“Have what?”
She rolled her eyes. “The diary.”
Of course I still had it. If Abigail had her box of secrets, her jewelry and dreams she thought I didn’t remember, then I had my diary.
Everybody has a dream; mine is finding my mother. But more important than having a dream, is hiding your dream, putting it in a box or in my case, a black backpack under the couch I slept on, so you don’t fall to pieces when it inevitably doesn’t come true.
It was my most valued possession, and Abigail was the only person I’d ever let know it existed.
“Why do you care?” I asked.
She dropped my arm, turning away. This was the moment I should have gotten up and left, remembered why I’d come back in the first place.
“Maybe I just want to know if there’s any of the old Theo left…” She started out strong, then trailed off.
An odd ache clutched my chest at her words and the soft way she spoke them.
A dangerous part of me wondered if there was any of the old Abigail left too. The same part that couldn’t get the way she felt coming on my fingers out of my head, and couldn’t stop wondering what she would feel like around my dick.
But I couldn’t wonder that.
I couldn’t let her get close.
Not again.
Because you can’t be left if you never let them stay.
Our eyes were locked, and she mashed her lips together, as if deliberating something. The air felt too still, too hot.
“Theo, I’m sor—” she started, but before she could push it further, I grabbed her by the arm, spinning her and pinning her to the mattress. She was beneath me before she could blink.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was breathy, a whisper against my lips.
I liked that. Way too much.
“Showing you how I did that thing to Geoff and Alaric.”
“You’ve learned a lot.”
Those bitable lips were only a breath away from me.
I had it in my head to tell her about the years I spent doing nothing but training. About my awards and how I knew all kinds of fighting styles, from Krav Maga to jiu jitsu to line to Muay Thai. I wasn’t the boy she’d sent away.
But I was focused on her lips. The way her tongue darted out to wet them and her chest pressed against mine. My knee separated her thighs. Her sleep shorts had ridden up, and I was insanely distracted with what her bare skin would feel like if I wasn’t wearing jeans.
So all I got out was, “Yeah.”
“You’re like this badass bodyguard dude,” she breathed. A smile flickered against my lips at her wording. “I remember when you used to get in fights for no reason.”
My brow furrowed. “No reason, Abigail?”
She shrugged. “I guess not. They’re dicks. They deserve it.”
Every single fight had been for her. There was a reason they called me her dog.
“Just when I think you can’t get any stupider, you say shit like that.”
Abigail glared. “Fuck you, Theo.” She got redder, trying to squirm her way out. I pinned her harder, drinking in each slight movement. Her furious breaths, the way her hair fell out of her bun and across her eyes, her shirt riding up, her hot slice of skin pressed against my abs.
“One minute I think you’re going to be nice to me,” she huffed. “But that’s like impossible for you now. You’re such a—”
I cut off whatever she was about to say with my lips.
ABIGAIL
I don’t move. I don’t even breathe, eyes wide and stunned. Theo is kissing me—again. This kiss is different. Still bruising and brutal, but not nearly as mean. It almost feels… worshipful.
My anger quickly gave way to white hot heat as Theo deepened his kiss, slanting his mouth, tongue searching.
I parted my lips, surrendering too easily.
He grasped the back of my neck, lifting me, and suddenly we were spinning. I was no longer beneath him but on top as he lay against the headboard. His hands were all over me—on my back, my neck, my thighs, along my arms. Goose bumps echoed their path.
I should push him away. He’s the boy who calls me Reject and made it clear he wants nothing but my tears. But his kisses feel like devotion, and his touch is close to reverence. I’d dreamed of kissing Theo on this bed. When I was a teenager, it was all I dreamed about. He’d hold my hand, and I’d wish for courage to make a move, fulfill his dirty promises.
Theo wasn’t a teenager anymore.
He was a man.
