by Fox, Logan
Angel Falls
1 Mile
I glare at it, my jaw aching until I force myself to stop clenching my teeth. Killers are always drawn back to the scene of the crime, aren’t they?
“Fuck!” I swing around and drive my fist into the hood of my Mustang. My yell echoes back to me, but the thump of flesh meeting metal doesn’t.
When I lift my hand, there’s a dent in the hood.
Because I destroy everything I touch, don’t I, Addison fucking Green? I’m the Robert Oppenheimer of Lavish.
I force a grim smile onto my mouth as I get back in my car.
Guess what, Indi?
You’re next on my hit list.
* * *
I’m driving aimlessly, taking back roads I know don’t have speeding cameras on so I can open up the Mustang. I almost forget how shitty my fucking life is for like five seconds.
Then Marcus texts me.
I pull onto the side of the road and stare at my phone. I’d forgotten he was bunking with me. That I’d given him a lift to school.
Stellar friend, aren’t I?
I throw the Mustang into a turn and head back to Lavish Prep while I tug at another cigarette.
He’s waiting for me on the school steps like I’m some kind of absentee father who was placing one last bet at the racecourse before coming to get his son.
“Where’d you disappear to?” Marcus asks as he tosses his bag into the back seat and collapses in his bucket seat.
“Had to clear my head.”
“It work?”
I don’t answer. Ahead, I spot Indi walking out of school, head down and totally oblivious to the world around her. I throw the car into reverse and squeal out of the parking, leaving tire tracks as I head for the exit.
“Wanna talk about it?” Marcus asks.
“No,” I snap. I immediately regret the tone of my voice, but I refuse to apologize.
Marcus lifts his hands, steals one of my smokes, and lights it up without a word.
“I lost my shit today,” I say, glaring through the windshield.
Around me, pines begin dotting the landscape as the road inclines. Lavish always looks so fucking perfect. Sometimes, its beauty is like nails on the chalkboard of my fucking soul. Especially on days when I recognize just how far from perfect I am.
“Yeah, I kinda noticed.” Marcus hands me his smoke, and I let him hold it out for a second before I take it.
I exhale a plume of smoke, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “Let’s just…let’s drop everything.”
“What, Indi?” Marcus chuckles. “A’right.”
I glance at him, but he seems genuinely unconcerned.
I open my window to ash, and leave it rolled down despite how the air tears into the car.
“Why’d you kiss her?” I ask.
“What?” Marcus leans closer, eyebrows lifting.
It’s loud in here, but it’s not that fucking loud. He’s a fucking dick sometimes, Marcus, but he’s still my closest friend.
In fact, he’s my only true friend.
He did what no one else would even have contemplated, and I didn’t even have to ask.
“Why’d you fucking kiss her?” I bark, slamming my palm into the steering wheel.
Marcus snatches the smoke from between my knuckles. “’Cos she’s got a sexy little mouth?”
I want to ask him why he felt he had to put his hand on her throat first. Pull her against him like that. But my chest’s too tight.
“It wasn’t part of the plan.”
“Thought the plan was to make her look like an idiot. I think we succeeded.”
I grit my teeth, but don’t respond. I never openly told him Indi was off-limits. I’d never thought she was. But when he touched her, when he dared put his mouth on hers…I could have spontaneously combusted how pissed off I was.
Can’t tell him any of that without revealing just how much Indi’s clawed her way into my mind. And then he’d be just how he was when I was catching feels with Jessica; telling me to fuck her and get her out of my system already.
I don’t know why, but Marcus seems to think love and all that shit is something reserved for old folks and bros that accidentally knock their chicks up. Anything else is just a one-night-stand. A fling if it happens with the same pair of tits more than once.
I thought I was in love with Jessica. Honest to God I did. But what I did to her wasn’t love. It was pure lust.
“You’re right. She’s not worth the effort,” Marcus says, sounding as if the thought’s coming from fuck-far away.
I say nothing, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
He shrugs, and turns to me, holding out the smoke. “We got finals and shit coming up, bro.”
I let out a snort. Marcus has never cared about finals, so why the fuck is he using them as an excuse? I drag hard at the cigarette. The filter’s grown hot and damp how we’ve fucking raped it between the two of us, and I grimace as I flick what’s left out the window.
“Finals? Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? You got the hots for her? You too chicken shit to admit it or something?”
“Course not.” Marcus crosses his arms over his chest, staring out the passenger window. “You’re the one who’s fucking obsessed with her. And you know what happens when you get obsessed.”
Despite how quiet his voice is, it feels like he shouts the accusation at me. We’re about ten minutes from my house — more like five if I keep going at this speed — but I can’t deal with his snide remarks anymore.
I slam on the brakes. Marcus grabs the dash, glaring at me as the car skids to the right before coming to a halt. “The fuck, man!”
“I’ll see you at home,” I mumble, staring at the distant line of trees while my jaw bunches to the point of aching.
“Briar, come on, I was just—”
“Get out.”
He releases a heavy sigh, grabs his bag from the backseat, and climbs out. When he slams closed the door, my Mustang rocks on its shocks for a few seconds before settling.
