Page 5

“Nate!” I snap, rounding the couch until I’m standing in front of him. His arms are stretched wide over the sofa, his legs spread in front of himself, his lips forming an O before he slowly blows out a thick cloud of smoke, while his eyes stare straight through me. “Shut this down—now.” The blur of movement catches my attention in my peripheral vision, but I ignore it.
He smirks. “Little sis, might want to go put that gun in the cabinet before you freak everyone out.”
I clutch the straps to my 12-gauge around my shoulders. “Shut it down, Nate. I’m serious.”
He shoots up off the couch with a red cup in one hand. “Wait! Come here.” He pulls me under his shoulder, his mouth dropping down to my ear. He points to the first guy who was sitting beside him on the couch. “That’s Saint, Ace, Hunter, Cash, Jase, Eli, Abel, Chase, and Bishop.” My eyes drift over them dismissively. I recall a few of them from school, but there’re a couple older-looking guys who I don’t recognize.
“Hi,” I manage to say—awkwardly, I might add. I turn back to Nate. “I’m serious. You will get us both into trouble. Close it down.” I turn around, and just as I’m about to hit the entryway to exit the lounge, I spin back around and catch them all watching me. Nate is smiling from behind his cup, while the rest of them have a mixture of emotions sprawled across their faces. When I settle on… I think Nate said his name was Bishop, the same guy I had a stare down with at school today, who is now sitting on a kitchen chair with his legs spread out in front of him, my cheeks flare to life. His eyes burn into my skull, and if guys had a resting bitch face, then that would be it.
Shivers creep up my spine; I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because he seems just so… unapproachable. I scoff inwardly. Typical fucking prep school students. Walking back up the stairs, leaving Nate to shut it down on his own, I walk into my room, placing my shotgun at the top of my closet, and take out some clothes while I’m there. Slipping into the bathroom, double checking the locks on both doors this time, and taking hold of the faucet, I turn it on to scorching hot before stepping into the cascading waters. I let the harsh pounding of the water drown out the bass of the music. I stay under the water until the warmth prunes my skin slightly.
Quickly drying my body and stepping into my silk pajama shorts and a tank top, I hang up the towel after ruffling it through my hair. Unlatching the lock to Nate’s room, I then turn and step into the cool air of my own. The music has stopped, and I can hear distant shouting slowly descend outside with cars skidding off and girls screaming. I crank open the door to my little patio, opening it wide. Once the house sounds safe enough to set foot out again, I walk across my room and pull open my bedroom door, making my way down the stairs slowly. I’m halfway to the kitchen when I notice Nate and his friends still in the same position in the lounge. They pause their talking, right along with my steps.
I look at them. “Don’t stop on my account,” I murmur before I continue my trek to the kitchen. After shooting, I’m always hungry, and I’m not about to stop my routine because some “elite boys” were in my house. I woke up this morning an only child. How did I manage to gain not only a stepbrother but someone like Nate as a said stepbrother?
I pull open the fridge, taking out some eggs, milk, and butter, before going to the pantry for the flour and sugar. Placing all the ingredients on the kitchen counter, Nate walks in with his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the entryway. I bend down and take out a bowl from under the breakfast bar along with a wooden spoon.
I point to him. “Do you ever wear a shirt?”
He snorts. “Girls rather I didn’t.” He winks before moving toward me as Cash, Jase, Eli, Saint, and Hunter walk into the kitchen, all eyeing me skeptically.
“What’re you making?” Nate asks, watching me closely.
“Waffles.” I look toward the other boys, who are all spread out in different spots in the kitchen. The air is a little uncomfortable.
I clear my throat and look to Nate. “How come I’ve never heard of you? My dad didn’t tell me Elena had a son.” I pour in all the ingredients as Nate walks toward one of the cupboards and pulls out the waffle maker, plugging it into the wall.