As soon as she stepped through, she passed another set of speakers blasting Coldplay’s “Hymn for the Weekend.” There were even more people packed into this room than had been on the patio, every piece of furniture having been moved into the den. Every piece save for the damask-patterned chair topping the grand piano parked right in the center of it all. And sitting on said chair was Cleopatra Latimoore, looking every bit as regal as her namesake as she lounged on her throne high above the sea of dancers in a curve-hugging dress spilling over her like molten gold.
PJ wasted no time searching the floor. Cleo would have the best view of the room, and if she wasn’t too inebriated to be observant, she might actually be able to help her. PJ pushed her way through the crowd until she reached a shiny black piano bench holding a half-empty martini glass, Cleo’s tennis pro boyfriend Fitz, and a discarded pair of shimmery gold Manolo Blahniks.
The owner of said shoes was staring down at her. Cleo wasn’t as pretty as Lily. Her nose was a little too long, her lips a little too thin, and she shared the same slight cleft in her chin as her brother, but the sum of these imperfections never seemed to overpower the striking color of her eyes. They were as violet a blue as Elizabeth Taylor’s, and apparently, Odelle Latimoore had thought so highly of the actress’s infamous portrayal of the ancient Egyptian queen that she’d dubbed her daughter accordingly. Between the vivid purple eyes and her perfect hourglass figure, most people seemed to think Cleo was a raving beauty. PJ thought she was a raving bitch, but, unfortunately, right now she needed information from her.
“Can I help you with sssomesing?” Cleo asked, her drunken gaze taking in PJ’s combat boots, yoga pants, and skull-adorned sweatshirt with no small amount of disdain.
PJ lifted her face, and Cleo gave a little gasp of surprise, her mouth settling into a pout. “Hey, I know you. You’re that crazzy bitch who grabbed Wade’s ballsss.” Cleo blinked rapidly as though this might somehow steady her voice. “DJ. No wait. EJ—”
“Keep on going. There’s a couple dozen other letters in the alphabet. BJ’s also a fun one—”
Cleo blinked again, not getting the joke as she plowed on obliviously. “Why’re you here? You weren’t invited to my mixxx-her. Fitzy, tell her she’s not allowed to be here. She’s hurting my eyesss.”
Fitzy either couldn’t make out her whiny ramblings or didn’t much care. His eyes remained glued to the phone in his hands.
“Actually, I am trying to find Wade. Do you know where he might be right now?” PJ asked with as much humility as she could stomach.
“Your makeup isss awwwful,” Cleo slurred, her gaze fluttering over the mess of smoky shadow PJ had brushed on earlier. “It’s like a Roseblach test or ssome-sing.”
“Rorschach.”
“What?”
“Whatever. Look, I really need ya to focus here, Cleo. I’m looking for Wade or Lily. Have you seen them?”
“I don’t keep track of my brother’s little friends, ssstalk-her. But I sink Lily’s fat friend with the ugly earss is dancing with Big Jack over-zere by the stairshhh. Now fly away, creepy butterfly. Flyyy awaayy.” Cleo waved her hand in a dramatic slash and kicked out, her toe smacking into the martini glass and sending the remainder of her cosmo raining down on poor Fitz.
PJ didn’t give a shit. She’d already spotted Jack Hughes dancing with Penny. The guy was hard to miss because he was six five and had a Tiger buzzed into the back of his fade. PJ talked to him fairly often at the gym where their mothers worked, but right now there was no time to chat.
“Penny!” she called over the crowd.
Margo’s sister lifted her head from the wall that was Jack’s chest, eyes rounding when she spied PJ’s approach from a few feet away.
“PJ?!”
“Where’s Lily?!”
“What?!” Penny shook her head, brushing a length of straight black hair behind one pointy ear as Flo Rida’s “Wild Ones” fired up, and the noise level suddenly skyrocketed around them.
“Where’s Lily!?” PJ hollered again, trying to get closer in the boisterous crowd. Everyone was throwing their hands up and jumping, and it felt like she was being sucked into some kind of riptide and pulled back out to sea. “LILY?” she screamed even louder, trying once more to be heard.