Marcus doesn’t look back, but I watch him until he turns off the road and into a side path that leads straight to Briar mansion.
Then I sit in my car and wonder why the fuck I just threw out my best friend.
* * *
I’ve been walking through Briar woods for what feels like most of the day but what couldn’t be more than two or three hours. After throwing Marcus out of the car, I did a u-turn and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the closest liquor store. The cashier’s been selling me booze for the past three years — he knows I tip really well. The bottle’s half done; closer to half-empty than half full. I could have grabbed a bottle from home, but Marcus might still be there. I guess, despite what an asshole I was to him, he’d still prefer to stay with me than head back home and see his dad.
Fall’s almost done with Lavish; the nights creep in sooner every day. It’s already twilight by the time I surface from my ocean of dark, dismal thoughts.
But I don’t escape with clarity, or logic.
After hours of silent fuming, my brain’s fizzing with anger, frustration, terror. The cocktail turns me into a speechless, knuckle-dragging Neanderthal with only one thing on my mind.
Indi fucking Virgo.
Twilight teases shadows out from under the trees. Under that darkness, the bramble’s thorns grow longer and sharper than before.
Wicked.
That’s what this place is.
That’s what I am.
Wicked as a bramble thorn, and just as merciless.
I can’t blame Marcus for taking advantage of the situation earlier today. I’d told the crew what I wanted, and they made it fucking happen.
That’s how this shit worked.
But I couldn’t stand seeing those sloppy lips all over my girl.
Yes, mine.
From the moment I saw her in the woods, she became my property. My toy.
My prize.
I
stumble through the last of the tangled woods and hastily step back into the shadows, clutching the whiskey bottle to my chest like a sleepy kid with a teddy bear.
Ahead, the tacky Davis house sits on their small strip of land like the house in Wizard of Oz after it landed on the witch.
This must be where Indi’s staying. It’s the only way I could have encountered her in the woods.
There’s only a single light on in the house, on the second story.
Too far away. A yellow blur.
I glance around, but there’s nothing to see except more shadows and the deep purple of approaching night. Setting down the bottle, I push away from the cover of the trees and rush over the lawn. My back presses into the house’s wooden slats, and I count a few hundred breaths before daring to peek out at an angle. I’m almost right under the light. The window is small, so it must be a bathroom or something.
Fuck knows why, but I want to be inside. I want to see her again, even if she doesn’t want to see me. And the fact that I can’t fight that feeling scares the living bejesus out of me.
You’re losing control again.
You should be leaving, not breaking in.
But my hand’s already on the doorknob of what I assume is this place’s back door. My breath already stifled in an attempt to make as little noise as possible. I’m drunk, sure, but I’ve been sneaking around houses since I was a little boy. This stuff comes naturally to me. I take off my sneakers and leave them outside before inching my way into the quiet house.
Despite my precautions, I can’t prevent the floorboards creaking under my weight. If it weren’t for the roaring in my ears, I might have thought twice about proceeding. But I’m already in the middle of a dark kitchen, and my thumping heart practically propels me forward.
As does an intense urge to know what the fuck makes this girl so special, how the fuck she’s capable of messing with my mind. I haven’t fucked anyone since Jess because I didn’t want to lose control again.
Honestly, I haven’t even felt the urge, until I met Indi.
I’m facing stairs. It’s nothing like the sweeping stairways and magnificent landing at Briar Manor with its massive fuck-off chandelier.
I’m halfway up before I realize I never had any intention of turning back. I knew I was going to be inside this house right after I kissed Indigo in the park. Which raises a fuck load of questions I am too drunk to answer.
A stair creaks loudly under my foot. I pause, my heart jumping into my fucking throat. But there’s no ‘aha!’ No one demanding that I leave.
And when nothing happens, I push on.
Light shines under a closed door midway down the hall. The air here is scented with something girly — flowers, or candy, or something.
I stop outside the door, and stare for a second at the inch-wide gap.
It’s not even closed all the way.
Which, to my beer-goggled mind is better than a golden, hand-lettered invitation.
Chapter Sixteen
Indi
“Mmm, mm, mmmm, mm, mm.” I tap my foot against the end of the bath, splashing water everywhere. My earbuds are on full blast, sending wave after wave of cathartic heavy metal deep into my ear canals.
Yeah, kill them all, you fucking motherfucker.
“Mmm, mmmmmmm, mm.”
I need more wine. I grab a metal goblet from the rim of the bath, and shiver a little as a light breeze caresses my arm. I glance over at the bathroom door, and frown hard.
The fuck? Did I leave it open?
Admittedly, I’d already had three glasses of wine — some really decent red — before remembering I wanted to submerge myself in a mountain range of bubbles.
I gulp at the wine and set it back on the rim. Breaking off another block of chocolate from the slab, I slip it into my mouth.
“Mmmm, mmm, mmmmm.”
Kill other motherfuckers, kill them fucking dead.
My foot resumes its splash-tapping.
When I take another sip of wine, another breeze slides over my damp arm.
