Done Deal (Arcadia High Anarchists Book 5)

by Max Henry

  She pauses, presumably to shrug. “Dunno. He hasn’t said a lot lately.” I twist in my seat to catch Mandy narrow her gaze. “He’s been withdrawn lately, huh?”

  “Amber messes with his head,” Tuck explains.

  “It must be hard,” I ponder out loud. “To be torn between lifelong friends and family.”

  “She’s not family.” “They aren’t blood.” Tuck and Mandy answer at the same time.

  Okay. “Still.”

  “Still,” Tuck states with a hand to my thigh to soften his tone. “Family or not, he knows she’s in the wrong.”

  “Maybe he knows more than we do? That’s all.”

  “Lacey has a point.” Mandy leans forward. “I’ve known her since we were really little, and she doesn’t do anything without reason. If she treats people ill, it’s because in her head they’ve wronged her first.”

  “Maybe Dee isn’t the one we need to talk to?” I ask.

  The pair stay silent. I’ve never felt as much an outsider as I do now. They understand the people we deal with. They know how these girls and guys tick, and they know the best way to get through to them.

  Me? I’m applying lessons learnt in affluence that don’t necessarily apply out here.

  I clutch at straws.

  The remainder of the ride goes the same, with all three of us lost in our thoughts. Mandy eases back in the seat with her head turned to stare out the window at the passing countryside, while Tuck’s focus rests squarely on the road, a small frown tugging at his brow.

  I fidget with the hem of my woollen jumper, fingers curled around the cuff to rub the loose fibres. I should rehearse what I’ll say to Dee to convince her that she needs to act in the interest of everyone at our school, or our town even. But my mind blanks, the gut feeling I have tells me an off the cuff conversation will work best.

  The Hilux swings in the tree-lined driveway—windbreaks line either side of the shaded dirt road. Puddles remain from the morning frost, barely a strip of sun touching the neglected ground.

  It feels right—a straight path toward what is sure to be hell.

  Mandy fidgets behind us, straightening in her seat to watch over Tuck’s shoulder as we approach the house. The nose of the truck breaches the end of the driveway, the trees giving way to allow an uninhibited view of the colonial-style home.

  And a familiar bike.

  “Shit.” Tuck frowns harder, easing the Hilux to a stop.

  “What’s she doing here?” Mandy mutters, voicing my exact thoughts.

  “You didn’t invite her, then?” The accusation slips from my lips before I give thought to if I should censor it.

  “No,” Mandy bites. “I didn’t.” She exits the truck and slams the door behind her.

  Tuck slowly turns his head to face me. “You ready for this?”

  “Yes, I’m ready.” My hands flex on my legs. “I don’t know who to trust anymore, is all.”

  “You can trust Mandy.”

  “Can I?” I pin him with a hard stare, searching his warm gaze for any sign he takes sides.

  Nothing.

  “Yes.” A warm palm envelops mine. “You can.”

  “I’m sorry.” I thread my fingers through his and take a deep breath. “I feel as though I don’t fit in, you know? You guys have all been friends since you were little, and here I am, giving my thoughts on how you should sort out your disputes.”

  He huffs, drawing my gaze to his. “How do you think I feel when you and Colt get together?”

  My God—he has a point.

  “Regardless, it doesn’t matter.” His hand squeezes mine. “You’re a part of this dispute, so you have as much right as any of us to voice your opinion.”

  And yet again, he’s managed to set my mind at ease with a few simple words. “You’re perfect. You know that?” I drink in the sight of him, all hard edges and rugged lines.

  And still with the softest heart that I know.

  “Nobody’s perfect, baby.” Tuck leans forward, dotting a kiss to my lips. “As much as I think you are too.”

  He leans back before I can capture his shirt in my hand and hold him to me. Just one more minute. A few seconds, at least.

  “Are you ready to let Dee know the same?”

  I smirk. “That you think she’s perfect? Hell no.”

  He chuckles, reaching for the door. “Nah, baby. That’s nobody’s perfect, and it’s okay to admit you fucked up.”

