Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Jolie

Storming up the stairs, I feel the steam coming from my ears. How dare he think he knows anything about Trace!

I shoot off a text to Danika and ask if she knows of any parties in the area tonight. I need to get out of here—to remind myself why I never let my walls down. The fight I had earlier has made me weak around Brennan, and I will not make that mistake again. Danika messages back within a couple of minutes.

Danika

Kelly Bishop, total skank, so lots of guys.

Robbie Anderson is throwing a beach party. Oh, and Mitchel Aston is also having a party but it is invite only and he is a bit sketch.

I text back straight away—girls like me don’t need an invite.

Me

Mitchel’s party it is, send me the address.

Danika

Be careful, those guys have a rep.

With that, she pings me the address on maps.

I look and it isn’t that far from here at all; Aston is possibly a rich boy I can have some fun with. I feed Rathew before jumping into the shower.

Showering and getting ready should have given me time to cool down. Instead, I’m still mad as hell. I admire myself in the mirror. The tight, short dress hugs the minimal curves I have, and a stick-on bra—that looks like chicken fillets—gives the illusion I have tits. I match the black dress with a pair of Louis Vuitton heels that were on the list of “must own” shoes for residents of the Myers household. Everything here screams money, even the dress I’m wearing that barely has ten bucks worth of material, yet costs three hundred—and that was marked down.

Smoky eye shadow finishes the look, and I know I look hot. I leave everything behind after calling for an Uber; sneaking out isn’t new to me.

Heels in hand, I tiptoe down the stairs, listening for any movement. The house is dead silent, so I make a quick exit. By the time I reach the end of the driveway, the Uber is pulling up. I want one night where I don’t have to think about Trace, why I’m at the Myers, or who the guys are. I just want to be a normal teenage girl and to try to get wasted—even though I know that part is pointless. Where is Marlow when I need his super weed?

The drive takes less than ten minutes. The Uber drops me at the gate, and I watch kids holding out their phones at the door, getting them scanned. I waste no time walking to the front of the line, causing heads to turn as I skip the queue. The young guy at the door looks me up and down, and with a smile, he steps aside and lets me through. This isn’t my first rodeo. Skimpy clothes don’t guarantee entry, confidence does.

Following the crowd, I find an outside bar and scan the area, taking in my exit points. Being outside means I’m not so on edge. I watch how everyone interacts; finding the host is usually easy. He won’t be in the pool with the lights flashing and hordes of easy girls swimming around half naked, as he wouldn’t be able to greet people or keep an eye on things. But Danika had mentioned he was a bit sketch, so there will be girls. Someone screams, and I look up as some kid jumps from the first story glass balcony straight into the pool, the large splash making me jump backwards. Bile in my throat is the first sign someone has caught me as I crash into them, hands gripping my waist in a fake attempt to stabilise me.

“Well, who do we have here?” he asks.

I hold back the urge to throat punch the drunk idiot. Instead, I step back, forcing him to take his hands off me.

“Someone who wants to get wasted and have a good time... and you are?”

“Aston.”

Ah, the party host himself. It’s a shame really that someone so good-looking screams fuckboy, though it will serve me well for the night. I hate fuckboys and everything they stand for, which is hypocritical of me since I’m the female equivalent, but I never lie about my intentions or say what guys want to hear.

“So, you’re one of those guys?” I ask, refraining from the eye roll.

“I plead not guilty until I know my crimes.” His playboy smile is kind of adorable, I’ll at least give him that. I do also appreciate that his wild, dark curls don’t seem to be tamed.

“The ‘calls everyone by their last name’ kind of guy.”

He laughs, even though it really isn’t funny.

“So, you know who I am?”

He doesn’t answer my question, which is a typical guy thing to do.

“I wouldn’t go that far. A friend told me about this party and how sketchy you were, and I was down.” He raises a brow and shrugs, not denying my assessment of him.

“How about we get some drinks and find my friends? The party is just getting started.” Aston takes my hand and pulls me further into the yard.

I hadn’t realised the yard went off to the right, away from the main party, but close enough to hear everyone. The crowd is small over here; I can see about half-a-dozen guys sitting at a table laughing. Two girls mingle—one looks so desperate for attention she may start dancing on the table, and the other is perched on a guy’s lap as he wraps his arm around her waist.

