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Chapter Sixteen

Jolie

Jimmie leads us into his house—or should I say mansion—where a woman who looks to be in her late thirties greets us with a warm smile and an apron wrapped around her waist.

“Hey baby, how was school?” she asks, followed by a warm smile.

“Same as yesterday. Mum, this is Jolie. Jolie, my mum, Victoria.”

“Oh please, call me Vicky,” she insists.

“Nice to meet you, Vicky. Jimmie and I have some homework to do. I’m new, and he has offered to help me catch up on all my missed schoolwork.”

“Well, you two better head upstairs. I will bring you a snack.” Vicky winks at Jimmie, then walks away. I snicker as Jimmie groans and shakes his head.

We take the stairs until we reach a landing. I’m not sure I can get used to the size of these houses—at times it all seems a bit too much.

“I have the entire floor to myself, so I’ve made use of all the rooms,” Jimmie explains as he leads us into an office and we both sit on the sofa lounge. Then he pulls a coffee table closer so we can pretend to set up our homework.

Jimmie’s mum brings up finger sandwiches and cookies, and once she leaves, I pull out my list.

List of suspicious shit.

1- Weird note.

2- Kidnapped and chased… Was it them?

3- Brennan being there to save me.

4- Being fostered by Brennan’s parents.

5- Brennan being a God.

6- Everyone’s reaction to me asking if Boston killed a girl

7- Brennan’s note.

I hold it out to Jimmie, but pull it back slightly when he goes to take it. “Promise me you will not speak a word of this to anyone. It could be dangerous.”

“I swear.”

I hold it back out and he takes it this time, his brow raising as he reads it over.

“Well, that is a lot to take in. Let’s start at the top.”

We go over each point and I explain. He agrees it is weird, and that it must be connected somehow.

We spend a few hours going over ideas, as well as doing actual homework. I personally wouldn’t have done it, but Jimmie insisted we get it finished.

I turned my phone off before we left school as a precaution, just in case the dicks decided to track me. Especially now that they have assigned me a babysitter every day. Powering my phone back on, I get bombarded with tons of messages.

Boston

Where the fuck are you?

Laughn

I love a good game of hide and seek.

I flick through the rest of the texts.

Case

Can you text Boston back? He’s going to kill someone soon.

Davis

Just remember you willingly fucked him.

Marlow

Stage five clinger is looking for you.

Boston

I’m going to kill you if you’re not already dead.

Brennan

Call me.

“Guard dogs much?” Jimmie quips, raising a brow.

“One is now always on babysitting duty ever since I went to that party,” I whine as the sound of car engines rev outside.

“I think they found you.” He laughs, finding this all way too amusing.

“Yep, I better pack up, so they don’t cause a scene.”

A scream, along with the loud smash of porcelain, has both Jimmie and me racing downstairs. All five guys are standing in the foyer, Laughn swinging a baseball bat in the air like a deranged psychopath.

I stop at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed over my chest, narrowing my eyes and staring them down.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I snap.

“Oh, hey baby. That was an accident,” Laughn says, delight lacing his tone as he uses the bat to point at the broken vase.

Jimmie and his mum are standing off to the side, Vicky shaking and in tears.

I march up to Laughn, ignoring the others. My neck kinks as I look up to meet his eyes—the guy is too damn tall.

“Say sorry to Vicky.”

Laughn looks at me and then at Jimmie’s mum.

“Sorry Vicky,” he repeats.

“I will pay for the broken vase.”

Amusement flashes through his eyes, wondering if I’m being serious.

“I will pay for the broken vase,” he mimics, and poor Vicky nods.

“For fuck’s sake,” Boston snaps. “Davis, get her into the car.”

Davis nods, marching over to me and throwing me over his shoulder like a rag doll.

“Bye, Jolie!” Jimmie yells out as Davis walks us towards the front door.

“Put me down, you jerk. I need to get my stuff.”

