by Amo Jones
This emotion must be rejection.
After the dogs have fed and drank, I head into the kitchen and pull out the ingredients for bacon and eggs. That run was what my mind needed, but now my body is deprived and hungry. I heat up the heavy skillet, pouring coconut oil in and waiting for it to warm before cracking my eggs in. While that’s cooking, I line the tray with bacon strips and slide it beneath the grill. I’m dropping bagels into the toaster when the front door echoes closed and footsteps come down to the kitchen. I hold my breath, hoping it’s not Brantley.
Pink hair comes around the corner, with Nate right behind it.
He kisses Tillie on the head before disappearing upstairs.
“Yum! What are you making?” she asks, peeking into the pan before pushing herself up to sit on the counter. Tillie is the obvious type of beautiful. She’s the kind of girl who will walk into a room filled with people and unknowingly steal everyone’s attention. She has defined features that could be compared to the likes of girls like Megan Fox. Madison is the same, though, and I’ve only seen her through a camera lens. Together they must be lethal.
“You okay?” she asks, kicking out her legs while I grab two plates. I already know she’s going to want some, and the more I’m lost in my thoughts, the less hungry I become.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, pulling the bagels out and dropping them onto our plates before dishing them up. I grab the avocado. “I did something last night and now I can’t get this feeling out of my gut that feels a lot like I made a mistake.”
Tillie steals a strip of bacon and chews on it slowly. “That is regret. What did you do?”
I chop the avocado, some tomatoes, red onion, and toss it all over the bacon and eggs on our plate, before dashing—generously—some hot sauce on mine but none on Tillie’s when she stops my hand from going over her plate.
I give her a plate before sliding up onto the bench opposite, resting my plate on my lap. I take a piece of bacon and chew on it slowly. I exhale once I’ve swallowed the salted meat. “I kissed Brantley last night.”
“And?” Tillie says, waiting for me to continue.
“And maybe I tried to have sex with him.”
She stares as if she’s waiting for more.
“And he told me he didn’t want me, but not until after he made me—you know. With his tongue.”
She pauses, her mouth opening and closing, before she finally rolls her eyes while sliding her plate on the counter beside her and leaning forward, sucking the bacon fat off her fingers. “Let me tell you about men and how they respond to things they think they don’t want, or in Brantley’s case, deserve.” I tilt my head, chewing slowly. Removing my sweaty tank top so I’m left in nothing but my sports bra and high-waisted yoga pants, I toss it across the room. “I don’t understand.”
Tillie leans backward, shoveling food into her mouth and talking around it. “It’s Brantley. He won’t touch you because he will think you’re too good for him. He will think that all the dirty things he did in the past will taint his perfect little doll.”
“How can you be so sure?” I ask, taking a bite out of my bagel and almost rolling my eyes to the back of my head when the salty butter slides down my throat. Food. Carbs.
“Because I know Brantley.” Tillie shrugs. “And let me say, that motherfucker is so lucky I’m pregnant right now, or I’d be taking you out tonight just to be an asshole.”
“This is why he calls you Little Terror?” I chuckle, shaking my head.
She nods. “Yep!”
There’s silence that drags between us, and when I know she’s not going to fill it with small talk, I do. “Our mom…”
Tillie stills, her hand around her bagel. She places it back on her plate and brushes the crumbs from her hands. “I didn’t know her well. I only just found out she was my mother recently.” She picks up her bagel again and bites into it. “But she was a bitch, so we didn’t miss much.”
We clean up after that, and I’m running upstairs to get changed when I round the corner and crash into something—or someone—hard, tall, and built from pure muscle. My heart short-circuits in my chest as I jump backward, sidestepping away from Brantley without saying anything.
“Hey!” he snaps at me just as my hand is on my door handle. The gold metal in contrast to my pale skin.
I turn over my shoulder. I’m not good at this. This feels awkward. “Yes?”
His eyes roam up and down my body. “You fucking ran like that?” His brows are pulled in, his hand waving up and down.
“What?”
“What?” He mimics my tone. “Don’t fucking ‘what’ me, Saint. Did you run dressed like that?” He starts walking toward me and I push my door open and step inside. I’m about to slam it closed when he slaps it open so hard it flies out and hits the wall.
