Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  I side-eyed him. “What do you want?”

  He laughed again, then slid one arm along the railing, getting closer. “Straight to the point, Abby. I like that.”

  Then his hand was on the back of my neck, his alcohol-laced breath on my cheek.

  I pushed him away.

  Ew.

  “C’mon, Crowne. You’ve never said no before. Why start now?”

  Sometime in boarding school, someone started the rumor I was easy. I never denied it, because denying it was akin to ratifying the thing. Sort of like with this asshole—the more you say no, the more they hear yes.

  He came at me again, with more fervor.

  So I pushed him with both hands. His drink fell from his grasp, landing on the bottom deck with a shatter. Someone yelled party foul.

  “So you open your legs for every other guy but not me?” He came back at me, pushed me flat against the railing. “What’s the deal, Abby?”

  No sooner had Khalid pressed his hand between my legs and fear wrapped its ugly hands around my throat, than he was yanked back. Violently.

  Theo.

  His name was a sigh of cool relief in my veins.

  He held Khalid by the collar, practically lifting him on his tiptoes.

  “Don’t touch her,” he growled.

  Khalid rolled his eyes. “Someone fetch a bone; the dog is growling again.”

  Theo grabbed his other arm, putting it behind his back the way he’d done with Alaric and Geoff, forcing a yelp from Khalid. Anytime Theo acted like this, my heart fluttered. I could get used to it, I thought. I was getting used to it, and that was the problem.

  Theo shoved Khalid against the railing with so much force the railing shook. “Apologize.”

  I couldn’t imagine a prince, third in line to the throne, saying sorry to anyone, much less a girl.

  And I was right.

  “Fuck off,” Khalid gritted.

  Theo paused. For a second I thought he’d let Khalid go. Then, in almost slow motion, he bent Khalid’s finger back. Crack.

  Khalid screamed.

  Sounding all at once bored and furious, Theo said, “Keep your hands to yourself.”

  My eyes locked with Theo’s, still holding Khalid. The pale green depths were filled with an inscrutable emotion—if I didn’t know better, I’d say need. There was a fire in them matching the burning sky. Blood rushed fast and furious through my ears. Unintentionally, I wet my lips. His eyes dropped to them.

  Theo stepped back. Khalid hung over the railing, using it for support. Theo grasped my elbow somewhat gently, considering what those very hands had just done seconds before. He steered me away from Khalid’s moans and the menacing words he yelled at our backs.

  He careened me all the way to the front of the boat.

  People made out and more on white leather, but I was stuck on Theo.

  “You broke his finger.” Awe laced my words.

  He scoffed. “He got off lucky.”

  I blinked in surprise. Lucky? What else could Theo do, if provoked?

  I pulled my elbow out. “Why are you here?”

  He quirked his head to the side. “Hmm… that doesn’t sound like thank you.” He stepped closer, and I took a step back. My back bit into the railing. “Did you really think I would let you out of my sight? After tonight?”

  Yes.

  No.

  I don’t know.

  “Why do you care? You’ve made it clear you don’t care what happens to me.”

  “Don’t care, Abigail? There’s a reason they call me your dog.”

  “Stop,” I said weakly, turning my head away from him.

  “Those fights I got in when we were kids?” He gripped my biceps, thrusting me to him. “For you.”

  I slowly looked back, eyes locked.

  “Every single broken bone. Every bloody knuckle. It was all. For. You.”

  “Stop!” I yelled.

  Funny Theo. Sweet Theo. Aggressively protective Theo.

  It was too much.

  “You want to talk about not caring? Look in the fucking mirror. All I’ve ever done is care about you.”

  My heart pounded like the pop pop pop of fireworks as his grip tightened, pulling me closer until our lips were only separated by the breath of ocean air.

  I darted my tongue out to wet my lips, and his eyes dropped to them, hooded.

  “Ooooh! Theo and Abigail are about to fuck.”

  I was pulled from Theo’s searing gaze to the boat’s leather couches where we’d drawn an audience. My classmates and peers made kissing noises at us, and a few made the jerking-off motion.