Jack seem to understand because he was translating something to his girlfriend, and then Penny was pointing towards the stairs.
“Bathroom!!” Jack called, his deep voice just audible over the noise.
PJ took the steps at a near sprint, skipping around a couple of girls spilling their cocktails all over Odelle’s fancy oriental runner, where they’d collapsed in a fit of drunken giggles.
Idiots. They were all fucking idiots. And Lily was the dumbest of the lot. What part of “never use the bathroom up the stairs” had she not understood?
When she reached the second floor, the railing under PJ’s left hand leveled out, running for another forty feet or so along a balcony overlooking the dancers. To her right was a series of rooms and hallways. About halfway down this, PJ spotted a door she suspected led to a bathroom because of the line of people leaning against the wall outside it.
PJ made a beeline for them, hoping to see her former stepsister amongst the group of teens fiddling with their phones, but before she’d gotten more than ten feet another door was opening and another group of girls was blocking her way as they spilled out of it, cutting off her forward movement but not her line of sight.
Peering over their heads, PJ’s gaze locked on a couple rounding a corner further down the hall on the opposite side of the bathroom. Relief poured through her as she spied Lily at last. The chick look pretty pissed at the guy stalking after her, but PJ didn’t care. She’d already recognized the dude as Beau’s musician friend with the really tight pants. She could ease down. This wasn’t Wade.
PJ took a step forward, lowering the hood of her sweatshirt as the path in front of her cleared up, but a faint rasping sound had her glancing to the doorway beside her. It was still wide open where the girls had just vacated the space, but it wasn’t empty. Nearly six feet of genuine asshole was standing in the middle of it, tussled auburn curls sweeping over a tall forehead as he zipped up his pants. As his gaze lifted, a pair of strange yellow-brown eyes was suddenly freezing her in her tracks, and a slow smile was curving the swollen lips of his mouth. This was Wade Hollis.
“Looking for someone?” he asked with a sneer.
PJ didn’t have a chance to respond before he was yanking her into a dimly lit bedroom and kicking the door shut behind them.
Chapter 18
The back of PJ’s head smacked into a picture frame as Wade slammed her into a wall. She heard the sharp pop of glass, felt the sudden shift of wood scraping the wallpaper. But none of these sensations were as jarring to her as the thigh that was suddenly and ruthlessly shoved between her own… or the hand that was now stroking her cheek.
“Let me guess,” Wade said, holding her pinned to the side of a tall chest of drawers, “You looking to get some, huh? Just like you were back at Baylor. I remember you and your little friend stalking me all over campus—”
“Sh-shut up—”
“—coupla horny thirteen-year-olds looking to pop their cherries—”
“J-just shut up,” she managed as his hand curved about her chin.
Wade laughed in her face, his breath reeking of weed, beer, and sex as he ground his body into hers.
PJ could feel the length of him rubbing at her hip. She wanted to drive her knee straight into his balls and watch his sick smile turn into a grimace of pain. She wanted to whip out the blade in her pocket and listen to him cry like a bitch.
But something wasn’t working inside of her. She couldn’t move, could barely speak past a few juvenile stammerings as he toyed with her. It was like she was frozen, powerless to do anything the second his fingers had touched her face. Because he’d found her Achilles heel, and he knew it too. Of course, he was the one responsible for giving her this
lovely little hang-up in the first place.
“Well, let me tell you like I did that day at lunch,” Wade continued, his drawl lowering to a whisper, his lips glancing over her ear. “I don’t fuck trolls.”
PJ felt the sting of these words like a knife. They’d cut deep when she was a tall pimply thirteen-year-old, and they still had the power to hurt her almost five years later. So much so that tremors were suddenly gripping her body as his hateful venom continued to spew.
“You can cover this up with all the makeup you want, but it will always be ugly,” he taunted, his hands still caressing her face as he laughed, “But fuck, baby, if you’re gonna try, at least go to a beauty college or some shit, ‘cause, God damn, you’re a mess.”
“Shhhut…” PJ’s throat closed, speech finally deserting her altogether.