“What are you doing!” I yell at him. I never raise my voice at him, and to be fair, it’s not that loud. I probably sound more like a chihuahua barking at a rottweiler.
“Answer me!” His tone is a few levels above whatever temperature Hell is.
“I didn’t, but the question was weird!” Now my hands are in the air.
His eyes remain on mine, and I swear his pupils dilate and dissolve a few times. “That’s all you had to say. Get dressed and bring spare clothes.” He turns and leaves. What. Was. That. I bite my tongue while grabbing clothes to wear. Tillie and Nate probably heard that, too.
My phone dings and I pull it out of the strap that’s on my arm, tugging it out of the case and opening it, I see I have three new messages. I open the latest one.
Tillie: Heard that. Now you have to wear something sexy that shows your tits. #Titsoutfortheboys
I flick out of her message and open the next one while making my way into the bathroom.
Unknown: Hey, Saint. It’s Madison. Please don’t share this number. Can we talk?
I pause at that. The number started with a +64, so I already know she’s not in America, Canada, or Mexico. Before going to the next text, I send her off a reply.
Saint: Sure. I think we’re leaving for somewhere today, but I can call you when no one is around.
The speech bubbles pop up instantly.
Madison: Okay. Thank you.
Turning on the shower, I remove my clothes while opening the final text.
?: He didn’t bite, huh? I know someone who wouldn’t say no…
I exit the message and get busy with washing the sweat and disappointment off my body. Since my hair is sweaty, I start washing up fast and once I’m finished, I climb out of the shower, drying up and wrapping a towel around myself. I blow out my hair until it’s in soft tresses when my door opens and Brantley’s on the other side.
His eyes connect with mine in the mirror. “How long are you going to be?” He’s always this grumpy. I’m familiar with it, but after last night and his little episode before, now I feel somewhat annoyed.
Annoyed by his rejection.
I stand from my makeup stool and squeeze the towel that’s scrunched where my breasts dip. I turn to face him completely and watch as his eyes fight to remain on my face. “You thought I would fuck you?” Those words ring through my ears, only fueling the annoyance that already rolls around in my chest. My thighs clench. There’s a hunger in my belly that food couldn’t satiate.
He pins me with his stare, the muscles on either side of his jaw twitching as he clenches. “Don’t you fucking dare…”
I flick my wrist and the towel falls around my ankles.
“Fuck!” Brantley kicks the door closed, locking us inside as I move to my bed and reach for my underwear. His hand is on my wrist, pulling me into his chest. My long hair grazes over the top of my tailbone when his hand is on my chin, yanking my face up to his. “I am not the one to play games with, Dea, because I don’t play them.” He leans into my ear. “I end them.”
I search his eyes. “I was getting changed. That’s all, and anyway.” I pull my chin out of his grip and slide my pantie
s on. “You wouldn’t fuck me anyway—” I can’t finish that sentence because just as I’m reaching for my bra, his hand is behind my neck, shoving me facedown onto my bed, his chest to my back while his legs separate mine. He gently slides my hair away from my face, running the tip of his finger over the curves of where my boob spills out the side.
“You’ve got it twisted.” He leans down until his lips are lightly touching my neck, over my tattoo. “I don’t want you because I know that I’ll break you.”
I blow the rest of my hair out of my face, even though I’m partially squashed into the covers. “I get it.”
He pushes up from me, and I climb off the bed, clipping my bra on while trying to ignore his heavy presence behind me. I believe him when he says he doesn’t want to have sex with me, but I don’t believe him when he says he doesn’t want to break me. I see it in his eyes that those are his favorite things. Broken girls. I just have to figure out if he’s the one who does the breaking.
I slide on white skinny jeans with small zippers on the sides near my ankles. His eyes fall to my fingers where I’m doing up the button.
“What? I can’t wear this either?”
His focus snaps to me instantly. “I’m canceling yours and Tillie’s friendship.”
“You could, but she is my sister.” I slide on my Yeezy crop top in army green with fashionable cuts and slices, shoving my feet into my Vans and my phone into my pocket.
