Brutal Boy by Selena
sixteen
Harper Apple
After the game, we stand at the edge of the parking lot, Jolene trying to bum a smoke from every passing family as we wait for Skeeter Bite to pick us up.
We’re still waiting when a cheer goes up from the small crowd lingering around the entrance, mostly kids from our school. The football team comes pouring out the gate, their hands raised for high fives. The second half of the game started a little dicey, but after Willow Heights kicked away the ball, something happened that I don’t want to think about too much because witnessing it felt… Wrong.
Royal was stalking off the field, clearly pissed, when Baron Dolce ran in front of him and grabbed his facemask, right in the front, and pulled Royal’s head up. He crammed his facemask right up against Royal’s, and they put their arms around each other, and just stood there on the sidelines for the whole next possession. They were obviously talking, but the intimacy wasn’t about a pep talk. The way they held each other made me want to cry, the fierceness in Baron’s grip on Royal’s helmet, the way Royal clung onto him as if all those pads were a life raft.
When the offense went back on the field, Royal seemed more like the last time I saw him—he made risky passes, but they were beautiful to behold, even when Baron didn’t catch them. He usually did. Royal still played like he was trying to get himself stomped to death, flinging himself in front of the defense like he was daring them to break his neck, throwing would-be tacklers to the ground like he was unbreakable.
But somehow, the game ended without anyone being carried off the field in a stretcher, though Royal took a beating like I’m sure he’s never even gotten at the Slaughterpen. After seeing the game tonight, I’m not even sure why he needs the Saturday night fights. If he does this on Friday, fighting again on Saturday is just plain masochistic.
He ignores the raised hands trying to give him five and heads for his car. Duke soaks up the adoration like it’s oxygen, holding up his hands for everyone to slap, running a circle around the group to get more, grabbing a girl to kiss her hard on the mouth, then signing her friend’s boobs with a Sharpie. After he’s gotten all the slaps on the back he can, Baron tugs him aside and nods to us.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter as they start our way. “What now?”
“You are still wearing his letterman jacket,” says Jolene, puffing nervously on the cigarette she finally procured. “He’s not going to let you keep that if you’re not his girl. That means something, Harper.”
I quirk a brow. “Does it, though?”
Duke comes running over, bent halfway over, his arms out like he’s a kid playing he’s an airplane. He scoops up Jolene, who shrieks so loud half the crowd turns to see—the half that wasn’t already watching the Dolce boys’ every move.
Baron grabs me and hoists me over his shoulder, so my ass is in the air. “Let’s go.”
“Put me down, asshole,” I say, kicking my legs.
“Your attempts to fight us were cute at first, but they were futile then, and they’re futile now,” he says. “And they’re starting to annoy me.”
“Then put me the fuck down.”
“Don’t you get tired of fighting when you know you won’t win?” he asks.
He’s right in some ways. This fight with them is exhausting, and he must wonder why I keep fighting when they always win. But sometimes, there’s compromise. Sometimes, there’s little victories even when the big battle is lost. Poor people know that. That’s why I don’t roll over. Why I can’t.
“Royal told me to come to the game, so I did,” I say. “I fulfilled my obligation. That’s all he asked.”
“There’s an afterparty,” Baron says, arriving at the Range Rover. “I suggest you behave yourself better there than you have here.” He opens the door and stuffs me into the back, where Duke has just deposited Jolene. Duke takes his spot in the front seat, like usual, and Baron slides in with us. Not for the first time, I wonder how the twins worked out who gets shotgun, and if Baron resents that he always literally takes a backseat to Duke.
“Party time is pussy time,” Duke hollers, rolling down the window even though the November air is heavy with a damp chill, the kind of cold that settles in your toes and stays there for days, so you feel like you can never quite get warm. Or maybe it’s the fact that I just spent hours wearing next to nothing. I’m more than grateful for Royal’s jacket.
Duke hangs out the window, whooping and hollering to everyone we pass in the lot, and then flying his hand out the window like a kid playing with the air currents as we speed through town.
“We’re going to a party with the Dolces,” Jolene whisper-shouts in my ear. “I would have worn something else. I didn’t even shave my legs today!”
