Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  Theo was a shadow in the night, looming, taking up almost all the light. I wanted him to come and grab Horace off me. Fling him by the collar to the ground. He just watched. A muscle in his jaw twerked. Clenched. Making his cheekbones that much hollower.

  Horace’s lips roamed my neck. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I couldn’t even move. I was sucked into Theo. When I totally froze, Theo’s lip twitched. Not quite a smile, but the arrogance in his eyes flamed.

  I wanted to kiss harder at the arrogance, but I couldn’t.

  “Horace?” Gemma’s husky voice called out, her white chiffon dress following after, a fairy among the dark leaves. She stopped next to Theo, spotting us.

  Horace jumped off me like I was on fire, running to my sister’s side as if he hadn’t just been climbing up my thigh and moaning my name. I was alone on the sand, surrounded by the looming hedges of the maze, shimmering black-green in the night.

  “Oh, hey Gemma.” I stood up, brushing off invisible grains of sand. Inside, my chest was on fire. They were both by her side, again. In the dark, someone might call out my name, but in the light, everyone always chose her.

  Gemma folded long, lean arms, tilting her head so rose gold hair fell down one side.

  “You didn’t used to be this awful,” she said. “Remember the late nights? The pictures we used to take together?” At the mention of the pictures, my grip involuntarily tightened. Pictures that had once been the only evidence of any affection in my relationship with my sister were now concrete proof I was unlovable.

  “We’ve always been competitive,” Gemma continued. “But you weren’t so vile.”

  “You stole him!” I screamed. “You stole the only thing that was ever mine.”

  The words fell out of me, having been caged inside with a broken lock. I was never any good at keeping my cool like Gemma. I knew I gave up too much, and I prayed Theo didn’t put two and two together.

  I couldn’t look at him, but Theo’s silent presence sucked me in like a black hole.

  “What the fuck are you talking about? You act like you’re the victim, but you’ve tried to steal every boyfriend I’ve ever had. If our life was a novel, I’d be the princess and you’d be the shitty, jealous villain begging a mirror to say she was pretty. I’d be furious if it wasn’t so fucking pathetic. They let you blow them or finger you, then come back to me because anyone with a brain can see you’re not worth it.” She paused to let me breathe from the brutal tongue-lashing before she delivered the final blow. “You’re one step up from a Fleshlight.”

  “Your fiancé didn’t think so.” I could feel my insides squishing beneath my sister’s silver heel. Even I didn’t believe my words, and as her perfect pink smile grew wider, my uncertainty cemented.

  “Did you think he did that without my permission?” She laughed. “My only condition was I got to see the look on your face when you found out once again you weren’t a second, or even third choice. You were barely a choice at all.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to make them like me—imperfect, stained. Instead, I’d been used as a rag to make them cleaner.

  My gaze connected with Theo’s brutal and unyielding green eyes, and that was when my tears fell. It wasn’t quite arrogance in them, it was almost… disappointment.

  My tears burned like acid.

  I couldn’t let them see.

  My choices were humiliation by running away, or staying for a public, brutal shaming. So I ran. I pushed past them. I heard her laughter, but I kept running. I couldn’t listen to this; her truths cut like knives. A Crowne always learned truth hurt more, was cleaner, more effective. More than that, when you’re as powerful as us, you don’t need to lie. However vicious and razing a lie, you can always be assured you’ll rise above the rubble.

  A Crowne didn’t lie… to others.

  To ourselves, well, we were masters.

  I ran and stumbled in the grass, my heel getting caught in the uneven, sandy terrain. I kept running until I tripped. I stumbled into a servant, and we both went down.

  At first, I thought the most damage I’d done was to my ego, and maybe bruised the servant I’d knocked down a little, but I learned quickly enough how wrong I was when the pop and squeal sounded, followed by screams.

  Fireworks.

  I’d knocked into the servant setting up the fucking firework show, just as he was lighting the first one. I looked around frantically as one by one fireworks exploded without direction. It was a domino effect, the first lighting the second, and so on.