  “Isn’t bestiality illegal?” one of them asked.

  “You would know,” another countered, and the guy who’d asked threw a vape at his head.

  “Get the fuck out,” Theo practically growled, his grip tightening on my arms painfully. I didn’t think they would listen, but they all quickly scrambled off the couches, mumbling something about a rabid dog.

  The time it took for them to leave was enough for me to come to my senses.

  I pulled out of Theo’s grip, but his eyes were back on me, and that was almost worse. They dug through my walls.

  “Let me fucking protect you, Abigail.”

  “You can’t. You’re the one person who can’t.”

  I was always Abigail Crowne, and my last name always eradicated anything else about me. Abigail Crowne needs her mother’s approval. Abigail Crowne has no friends because Abigail Crowne is a fire starter, an attention seeker, a whore. Abigail Crowne hurts before she can hurt.

  With Theo, I was always just Abigail.

  And that was the problem.

  “Abigail—”

  “You broke my heart!” I think I yelled, but the sound of fireworks, music, and illegally obtained weapons was so loud I couldn’t be sure. “You talk about how you’re going to break my heart, but you already did, Theo. You shattered it into a billion pieces.”

  His grip loosened, eyes wide, lips parted.

  I took the opportunity to run. I ran back into the party, into the black and glitter and flashing lights, deep into the pounding music. Away from Theo, from someone who saw me, disappearing into a world where no one saw me.

  Because that was truly safer.

  I took another shot of vodka, then slammed the glass down.

  I can’t believe I told Theo that. Fuck.

  Slam.

  I can only imagine the ways he’s going to use it against me.

  Slam.

  Deciding to forgo the shots and grab a bottle, I carried it with me into the master bathroom. Astonishingly, no one was in the bed, but laughter and giggles trickled out of the bathroom. I saw their shoes before I saw them. Spiky, silver, sparkly heels sticking out of the bubbles. They drank from a champagne bottle, curls sticking to their perfectly done makeup. Only their jewels and shoes were left on their naked bodies.

  “Get out,” I said, taking a drink, not bothering to hide my glare.

  “Um, fuck off, Reject.”

  They giggled harder.

  I vaguely recognized them, the way I vaguely recognized everyone. I think one of them was friends with my sister, or maybe had sat on the face of my brother.

  With an exhale, I threw the bottle against the wall. It shattered by their feet. It wouldn’t cut them, but it was enough to get them scrambling out of the tub.

  “Are you a psycho?” they screamed, bubbles stuck to their artificially tanned skin.

  “Um, maybe?” I said in the same annoying tone, bobbing my head like they had.

  The door slammed shut behind them and I headed to the balcony.

  Fireworks still reflected on the ocean. Laughter was almost as loud as the music. We’d reached the point in the night where clothes had become optional. I hung my arms over the balcony. The water looked blurry, and I felt… off. I attributed it to the alcohol and heartache.

  “Abigail.”

  I turned around at the voice.

  I hadn
’t heard the door open.

  A man stood in the bedroom with the same vaguely familiar face everyone here had.

  “What do you want?”

  A smile speared his lips. “Finally making an introduction… though it’s unnecessary. We’ve met before.”

  “I’ve never met you.”

  He frowned. “You don’t remember me?”

  I rubbed my head, blinking through the fog. I’d barely had anything to drink—the hell was wrong with me?

  “You kissed me. You loved me.”

  “I think you have me confused—”

  That was when I noticed the rose in his hand, like all the other roses terrorizing me this last year. My eyes flashed between that and him. It couldn’t be him, right? Instinct had me stepping back, clinging to the railing.

  “Who are you?”

  I knew in my gut, but I still didn’t want to believe it. Stalkers are supposed to be ugly warts of a person. He was not. He was beautiful. He reminded me of the boys I’d gone to school with. Perfectly groomed, with soft skin and softer lips, and bright, clear eyes. His light-brown hair had a slight wave to it only professionally done hair could achieve.

