
I feel tears stinging my eyes. I’m not quite sure what to do. I can’t exactly wear shoes wet with piss. But I need my shoes if I’m gonna be able to dance.
A part of me wants to throw my hand across my stomach and pretend that I’ve got a belly-ache. But another part of me really needs to disappear right now.
The door swings open. It’s Janelle. The smile on her face is immediately erased when she sees the dread on mine.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m pretty sure Elias pissed in my shoes,” I say, fighting and failing to hold back my tears.
Janelle shakes her head and then rushes over to me. She hugs me tight and I can feel her heart racing in her chest just as quickly as my heart races.
“I’ve got this,” she says.
“Just leave him alone,” I retort. “It’s not worth it.”
5
Elias
I’ve heard about Malone’s charity events since I was a kid. Sheldon, Dad’s advisor—and now mine, told me that my parents used to attend these parties before it all went south between the Dresslers and the Malones.
Little-known fact, Dad, William Malone and Joe Fowler started out together in real estate. They even had a company. Fowler, Dressler & Malone. Then something happened, and Dad and William had a huge falling out. Joe picked Malone. Dad went out on his own. To this day, I wonder what it was that drove them apart.
Mom didn’t know, and Dad never told me.
It’s strange for me to be here, but it’s an interesting sensation. I welcome the silent danger of the unknown. The mojitos are as good as Kira said. The music’s not bad. I can tell from t
he debauchery that things are about to get super wild after midnight. There are so many important people here, too. They clearly feel comfortable enough to lose themselves in this place.
I wonder what kind of dirt William might’ve gathered over the years about some of these people. After all, I’ve heard the rumors. If the gossip is anywhere near the truth, chances are I’ll witness a few Wall Street execs vacuuming cocaine off William’s Bohemian crystal coffee table later tonight.
This is as close as a Dressler has ever gotten to a Malone since Dad and William had their business breakup. I feel as though I’m in the belly of the beast, a mixture of curiosity and fear swirling through me. Fortunately, I’ve got a hot chick on my arm and a particularly strong mojito in my hand. You catch more flies with honey, that’s for sure. I’m only sorry I didn’t think of this sooner. Rivalling Fowler & Malone is a challenge, but not impossible. We’ve done it before, and we can do it better.
I should be more honest with myself, though. I doubt the feud will live on for much longer. William is getting old. He’s making mistakes. And even if those mistakes don’t bury him, he’ll retire soon. I need to figure out who’s taking his place. There are rumors about Janelle Fowler being a runner up to Kira for the CEO chair, which is why I’m hoping my social engagement here will bring me closer to more accurate intel. Whoever succeeds the old bastard, I plan on making peace with them. Maybe even merge Dressler Corp back with Fowler & Malone. The combined capital would put us worlds ahead of the competition across the country. There’s strength in numbers.
None of this will happen while William is still calling the shots, though. All I can do now is schmooze the motherfucker until he stops looking at me like I’m a cockroach on his kitchen counter. Funny thing is, I’m getting better vibes from him than from Kira. Well, not really funny. Maybe a little sad.
Giselle pushes herself against me. I’d take her into the bathroom and give her enough to keep her sated for the rest of the night, but I’m starting to think Kira’s actually right with regards to her accident. At first, I was inclined to chalk it up to a terrible accident. After all, Kira wouldn’t be the first dancer to break something. It didn’t seem so far-fetched before.
But Giselle is quite predictable and transparent, despite her attempts to come off as mysterious and multifaceted.
“Kira thinks you had something to do with her accident,” I say, smoothing my hand over her ass.
She leans just that much more into me and licks a line from my neck all the way up to my ear. “And what if I did,” she whispers, then pulls back, pouting at me just a little, “would you punish me for it?”
Something unsettles in the pit of my stomach. I can’t read her. Is she just using my hatred for Kira as fuel to our sexual fire, or is she admitting her guilt?
“I’m serious, Giselle.” The need to get away from her strikes fast and hard.
She huffs and blows out a breath through her nose. “Of course I didn’t trip the little bitch on purpose. God Elias, I can’t believe you think I’d be that cruel.” Despite the fact that her words tell me she didn’t do it, her eyes tell me that there is a very fucking big possibility she did. It shouldn’t matter to me. Honestly, it shouldn’t. But somehow, the sourness it leaves on my tongue is unbearable.
“We should check out the upstairs bedrooms,” she whispers in my ear. Her hand’s on my cock, trying to bring it back to attention. The only thing I feel right now, however, is disgust. It’s one thing to beat the competition fair and square, it’s a whole other thing to fucking ruin someone just to shine. “Mr. Malone did say we should make ourselves at home…” Giselle continues.
I glance down at her, and I can see how hungry she is. Her gaze darkens, her lips parting, bringing back memories of how hard she likes to work on my cock. Down on her knees as she squeezes her breasts, licking and sucking and begging for me to fill her. Surprisingly enough, as good of a lay as she is, the last thing my cock wants right now is to be inside her. The last thing any part of me wants right now, is to be around her.
