Boys Club by Selena

twelve

Royal Dolce

“That’s the new Darling girl, huh?” King says, not sounding too interested in the matter. Why would he be? He doesn’t live around here. For him, the fight with the Darlings ended a long time ago. He helped Dad get revenge on all the Darlings who wronged him, and he helped us get revenge on the ones who wronged Crystal. King didn’t see much point in going beyond that. In his mind, the only reason to hurt a man’s family is to hurt the man. But not everyone can be a fucking saint.

“Yeah, that’s her,” I say. “Got something to say about it?”

“She’s not as fun as Mabel,” Duke says, slouching back in an armchair and absently tossing a football in the air before catching it. Dad’s gone to his study, and Eliza is napping because apparently pregnancy makes her sleep fourteen hours a day, so it’s just us for a few minutes. But the comfortable ease between us died the year Crystal died. Since then, there’s a guardedness, a wariness. There are secrets and closed doors and rage, blame that is never spoken but sits in his eyes like a drop of water growing heavier and heavier, until eventually it falls. Only King never lets it fall. He’s a fucking fortress of control.

“Mostly because Royal won’t let us have any fun with her,” Baron says, unwrapping one of those fucking Dolce Sweets suckers he can’t stop putting in his mouth. “When he’s done, though… Then the fun really begins.”

I bristle at the thought of them fucking with Harper, even though I know it’s inevitable. When I’m done, though, I won’t care. They can finish her off. I just don’t know when that’ll be, when I’ll stop giving a shit, when I’ll stop feeling in those weak moments that she’s the only thing giving me life, bringing me back, keeping me breathing.

“You know, you don’t have to keep going after them,” King says, addressing me, though I haven’t spoken.

I shrug. “It’s not for Dad. It’s for us.”

“Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “But you don’t have to do that, either.”

“Now the family guy is preaching forgiveness?” I ask.

“The families forgive when it’s necessary,” he says, leveling me with a cool look. King’s the same but different. He’s still our brother, still tries to look out for us when we’re around. But he doesn’t live here, and it’s different for the three of us than it was for him. We’re different, too. Harder, like he is. We might not be out shooting people for our great uncle, but we have our own troubles. And he’s not a part of it.

“It’s never necessary to forgive a Darling,” I say.

He shrugs. “Okay, Royal. But it doesn’t make you less of a man to change your mind, if it comes to that.”

I know what he’s trying to do. To tell me it’s okay to like her, that it’s okay to stop now, to let her debt be paid by what we’ve done already. But he doesn’t know shit. He doesn’t live in this town, and we’re the only people he talks to around here. So how could he begin to know what we’ve done to her and if it was enough?

“It won’t come to anything,” I growl. “I don’t care if she’s never heard the name Darling, if she doesn’t know that’s who she is.”

“That makes it even more fun,” Duke says, laughing. “She literally has no idea why we’re targeting her. Sucker.”

King shakes his head and turns to me. “Is it helping you move on?”

Move on. When did he become a fucking therapist?

Oh, right. He was always like that, our counsel and safety. That’s over now. He needs to butt the fuck out of our business. He thinks he can still help, always asking what’s happening with us. But I’ve closed that door. The family that comes first for him is no longer the Dolce family. It’s the Valenti family. He can go fish for information on Dixie’s blog like everyone else if he needs gossip. I’m not telling him shit.

Still, I pause for a second to think about what he’s proposing. I let myself imagine the scenario in all its ridiculousness, what would happen if I didn’t care that the Darlings destroyed my family and my mind. I picture life at Willow Heights: Walking around holding her hand like a boyfriend, deciding what college to attend where I can play football and she can study psychology. Bringing her home without Dad blinking an eye. Taking her to all the places she’s never been, Florence and Fiji, New Zealand and New York. Introducing her to Ma and watching the horror and shock on my mother’s face—the most priceless of all the fantasies.

But that’s all it will ever be. A fantasy. Revenge is the magnet that holds me together, all my pieces forged in steel and clinging to this one goal because it’s the only thing keeping me from crumbling into a million useless shavings of the boy I used to be. And her family is the one that carved me up, filing away at my edges until there was nothing recognizable left of me, until the only thing I had to hold onto was the magnet, the force of my hatred that keeps me alive.

She’s not the reason that pumps blood through my veins. Destroying her is the reason.

I glare at King. “She has their blood. She’s an enemy.”

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know about our lives anymore. This is how it works. Darlings must pay. I’m not about to go soft like Dad and start sucking their dicks because forgiveness is necessary for business. Next thing you know, we’ll all be in bed together.

Fuck. That. It’s not over until there’s not a drop of Darling blood poisoning Faulkner. If they don’t want to pay, they can leave this town like the assholes next door. When they lost their son, they ran crying to some other state to start over and lick their wounds. We stayed. We’re stronger than that. Stronger than any Darling. They can be smart and run like cowards, or they can be dumb fucks and face us, crowing about their bravery as we bulldoze them into the ground and bury their corpses. Those are the choices.