“As long as you shaved your pussy,” Duke says, twisting around in the seat and wiggling his brows at her. Jolene goes dead silent, obviously not having meant for the guys to overhear her whispering.
Royal pulls up outside my house, blocking the driveway, where my mom’s car and an unfamiliar truck are squeezed in. Great. She has company.
For a second, I think they’re going to let me go. Royal has been ominously silent the whole ride. If he’s pissed, maybe he doesn’t want me at his party after all. I reach for the door handle, but Baron lays a firm hand on my knee. “Go inside and change,” he says. “Wear something decent.”
“Got it,” I say stiffly, jerking my knee away. “And stop touching me like you have the right.”
“Do I need to come in with you and pick something out of your trashcan, or can you manage to dress yourself?” he asks.
“Fuck off.”
“Don’t be a little bitch and come out in sweats, blinking those doe eyes at me and pretending you’re clever. A skirt that’s just above the knees, a tight top. Not too much skin. Not too little. No turtlenecks. Look like you put a little effort into it, okay, sweetheart? Or is that asking too much?”
I glare at him, wishing I could throat punch the asshole into tomorrow. I don’t think that would go over too well, though.
“I’ll try my very best, your majesty,” I say with my fakest smile.
“If you’re not out in ten minutes, we’ll come in and help.”
I think about the Dolces walking into the dump I call home, with the dingy carpets and hideous wallpaper that was ugly decades ago, the dusty blinds and drunken occupants, and my pulse pounds in my temples. No fucking way. It’s shameful enough for them to see me and the outside of my house. They don’t have to see the whole humiliating inner workings.
“I’ll be out in five.”
Royal clears his throat quietly, but he doesn’t speak. Somehow, it feels like a threat, like he’s warning me. Like he might want to come inside and get more ammunition on me.
I hop out, but Baron throws out a hand, stopping me from slamming the door. “And take off some of that clown makeup. Less is more, sweetheart.”
I grit my teeth and storm up the walkway, banging through the front door. Smoke envelops me, so thick everything is seen through a haze. Mom sits on the couch between two tattooed men, each of them with a hand on her thigh, all three of them smoking joints. The coffee table is littered with beer cans and overflowing ashtrays and drug paraphernalia. Loud metal music rattles the windows. I shake my head and duck into the hall, hearing my mom squeal with drunken laughter even over the screaming guitars.
I consider coming out in the sweats Royal nicked from the gym and telling them Royal found them plenty sexy the other day, but that would just piss off Baron even more. And yeah, I can be a punk, but I’m not dumb. I know when to quit… At least sometimes.
Instead of blatantly disobeying them and ending up with their polished, shiny rich asses in my house, where they’d see the squalor I come from and probably be hit on by my mother, I yank on my best pair of Levi’s, hoping they’ll consider tight jeans sexy enough, even though they’re high-waisted. Scanning through my closet, I find nothing remotely suitable. In the end, I choose a tight crop top but pair it with a light jacket so I’m not showing too much skin. Then, because I’d rather err on the side of too little rather than too much, I shove my feet in my combat boots, one of my best thrift store scores, since they’re real leather.
I don’t have time to wash my face and reapply makeup in the two minutes I have left, so I just wash my face, grab a pair of earrings and a tube of lipstick, and then dash to my closet to peel another twenty off the roll. Never hurts to have some cash in case I need a ride or whatever the night brings. Tucking my stuff in my pocket, I head out, ignoring the way one of Mom’s conquests eyes my ass the whole way to the door.
The second I step out, I run face-first into the hardened body of Baron Dolce.
“It hasn’t been ten minutes,” I snap, yanking the door closed behind me, so he won’t see inside.
“You said five.”
“Even you couldn’t change and wash your face in five minutes.”
“You’d be surprised how fast a man can undress,” he says with a smirk. He reaches out and flicks my jacket open, taking in my bare midriff before scanning the rest of my outfit. “Good enough.”