  I suppose it is. After all, isn’t that what I’ve been trying to get Colt to understand this whole time?

  The bitter Easterly hits me first as I step out into the long yard stretching the span of Dee’s house. I run my eye over the property, taking in the outbuildings and copious trees. All I can see are places for people to hide shady behaviour tonight—numerous obstacles blocking line of sight from those who aim to keep the chaos under control.

  “Are you coming?”

  I flick my attention toward where Mandy stands in the open doorway, Dee a shadow behind her while she watches Tuck and I approach carefully.

  “Keep your boots on,” Tuck teases, already half-way to the house.

  I let the shiver shake its way down my spine, hands in pockets while I hunch my shoulders for warmth. Hopefully, the reception from Dee won’t be this chilly. As for Amber, well, I can’t say for sure, but I’d place my money on it being warmer out here.

  “Come through to my room,” Dee states flatly. “Amber’s on the veranda.”

  I frown, the statement seeming a juxtaposition until I see what she means. Dee’s bedroom opens out onto their manicured lawn, French doors dividing her high ceilings from the endless sky. A princess bed envelops the entire right wall, a plush chair with rolled arms draped by copious amounts of clothing at its foot. The whole house appears decorated in period-fitting style, the furniture the sort I’d see in antique stores in Riverbourne.

  Only this stuff doesn’t seem quite as coveted.

  Rainbow stickers anoint the side of her scroll-foot dresser, scratches marring the columns of her bed canopy. The place is well-loved and well-worn.

  It’s a home.

  Tuck leads the way toward Amber, pushing out the glass-panelled doors to where she sits reclined in a wicker chair on the extra-wide veranda. The covered decking wraps around the entire house, a unique and borrowed Australian style.

  I stay close behind Mandy, allowing her to set the mood as she follows out into the afternoon sun and stands directly before my white-haired rival.

  “Looking mighty comfortable, aren’t you?”

  Amber tips her head back, a black ball-cap slung low over her eyes. “Give me a break.” It only serves to make her already knotty hair appear wilder, where it erupts from beneath the brim.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Rather talk about me behind my back?” She dips her head again, but I catch the red rim of her eyes before she does.

  Johnson wasn’t kidding—she’s upset.

  “This bullshit can’t carry on, Amber,” Tuck states. “What’s the endgame, huh? How is bringing a riot to Dee’s house supposed to help anyone?”

  She levels him with a narrowed glare. “Who said it would be a riot?”

  “What else do you think will happen when you invite a bunch of entitled, careless fuckheads out here where they don’t give a shit about anyone or anything?”

  His description of the people I called peers not so long-ago hurts, but he’s right. The kids of Riverbourne have money at hand and time to waste. The two together make for a concoction that promises trouble.

  They don’t care who they hurt or what they wreck because, for them, a solution can be bought for any problem.

  “Don’t pretend as though you suddenly give a shit about our community,” she mocks Tuck.

  I flick my gaze to him and find a steel jaw grinding back and forth while he watches her.

  “What?” Amber leans forward, elbows on the arms of the chair. “Cat got your tongue?”

  “Hey,”
Mandy intervenes, hands before her. “Cool things off, okay? We didn’t come to start a fight.”

  I shift my attention to Dee, who’s stood suspiciously quiet throughout all of this. Her arms band across her chest, one foot kicked back to rest on the toe, her side leant against the weatherboards.

  “What about you?” I ask her, much to her surprise. “Aren’t you worried what the gate crashers will do to your home?”

  “Not really,” she mutters with a dismissive shrug. Yet there’s no heart in it.

  She is worried. But she’s too scared of Amber to say anything.

  “Nobody asked you, Virgin Mary—sorry—Lacey.” Amber ducks her head, face hidden behind the curved peak of her cap. “I still don’t understand why Tuck allows you to speak.”

  “You don’t understand who you mess with.” I shift in front of her to stand beside Tuck. “These aren’t just bored kids. They’re reckless kids with parents preoccupied with saving face at their back.”

  “Ooo,” she taunts. “I’m so scared.”