King doesn’t argue, but he gives me that look that makes me regret telling him everything that happened the week I was kidnapped. He and Dad are the only ones who know all of it—besides the ones who did it. At the time, it seemed like the right thing, to tell someone. People always say that shit, and I must have absorbed some of it growing up. But I wish I’d never told anyone. They couldn’t do shit about it, just like I couldn’t. It was too late by then.

And now, every time I look at his face, I know he knows. I know he pities me. That’s almost worse than what Dad does, using it against me, holding it over my head if I tell him to go fuck himself one too many times. I don’t need King’s concern or his prying. I’m doing fine. I’m getting revenge one Darling bastard at a time. When it’s over, I’ll walk away knowing I purged this town of that name like some vengeful god slaughtering sinners.

“How long are you staying?” I ask King. I used to appreciate his watchful eye, the leeway it gave me. When he was the oldest in the house, the pressure was on him. I could fuck up. When I became the oldest, I tried. At least, I think I did. But by then, I’d already destroyed this family, killed my twin, demolished the Dolce image. Now, I fuck up almost intentionally. There’s no point in trying to hold up the weight of this family. It’s already crushed us all. I might as well revel in the destruction with the twins.

I know King only wants to make it better, to swoop in like a hero because that’s what he does. But the dynamic has changed in the year and a half since he moved. He can’t save us anymore. Nothing can. So I shut him out and don’t tell him anything, even though he pries and tries to get me to talk to him, to let him know what’s going on with us.

“There’s a New Year’s Eve party on Thursday,” Duke says, turning sideways in the chair and hanging over the arm so he can toss the football higher, toward the vaulted ceiling. “Think you can get off daddy duty long enough to come hang out?”

“It’ll be like the old days,” Baron says, cracking a grin and snagging the football out of the air before tossing it across the room to King. “When was the last time the four of us were at a party together? The town won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“He doesn’t want to come to a high school party,” I say, frowning at the twins. King’s an adult now, with a wife and kid on the way and a job that must make us look like petty little bitches. And the twins don’t need to spill all our business to him. He’s got enough to worry about.

“I’ll come,” King says quietly, his eyes fixed on me.

“We don’t need you watching us,” I snap. “We’ve been taking care of ourselves for the past year, and we don’t need you to come in here and try to manage us.”

He stares me down, the bastard never losing his cool. “I’m going to be a dad, Royal. I’m not Dad. How fucking old do you think I am? I can’t even legally drink.”

“We’ll be leaving at midnight,” I warn him.

“It’s at the Hockington,” Baron says. “You can get a room there with Eliza if you want.”

The muscle in King’s jaw twitches, and I look away before he can make eye contact. He doesn’t know all my secrets, and I don’t want my face giving anything away. The bastard can still read me way too fucking well. That’s why he went on about Harper. He saw me with her for all of one minute and could tell she has my head twisted all around.

At least, that better be all he knows. If he was talking to my brothers or Dad about her, I’ll fucking kill them. And there’s no way he could know about her otherwise. We didn’t even know she existed when he lived here.

“We’ll just come back here after the party,” he says, sounding all cool and shit, like he always does. Like he doesn’t have the same memories of that place that I do. He’s not spending the night with Eliza there any more than I’d get a room for me and Harper.

I don’t even invite her. I don’t need her or King getting up in my business, learning anything about each other. I don’t need my brother lecturing me about how to treat her ass, like she’s someone worth making an effort for, or her prying into my family like she’s looking for the pin in the grenade. The pin’s already been pulled, tossed in the river, and washed away, never to be recovered.

*

The party is boring as fuck, like usual. I get a beer and stand around with my brothers, but I’m not about to get drunk in public, to make a fool of myself like Duke. Cotton informs me there’s a coke room upstairs, but I’m not interested. I hang around thinking how fucking ridiculous this whole charade is, how exhausting. I could be at home. I could be fucking Harper and spilling my guts to her like she’s a stranger at a bar, the way I always do.

After I told her the first thing about Crystal, it was a relief. I thought that was it, that I’d gotten to say her name aloud without being looked at like a monster who murdered his twin or a piteous, broken boy who needed to be smothered and treated like something fragile. Everyone either knew her and saw the disgrace of our family blowing apart, or they hear about it and think they can fix me, rescue me from some imagined sea of torment.

Except Harper. Harper listened to me talk about my dead sister like she was real but unremarkable, like what happened is nothing special. So I kept talking, waiting for her to be like everyone else, to give me looks of pity and predatory intent, to be shocked by what happened, to start using kid gloves when dealing with me. When she didn’t, I told her more. And the more I said, the more I had to say.