He turns and heads for the car, and I bite my tongue and follow. Duke is in the backseat, his tongue down Jolene’s throat, so Baron takes the front while I squeeze in next to the groping couple. Maybe the seating arrangement doesn’t mean anything. Maybe my thinking it does says more about me than them. I need to stop this, need to pull back before it’s too late. I’m already all tangled up in their shit, even though I still know fuck-all about them.
But I have to remember that I’m not one of them. No matter what happens, even when I get in with them, I’ll never be a part of their family, their bond. I’ll never fit into their world. I fit in with the likes of Blue and Jolene, with guys like Skeeter Bite and Dodge and Shiner. If I play my cards just right, never making a wrong move, and a little luck is on my side, I can land a guy a little above my class, a guy like Maverick or Zephyr. I don’t belong in Royal’s world any more than he belongs in mine, any more than he could walk into my living room and walk by that scene tonight and look the other way for me, pretend he didn’t see it, because he knows how to let me keep my dignity.
Royal would never let me keep my dignity. And when I’m with him, I don’t try. I dress myself up as a skank and make a spectacle of myself, because the truth is, I don’t know how to exist in his world, either. And losing my dignity on my own terms is better than him taking it. Than admitting I’m lost, that I’m fucking frustrated as hell and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get out from under his thumb, let alone gain his trust or get in with his crowd.
I ignore Duke and Jolene sucking face all the way to the party. I’m not in the mood for any of it. If I had friends who would have my back, I’d get fucked up. I’d drink until I was wasted and puke in the bushes and forget this night and my whole fucking life for a night, just like my mom is doing at home, probably letting those dudes run a train on her and telling herself it makes her a fun girl, that it makes them want her more instead of seeing her as trash. It’s not that I don’t drink. I just won’t drink around these assholes. Too much chance they’ll use it to their advantage.
We’re not friends. I don’t have friends. I have girls like Jolene, who are down to have a good time, but when shit gets real, they split. That’s the way I like it. That way, I know who I can trust, and there’s never any question who has my back. I have my back. I trust me.
We get on the highway and pass stretches of fallow cotton fields and low-lying areas of trees standing in water from the latest storm, though really, the pseudo-swamp never really dries up. It just doesn’t have enough water to have anything cool like crocodiles and be labeled a real swamp. Instead, it’s chock full of mosquitos and cottonmouths. For a second, my throat goes dry, and I wonder if they’re going to drive me out here and ditch me on the way to the party. I’m sure as shit not going to walk home through those fields.
We turn off at the next exit, and I sit up straight. I may be freaking out a little, but fuck if I’m sitting here moping instead of watching where we’re going. Not for a second did I lose track of where we are. I have my phone and twenty bucks to get me home if they ditch me, so I better know where to tell someone to come pick me up.
“Are we going to the quarry?” I ask.
“You know it,” Baron says, not turning around in the front seat.
“You guys go to the quarry?”
“Everyone goes to the quarry, Jailbird.”
The quarry is exactly what it sounds like—an old rock quarry—but it’s also a place Faulkner kids use to swim in the summer, since there’s a basin of water. And since it’s not at anyone’s house, no one’s parents have to be out of town for someone to throw a party here, though the cops eventually come bust them up. When there’s no party, it’s also a good place to park for girls who have the sort of parents who give a fuck about whose dick is in them.
We turn onto the old dirt road leading out there, and I pretend I can’t see that Jolene has Duke’s dick in her hand and is jerking him off while she sits astride his lap, kissing his neck. He lets his head fall back, rolling it toward me. Our eyes meet, and he does that thing where he slowly wets his lips, a little smile playing over them. He raises his brows just a smidge and glances down at his lap, making the slightest nod with his head. An invitation.
I roll my eyes. Hell no.
Still, it’s a dick, and it’s hard not to look at it. It’s a pretty damn nice dick, if I’m honest, long and full like Royal’s. Even though I don’t jump in to give Jolene a hand, he keeps watching me, his eyes almost daring me. I stare back at him, refusing to drop my gaze, even though I can feel my cheeks flush when he rolls his hips just a little, pushing his dick up higher, like he’s trying to draw my attention, so I’ll lose our staring contest.