He ignores me as he hurries outside, opening the passenger door to his Viper and dumping me in it. I move to get out, but he blocks me in.

“Don’t fucking try me today,” Boston snaps from behind Davis. “You could have texted us back.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda,” I huff, snatching the seat belt from Davis’s grip. “I had research to do and?—”

Davis slams the car door in my face.

All five guys stand in front of the car and talk. Boston looks pissed and Laughn has his signature smirk—both of which should chill any normal person to the bone. Marlow and Case stand with their arms crossed, while Davis leans against the bonnet. Boston seems to be talking with his hands and I chuckle at how ridiculous they look.

They turn to look at me and I smirk. Davis shakes his head and walks towards the car, opening his door and jumping in. He doesn’t say a word, he just throws the car into gear, causing the tyres to spin in the gravel, and leaving a cloud of dust in our wake.

We sit in silence, and I watch as the veins in his wrist twitch whenever he changes gears—not something I thought I would find hot, but I do. I peer over at him and take in his boy-next-door charm, even though the Davis I’m getting to know is anything but. I wonder why he doesn’t have a body covered in ink like the rest. He seems so damn composed, and I find myself wanting to break him.

We eventually pull into a driveway of a comparatively unpretentious mansion.

“Where are we?” I ask, breaking the silence.

Davis ignores me and gets out of the car. I follow suit, trailing him up a small set of stairs and through the double doors.

Surprise . . . it’s a foyer.

It blows my mind. I’m used to small houses, where as soon as you walk inside, you are in the only living room of the entire place.

We silently climb a set of stairs, and Davis reaches the top while I’m a few steps behind, so I rush to catch up before I lose him.

He turns left into a room, which looks more like a suite. It boasts a king-size bed, a damn couch, a massive LCD TV, and a walk-in wardrobe. Not as nice as Boston’s, and not as weird as Laughn’s with his damn death noodles.

“Why are you here?” he snaps.

Anger instantly flashes through me at his tone and the accusation in his words. “You drove me here, dickhead.”

“Not what I mean, Jolie. You might have them fooled, but it can’t be that simple.”

I take a few steps towards him, poking him in the chest. “You listen here. Nothing in my life has been simple . I had some kind of accident when I was a kid, causing me to have memory loss. My best friend, Trace, was the only one there to take care of me and then he up and left me, promising that he would be back. Just when I think he has returned for me, someone kidnaps me, chases me, and then very conveniently Brennan saves my ass. So, however you think I have fooled everyone, it must mean they’re a bunch of idiots because I have nothing to hide. I have told Brennan that as soon as I graduate, I’m gone. None of you will ever see me again.”

His curiosity and almost amusement at my outburst turns to pure evil when I say I’m leaving.

He grabs my arms. “You’re not going anywhere!”

“I hate to break it to you, but you can’t stop me.” I try to rip my wrists back, but he has a good grip.

“He isn’t coming back,” he says, and I shake my head. I don’t want to hear this. “He should have come back for you. Anyone who leaves you behind is an idiot.”

With that, he pulls me into his body, and I struggle against his hold. I look up at him and he stares into my tear-filled eyes.

“Looking into your eyes is like home.”

The hairs on my arms raise and goosebumps line my skin. Déjà vu hits me with a sudden intensity. Just like with Case, I swear I have heard that before.

“Davis, have?—”

He cuts me off when his mouth crashes into mine.

Before I can overthink it, I lean into him, and the kiss turns frantic, like the clashing of waves in a storm. My hand wanders under his shirt, his lips leaving mine only long enough to take a step back so he can slip the material over his head. My shirt joins his on the floor, then layer after layer our clothes are thrown to the floor.

I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist as he walks us backwards towards the bed. He crawls up the mattress with me clinging to him for dear life, my hands not wanting to leave his skin.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, looking at me as if he can read my mind.

“Yes.”