  In any other situation, I might have found him cute.

  “You know me, Abby.” He took a step closer. “I was with you at Rosey, Abby. Roses for our time at Rosey.” He smiled like what he had said and done was sweet, not absolutely terrifying.

  His words hit me like a struck gong, and I gripped the railing harder. I thought back to my time in Switzerland. I’d attended boarding school until age fourteen, my brother fifteen, my sister sixteen, when Dad was barely in the ground and Grandpa thought we should attend public school for “appearances.” I’m sure it had nothing to do with his briefly considering politics.

  Rosey was a blur of drugs, partying, and going to school hungover. Boys and girls were divided into two campuses, but that hardly kept us apart.

  All this time I’d assumed he was some weird, obsessed fan.

  He was one of us?

  “You promised you would stay in touch,” he continued. “You wouldn’t even accept my friend request. You never followed me back. You blocked me.”

  The music warbled and bent inside itself.

  “You give someone like the dog attention and not me? I could give you the world.” He traced his knuckles along my jaw. When did he get so close? “You’re Abigail Crowne. You deserve so much more.”

  I tried to focus on the man in front of me. My tongue felt thick. I moved it around my mouth, as if that would help. My head was suddenly fuzzy. I rubbed it but it didn’t help.

  Suddenly, it came to me.

  “Newt?”

  A flash of violent anger cracked across his face like lightning, and I sucked in a breath. “That’s what you remember?”

  I knew it was a nickname, but my head was spinning so hard I couldn’t remember his real name. His last name was something with an H? Hollingsworth? Hathaway? That didn’t sound right…

  Newt had gone through a growth spurt. He’d also lost the baby fat. But I saw it now. He was Newt, the boy I’d played spin the bottle with.

  Once.

  “I’ve had to watch you all over the news. With other guys. Naked and showing off.” The last part he nearly bit off.

  “Newt, that was years ago…” Dizzy. I was dizzy. My grip was slipping on the railing. “We were kids.”

  I barely remember you, I almost added.

  “Stop fucking calling me that,” he snapped and snatched my wrist in a violent grasp. “My name is Ned.”

  For some reason I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight him.

  All my life I’d wanted to be the center of attention, to be noticed and appreciated. Outside of the shadows.

  Newt, or Ned, smiled, his knuckles still on my cheek. “I’ll give you the attention a Crowne deserves.”

  Then everything blurred.

  14

  THEO

  I followed Abigail into the party, but she disappeared. So I grabbed a water and stewed as the disgustingly wealthy became more disgusting.

  I broke her heart?

  I scoffed into my water.

  What kind of mental gymnastics was she pulling to think that up?

  She’d kissed me, promised she’d never leave me, and then the next day I was sent to California. She knew what it meant to promise to never leave me.

  She knew.

  Didn’t she?

  I sat up straighter, spotting Abigail coming out of a room, her arm around some guy’s neck. Classic Abigail. Pushing me away. Pushing everyone away. Show her a bit of affection, and she runs to a stranger.

  “Hey, dog!”

  Alaric, Geoff, Khalid, and two other fuckers I vaguely recognized, surrounded me, blocking my view of Abigail.

  I raised a brow, lifting my chin at Khalid’s swollen finger. “Looking to break some more fingers?”

  “I told you, you’re dead,” Alaric growled.

  I looked over their shoulders, finding Abigail again, studying the guy all but carrying her. He looked like everyone else here. Entitled. Soft. Like if we were back in the Middle Ages he’d have an executioner, and that guy would be me.

  “Five on one.” I eyed all of them. “Feeling brave now?” They glared. Abigail stumbled again.

  “Listen…” I said, eyes still on Abigail. “If you’re looking to get your ass kicked, let’s do it quickly.”

  They laughed; then, without further pretense, Alaric swung at me.

  I dodged it easily.

  Next Geoff came at me, then the two fuckers whose names I couldn’t remember, then Khalid. I dodged, letting them get tired.