  “Grow up,” Mandy bites. “Stop hiding behind your bitchiness and give us the respect of an honest conversation.”

  Amber snorts, lifting her head to look at Mandy. “You’re one to talk when it comes to lies. Would you have ever told us about Colt if the arsehole never came back?”

  “Perhaps.” Mandy’s brow dips. “But that’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

  “Then spit it out,” Dee chimes in. “I’ve got a party to prep for.”

  “What’s it going to take?” Tuck asks. He folds his thick arms across his broad chest. A picture of menace with the hard lines of discord etched into his handsome face.

  He looks like his father.

  “For what?” Amber counters.

  “To call a ceasefire.” I drop to my haunches to level our gazes.

  Her eyes are more than red and puffy. She has black inching out from above her right ear. I catch her off-guard while she formulates a reply and snatch the ball cap off her head.

  “What the fuck is this?” Mandy asks, lunging forward.

  She sweeps Amber’s hair out of the way to reveal a freshly shorn patch above her ear. The buzz-cut extends the whole right side, but it’s the patch that’s shaved to the skin that has our attention.

  “You got a freaking tattoo!” Mandy hollers, and not in an admiring way. “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Tuck leans left, as do I, to take in the whole design. Gothic script spells out a word, but I can’t pick more than a few letters; I’ve never been good with stylised fonts.

  “What does it say?” I ask.

  “It says mind your fucking business,” Amber bites.

  “It reads alone.” Tuck gently reaches out and covers the text again.

  Somewhat subdued, I pass her hat back. “Sorry.”

  “Why?” She swiftly tugs it back over her head. “You act as though it’s a cancerous lump.”

  It may as well be. “Why would you get that inked on you?”

  Amber rises abruptly, knocking Tuck back in the process. “Because it’s true, you fucking whore. You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be alone, would you? Because you’re so busy playing the victim, so people stay by your side from sheer guilt.” She spits at my feet. “Some of us aren’t so pathetic.”

  Tuck places his arm across her chest, warning her away from me.

  I lift my palm to indicate he should let her go. She doesn’t scare me.

  She saddens me.

  “Come on, Dee. We’ve got shit to do.”

  The two girls stride off across the lawn toward the yards, leaving the three of us to see ourselves out. Mandy sighs, lips in a firm line as she glances between them and us.

  A tight nod from Tuck and she’s off. “Amber. Wait.”

  “Well,” I say on an exhale. “That went swimmingly.”

  “She’ll get through to her,” he says, frowning after Mandy.

  “Are you sure?”

  A cheeky smile tugs at his lips. “Nope. But what else do we have, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “What the fuck was that ink about, though?” He runs a palm over his head, ruffling the sun-touched locks.

  “I don’t know.” I turn for the house, already feeling like an intruder without Dee present. “But I get the feeling it’s the source of all her troubles.”

  “And ours,” he agrees.

  I nod, reaching for his hand to entwine our fingers. “Definitely ours.”

  GREER

  Conversation stops the second the first chime of the doorbell rings out through the expansive country home. I’ve been here a few times before, but it never fails to get to me how peaceful the Mayberry’s weekend retreat can be.

  I could stay here forever, soaking in the winter sun and listening to the soothing, sleepy sounds of the countryside.

  Instead, my heart rate rackets to impossible heights as the source of my agitation walks in the room.

  Colt’s ice-blue gaze roams across the rich landscape until he finds me, the stiffness to his shoulders visible beneath the cut of his lightweight cable-knit sweater. He’s every inch the picture of perfection with his pale blond hair mussed atop his head, brow hard, and lips set in a firm slash across a handsomely chiselled jaw.

  The perfect contrast to the likes of Barrett, who oozes carefree bad boy appeal where he lounges sideways in one of the tapestry upholstered armchairs.

  “We’ve got one more to arrive yet,” Christian announces as he steps around a frozen Colt. “Then, we’ll start.”

  “Who?” I shift my gaze off the brooding Williams and track his elegant counterpart.