Sometimes, she asks questions or makes comments, but when she talks about Crystal, she’s blasé, almost callous. She doesn’t pretend I’m not fucked in the head or make excuses for why I am that way or what I’ve done because of it. She calls me on my shit and doesn’t let me off the hook when I fuck up. And though all those things piss me off, part of me craves that, needs more of it, the way you tongue a loose tooth even though it sends pain piercing into the root.

“Here comes trouble,” Baron says, bumping my shoulder with his. “Want me to take her off your hands?”

I look up and there she is, crashing the fucking party at the last place I want to see her. She and Lo walk in arm and arm, and half the guys in the place turn to stare. Lo smiles serenely, basking in the attention. Harper cases the joint like she’s looking to rob it blind later on. I wouldn’t put it past her. She has no business in this place.

I storm over to them, ignoring the inevitable whispers that follow me wherever I go. I want to clock every single person in here, knock their heads around backwards so they’ll quit staring. I can’t do that, so I laser in on Lo. At the last second, I reign it in, making my voice come out cool like King instead of raging at her the way I want to.

“Surprised to see you here,” I say to Gloria.

“I could say the same to you,” she says lightly.

I ignore Harper, not even sparing her a glance as I talk to Lo. “We’ll be leaving at midnight.”

“Well, obs,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Who stays at a New Year’s Eve party after that?”

I’d walk out the door right now if I didn’t have bullshit business to take care of with the twins later.

“What are you really doing here?” I ask.

Lo’s wearing a little dress, but Harper’s in black jeans, heels, and a sparkly top. She’s got a face full of makeup, probably Lo’s doing. I hate every single fucking thing about this—the clothes that make guys look at her more than they already do; the makeup that makes her look like she’s trying to be something she’s not, like she’s trying to impress someone by being fake instead of not giving a shit and being real, the way she does with me; the fact that she’s here at all.

“We’re just here looking for a few boys to kiss at midnight,” Harper says, her red lips pulling into a smirk. “Know anyone who might be looking to get lucky?”

I arch a brow and don’t rise to the bait. “If you want me to put someone in the hospital, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart.”

That wipes the smile right off her face. Good. She needs to remember what this is.

In truth, I’m the one in danger of forgetting.

“Who is that?” Gloria asks, gaping over my shoulder. “I think my dreams just came true. It’s another version of you who might not be such a dick.”

“He’s married,” I say flatly.

“Oh my god, I have to meet him,” she says, grabbing Harper’s arm again. “The mysterious brother in New York. Come on.”

Harper shoots me a challenging look, like she’s daring me to stop them. She wants me to stake my claim again, to show her I care. Not fucking happening. She can go fuck my brother if that’s what she wants. I ball my hands into fists so I won’t reach out and stop them as they walk away. I don’t know why it pisses me off so much to think about them talking to King. They all know too much about me, each of them holding different cards I’ve shown, and I don’t need that shit pooled together in one place.

When I turn, having changed my mind, Harper’s right in front of me. I don’t even want to think about the way my chest opens up when I see that she’s not off digging for dirt from my brother. I glance at him and then back to her. “I thought you were wet for my brother,” I say.

She gives me a look. “I don’t get wet for anyone who doesn’t work for it.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m friends with Lo,” she says, shrugging and looking away, obviously lying.

I smirk down at her, stepping in closer and letting my hands come to rest on her tiny waist, the one part of her that feels delicate, like I could snap her in two. “Liar,” I say, leaning down and brushing my lips against her ear. “You’re here hoping I’ll pound that pussy again tonight.”

“Maybe,” she says, smiling slyly up at me with those red lips. “Let’s go dance.”

“Dance?” I ask, almost laughing at the ridiculousness. There’s a dance floor and plenty of people dancing, but that’s the furthest thing from my scene.

“Or just sway,” she says. “It’s the only place we can be close like this without people staring.”

“I don’t dance,” I say. “But I’ll stand there with you.”

She’s right, and I’m not sure if it pisses me off or flatters me that she knows how much I hate the stares, the whispers, the attention. She’s thinking about my comfort level, and that means she cares about me. I should want that. After all, how can I destroy her if she doesn’t give a fuck about me? But there’s no sense of triumph in me as we make our way into the crowd of dancers to park ourselves and sway, where no one will pay much attention because they’re all too busy dancing. I don’t mind destroying Harper’s life, her future, her mind. But the thought of hurting her this way turns my stomach.

“Are you okay?” she asks, sliding her hands around the back of my neck. She’s so short her arms barely reach higher. I hold her around the waist, my hands at the small of her back, cradling her small body as it arches against mine.

“Fine,” I say.

“Do you want to go to the river later?” she asks, her blue eyes full of questions but still guarded as they search mine. “I know it’s a hard night for you, so if you don’t, and you want to go vandalize a train, or destroy shit, or whatever, I’m down for it. If you want me to be there, I’m there.”