“Aw, why so quiet, Plain Jane? Did I hurt your feelings? You’re usually such a mouthy bitch, trying to tell everybody my business. Just like you blabbed to Mrs. Frye about what went down with me and Andy that day at the courts.” The pads of Wade’s fingers brushed her lips, his gaze lowering there as well. “Such a mouthy bitch,” he whispered almost thoughtfully. “Maybe I should put my cock in it just like I was about to put it to your retarded friend before you interrupted us.”
PJ stiffened as his fingers fell away, his head dipped down, and the full malice of what he’d just uttered registered a split second before she felt the first prying stroke of his tongue. Then rage was hitting her like a lightning bolt, electrifying all the parts of her that were frozen, and without even thinking about it, PJ opened up, taking in the filthy disgusting taste of him just long enough to sink her teeth into his bottom lip hard enough to split it.
Several things happened in rapid-fire succession after this. First, Wade gave a strangled cry while shoving at PJ hard enough for her to release her punishing grip on his mouth. Second, the picture frame behind her head finally gave up its tenuous grip on the wall, fell to the hardwood floor, and shattered. Third, Wade hopped back, swearing up a blue streak. And finally the door next to them was thrown open, and PJ’s former stepsister charged into the room with a hot Asian guy right on her heels.
“What the hell!” Lily’s shocked expression took in the scene, her face swiveling from the glass all over the floor, to a bare-chested, bloody-lipped Wade stumbling around trying to avoid slicing the crap out of his feet, and finally landing on PJ cornered near the chest.
Beau’s friend was having a similar reaction. Eli. That was his name. PJ remembered this as his hard gaze followed the same path Lily’s had taken, ended up squarely on hers, and softened.
PJ had no idea what she must look like to them. She’d only done a quick plait of her hair before the power yoga earlier, so most of it had probably come undone by now, her makeup must be a train wreck if the peanut gallery of assholes was to be believed, and something hot was tickling down the side of her nose. PJ wiped at it.
Lily’s mouth dropped open, her head tilting at the same time as PJ’s. Like they both couldn’t believe the tears they were witnessing. Then PJ’s former stepsister let out a sound PJ had never heard escape her perfectly glossed lips before. It was somewhere between a shriek and a growl as she pivoted in her stiletto ankle boots and lunged for the dude hopping around near the bed.
“Son of a bitch, I’m gonna kill you!” Lily’s forward momentum was arrested by a strong arm wrapping around the waistline of her little black dress.
“Hold up,” Eli said with a hint of exasperation as she struggled to escape him. “Let’s save the murdering business for Beau—”
“Let me go, Elias Park! I need to rain pain on this dickhead.” Lily strained to get a crack at the dickhead in question, and Wade, having found a safe spot to stand, sneered at her ineffective swats.
“I’d love for you to rain something on my dick, Browning. Maybe you can show me just how much like your mama you really are—”
Wade didn’t get much further than this because a writhing ball of furious Southern belle was suddenly let loose, and the hand she swung managed to make solid contact with his busted lip just as the heel of Eli’s Doc Martens came slamming down on his toes.
PJ heard the crunch of glass as Wade fell back on the bed howling. Eli didn’t let up, just stood over the crying mess of a teenager, dug his heel in, and jabbed a finger. “Apologize, motherfucker. Right now. Or the only wrath you’re gonna be contending with soon is mine.”
Wade whimpered out some sort of apology to Lily, who didn’t look particularly accepting as she stood there, arms crossed, eying him like he was a cockroach she’d like to smash. PJ knew the chick was sensitive when it came to any discussion of her mother, but Wade’s comments were guaranteed to piss off the princess like nothing else.
“Now her!” Lily pointed at PJ as Wade squirmed on the bed, his lips pressing together as his skin took on a greenish pallor. “You better say sorry to my sister right now, Wade Hollis, or I swear by Christ and all that is holy that your other foot’s gonna feel the business end of my Louboutins—”
“Sorry,” Wade croaked. “I’mrealfuckingsorryPJ.”