Really Elias, my conscience chimes in, like you haven’t done your fair share of hurting Kira. It’s not a lie, of course. But I’ve never done anything close to this. Nothing that could hurt her future; nothing that could crush her fucking soul. At least not on purpose.
“I’ve been a naughty girl,” Giselle whispers. She’s getting pathetically needy now. A part of me wants to punish her. Fuck her so hard that she’ll need stitches to put her pussy back into place. Lucky for her, a stronger part of me doesn’t want to fuck her at all.
“I thought you liked the party,” I reply, one hand finding her ass cheek again. I squeeze hard enough to make her wince.
“I like the idea of fucking you in Kira’s bed more,” Giselle grins.
There it is. The deviousness. The maliciousness. She’s not here because she wants to be with me. She’s here because it gives her the opportunity to hurt Kira. Normally, I’d be the first to indulge in such dirty fantasies, but ever since I saw Kira get carried out on that stretcher… something changed inside me. And the thought that Giselle might have intentionally put here there…
The animosity that once fueled me is dull, like a blunt blade. Curiosity has taken its place. I find myself thinking about Kira, even when I’m not supposed to—that includes the times I’m fucking Giselle until she screams my name out. It’s funny, how time screws with us. With me, in particular. I never wanted this war between Kira and me. Neither did she, though I doubt she’ll admit it. The only one still fanning the flames is William, but even he is beginning to loosen up a little.
Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way. One thing’s for sure, though. Giselle is a heck of a lot less appealing. My erection seems to agree. Perhaps another mojito might change my mind.
“You naughty little thing,” I force a chuckle and nibble on Giselle’s ear.
It makes her giggle as she presses her chest to mine. Her nipples harden. Yeah, she’s aching for another round. What we did in the limo on our way here obviously wasn’t enough. I know Giselle would love for Kira to catch us fucking on her bed, but that wouldn’t work in my favor, in the long run. Giselle is beautiful, but painfully shortsighted. I’m trying to establish a rapport with the Malones, not spite Kira. And if I’m being perfectly honest with myself right now, there’s a part of my heart that wants to soften for Kira.
“I want you,” Giselle whispers, her hand slipping between us and cupping my cock through my pants. “I can tell you want me, too…”
I give her a smile. “Tell you what. Head back inside and grab us a couple of drinks, then go upstairs and find Kira’s room. Text me, and I’ll come find you.” I say the words, but I really haven’t got a plan as to what happens after she texts me. I guess my hopes are that she’ll get distracted. Or that I’ll find the hatred I’m supposed to have for Kira and not give a damn about what Giselle did to her. Maybe I’ll even fuck Giselle in Kira’s bed and tease her pussy with the whip Kira hides in her nightstand. I laugh a little at the memory of that; of how I snuck into Kira’s room a few months back and watched her pleasure herself. I guess that was just my way of seeing what I’d be up against coming to Trinity High.
“Elias,” Giselle croaks, bring my attention back to her. Her eyes twinkle with delight as she pulls herself away. “You know where to find me, Mr. Dressler,” she whispers.
“Attagirl,” I mutter, watching her go back inside.
Ironically, this is the second time I feel like I can breathe properly. The first was when I left her by the mojito bar, earlier. I’ve just made sure she’s busy for the next ten minutes or so, which gives me enough time to find Kira. I don’t know why I need to find her. Maybe give this whole no-enemies thing another shot?
I move through the crowd, but she’s nowhere to be found. The last time I saw her, she was walking away from the party, not deeper into it. From where I stand, on the edge of the massive rectangular pool, I can see a gazebo on the eastern edge of the garden. It
looks pretty isolated from the rest of the world. Something moves inside.
Not something. Someone.
My heart jumps a little. It irks me. Hell, I still remember the rage boiling inside me as I watched Kira get carried out of that dance hall, crying out in pain. I remember wanting to break the neck of whoever had hurt her. But I’m not breaking Giselle’s neck now, am I? I’m screwing her, instead.
By the time I reach the gazebo, my muted excitement shifts into ice-cold alarm, chills trickling down my spine as I get closer. Kira’s on one of the benches, slumped on the side. There’s a bottle of champagne at her feet. I glance at it for another moment, taking note of the fact that its empty before my eyes roam back to Kira. She looks a little too pale for my comfort. There’s no questioning that something is wrong. For some reason, I don’t think this is the way she gets at all the parties her father throws. If that were the case, he’d have a closer eye on her. But Kira – the Kira that I know – she keeps her shit together and is one hundred-percent in control of her appearance. Always.
“Kira?” I say, nudging her a little. Her body moves like it’s completely void of life. My first hope is that she’s just tired; fell asleep out here like a homeless little baboon. But I have a really fucking bad feeling that that’s not the case. I swallow hard and it feels like my throat is lined with two sided blades. I eye the bottle of champagne next to her. She’s nowhere near large enough to be able to down this much alcohol and not be puking her guts out.
A faint hum leaves Kira’s throat, but she doesn’t move. I kneel in front of her, my blood rushing as I place a palm on her forehead. She’s way too cold. This isn’t right.
“Kira? Hey. You okay?”
No answer.
Beautiful Hell: A Contemporary High School Bully Romance Page 7