He should know I’m not afraid of a little dick. Or a big dick, as the case may be. These boys think because they’re alphas, because they’re huge and dominant, that every girl is going turn into a giggling idiot or a blushing virgin when they get crude. The sight of a dick stopped shocking me before I reached puberty, and fuck if I’m going to be intimidated by one now.
We pull up at the quarry, and Jolene climbs off his lap, blocking our line of sight and interrupting our stare down. I climb out my side of the car and face Baron, who’s just gotten out the passenger door. “So, you going to fill me in on my orders, or just let me fuck up so you can publicly shame me when I break the unspoken rules I didn’t know existed?” I ask.
He grabs my wrist, his eyes intense behind the lenses of his glasses. “For one, you’ll stop fucking with Royal if you know what’s good for you,” he says, dropping his voice so the others won’t hear as they get out their side of the car. “And trust me when I tell you not every girl gets that warning.”
“What makes me so special?”
“That’s the fucked up part. You’re nothing special at all, are you?” he asks, cocking his head and studying me like he thinks I should be easy to figure out. With as many women as he fucks around with, he should know that none of us are.
“Not a bit,” I say, giving him a tight smile. “So just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it if it means you’ll leave me alone.”
“Oh, now you’re going to obey?”
“For tonight, maybe. Depends on what you ask.”
He smirks and lets his eyes rake over me. “Even if you offered me what I want, I couldn’t take it.”
“Because I’m Royal’s toy,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“For tonight, maybe,” he says, mimicking my words. “But not if you keep this shit up.”
I grind my teeth and glare at him. “How can I stop when I don’t know what I’m doing wrong?”
He leans in, so close I could stand on tiptoes and kiss this beautiful enigma of a boy. “That’s the beauty of the game,” he whispers, his warm breath caressing my lips in the cold night.
I’m not sure he’s ever talked to me before besides to compliment my street art. He talks to his brothers about me like I’m not there, or he talks to me in this weird way that’s really directed at them. I don’t know what to make of him. Royal’s a mystery, but he’s a mystery that’s in your face, that you can’t help but want to solve, one that you obsess over when you can’t sleep at night. Baron’s a mystery you didn’t see at all, one you didn’t know needed solving. And Duke, well, he’s a mystery who pretends he’s already been solved.
The more I know about these boys, the less I know them. It’s maddening.
We circle the car and meet Duke and Jolene, who’s all flushed and looks so dazed you’d think she had an orgasm just touching Duke’s penis. I glance around for Royal, only catching a glimpse of his back as he strides toward the party.
Okay, then. Fuck him, too.
“Guess I’ll go mingle,” I say. “Considering I didn’t even want to come here, and now I have no reason to be here, I’m a bit confused, but I’ll live.”
Baron grabs my wrist again, his grip strong but not punishing. His hands are big and warm around my bare wrist, almost comforting. After talking to him and being near him, I can feel that pull that I feel toward Royal, though in this case, it’s a bit different. Mostly it’s curiosity, the thrill of finding a mystery that hasn’t been solved. I’m starting to see how a girl could fall for him if he wasn’t torturing her.
“Go get him a beer, and say you’re sorry,” he says, his voice slow and quiet, like he’s explaining this to a child.
“Sorry for what?” I ask, though I’m just being a brat. I know what I did. When he doesn’t answer but just keeps me fixed in that dark gaze like he’s waiting for me to comprehend, I sigh. “Fine.”
I jerk my hand, but his grip tightens instantly, pinning my wrist for just a second, like he just wants to see me squirm. But it’s over quick enough that anyone watching from the party couldn’t tell what’s going on. I know, though. He wants me to know I have no choice, no power. That he controls me.
He lets me go, and I turn and walk away, annoyed by his games. I’m a straight shooter. I like to know what I’m dealing with so, like it all laid out before me, so I can strategize and plan. If the rule is, there are no rules, I’m down with that. I just want to know that, so I know how to win.
Trusting that Jolene is more than willing to participate in anything Duke has in mind, I leave her and scope out the situation on my own. Easing my way through the smattering of kids still lingering near the cars pulled up alongside the dirt road, I take in the scene. There are two big bonfires, one set up too close to the edge of the giant pit where they extracted rocks or gravel or whatever the fuck they take out of a rock quarry. The swimming hole is off to the right, out of sight in the darkness, but I know the path there as well as any other Faulkner kid. There’s only so much to do in a small town and even less of it that’s free.