They all notice as we approach. The desperate girl looks disappointed, but the other girl is almost baring her teeth—she is protective of these guys and that intrigues me.

“Everyone, I found a friend who wants to get wasted and have some fun,” Aston declares. One seat is vacant at the head of the table, and Aston takes us both to the seat and places me on his lap.

“Does your friend have a name?” one guy asks.

“Jolie,” I state.

Aston introduces his friends. “That is Masters, Bates, Roman, and Smith, his girlfriend Ally, and her friend, who I don’t care enough about to remember her name.”

“I won’t remember any of you after tonight, but nice to meet you.”

I don’t mean it—well, I mean the not remembering them part—and not because I’m wasted, but because I don’t care enough to try or to give a shit who they are. A few guys laugh at me, and Ally continues to stare me down.

“Ally, get Jolie a drink,” Aston demands. He hasn’t missed the way she is glaring at me.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What’s wrong with her legs?” Ally spits. I notice Smith’s hand dig into her waist. So, Mr Aston is the big dog, enough that another guy would shut his woman up—interesting.

“How about shots?” the one I think is Masters asks.

“I’m down.”

Masters pulls out a bottle of J?germeister and a bunch of shot glasses, lining them up on the table in front of me. I kinda like being Aston’s guest for the night.

I down three and Aston grabs one and so does Masters. He refills the shot glasses, and the others toss them back. Ally slams a bottle of Jack Daniels down in front of me. At least they seem to have good taste. Someone turns on music; it’s not too loud that we can’t hear each other talk, and the vibe is mellow. I’m not sure what Danika meant by them being sketchy—they all seem nice enough.

“So, Jolie, what school do you go to?” Bates asks. I remember his name since he is sitting directly to my right.

“Northwood Pines. I just started. My foster family enrolled me.”

“Who is the family? Maybe I know them? My friend goes there.” I don’t miss the tone Ally uses.

“The Myers,” I say.

“You actually live with Boston?” Aston asks.

“Yep. Why, are you also fans?” Everyone seems to idolise them, its borderline insanity.

“Not exactly... rivals would be a better word for it.” Aston seems tense.

“Looks like I came to the right place,” I say. “Pissing him off has quickly become my favourite pastime.”

A few hours pass, and time has started to blur, along with my vision, which is weird. Do they have some kind of super drugs like Marlow? When a fight in the house breaks out, Aston sends the guys to investigate to make sure his house doesn’t get trashed.

“So...” he says when I spin around to straddle him.

“So...” I repeat. “How about we make this a party of two?”

He doesn’t argue, just stands up, and I wrap my legs tight around his waist to stop from falling to the ground.

After that, everything happens so fast, my brain needs a few seconds to catch up.

I’m ripped unexpectedly from Aston and thrown over someone’s shoulder, causing me to vomit, the chunks running down the back of someone’s legs. Lights whirling mixes with the sounds of cursing, and the final thump of my body when it hits something soft tells me things have changed.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” a familiar voice asks. Why is Brennan here?

“Resting my eyes so the world stops spinning.” I laugh at myself. I can be hilarious when I want to.

“Grow up, Jolie, and be serious,” he snaps.

“So sorry, Mr Maturity, I was tryin’ to have fun and forget how much of an asshole you are.” Gosh this is comfortable—it feels like I’m lying on clouds. “I’m also not sorry for puking on you, and I hope it stains.” While I always wanted to get super wasted, this feels weird; damn rich people have had the good shit all along.

“Why do you always run? People fight, but you don’t have to run anymore.”

“This wasn’t running—I wanted to get laid. It makes me feel good, and no one was around to start the bet that me and Boston made.”

Everything goes fuzzy and my eyes are too heavy to stay open. He keeps talking, but I close my eyes and drift off.

The sound of Disturbed pierces my ears and unfortunately my pillow blocks out none of it. Boston, that son of a bitch. I push off the covers and get up from the bed. Looking down, I notice I’m not wearing my own shirt and quickly jump back to face the bed, relieved to see that it’s empty. It seems I’m making a habit of waking up in other people’s clothes. I need to start being careful; I wasn’t aware that all I needed to get wasted was to take drugs and alcohol from rich kids. It’s like they water it down for the poor people.