  I stood up in time to see them explode in the garden.

  “I didn’t do this,” the servant said, desperation leaking from every syllable. “You know I didn’t do this Ms. Crowne.”

  I glanced at him. Maybe if it had been Gray who’d caused this, he’d be blamed. But it was me.

  He had nothing to worry about.

  One after another my mother’s artfully trimmed hedges were set ablaze, the dark night illumined in orange and yellow. Tonight’s firework show ruined.

  Servers rushed to put out the fire in the garden. Partygoers screamed, running away from it. Startled swans jumped out of the water. It was a total fucking catastrophe.

  I swiped tears out of my eyes.

  Why couldn’t I ever do anything right?

  Theo had asked if I was going to pull an Abby. In the end, I guess I had.

  “Abigail Genevieve Crowne.” My mother clenched my arm so tight I swore it might bruise. “I know you’re behind this somehow, but smile and act like everything is fine.” Behind her Mrs. Harlington watched us, light-brown brows furrowed.

  Out of the bushes, I saw Gemma walking toward me from the maze, laughing with Theo and Horace.

  Everything was spiraling out of control, faster than the shrieking fireworks. Fire rose in my chest, and I clawed for a distraction. Something to make this not hurt.

  “Am I ever going to meet my fiancé?” I yelled, tearing my arm out. “Or are we just going to exchange cattle on my wedding and call it a day?”

  Mrs. Harlington’s mouth dropped.

  My mother’s lips thinned.

  And a little bit of the fire in my chest dissipated.

  I kicked off my shoes and ran past my distraught mother and my soon-to-be mother-in-law, into the house and up the stairs, down the hall, to my wing. I didn’t stop to catch my breath until I was safely in my wing, back in my room. Then I fell, grasping the sateen chaise at the foot of my bed. I counted my breath with the ocean waves outside.

  Minutes passed with their crashing.

  1…2…3… heart almost steady.

  “Bad plan.”

  I lifted my head sharply at Theo’s voice, still holding the arm for support. Just like that, my heart was tachycardiac. Theo leaned with his back against the doorframe, head canted, watching me with a darkly amused expression.

  I looked back at the white carpet.

  “Where’s Gemma?” I sounded petulant.

  I hated that.

  I saw his shadow first, then his soft black leather shoes. He bent down, lifting my chin from the carpet.

  “You act like you’re this broken little victim, but I see you.” He rubbed my flesh gently through his vicious words. “You’re an attention whore. You get off on it. Good or bad, Mommy didn’t give you enough growing up so you seek it out.”

  His thumb strayed from my chin, gliding along my bottom lip.

  “Am I not giving you enough attention, Reject?”

  Anger rose hot, almost masking the hurt. I snapped at his thumb; he drew it back just in time with a laugh.

  “Go away,” I tried to growl, and it came out a mumble.

  “Did you think that would bother me, Reject?” His voice was too calm, too quiet.

  “It wasn’t about you,” I lied.

  “Hopefully. Because watching you treat yourself like an old couch doesn’t do much for me.”

  My heart cracked.

  Then his fingers came back to my chin, vicious, dragging me
up off the floor with a force that felt like it would snap my neck if I didn’t comply.

  “It’s my fault. I wasn’t clear.”

  The hand at my chin pushed the hair from my face violently, locking into place at the back of my neck—locking me into place. His other shot between my legs. Cupping me—no, imprisoning me.

  I sucked in a breath.

  “You’re mine. I own this. The next time you feel like getting sloppy with my property…” His grip tightened, and the little air in my lungs vanished. “I won’t be so forgiving.”

  Shivers raced up my spine.

  I glared. “Oh, I’m so scared.”

  A small smile hooked his right lip, like he knew my lie. “Were you just as wet for him?”

  The closest Horace got to me was above-the-panties action, and I nearly vomited at that. Either way I answered would damn me, but Theo didn’t seem to want one anyway.

  Theo traced my lace panties, barely lifting the edge with his thumb, just grazing the crease of my thigh. I sucked in air, trying to keep my head clear. It was a torturous rhythm. Expose, cover, expose, cover, until I felt I was going to die if he didn’t move his thumb closer to where I throbbed.