I duck some football players who might drag me to Royal before I’m ready. Even though he’s being a moody asshole, I’m grateful that I have a minute alone to get my bearings. I like to know what situation I’m walking into before I’m balls deep in it. The guys head toward the fire to the right, so I go left, working my way into the crowd gathered at the smaller bonfire, picking out a few familiar faces. Cans of cheap beer and red Solo cups circulate. The air is heady with marijuana smoke and the bitter tang of tobacco. Someone has a truck backed up close to the fire, the doors open and music spilling out, two kegs in the back. Some guys stand up there filling cups and handing them down. A few girls dance drunkenly in the firelight.
I spot Maisy Gunn talking to a couple art geeks by that fire, and even though we were never friends, relief floods through me at the sight of her familiar face. This isn’t just a WHPA party. There are Faulkner kids here. Which means I’m not alone, the only sheep in a pack of hungry wolves. In fact, as I look around, I realize that most of these kids are familiar from FHS. This is their party, their bonfire. The football players went the other way, which means that’s the Willow Heights’ fire.
Way to make my first step a misstep. But hey, if Royal gets pissed I’m over here, it’s his own fault for not telling me. He should have known I wouldn’t chase after him, that when I saw him going one way, I’d go the other. I didn’t know this would be another school’s party, and even though they’re his rivals, I’m from this school. These are my people, even if I don’t know most of them, since FHS is way too big to know everyone in one grade, let alone the whole school.
I’m already close enough to the kegs to get a beer, so I step up to the line. I hold up two fingers after catching the eye of one of the guys serving. “Ten or skin?” he shouts over the music.
“What?”
“Ten bucks or show your tits,” he says, like it’s all the same to him. Probably is.
I pull the twenty out of my pocket and hand it over, and he hands me my change and the beers a minute later. I take a sip and step away to let others take my place. The beer’s shit, but at least it’s cold. Since I don’t want to push my luck with Royal right now, I start in that direction. My absence has no doubt been noted, but showing up with a beer for him might smooth things over.
I’m almost out of the crowd when a guy bumps into me, making my beer slosh over the side of the cup and down his shirt. I’m about to snap at him when I look up and find myself staring into the smoky bourbon eyes of Zephyr Hertz, street art genius, neighbor down the street, and former partner in Dumpster diving and thrift store hunting.
“Damn, if it isn’t Harper Apple, my little prodigy,” he says, hugging me with one arm while he holds a joint between two fingers of the other. “I was about to bitch at you for spilling beer on me, but I guess you get a pass. Where you been, girl?”
“I was about to bitch at you for making me spill my beer,” I say, smiling at him with genuine happiness. “And I think you’re the prodigy. Maybe you meant protégé?”
“Still a smartass who thinks she knows it all,” he says, toking on his joint.
“And I’m assuming you’re still a denizen of the night and the bane of all the cops in town,” I say. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Right?” he says, holding out the joint to me. “You drop out?”
I hold up the cups currently occupying both hands, and he holds the joint toward my lips. My first instinct is to pull back when anyone gets in my space, and Zephyr sees me tense, but he doesn’t get all butt-hurt about it. He knows me. He accepts my defensiveness and respects it, the same way Blue does. They get it. They’re my people, from my world, people who understand boundaries and don’t push them when it’s not their place to do it. And yeah, it keeps us all from ever getting too close, but that’s our world.
I swallow and meet Zephyr’s warm eyes, and I open my lips. He puts the joint between them, and I take a couple puffs and then turn my head away, coughing.
Before I can recover from coughing and answer, a strong arm wraps around me, pinning me to a huge, muscular body. Royal. Of fucking course. He needs to check his possessiveness at the door. He should know he doesn’t own me and never will, no matter how many declarations he makes. Just like he can force me to my knees, but I’ll never bow to him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls at me, but his eyes are locked on Zephyr.