My brain thuds against the front of my skull. Boston better be ready for a fight. What sort of crazy asshole plays this kind of music so early in the morning? I head straight for the kitchen—the main control to the sound system is on a panel just before you walk in.

I hit the power button, releasing the pressure from my brain instantly. A dull thud now replaces the stabbing pain.

“Morning, sunshine.”

I poke my head into the kitchen and see Marlow standing topless at the stove, his hair pulled up into a high man bun. Stepping into the room, I appreciate the view of his back.

“Sunshine isn’t going to work for me,” I say, taking a seat at the breakfast bar and laying my head on the cool bench.

He turns to face me, pan in hand, and tips scrambled eggs onto a plate before pushing it in my direction. “Eat. You’re going to need your strength when everyone gets back.”

“Why, do you all plan to strip me naked and pin me down again?”

He smiles. I haven’t spent much time with Marlow to appreciate how rugged and handsome he is.

“If it turns you on, I’m not opposed to seeing you naked again.” Marlow takes a seat next to me, pulling his plate of eggs closer.

“Where is everyone?”

“At the gym, I’m on Jolie watch.”

I whip my head around to face him, having to strain my neck to look up at him.

“Why do I need a babysitter?” I snap.

“Because after last night, you clearly can’t be trusted to be left alone. Fraternising with the enemy.”

“Seriously... they’re high school kids. How much of a threat could they be?”

Marlow snorts, and I shovel more food into my mouth.

“Wait until you see Boston this morning and ask him,” he says, chuckling to himself while he shakes his head at me.

“Ask me what?”

I look up and Boston is leaning against the wall. My eyes go wide.

“What happened to your face?” I ask, taking in his busted lip and black eye.

“Your stupidity happened...” I stand, going to defend myself, but he doesn’t let me. “Sit your ass down and fucking listen.” His tone is serious and for once I do what he says with no arguments, which is out of character for me. I blame the hangover. “Case is hurt, and you need to understand something. This isn’t like the poor-ass town you were living in before. Here, you can’t just go to a rival party. How do you think we knew where you were? They sent us photos. It was a set-up.”

“They didn’t even know I was going to be there, so how could it be a set-up?”

He is being super dramatic and overbearing right now.

“Once they knew, it was planned. You’re one of ours, even if we don’t want you, and they know that. We came in unprotected and every single person at that party was there for them.”

“I never asked for you to come. I never asked for Brennan to be an asshole. All I want is to graduate and go find my best friend. So don’t stand there and lecture me. I don’t care about your stupid high school rivalries, and I don’t want you to save me.”

Pushing away from the breakfast bar, I get up to leave, but Boston steps in front of me. “I don’t give a fuck if you miss your so-called friend. While you’re here, you will do what you are told. Wherever you are, we will be with you from now on. Do not think I am joking about this.”

“I hate you,” I grit out, glaring straight into Boston’s eyes. “And you,” I say, looking over my shoulder at Marlow, “find a damn shirt. I want to go see Case.”

Marlow salutes me.

“Damn stupid, assface, cocksucker thinks he can boss me around, asshole, cocksucker,” I mutter under my breath as I stomp away.

How am I supposed to know shit when no one tells me anything? Maybe if they would act like normal human beings and communicate, I would understand “their” world. I’m just a poor girl, from... damn, now I’m singing Queen in my head.

I don’t bother with a shower, just wipe my face down with makeup remover, then throw on a pair of cotton shorts and a cropped shirt with my flip-flops. Finishing with a messy bun, I’m ready to leave.

“Good to go?” Marlow asks, popping his head into my room.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to knock?” I snap.

His face drops. “I never knew my mother.”

And now I feel like a pile of shit.

“I would say I’m sorry, but sorry is just a word. I apologise.”

“Don’t apologise, she isn’t dead, physically anyway.” He grimaces.

“Screw you! What is wrong with you? Who says shit like that?!”

“Just wait until you meet her.”

Hold up a damn minute. First Case and his weird-ass hug, then Brennan barging into a party to save me—even though I didn’t need saving—and now Marlow is throwing in a meet the parents . These are some serious red flag warnings. I need to get the hell away from here as soon as I find some clues about how Brennan is tied to Trace.