  “Arthur.” Christian slings both elbows behind him to rest on the mantle, commanding the room with his neutral stance, ankles crossed. “He’s on his way.”

  “He’s not doing Libby’s dirty work?” Barrett asks, drawing Colt’s focus toward him.

  “I don’t think so.” The tension radiates from Lacey’s brother as he enters the room, and yet, I still can’t find the gumption to move toward him.

  The space he vacated at the door darkens, shadowed by a new face: Willow.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” If there were any doubts about how deep my jealousy runs, I just obliterated them.

  “She’s here to help.” Colt holds my gaze, daring me to challenge it.

  I look away and find Christian with one hand in front of his mouth, doing a terrible job at concealing his smirk.

  “Oh, lay off.” I’m over him and his judgement of this. “If you have something to say, grow a pair, and get it out.”

  He lets his hand fall with a lazy shrug of the shoulders. “I’m curious, is all.”

  “About what?” Colt barks.

  “Why you two are on opposite sides of the room from each other.” He rolls his eyes, fanning himself dramatically. “The sexual tension is enough to give me a fucking stiffy.”

  Barrett chuckles, glancing between Colt and me as though waiting to see what happens next.

  I turn my head to find Colt watching me intently, where he now sits on the two-seater sofa. “Well?” One eyebrow lifts.

  “Well, what?” I note Willow leaning casually against the doorframe in my periphery.

  Colt pats his knee. “Are you coming here, or what?”

  My cheeks flame, shame running a hot course through me. He commands me like a dog, and what’s worse is that I want to obey.

  Willow jerks her gaze toward Colt, silently me urging to do as he said.

  “Get on with it,” Barrett teases with a lilt of humour in his tone. “It’s painful watching you try to stay demure over there when we all know you just want to ride his big, fat—”

  “I’m going!” I launch from my position. “Jees.”

  Hungry eyes follow my course, devouring me whole before I’ve touched a single hyper-aware nerve-ending to him. I attempt to take the vacant seat beside him, but much to the boys’ amusement, Colt snags me around the waist and
promptly tucks me to his lap. My back settles against the arm of the sofa; my legs slung over his.

  He runs a hot palm up my leg, stopping at the tantalising dip of my thighs and leans in to whisper, “Better, right?”

  I can’t lie. “Yeah.”

  “Right,” Christian hollers to redirect the attention his way. “Now that that is out of the way, Barrett. You’ve met Willow before, haven’t you?”

  Our heathen friend studies the slip of eye-candy at the door. “Not exactly.”

  “We’ve seen each other at parties,” she fills in. “But never spoken.”

  “Well, now you have.” Christian rolls his eyes as though exasperated by the sheer level of pheromones circulating the room.

  Despite the way Willow still eye-fucks Barrett, he seems disinterested as he picks at the stitching of his chair. It shouldn’t please me, but it does—immensely.

  “Why are you avoiding me?” Colt whispers when Christian leads Willow out of the room to get a drink.

  I glance at Barrett and find him tugging his phone free. “I’m not.” Every muscle in the back of my thighs sits tensely against the hard rock beneath me.

  Colt’s hands cruise lazily across my curves, fingers moving in a fan through the dips and hollows. “Telling me to stay away isn’t avoidance, huh?” A firm palm locks into place on my hip, and his head dips forward so he can nuzzle into the warmth of my shoulder.

  My flesh pebbles beneath his touch; tiny goosebumps rocket out in a shockwave that starts and ends with him.

  My damn phone vibrates between us. I reach for it, yet Colt traps my arm with his and reaches down to where our bodies join to prise the device free. I twist a little to ease it out of my pocket, irritated when he then fails to pass it over but checks the screen himself.

  Eight missed calls.

  Two texts.

  All from my father.

  “Issues?” His bright eyes darken when he finally hands my phone over.

  I set it on the sofa beside our legs. “You could say that.”

  “What happened, Greer?”

  I glance to Barrett again, surprised to find he’d left the room. I’m so absorbed in the man beneath me that I dismissed the one beside us.

  “My parents don’t want me to see you.”