“I’m ready.” But when I turn around, he’s already gone.
I don’t know where we’re going, nor did I ask. I watch in the side mirror as the front of Nate’s Lambo rolls behind us. In front is Bishop’s Maserati, and behind Nate is Eli’s Ferrari with Hunter behind him in a F150. We haven’t spoken since my bedroom, which isn’t out of the ordinary. Brantley and I mastered comfortable silence a long time ago. “Rags2Riches” is playing on the radio, and when Brantley drops it down into second gear, his eyes flick up to his rearview mirror, a smirk on his face. It’s the first time I’ve been in the Bugatti. He hardly drives it, always opting for his old Demon or his Aston. All of the boys’ cars are black, but Brantley’s Mercedes AMG GTS Pro and his Bugatti is matte. The Bugatti sits so close to the ground that I’m almost certain if we run over a stone, it would tear the bumper off. I slam into the seat as we move to the other side of the road and zip past Bishop, who has his middle finger pressed to the window.
A phone call comes in through the Bluetooth and Brantley answers, hitting the green button on the steering wheel.
“Fucker. You’re lucky Tillie’s pregnant.”
Brantley laughs, just as Eli’s voice comes in. It’s then that I realize all their cars are wired together somehow, or they’re on a group call.
“I don’t give a fuck, and that’s all I’ve got,” Bishop says, laughing in the background.
“You know!” Tillie yells and my gaze shoots to Brantley, who rolls his eyes while an easy smile is etched on his face. I don’t know why, but something heavy drops in my gut at the way he responds to her. So easy. I bet if she dropped her towel or rubbed all over him, he would have had sex with her.
I drag my attention away from him and back out the window, wallowing in my self-pity. I have an itch in my mind that needs to be scratched. What happened the time that he said he almost slept with her? Did he touch her? She touch him? Did they go further than we did?
Probably. I may be a virgin, but I’m no prude. I’ve watched porn in the dark corners of my room when no one was home and finished myself off when I needed to. I knew what it felt like to orgasm on my own, but even then, the biggest orgasm I ever gave myself doesn’t come close to how I felt beneath the palm of Brantley’s hand, and even more so, on his tongue.
“Saint?” Brantley interrupts my thoughts and I turn to face him.
“Yes?”
There’s music playing again now, so the call must have been disconnected. “What are you overthinking about now?” Breaking Benjamin singing “The Dark of You” is playing softly in the back.
I could be honest. I could also ask him what happened between him and Tillie and risk exposing my, what I’m guessing, is jealousy. But I don’t. “Just trying to remember if I watered the plants.” Before he can read the lie that slid off my tongue way too easily, I turn back to the window. “Where are we going?”
“It’s Halloween this weekend. We have one last party to throw out at the cabin. We’re getting there a day early to make sure everything is set up.”
“A party? For your birthday?” I ask, knowing he was born on Halloween. It’s not something he has ever celebrated. At least not that I knew of.
“Yeah sort of, but not for my birthday. It’s just our Halloween party. It rolls all weekend.”
“Sounds… fun.”
He doesn’t answer as he continues to drive us down the main highway, right until we take a turn off before another, and another, until we’re all rolling down a long, gravel road.
“Funny story…” Brantley smirks. “See that?” He points to an area just off the road. It looks like a small shoulder. Nothing surrounds the road but forest and meadows.
“Yeah?”
“We ran Madison out of her car right there. The first time we all blocked her in and started her game. It was all riddles and tricks and mindfucks. We had to fuck with her to see if she’d break…” I don’t say anything, resting my forehead on the window and allowing the condensation to drip over my skin.
“Sounds awful…”
“It was, but it was fun.”
“Is that what you like?” I snap slightly, and before I can take the words back, he’s already glaring at me. I wince. Gosh, I’m being hormonal.
“All right, that’s it. You still on your period or something?”
My teeth clamp closed. Wait. What’s the date? I do the math in my head. “No. I finished this morning.”
“Speaking of. You’re on the pill. Why?”
“Yes, because I suffered from chronic period pain, so the doctor put me on the pill to control when I would get it. You know this, you signed off on it.”