Nothing more needing to be said, he slips a condom on and pushes into me. I savour the moment, just for a second, before he hooks my leg over his shoulder and increases his pace. Surges of pleasure roll through me every time he hits deep. I never knew pounding the same spot over and over could cause such overwhelming bliss.

Davis has certainly mastered the art of cervix stimulation; my whole body starts to tingle and shake as this feeling builds and builds. I have never felt anything so mind-blowing. His strokes are long and fast, the sensations pulsing and spiralling out from my core until I detonate like a nuclear bomb, arching my back and screaming his name.

My orgasm the green light to focus on himself, Davis vigorously pumps inside me until he groans with his own release. As soon as his dick finishes pulsating, he rips himself off me, storms into the bathroom and slams the door.

My phone pings from the floor. I fish it from my pocket and quickly get dressed.

Case

Are u okay???

Me

I’m fine but can you come get me from Davis’ house?

Case

Sure, I’m ten minutes away.

Davis still hasn’t emerged from the bathroom, so I scour his room for a piece of paper and a pen. Lucky for me, he has just that on his bedside table.

You could have just asked me to leave

Davis is still hiding out in the bathroom as I quietly trek downstairs and make my way out to the main gate, and it doesn’t take Case long after that to pull up. He jumps out and races around to open the door. I love looking at him the most, with his ripped skinny jeans, loose singlet top showing off all his tattoos, his leather wristbands, and silver rings lining his fingers.

“My lady,” he says while I slip into the passenger seat.

“Thanks.”

He races back around to his side and jumps in, “Hitchin’ a Ride” by Green Day blasting through the speakers as we take off. He reaches over to turn the stereo down.

“Wanna talk about what happened up there?” he asks, looking straight ahead.

“Nothing really happened. We screwed, then he ran to the bathroom like a little bitch. It was just sex—he could have at least taken me home or called me a ride.”

“Maybe he thought you would be a stage five clinger,” he jokes, and I whack his arm.

“Me, a stage five clinger? I think you all forget it is you guys that won’t leave me alone.”

“That is very true. So what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“I have to feed Rathew, but other than that, nothing.” I sigh, watching the world stream past the window.

“Rathew?” he asks, curiosity bleeding through his voice.

“Yeah, the rat I rescued from Laughn’s house. He just whacks them and throws them in.”

Case laughs hysterically. “You stole snake food and named it Rathew?” he finally wheezes out.

“Sure did,” I reply with a grin. “I keep him in a storage box but need to get him a proper cage.”

“Well, how about we go shopping for a rat cage and maybe you could dye my hair for me?”

I glance over at him; he could afford a hairdresser. “Sure, if you trust me enough.”

“I trust you more than you know.”

“This Ain’t a Scene, It’s an Arms Race” by Fall Out Boy starts, and I lean over to turn it up as we head towards the highway. Both of us belt out the lyrics and laugh as we screw them up numerous times.

No one was at Boston’s house when we arrived back from our successful shopping trip, in which we ended up buying more than we needed for a rat. Case set up Rathew’s cage, and he currently has a head full of bleach covered in a plastic bag on his head. We followed a Brad Mondo video on YouTube... what could possibly go wrong?

“Is it supposed to burn? Because my head feels hotter than Satan’s nutsack.”

“I don’t know. I have never bleached my hair before. Let me look at it.” I lift the plastic bag and inspect his scalp. “I mean, it’s really blonde, so I think we can wash it out now.”

“Thank fuck,” he says, running over to the kitchen sink and blasting the tap. At least there is one good use for the massive sink with one of those handheld faucets.

I rinse all the crap out of his hair and wash it with the shit the lady sold us. Once it’s done, we set up the green dye.

“Can this be used on wet hair?” I ask, and he reads the back of the bottle.

“Fucked if I know. Just put it in. Worst case, we shave it.”

“No way, I love your hair,” I say, running a comb through it.

I paint the green dye in, and we end up covered in it. I don’t think I will be an official hairdresser anytime soon.