I glance at the door and freeze.
The wind’s pushed it open almost a foot.
“Fuck…” I groan. There’s no way in hell I’m getting out of this deliciousness to close the door. Marigold texted me earlier to let me know she had a prior engagement tonight; I have the house to myself.
I squirm in the tub, and take out my earbuds. Heavy metal is awesome if you want to get rid of residual frustration, but porn is even better.
Marigold would probably never be caught dead with something as radical as wi-fi in her home, but I got a good data deal with my mobile back when Mom—
I gulp at my wine, and rest the goblet on my tummy as I flick through the thumbnails on the first porn site that came up when I googled ‘nasty rough sex’.
Yup, I’m a freak like that. Then again, who isn’t?
“There we go,” I murmur.
At a creak behind me, I twist in the tub fast enough to send a wave of rose-scented suds over the side.
I’m tempted to say, “Hello?”
I burst out laughing at the thought and sink back into the bubbles.
The wind, Indi. It’s the fucking wind, you paranoid freak.
I drain the rest of my wine glass and set it down on the rim. The last block of chocolate goes into my mouth, and my free hand slips under the bubbles.
My back arches as my fingers make contact with my clit. I circle that sensitive nub of flesh, goosebumps breaking over my skin.
“Mmm.” The chocolate’s melting in my mouth, and that’s elevating everything to the nth fucking degree.
I slide a finger inside myself, closing my eyes and resting my head back on the rim as warm water tickles its way deep inside me.
I juggle the phone, almost drop it in the water, and let it fall on the bathroom mat instead. Fuck it, I don’t need porn to get off. I’m full of red wine, and chocolate, and all I need is…
Briar’s blue eyes fill my mind.
The feel of his strong, soft lips against mine.
His big hands on my throat—no, wait, that was Marcus, wasn’t it?— fuck it, his hands on my throat…
“Mmmmmm.” My back arches, and water splashes around me as I spread my legs as wide as they can go in the confines of the tub.
It’s not wide enough.
I drag myself out of the water, shivering when cold air hits my wet skin, and perch on the rim of the tub.
Much better. I hold onto the rim with one hand, using the other to massage my clit. The door creaks, but I’m too far gone to be bothered with the chill factor right now. Although my nipples have pebbled into rock hard buds and I’m covered in goosebumps, this feels way too good to stop.
I climax a few seconds later, my entire body stiffening so much I almost end up on the bathroom mat.
I let out a long sigh, and giggle to myself as I realize what a fucking mess I’ve made. Well, luckily, I have this big bath of bubbles right—
I hear the sound of a car coming up the drive.
Fuck, Marigold’s home already? What time is it?
I twist, and in that precise moment, Marigold must hit a bump in the road. Headlamps shine right through the bathroom window as I stand and turn to grab a towel.
There’s someone standing in the doorway, watching me.
I scream, and immediately clap my hands over my mouth in surprise.
The headlamps move, and the hallway outside the bathroom door is once again in shadow.
I hear a key in the door, and my body freezes. I expect to hear Marigold demanding to know who’s in her house, because no way was there enough time for the guy who’d been standing in the doorway watching me — watching me — to have gotten downstairs fast enough.
Unless he’s still in the house.
“Granny!” I shriek, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around me as I rush for the hallway.
Yeah, I’ll be the first to die in any horror movie ever made. But I saw that shape move — wh
oever it was, they didn’t want to be seen. I doubt they’d be waiting right outside the door.
“Indigo?” comes Marigold’s voice from downstairs. “Why on earth are you yelling at me?”
I run to the far end of the hall and begin throwing open doors. He could have gone in any direction, but it makes more sense that he’d head away from the stairs and try and get out through one of the windows.
But every room is empty, and feels slightly stale; no one’s been in them for a while.
When I open my bedroom door, I immediately know he was in here. My space feels different. My sanctum defiled by a stranger’s presence.
My window’s open, and I know I should run to it and look outside to catch a glimpse of the invader, but I’m rooted to the spot, watching the lace curtain shifting in a breeze.
“Indigo?” Marigold calls from the stairs.
I only saw him for a second, and the light cast strange shadows on his face and leeched all the color from his skin. But I could have sworn it was Briar standing there in the hallway, lips parted, eyes wide.
He’d been pushing open the bathroom door, not the wind.
Watching me.
Watching me.
* * *
Briar
I sprint for the tree line, not bothering to look over my shoulder. If she were to look out her window, she’ll see me way before I reach the safety of wood’s shadowy ground, and I don’t need to give her a good look at my face too.
Why the fuck didn’t I leave?
The fuck did I decide to stay and watch her bathing for?
As soon as darkness swallows me, I falter and stop running. My breath is coming fast, but I’m nowhere near winded. That’s not the problem. The problem is I have a hard-on that’s causing me immense fucking grief.
I slam my back into a tree and shove my hands into my hair.
Keep running, you fucking cunt. Don’t let her get to you.
But for fuck’s sake, how’s that possible? I can’t get the sight of her wet, naked body out of my damn mind.