My former spray-paint mentor is way too cool to get flustered by the fire blazing in Royal’s eyes. He takes a puff on the joint and smiles. “Hey,” he says, jerking his chin in recognition. “You’re Royal Dolce.”
“And who the fuck are you?” Royal’s words drip with ice, and he tips his head back so he can look down at us through hooded eyes, that asshole move that’s meant to intimidate but drives me crazy, so I’m not sure if I want to throttle him or ride him. Preferably both, at the same time.
Zephyr, apparently, does not share those conflicting urges. He only shrugs. “Zeph,” he says. “Zephyr Hertz, actually. My dad is Thomas Hertz.”
“And let me guess, he’s a big fan?” Royal asks. “You’re too cool to ask, obviously, so you’re going to pretend you want an autograph for daddy?”
“What?” Zephyr asks, his friendly demeanor fading behind a look of confusion and disappointment. Then he shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind. I’m nobody. I was going to talk to you, but I won’t bother. See you around, Harper. Drop by if you need more of this.” He raises the joint and then turns and walks away without a backwards glance.
I pull away from Royal and turn to glare up at him. “Are you going to be an asshole to every single guy I talk to?”
Royal just glares back at me. “Why are you talking to a single guy?”
“Um, maybe because he’s my neighbor and a friend.”
“Did you fuck him?”
I sigh and hand him his beer. “Why are you so obsessed with who I’ve fucked? I don’t ask you every girl at this party you’ve fucked.”
Royal looks around, scowling at the crowd. “You want to know who I’ve fucked?”
“You know, I really don’t. You don’t owe me shit. You’re a big boy, you can stick your dick where you want. Not my concern.”
He looks down at me, an asshole smirk twisting his full lips. “Not what you said when that chick tried to get a ride after the race.”
That chick. He either doesn’t remember who it was, or doesn’t care.
I hate myself for feeling anything about that fact.
“That was a long time ago,” I say. “I’ve come to my senses since then.”
Royal steps in so he’s towering over me, his eyes burning with intensity, like there’s no one else, no party going on at all. Just us. “Deny it all you want, but you’re a jealous bitch, Harper Apple. So I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t see a single girl here I’ve fucked.”
Crossing my arms, I rock back on my heels, cradling my beer. “You haven’t fucked a single girl here.”
His playful edge disappears behind a scowl. “No. So, did you fuck that guy or not?”
“No,” I say. “He’s fucking brilliant, and I admire the shit out of him, but we never had that kind of relationship. And who are you to judge? Just because you didn’t fuck any of these girls doesn’t mean you haven’t sucked your way through every girl in Faulkner.”
“I don’t eat pussy,” he snaps.
Duke appears then, slinging an arm around Royal’s shoulders, Baron a few steps behind “Don’t worry, girl,” Duke says, already slurring a little. “I got you. A couple licks from this tongue, and you’ll be screaming so loud you break the sound barrier.” He wiggles his tongue at me, and Royal shoves him off.
I roll my eyes and address the leader. “Oh, sorry, have you told me that before? I’m losing track of all your rules.” I count them off on my fingers. “You don’t cum, you don’t date high school girls, you don’t eat pussy, you don’t answer questions… Anything else I should know?”
“You don’t need to know anything about me,” he growls. “You’re not my girlfriend. You’re something to play with until it breaks and then throw away. That’s it.”
“Be that as it may,” I say through gritted teeth. “When there are more guys whose dicks I’ve sucked than girls who’ve sucked your dick in any given group, you can give me shit. Until then, you might want to reign in the misogyny. Pretty sure that hasn’t been cute since the 90s.”
“Oh shit,” Baron says. “Look out. Here comes the angry feminist. The height of originality.”
“You know what’s even less original?” I ask. “A man using his dick as a weapon to intimidate women.”
“I don’t have to use my dick for that,” Baron says with a haughty smirk.
“Look, I get it, you’re all complete psychopaths,” I say. “You’ve made your point. But maybe you should reign in the Me-Tarzan-You-Jane bullshit every now and then. I am zero percent attracted to Zephyr, but he’s a genuinely good human being. He helped try to find your sister.”