  “If I moved these aside, would I find my answer?”

  God, yes, please do it.

  The apathetic curiosity in his voice killed me, like he didn’t give a shit he was touching me. I could be a rock for all the affection in his tone.

  Meanwhile, I was burning up under his touch.

  I moved, trying to force him under my panties, just a little closer. Somewhere along the line, consequences had given way to aching, throbbing need.

  Then it happened. His thumb slid just enough, hovering featherlight above my pussy.

  My breath rushed out of me.

  Our eyes locked. In that second something crashed. I saw him again. I saw Theo Hound, my best friend. Sweetness, tenderness—it was faint, but it was there, a softness in his eyes like dawn breaking.

  He pressed a little, barely spreading me, but not nearly enough.

  I whimpered, and the sweet look vanished.

  “I already came,” I said, desperately grasping at straws, anything to keep control. “You saw. Whatever happens, it doesn’t matter.”

  His eyes narrowed; then a mean smile spread his heart-shaped lips. “Is that what that was supposed to be? You don’t think I know what you look like when you lie, Abigail? It’s classic you. Turning up the volume so loud no one will see the scared little girl beneath. I see you.”

  He leaned forward, breath ghosting my neck, until his words shivered down my spine. “I’ll always see you.”

  He pushed deeper, spreading me wet and aching, too slow and too tender for the vicious way he spoke.

  “When you come for me, you won’t have to put on a show.” He trailed his lips up and down my neck, below my ear, my jaw—not a kiss, not a tease—a ruthless torment.

  The steam and heat from his breath, the constant ache built from his thumb, had my eyes rolling back.

  “And that’s okay. I won’t need it.”

  Finally his thumb just barely grazed that tender, aching spot. I caved, grasping his shoulders, feeling his muscles bunch, pulling him closer.

  Then he dropped me.

  Shoved me to the chaise. I wasn’t sure I could stand if I tried.

  Theo licked the back of his thumb, one long, agonizing swipe, our eyes still locked. “Sleep well, Reject.”

  THEO

  I woke to Abigail’s sob. Instantly I was up, through her open gilded double doors and inside her room. Next came a whimper, then another sob. It was two in the morning, but the large room glowed hazy marigold. Abigail didn’t do dark. She didn’t do nightlights. She couldn’t sleep unless all shadows were gone.

  My training had me scanning the room. I jiggled the windows—still locked. Closet, bathroom—clear. No threat save the ones in her dream. I was double-checking the windows when she whimpered again, tossing in her quilted satin sheets.

  I kicked the post of her king-sized bed. “Wake up, Reject.”

  Her bed rattled, but she didn’t wake.

  Abigail has no other guards but me, because the spoiled fucking brat scared them off. So I only sleep for, maybe, three hours tops because there’s no one to relieve me. In those three fucking hours, she wakes me up for a fucking nightmare.

  She slept with one lean, pale leg bare. All the way up to her hip. I chewed my bottom lip.

  I can still fucking taste her.

  Fuck.

  Goddamn it.

  Another sob, this one muffled by her pillow.

  I ground my jaw and went to her bedside.

  Abigail hadn’t had a hearts-and-flowers childhood. We’d bonded over that, once. She was a princess, I was a street kid, but we’d both been scarred by rejection and abandonment. Back then, she fooled me into thinking I got off easy compared to her.

  My mom only left me once.

  Hers never stopped leaving.

  I lifted her up by the shoulders, shaking her. “Wake the fuck up.” Her eyes fluttered open, hazy. Brown-black strands of hair stuck to her forehead and flushed cheeks. Lips parted.

  The urge to let her drop back to the mattress and leave was strong. It was no longer my job to chase away her nightmares, and I was dangerously close to crossing a line I’d drawn in cement.

  My grip tightened on her shoulders.

  “I can’t find anyone.” Sleep-coated distress colored her words. “They promised they wouldn’t leave this time, but I can’t find anyone.”