If I was the kind of asshole who cried, I’d fucking do it on this night more than any other. But I never have been, and I’m not about to start now. I’m not sitting at home like a bitch sobbing my heart out or eating ice cream and wallowing the way Crystal used to. Life goes on.

“You know that was tonight?” I ask, but of course she fucking does. Everyone knows that. That’s the real reason she’s here. I don’t know if I’m more annoyed at Gloria for bringing her or at her for wanting to be here with me on a day when she thinks I’ll be vulnerable.

Her fingers tease the hair at the back of my neck. “Yeah,” she says, but her voice is drowned by the music, and I only read her red lips. I lean closer, pulling her in, wishing I could be inside her right now, not think about anything but the wet heat of her cunt and how I have to hold myself back so I don’t cum the second I hear her helplessly panting my name.

She skims her lips over my ear, making me even harder. “Or if you want to do shit with your brothers, I’ll be your getaway driver or make myself scarce. Whatever you want, I’m down for it, Royal. For tonight.”

“Anything I want?” I ask, raising my brows. “That’s a pretty big promise, Jailbird.”

“Losing your sister is a pretty big hurt to forget.”

“What if I want to watch my brothers run a train on you?” I say, then add slowly, “All three of them.”

She swallows, her blue eyes searching again, as if she can find the answers in my eyes. “Is that something you like to watch?”

I shrug. “Sometimes.”

“That sounds like a lot of dick,” she says. “And your big brother is a little creepy, no offense. But if you really wanted it, and you told me it would help you forget… I mean, the twins are hot, and I’ve never been with two guys at once.”

Her words make me want to twist her head around until her neck snaps, but I don’t react. I know by the smirk on her lips she’s just fucking with me, trying to goad me the way she does. “What if I wanted to fuck Gloria in front of you?” I ask, giving her a taste of her own medicine. “Would you watch?”

“That would be… Difficult,” she admits. “Is that what you want? And is everything you want going to be sexual?”

“It’s a good way to forget.”

She twists her lips to one side and shrugs. “Can’t deny that.”

“You’d watch me fuck Gloria?”

“I wouldn’t enjoy it,” she says. “But if you wanted me to join…”

“You’d have a threesome with me and Lo?”

“Dude, Lo is cool as shit and obviously hot,” she says. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Have you done that before?”

She shrugs again. “Haven’t you?”

My hands tighten on her little waist, so small my fingers almost wrap around her entire body. Now there’s a few more necks I’d like to snap. “Who’d you have a threesome with?”

“Do we need to have another talk about double standards?”

“Who?” I press, squeezing her harder.

Her eyelids flinch, and I know I’m hurting her, but she doesn’t let on. She sighs like it’s a burden to revisit what was probably the best fucking night of her life. “I told you I had a girlfriend who was more interested in guys thinking she was hot than actually being with a girl.”

“And the other body I need to dispose of next time the river floods?”

She levels me with a glare. “You know all three people I’ve had sex with.”

Fucking Maverick.

My blood is made of pure, incinerating rage.

“Royal,” she says, her soft hand resting on my cheek the way she does when we’re fucking, bringing my face toward her, drawing my gaze to hers. “That’s not something I’m looking for, okay? I wasn’t really ever looking for it. We were bored and young and didn’t care about each other or anyone else, so why not? I wouldn’t expect you to want that, and I wouldn’t want it. Trust me, you’re more than enough.”

“Why wouldn’t you want it?” I ask. “You’re into chicks.”

“I’m also into dick,” she says, standing on tiptoes and leaning into me, pressing her tight little body to mine. “One, in particular.”

I kiss her long and slow for a minute, holding her against me like her little sin of a body could anchor me to anything at all. When I pull back, I smile down at her. “So, you care about me.”

“I didn’t say that.” She tries to pull away, but I hold her tighter, not letting her squirm away and put up her walls the way she does.

“I think you did,” I counter.

“Maybe.” There’s a challenge in her voice, in the way her eyes flash when she’s acting tough. “Are you man enough to admit it, too?”

“Man enough to admit it,” I say. “But not fool enough to care.”

Suddenly, the music stops, and everyone is counting around us. The past hour slipped by like a moment, the second when you wake and haven’t remembered who you are, what you’ve done to become that person, what you’d give to change it all.

I grind my hips against Harper’s so she can feel what I care about, what I’ll admit to. “There will be no threesomes when you’re with me,” I growl into her ear. “No one touches you but me. Got it?”

She submits to my hold, letting me lean her back, cradling her lower back in my hands again. “Got it,” she says, smiling up at me. “Happy New Year.”

We kiss, and everyone kisses, and for one more moment, I don’t have to remember that two years ago on this night, I killed my sister.