He bit my top lip, the hand not anchoring my neck sliding under my shirt, up my stomach, stopping just beneath my breast. I arched like I could force him to touch me. Theo can’t be forced. He just thumbed the curve beneath my breast in a tortuously slow and gentle rhythm.
Next his hungry mouth came for my bottom lip, this time more furious, dragging it out.
Ravenous.
His desire was hard against my thigh. I rubbed. I moved. I was rewarded with a slight groan, the tightening of his grip against my neck, biting my lip harder.
I wonder if I’ll bruise. I hope I do.
His hand on my neck pinned me in place for his carnal assault. I couldn’t move, only grind harder as his tongue dove deeper and he fucks my mouth.
Then I heard it.
Abigail.
My name from his lips against mine. It was so quiet, barely a night breeze. Maybe it was just a hope sprung from too many jagged memories, but his barbs on my heart tighten anyway.
“Please,” I begged.
It was like icy water was dropped on his head.
He threw me off him, and I bounced on my mattress with the force of it. Theo was off the bed before I could even brush the hair out of my eyes.
I was still so hot and bothered. I must look a mess. My shirt rode up and so did my shorts. My hair was tangled, my bun fell out. He was putting so much distance between us, and this should be the moment I come back to my senses.
When I realize Theo is not the boy who used to hold my hand on this bed, but the man who calls me Reject.
Instead, I held my arm out to him. “Theo?”
Theo paused. He was still hard, distractingly so, the outline rigid and mouthwatering in his jeans. His bedhead hair was even more messed from our make-out, falling across pale hazel-green eyes churning with a storm of emotions.
Then he shook his head, looking a little spooked.
He turned, walking out of my room, making sure to slam the door in his wake.
Twelve
The next day, Crowne Hall was bustling with energy for our Fourth of July party. Our Fourth party is world famous. Everyone who is anyone is in attendance. I’d had my hair and makeup done, and across my vanity gilded and silver makeup cases were scattered and catching sparkles of morning light.
Tonight I would meet my fiancé, Edward.
I touched the orange sea-glass pendant on my neck, another one of my originals, as a shadow formed behind me in the mirror.
Theo.
I hate that the first thing I think of is kissing him. It’s like a brutal flashback, a car crash I can’t escape. His lips on mine.
It’s fucking distracting.
I looked away.
I knew I’d have to marry someday. For a Crowne, it was just like everything else in life, perfunctory. It never made me feel any sort of way. Yet for some reason the idea of meeting my future fiancé has my heart aching.
“Time to go, Reject,” was all Theo said.
I saw Mrs. Harlington and my mother talking, but there was no man with them. I slouched, hiding behind a hundred-layer croquembouche with sparklers jutting from the hilt, hoping they didn’t see me.
I wasn’t going to go out of my way to find my future husband. I have my entire life for that.
“Poor lonely Reject,” Theo said. “Don’t you know you’re hiding from a family who couldn’t give a shit where you are?”
I stood up straighter, glaring. “At least I have a family to hide from.”
>
As if I need a reminder the kiss meant nothing, Theo is making sure to be a complete and utter asshole. He was in a suit again too. A deep, charcoal gray that somehow brought out the vivid green of his eyes and seemed to magnify the sharpness of his cheekbones.
Why couldn’t he be hideous when he was being such a dick?
Theo was so confusing. He’d been worshipful. Reverent. Kissed me like he was dying of thirst and I was water. I was learning to dread his moments of affection, because they quickly led to this. Complete indifference.
Who actually has the power here? I thought it was me, but all I can think about is Theo. What he says. Thinks.
He’s inside me.
He’s my guard, but I feel like his slave.
I touched my lips, still remembering him.
As if he knew, he laughed. “Someone on your mind, Reject?”
I looked away, pulling out my phone and pretending to be busy on it. The sun was a citrine line on the horizon, casting the revelers in its hazy glow. Theo was at my back the entire time.