His fingers dive into his hair, his hoodie sitting around his thick neck. “Why do you have fewer tattoos than the rest of them?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because I have more piercings.”
I curl my leg beneath my butt so I can turn more. “Your nipples, one ear, tongue…” I pause. “Five?”
He smirks. “Eleven.”
The car rolls to a stop and I turn to see where we are. The lights illuminating the traditional style cabin lure you in, the porch wrapping around the entire structure. Nothing surrounds us but trees, a full horseshoe driveway, and from what I can see behind the house, someone has been clearing the paddock.
“They’ve made a race circuit at the back, you know, for all the hooligans that are being bred.”
“Like you?” I raise an eyebrow, pushing open my door and climbing out. The cool air bites over my exposed flesh and I reach into the car, grabbing Brantley’s hoodie that’s in the back seat, shoving it on.
I shut my door and wait for him to round the car.
He stops in front of me, his eyes falling down my body. “You and that fucking hoodie.”
“I love it.”
“Why?” he asks, but his tone lacks its usual bite.
I dampen my lips with my tongue and open my mouth.
“—the caterers and planners have been here all week to organize this.” Bishop comes up to us, shoving his keys in his pocket. “We’ve got around fifty people this year, because Spyder is bringing his crew, too.”
Brantley throws his hoodie over his head while leaning on the side of his car. “Spyder’s coming? Have you told Tillie?”
Bishop takes out a cigarette, putting it in his mouth. His eyes come to mine and I raise my brow. “Don’t look at me like that, angel face. If you knew the shit I’ve had to live through, you’d understand why me sucking on a cancer stick is saving someone’s life.”
“Well, m
aybe you can tell me…”
“Not likely.” He rolls his eyes, going back to Bran after exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “I haven’t told her yet. Nate said he will.”
Now I lean against the car, figuring we must be waiting for Nate, Tillie, Eli, and Hunter to show. And the other one, I think his name’s Cash. “Why is it a big deal? Does Tillie not like Spyder?”
Bishop stares at me. “Spyder’s not the problem, it’s his girl. She was best friends—is—best friends with my—” He pauses, bares his teeth, and hisses. “Ex.”
Brantley shakes his head. “You’re fucking playing yourself if you think she’s your ex.”
“Is she here?” Bishop raises his arms to gesture around the place, and I watch as all his anger slowly rolls to the surface of his features. “Exactly. She’s an ex.”
“Are you there?” Brantley hits back candidly, and my eyes fly between the two of them, watching them take lyrical jabs at one another. “Because if she belonged to me, there would be no fucking way I’d allow that shit, and brother, you are the exact same, so quit fucking around.”
Bishop doesn’t get a chance to answer because Nate, Eli, and Hunter are rolling down the driveway, and I watch as Bishop storms up to the house, flicking his cigarette on the ground.
“I, um…”
“Fucking go,” Brantley murmurs. “I’ll grab your shit and put it in our room.”
I ignore him and jog after Bishop as car doors slam behind me. I vaguely hear Tillie ask what happened, just as I push through the front door. I pause at the threshold because it’s that beautiful.
An open fireplace is lit in the center of the lounge area, with a TV hanging above it. There’s a round couch that could fit at least twenty people on it with cream cushions that look soft enough to sink into. So inviting and warm for boys so cold and dark. Floor-to-ceiling windows are in the kitchen, built with tarnished wood that shines against the flicker of flames from the fire. There’s a large glass door that looks to open out onto the patio area at the back, but that’s all beside the point. I turn toward the stairs that are directly in front of the door and take them two at a time until I hit a hallway with a few more doors. At the end, there’s yet another round of stairs, which more than likely lead upstairs to another bedroom. All of these doors are open, so I figure Bishop must have gone up to the third level. I walk across the red rug that spills down the narrow hall, leading me to the next set of stairs. I take these slowly, because I know he’s up here. I don’t know what I’m going to say, or if I’m even going to say anything at all. All I know is I need to know he’s okay. The fourth step whines beneath my weight and I flinch, before quickly taking the next ones up. I push the door open while knocking.