The air leaves the group. For a second, my breath catches, as if her ghost has sucked up all the oxygen around us. “What?” Royal asks, his voice low and deadly.
“If you’d talked to him for a minute, you might have figured that out,” I say. “That’s why he told you who his dad was, asshole. He didn’t want a fucking autograph. He thought you might remember his name.”
For all his faults, Zephyr’s dad really did try to help, even if he was really just doing it for the money. Still. Zephyr was the only person on our side of town who seemed to give a fuck about that whole missing rich kids situation. He felt somehow responsible for what his dad did, and he wanted to help make it right because he’s Zephyr, and under the arrest record and somewhat surly attitude toward authority, he’s got a moral compass made of pure gold.
“What do you mean, he tried to help find her?” Baron asks. “Like, he was in the search parties?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Well, Zephyr was. He didn’t expect you to remember him because of that. But his dad was the one who sold a car to a couple teenagers outside the liquor store that night.”
“What teenagers?” Royal asks, and when I glance at him, he’s got that hollow look in his eyes.
I’m not about to tell him Zephyr’s dad was drunk off his ass, since that’s the kind of thing you pretend you don’t see and definitely don’t say about a friend’s parent, but these guys act like they’ve never heard this before. I swallow hard. Shouldn’t they know this? “He said he couldn’t remember what they looked like, but it could have been the kids on the news—your sister and her boyfriend, I guess. He told all this to your dad when he offered money to anyone with information that might lead to her.”
No one says anything for a second. Then Royal tosses his full beer on the ground. “We’re leaving.”
“Dude, we just got here,” Duke says. “And I totally would have taken that beer.”
That beer cost me five bucks, but I keep my mouth shut. I know when shit doesn’t concern me.
Baron puts a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “We’ve got a ride home,” he says, nodding to Royal. “Go on. I’ll look out for this asshole.”
Their gazes lock for a long moment, and I’m reminded of that moment on the field tonight, when Baron grabbed him and held him steady. I thought in the car that Duke might be the favorite and that’s why he takes the better seat, but it’s not like that. Baron may not be as loud or flashy as Duke, but that doesn’t mean he’s not just as connected, as important, to Royal. He just plays a different part in their family.
Without another word, Royal turns and walks away. The twins will probably go home with whatever piece of ass they can pick up, which means I’ll be stuck finding my own ride. I’m not too worried about it. With Faulkner High here, someone will have me covered. Duke stumbles off after a girl teetering across the gravel in high heels, and I decide it’s time to go find Jolene. Soon enough, I spot her with a drink in hand and a cigarette between her lips, surrounded by a circle of admirers.
I swear, the girl is magnetic. Can’t fault her for getting everything she can out of it.
I grab another beer, figuring the Faulkner side isn’t off limits if Royal’s not here to see, but not two minutes later, Gloria Walton comes mincing over and links her arm through mine, pulling me out of the crowd. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” she says.
“Really?” I ask, pulling away. “Now it’s not just the Dolces keeping tabs on me, it’s you, too?”
“I’m not keeping tabs on you,” she says. “I’m looking out for you.”
“How, exactly, is this looking out for me?”
“Because there are people keeping tabs on you,” she says. “And Royal won’t like you mixing with Faulkner boys.”
“What’s wrong with Faulkner boys?” I ask, planting a hand on my hip and leveling her with a stare. “If I recall correctly, you asked me for Maverick’s number.”
“I’m not Royal’s… Whatever,” she says, gesturing at my body. “There’s not a guy at Willow Heights who would touch your ass. Not while you’re under Royal’s protection. Faulkner guys might not know better.”
“Protection?” I ask incredulously. “Is that what you call it?”
“Call it what you want. As long as you’re fucking Royal Dolce, nobody fucks with you.”
“Except the Dolces,” I say, my voice hard. “Don’t make it sound like they’re doing me a favor. I’d take on the rest of the school if it meant I’d be safe from them.”
“You don’t get to make that choice,” she says, starting across the rim of the quarry toward the other bonfire. “When he’s done with you, you can do what you want. For now, I have three pieces of advice for surviving these parties.”
“Obey, obey, and obey?”