  All the while I kept my eyes on Abigail. She couldn’t keep her head up, and he was holding a little too tightly to her wrist. How drunk was she?

  A sucker punch to the gut from Geoff temporarily distracted me. I grunted, focusing on them, ending it quickly.

  Khalid got a broken wrist, Geoff and Alaric broken noses, the nameless idiots a few broken ribs. When I’d finished with them, we’d gathered an audience, and they lay on the ground, moaning.

  They all got off easy.

  “Last warning,” I said. “Find me again, you’re dead.”

  I wiped my bloody nose, looking for Abigail. I might have a black eye, and my ribs would hurt, but they were still rich boys relying on privilege to win their fights. They didn’t know what to do with someone like me, someone who not only fought back but knew how to fight.

  I looked for Abigail and just barely found her before she left the boat. She stumbled, her head lolling to the side.

  That was when I intervened.

  The guy gave me one look before trying to brush me aside. “Get out of here, dog.”

  I ignored him. “Abigail?”

  She barely lifted her head, eyes glassy. “Theo.” She smiled brightly when she said my name.

  That more than anything made me suspicious. Had she been drugged?

  “Abigail, how much have you had to drink?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to see how dilated her pupils were.

  “I like it when you glare at me.” She said it like it was a secret, giggling.

  Definitely drugged.

  My attention turned to the fucker holding her. “What the fuck did you give her?”

  “He’s giving me roses, Theo. I think he likes me. I wish you liked me.”

  A heartbeat hung in the air. I didn’t have a minute to contemplate her confession, because I was too busy realizing this guy was the guy. I thought he was another date-raping privileged fucker who didn’t understand the meaning of the word no, like the assholes I’d just reacquainted with my fists.

  He was the fucker terrorizing her?

  His eyes widened, then he dropped her. He fucking dropped her. I grabbed her by the waist before she hit the floor, holding her up. He sprinted out the door, pushing drunken and high revelers out of his way, heading for the dock.

  Everything in me wanted to run after him. But if I let Abiga
il go, she would fall. Or worse, go to the hands of someone like Khalid. So I watched him run, memorizing everything about him. Chestnut hair. Blue eyes. About five foot eleven. Cleft chin.

  Abigail leaned into me, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. I attempted to get her walking, but she was fading fast.

  I lifted her into my arms. Her head fell to my shoulder, arms around my neck, burying her head in the crook of my neck. I couldn’t help but think about how nice she smelled, how good she fit in my arms, and how fucked the reason for holding her was.

  Her asshole peers made whooping noises as I carried her out. Bright flashes went off, taking pictures.

  When we got to her room, Abigail fell to the bed easily, already asleep. I made sure her head was situated properly on her pillow. She hadn’t worn shoes, and the bottoms of her feet were dirty. I wondered if they’d hurt at all tonight.

  An ache in my chest formed that I quickly ignored.

  She was like a princess amid all the downy silk sheets. Her dark brown hair curled around her face.

  I pushed away a stray strand, pausing.

  Eyelashes fell on soft cheeks, and her pouty lips parted for hushed breaths. She didn’t look wicked when she slept. Could she really have been hurting all this time?

  I tried to shake off the thought, but it lingered.

  Still caressing her cheek, I looked at her secret spot that housed a box filled with piles upon piles of pictures of Abigail. Alone, the pictures were mundane, but by the hundreds, they were downright sinister.

  I stepped back, fiddled with the notes in my pocket, thinking of the disgusting promises that asshole had made.

  That he’d nearly been able to make good on.

  This was my fault.

  I let her run. I let the shit between us come before her safety.

  Never again. Nothing would come before Abigail, not even my heart.

  A few hours later, when dawn was just breaking gray in the sky, there was a knock on the door to Abigail’s wing. I stood off the wingback, stiff from watching Abigail for hours.

  I left one of the double doors open so I could still see her.

  Tansy Crowne stood in the doorway, as if she didn’t even want to step one foot in the wing. One perfectly plucked brow arched. “I assume this is important.”