  I should get up. It was only a matter of seconds until she came back to reality.

  I peeled strands of hair from her face. “It’s just another nightmare, Abs.”

  Her brows caved. “I don’t want to spend Christmas alone.”

  “You’re not alone, sweet girl.”

  The term of endearment slipped out, but she’d be too tired to notice. Hopefully she’d be too tired to remember any of this.

  Her cloudy gaze cleared, focusing on the room, the bed, then me. Recognition slowly washed over her features. “Oh.”

  My hand lingered longer than necessary on her cheek. Abby was a siren in her floaty black slip and I was the sailor ready to jump into the rocks for her.

  I pushed the rest of her hair out of her face. This was Abigail at her most dangerous. Because when Abigail dropped her walls, mine fell with them. I forgot. I forgot to hate her, forgot why I had to learn to hate her.

  “You good?” My voice was soft.

  “Yeah. Thank you.”

  Thank you.

  I flinched. Whatever tenderness snuck insidiously inside me vanished. Disgust slid as sewer water through my veins. First at myself, for being so goddamn stupid, then at her.

  It had been a night like this when she’d told me she loved me. She’d looked at me like this too.

  My voice was too soft, deadly.

  “Thank you?” I tightened my grip on her hair to a yank. “Thank you, promise, please… Abigail Crowne’s four favorite words.”

  “What are you doing?” Her voice shook.

  I laughed, biting my tongue. “You’re so fucking predictable.”

  A small, bluish-green dot caught my eye, visible on her small wrist. I let go of her hair, gripping her wrist, pulling her small body to me and holding her in the air and off the bed in an awkward position so she was at my mercy.

  Fuck.

  She still looked so beautiful.

  “Did you think you could get into my head? I’m your worst nightmare, Reject.”

  I pushed her back into the mattress. “I know everything about you. I know the deep dark secrets you don’t even tell yourself. I know the truths to all your lies.”

  I pressed down on the freckle until it disappeared into the bloodless white of her skin.

  “I will always be inside you.”

  A fear whispered back: She would always be inside me.

  I let go, got off the bed, and left her behind, slamming the
double doors shut as she yelled at my back, “All I said was thank you!”

  9

  ABIGAIL

  I rubbed the small blue-gray freckle to the left of my vein, the tattoo Theo had given me, made from the tip of a graphite pencil. He’d said everyone would think it was just a small, irregularly colored freckle, but I would know. Forever.

  I was tired, having stayed awake after Theo came to me last night. At least he’d shut my doors, given me that sliver of privacy.

  For a brief second, I thought I’d seen the old Theo. Sweet and kind Theo, the one who woke me up from nightmares. Of course I was wrong. There was nothing about the old Theo left.

  Theo used to wear a friendship bracelet every day. It was made of bulky, pastel beads and had the letters BFF sandwiched between hearts. Seeing someone like Theo, a guy who only wore shades of black, with a penchant for smoking, smirks, and brooding, with a pastel bracelet on his wrist was unbearably sexy. He’d worn it like he wore everything else, with effortless confidence born from not giving a shit what anyone else thought.

  Like everything else Theo, it drove me insane.

  Who gave it to him? Why didn’t he ever take it off?

  Anytime I’d asked him, he’d always said I already knew the answers.

  I used to hate seeing it on his wrist… now it drives me insane to see his wrist bare. Another reminder the old Theo is gone.

  A knock at my door had me sitting up and righting shoulders achy from hunching for hours after Theo left, wiping sleep-tired eyes. I expected it to be Theo, so I steeled myself. Today was another stupid party. Another expensive invite. Another day for Abigail Crowne to ruin. Some famous cellist was playing, one of the women people would cream their panties just to sit hundreds of chairs away from. Naturally, everyone at Crowne Hall wouldn’t give a shit.

  When I was a kid, we used to sabotage such parties.

  Before my siblings and I totally hated one another, we ruined them together.

  When my mom pushed open the door, I realized I didn’t need steel. I should’ve poured liquid cement inside my veins.