Gloria stops and plants a hand on her hip. “Do you want me to be your friend, or do you want me to be a bitch and let you find out the hard way?”
“The first one,” I say. “Sorry, it’s automatic.”
She quirks a brow and ticks off on her fingers. “One, never take a picture of the Dolce boys.”
“And if you do?”
“You better delete it and hope they never find out.”
“Okay…”
“Two, never take a drink from Cotton Montgomery.”
“I thought he was your friend.”
“He’s in my circle, and he lives next door,” she says. “He’s also a total fucking creep. Stay away unless it’s your fantasy to be violated while unconscious, in which case, you do you. No judgment.”
I bite back a snarky comment and nod. “Thanks. That’s really good info to have.”
“Just looking out.”
“I’m really grateful.”
“Then don’t fuck with Royal’s head, okay? He may be the biggest bully on the playground, but he actually is my friend. And I won’t be so nice if you hurt him.”
I snort. “Not sure I’m capable of that. So, what’s rule number three?”
“Don’t fuck with the enemy. So, if you don’t want to start a brawl between schools right now, I suggest you come with me.”
I want nothing more than to go back to my people, but I know she’s right. If Colt’s attack taught me anything, it’s not to give the Dolce boys a reason to fight.
We’re halfway between bonfires when a group of guys who look college age or a little older intercept me on their way toward the party. “Hey,” one of them says. “Are you the girl from that video?”
“That is her, isn’t it?” says another one, a thick guy with a trucker hat and a shirt that reads, Stomp My Flag, I’ll Stomp Your Ass. The sleeves are ripped off, revealing tattoos around bulging biceps.
“Hey, how about that,” says a third guy. “It sure is.”
There are six of them, all of them looking me over like I’m a rabbit about to run, and they’re ready to give chase. Alarm bells go off in my head as I glance ahead to Gloria. The way they addressed me, with their voices sounding friendly but covering an edge of aggression, puts me instantly on the defense. I learned to read men’s tones pretty well over the years, and these are just the type my mother brings home. Men who think women owe them their bodies because they give them attention. Men who don’t outright grab you but follow you at a distance until you make one wrong turn and you’re cornered. Men who don’t ask you to sit on their lap until your mom is in the shower and won’t overhear them. Sneaky, slimy bastards.
“She’s with me,” Gloria says, her voice a little too loud. She starts toward me, but I hold up a hand.
“No, I’m not,” I say, not taking my eyes off the guys. “Gloria, go away. Go back to your party. I’ve got it handled.”
“Are you crazy?” she asks, her voice rising.
Not crazy, but I can handle myself, and she’s nothing but a liability at this point. It’ll be hard enough kicking their asses without having to worry about one of them dragging her off and raping her while I’m busy.
“Go,” I say sharply.
“Yeah, go on,” says one of the guys. “Our business is with this girl. Unless you can suck it like a porn star, too.”
Gloria swallows hard, her eyes widening. Then she starts to back away, not turning her back on the guys. I’m glad she’s going, that she’ll be safe, but being alone with my back to a hundred-foot-deep crater and six predatory men in front of me still makes my heartbeat pick up speed.
“Good move, taking care of that,” says the guy with tats. “She looked like a dumb bitch who would call the cops. You look like a smart girl who knows how to keep her mouth shut.”
A smart girl who knows how to kick their asses. Adrenaline spikes through me, and I toss my beer, glad I didn’t drink it even if it means another wasted five bucks. I’m plenty clearheaded to fight these assholes. My hands ball into fists, and I take one step back, glancing over my shoulder to gauge exactly how far I am from the edge.
Bring it, bitches. I’ve been missing my Friday night fights, and this is as good a way to get my fix as any. I can’t wait to feel the sweet ache of my knuckles or the satisfying crunch of bone when I break their noses. I bounce on the balls of my feet, excitement mixing with just the right amount of fear, the level that keeps me sharp but doesn’t make me stupid.
“Now, where were we,” says the first guy, prowling forward. “How about it, girl? Want to give us a little demo? Show us you’re as good as you look in that video.”
“Oh, trust me,” I say, backpedaling toward the edge, my fists raised in front of me. “I’m better. Come and find out.”