Unlike my siblings who keep their finstas—our secret Instagram accounts—updated, I don’t really have anyone to talk to. The hashtag fourthofcrowne is being used and easy to track if you’re in the know. Somewhere my sister was skinny-dipping with a prince off the back of his boat. My brother had his arms around this year’s Victoria’s Secret runway models. There was a whole, separate world happening right around me, a party filled with fun and depravity. I was supposed to be part of it, instead I’m more separate than someone who wouldn’t know it didn’t exist.
This is the party of the year, and I don’t want to be here.
I stuttered on one of the photos. A—a rose?
It was, under the hashtag, and I was in the background out of focus. I snapped my head up, looking left and right, trying to find who took the photo.
I didn’t realize Theo was over my shoulder until his breath is against my ear. “Looking for picture evidence of how little people care about you?”
I chewed my lip, putting my phone on sleep.
It was nothing. Just a weird coincidence. Still, my gut won’t stop roiling.
“Sad, lonely Reject. No one to love her, only people to loathe her.”
I spun on Theo. “Even if I was pathetic, my pathetic life is still a thousand times more wonderful than yours could ever be.”
He grinned. “If only you believed that.”
I took a step, until I could smell his fresh, minty breath. So close to kissing once more. “You’ll never be anything more than a dog. An abandoned puppy crying out for its mother.”
Suddenly his grin dropped, he pressed a finger to his ear, and his eyes narrowed on me. “Get behind me.”
“What? Fuck off.” I tried to brush by him, but he grabbed my elbow, his finger to his ear again.
“Get. Behind. Me.” He thrust me behind his body.
Then I saw a commotion near the gates. Someone had tried to break into the party. It wasn’t uncommon for that to happen. Usually there were a few attempted party crashers every year.
What was uncommon? Someone giving a shit about my safety.
Once there was a bomb threat on Crowne Hall, and all guards went to make sure my mom, Gray, and Gemma were taken care of. They forgot I was even there. Even my own guard at the time rushed to save Gemma.
Fear assaulted me. Could it be him? The guy who left the rose? I don’t know what he looks like.
It was an odd mix of emotions I felt. No one ever saved me. Ever.
I couldn’t help myself. I placed my hand on his arm, feeling the muscles cord beneath my touch. His back flexed beneath his tuxedo. I felt safe. I felt cared for. These weren’t feelings I was used to.
Dangerous.
Especially with the man who’d said he was going to destroy me.
So I shoved him off.
Theo ripped his hand away from his ear, all attention on me. “Why can’t you just fucking listen?”
“I don’t want you saving me. Stop saving me! Stop acting like you fucking care. You’re not a hero. You’re cruel and heartless.”
He ran a thumb along my jaw. “You’re right. I’m no hero.”
“So why do you keep saving me?” It came out a plea, a whisper, when I meant it to be fierce and angry.
He grabbed my jaw, dragging me close by his fierce grip. “Only I can hurt you, sweet girl. You’re mine to torment. Your tears are mine to free. Your heart is mine to break.”
Whatever commotion was happening at the gates faded away. My eyes dropped to his soft lips, and his grip on my chin softened.
I was certain he was going to kiss me.
I wanted it too. I could still remember his bruising kiss, the way he’d worshipped me just last night. I even angled my chin closer, my body a traitor.
Then early test fireworks popped, and we each came to our senses, separating.
THEO
There’s something Abigail isn’t telling me. I’d been picking up on it, but now I was certain. She’s jumpier, looking over her shoulder more. At first I thought it was because of me, but now I know.
Abigail Crowne is afraid.
There’s a lot Abigail doesn’t tell the world, truths she keeps hidden, but she isn’t someone to be afraid.
A few party crashers won’t scare Abigail, especially when they’d been rounded up and sent to jail.
I gently shoved her shoulder blade. “Hey, Reject.”
Fuck, Abigail in her white dress looked like something out of a damn fairy tale. The sand interlaced with the confetti and glitter, and as she walked barefoot through it, I wondered if she actually was.