“I won’t be meeting your mother. I’m not the type of girl you take home to meet the folks.”

Marlow laughs. “You don’t have a choice. The Myers are throwing a dinner party when they get back. Trust me when I say they are way too interesting to miss.”

Marlow and I talk more about this dinner party and why they are so entertaining while we head to the hospital to see Case. Apparently, Mrs Myers is the top of the food chain, so if you get an invite, you’re a somebody. But Marlow says that there is always a scandal. Last year, one couple invited had a champagne-flute-throwing fight when the wife found out her husband was sleeping with another couple’s daughter. All he recommends is getting wasted beforehand, and the entertainment will find us. Sounds like my kind of party, if I’m being honest. A bunch of rich assholes tearing down their own kingdoms with their own misgivings.

Marlow drops me off at the entrance of what looks to be a small private hospital. He tells me to press the buzzer, give my name, and I will be escorted to Case. I don’t argue, or even ask why he isn’t coming in.

After being buzzed inside, a middle-aged gentleman in a white coat takes me to Case’s room. Laughn is sprawled over a recliner in the corner, while Case is sitting on the bed.

“I’m not sorry I went to that party,” I start, stepping into the room.

Both sets of eyes look my way. Laughn jumps up out of his seat, and in one big stride, stands in front of me.

“Baby, you will be the death of me, and I can’t wait for the epic ride.” He licks my cheek, steps around me, and leaves the room.

Any of the other guys and that would be weird, but Laughn is in a class of his own. I think if you looked up the word “weird” in the dictionary, his picture would be there.

“You should be sorry,” Case says from the bed, his head down, looking at the floor.

I close the distance between us and take a seat next to him on his bed.

“You were in so much more danger than I can tell you,” he continues in a low voice. “Do you really think we would risk injury to ourselves for nothing? We went in knowing it was the six of us against every fucker at that party. You need to start to uncover what is happening around you.”

I slide off the bed, furious that I’m in the dark about so much. “You say I’m in danger but won’t tell me why. If It’s such a huge deal... just fucking tell me. I am looking around more than you know and nothing makes sense.”

“Because in your story, your friend ”—he uses air quotes when he says friend—“is the hero, and maybe you are looking at everything from the wrong angle.”

“What the fuck does that even mean? What do you all know about Trace that I don’t? I swear on my life, if anyone knows where he is, I will burn your house down while you sleep and piss on your grave. He is my fucking hero.”

I look away from Case. Why is everyone so insistent on turning me against Trace? They don’t even know him. I feel like I have been shoved into this fake life and nothing around me is real anymore.

A hand squeezes my shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

I don’t expect an apology. These guys seem to only say what they mean—no words are wasted.

“Have you ever had the feeling your life wasn’t yours? That nothing ever seems to make sense?”

I hate crying; crying is a weakness. But I can’t help it... I feel lost and so broken. While I know I shouldn’t have got my hopes up, I really thought that stupid note was from Trace. Figuring it out is a priority, but I don’t know where to start when nothing makes any fucking sense.

Case spins me to face him, and I stare into his eyes. Being the shortest of all the guys, I don’t have to strain my neck. He takes my face in his hands, wiping the tears from my cheeks. For a moment, neither of us speaks, the tension between us undeniable. I never take my focus off him, and as he leans forward, butterflies hit my stomach. Being touched like this is a foreign feeling to me and living in the moment with Case is nice. His lips gently touch mine and I can feel the pulse in my neck thumping away.

“You need to be careful. Your walls are starting to slip,” he whispers against my lips, destroying the moment we were having. I push against his chest, forcing him to take a step back, a smile plastered on his face. “Better go home and put your makeup on, so your walls go back up.”

My mouth opens to argue, but an eery sense of déjà vu washes over me—like he has said that to me before, or someone has. It is so clear in my mind—almost like it was a memory.

I need to find someone I can trust.

I need to admit I need help.

It can’t be Sinclair. She is nice enough, but I get a vibe from her that something is off; maybe it’s just teenage jealousy. Danika and Joshua, I couldn’t say I would put my secrets in their hands, so that leaves Jimmie as my only option.

A throat clears from behind us. “Sorry to intrude, but you are free to go.”