PJ knew that he wasn’t. The guy was about to vomit on the floor. PJ wanted to feel satisfied by this. She wanted to laugh in his face and take pleasure in his humiliation the way he’d taken pleasure in hers so many times before. She’d come to Cleo’s party looking for Lily, but really she’d been looking for Wade. She’d been looking to kick his ass, to punish him, to come away with a big fat win in the PJ versus Wade column. She’d wanted to hurt him. And right now it sure looked as though Wade was hurting with Eli’s boot grinding his foot into the floor.
But that kind of hurt was temporary. That shit would heal in a matter of weeks. The kind of hurt PJ felt wasn’t gonna go away for a while. It had already been with her for years. And as she shifted from her spot on the wall, eyes still leaking like a broken faucet, PJ knew that Wade had won. He’d come away with the W. Because all she could feel as she brushed away the tears was ugly.
She felt ugly.
And she wanted to disappear.
“PJ?” Lily walked towards her, a tissue in her hands. “Are you alright?”
PJ wasn’t. She hadn’t been for a long time. “F-fine,” she said weakly.
Eli let go of Wade. The boy slipped to the floor, clutching his bruised, bloodied foot.
PJ didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes trained on the girl handing her a Kleenex. PJ took it and dabbed at her eyes. The tissue came back black. PJ balled it up in a shaking fist. Wanting to make it disappear. “I’m sorry,” she said at last.
“For what?” Lily asked in confusion. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
PJ shook her head. “Yes, I do. I should have told you about what Wade said a while ago. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“It’s okay, really. I’m fine—” Lily stretched out an arm, her hand hanging in midair as PJ stepped away, shaking her head again and stammering out more apologies in a strange squeaky voice.
“I’m sorry. S-sorry for the fish oil. And for sharpening all your pencils into nubs that one time. And for being a bitch at your book launch party. I was ugly to you. I was ugly. I’m—” PJ gasped out the words as she sidled towards the exit. There were people there, faces lurking in the hallway, strangers taking in the freak show. She wanted to disappear. “I’m so sorry. So sorry. I need to go now.”
“It’s okay,” Eli said quietly. “We’ll walk you to your car—”
“It’s a truck,” PJ rambled, “I should be getting it back now. I need to go h-home.”
“I got this.” Big Jack had suddenly appeared with Penny at the door. “Just follow me.”
PJ slipped in between Penny and Lily as Jack’s large frame parted the sea of silent teenagers and Eli brought up the rear.
No one looked back at the boy with the awful amber eyes as he sat hunched over by the bed, alone in his misery.
Chapter 19
Beau arrived at the Latimoore house s
hortly after eleven with his cousin’s bodyguard riding shotgun. He hadn’t told Watson shit about what was going down, but that was because he didn’t have to. Right after dropping Max off at his parents, Beau had spotted the guy leaving the Colonel’s place, and all it had taken was one look, as Beau had slowed his Audi near the big man walking out to his ride, one look that said, “I got shit going down tonight, brother,” and just like that he’d picked up a passenger.
Now, both of them were striding towards Odelle’s front door with equally dark looks. Beau couldn’t tell if Watson’s brooding visage was because he’d somehow sorted out precisely what type of shit was about to go down or because he was upset about the results of the football match he’d just watched at the Colonel’s. Either way, it didn’t really matter because the man looked good and pissed. And 250 pounds of pissed-off Englishman might come in handy with what was about to go down tonight.
Beau rang the doorbell. They waited for a couple of minutes. No one answered the door. The music was still blaring at a near-deafening level.
Watson unfolded his massive arms, sizing up the wood in front of them. “Want me to open it, mate?”
Beau kind of did. He was good and pissed too. But then, as he glanced towards the west side of the property, he spied a familiar group of faces exiting the side gate with pace. “Nah, man. I see Lily. Let’s go.”
They caught up with them near a pool truck parked squarely in the middle of the lawn. Two violent slashes of torn up sod arced around from its back wheels to the edge of the grass. When PJ had told him she was parked right in front of Cleo’s house, she hadn’t been exaggerating. He saw her just as she reached the driver’s side. Her hands were shaking, her hair was flying out of its braid, and her face was a storm of pent-up emotion and cosmetic thunderclouds as she yanked on the door handle.
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