A Crowne July Fourth is not your average backyard BBQ. Politicians, CEOs, and celebrities were among the attendees, and they all used it as a chance to network. You don’t just show up; you don’t buy a ticket to this thing; you get invited. Invites are some of the most sought after in the world.
I don’t give a shit. I focused on Abigail.
I shoved her again, harder. She ignored me, acting like she was so damn interested in her fucking phone. I reached over her shoulder and snatched it out of her hands, holding it high above her head as she tried to grab it back.
A gold rose?
It had the stupid hashtag they’d used for this party. I handed the phone back to her, suspicion creeping up my spine. It was the same jumpiness Abigail had yesterday. Was she hiding a boyfriend?
“What’s this?”
“Nothing. I don’t know—”
“A guest has made the request I send this to you, Ms. Crowne.” A server appeared, interrupting her. He held up a fucking gold rose on a silver platter.
“Got some boyfriend I don’t know about?” I asked.
Abigail froze, then slammed the thing out of his hand. The platter and the rose fell to the sand.
I didn’t have a chance to ask her what the fuck she was doing, because a moment later she fell to the ground with it.
A few heads turned to look.
I bent down. “Not getting enough attention?”
Abigail turned into me, grasping my tuxedo lapels. Shock stunned me. She shook, fucking shook. Abigail didn’t shake.
Her skin is sheet white, breath raspy, but it’s her eyes I was locked on. Wide yet far off. I’d seen this reaction before, in the eyes of every employee at Crowne Industries when the building was under lockdown for an active shooter.
The beach faded out. The people watching us disappeared.
Whatever black blood existed between us vanished.
“Abigail,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”
I covered her hand with mine, slowly lifting her up with me as she held my lapels for dear life. I placed my shoulder over hers, shepherding her from the beach into Crowne Hall. The smell of sparklers and pastries and salt air was at our back as we climbed the stairs up to the alcove, where she would be safe from prying eyes and cruel hashtags.
I was too aware this was where we’d come as teenagers. Where I’d co
mforted her before, when she’d cried about her mother and first dropped her walls.
“Abigail, look at me,” I said evenly.
She was shivering uncontrollably, whatever terrorized her about to consume her entirely.
I gripped her chin, lifting her violet red-clay eyes to mine. The fear in them filled my gut with acid, just as much as the utter helplessness I felt. I was supposed to protect her.
“Focus on me,” I commanded.
She searched my eyes, fear fading as she locked on me like a magnet.
“Take a deep breath,” I said.
She did.
A barely-there smile broke. “Good girl.”
Fear lingered in the air, muggy and choked. As long as Abigail focused on me, stayed anchored to my gaze, I knew she wouldn’t dissolve into fear.
The words I was planning on saying were, Who did this? Who are you afraid of?
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Abigail.” My grasp on her chin tightened. “Do you believe me?”
A pause passed like an eternity.
She swallowed. “Yes.”
ABIGAIL
Theo ripped apart my room.
“What’s going on?” He tore silk and satin pillows off my bed. Outside fireworks had begun to pop, lighting my window in shadowy glows of red, white, and blue.
Theo flipped over my mattress, reached down, and lifted up his suit leg, pulling out a knife. A harsh rip sounded as he dragged it down the middle. Then he laid waste to my satin and quilted pillows.
He’d thrown off his jacket, and it lay as a casualty in the middle of my floor.
Sufficiently satisfied I was hiding nothing in my bed, he turned to me. Feathers floated as snowflakes and fairy dust around him, and he looked like a conqueror amidst them.
“What’s going on?” he repeated.
His hair was wild and messy and I wanted to push it out of his eyes. His glare was somehow even more wild. Theo folded his arms, and I ignored the way his biceps popped, how with his shirt rolled to his elbow his veins bulged.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Then who gave you that, Abigail? Why did it freak you out?”
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