Page 18

18

SAWYER

T he party is lit, literally. Crazy flashing lights shift into neon colors and swivel between Tronex’s turntable and out onto us—his worshippers.

Ash and I bounce up and down in front of the stage, giddy with excitement. We’re both wearing black wigs, mine flows like a mermaid, hers is a chic bob.

Tronex wears a black bunny mask from his early days, and his spinning is on fire. With people crammed into every inch of space and dancing wildly, the temperature inside the house has risen ten degrees. The organizers should turn off the space heaters.

Ash says sagely, “They won’t. The heat encourages people to lose their clothes.”

By midnight, half the men are shirtless and a third of the women have stripped down to their bras, some even to bras and panties as though their lingerie is a bikini. Wearing masks squashes our inhibitions.

To quench my thirst, I slip off the dance floor to drink a Virgin Cape Cod. Ash, a seasoned party girl, drinks real cocktails while dancing erratically. I guess she manages to not spill her drinks because she downs half the cocktail before coming back onto the floor. For some reason, every time she bumps into me, I can’t stop laughing.

To add to the wild atmosphere, a pair of young women spray paint that glows in the black light. Most of us have some paint decorating our skin. We blend together and into the walls. It makes me feel insulated and more a part of the college community than anything else has.

Two guys in emoji-print hoodies sell designer pills to people. Ash and I avoid the free-flowing drugs. Because of my bio mom, I find those about as appealing as a traumatic brain injury. The house’s frenetic energy is fun, though, and for once, I understand the appeal.

Jamie and the other guys who are part of the security force wear Batman masks and black shirts with a silver barbed C on the chest. The sinister logo fascinates me, but I keep my distance. Jamie’s eyes constantly scan the room, but we must be unrecognizable because his gaze never lingers.

At twelve-thirty, on the stairs to the right of the DJ stand, a couple has sex with no interference from the security force. People cheer them on loudly and encourage more groping. A girl removes her bra, and her boyfriend splashes his drink on her breasts, so he can lick it off.

The mayhem intensifies.

Guys have been grabbing us all night, sometimes to avoid falling over in the crush of bodies, sometimes just to touch us. We take it in stride, pushing them away with a laugh and centering ourselves in packs of girls.

When I head to stand guard as Ash uses one of the bathrooms, Jamie appears in the hall. He stalks down the line of women before stopping in front of me.

Without warning, he grabs my wrists, pulls my arms over my head and pins me to the wall. My gasp can’t be heard over the music as he leans down and kisses me, crushing my body with his.

His cherry Coke-flavored mouth tastes sweet. With a hammering heart, I open to the brutal kiss. Through a haze of adrenaline and lust, I slide my thigh forward to stroke his groin. He raises his head and moves his mouth to my ear.

“Go ahead.” His voice is a snarl, and one hand drops to pinch my nipple. “Dare me to fuck you against this wall. See what happens.”

I should resist. Or possibly apologize. But wild rebellion and the need to be close to him win out. I don’t pull my leg back. Instead, my back arches, pressing my breast, bare beneath the satin, into his hand.

A crashing sound causes his head to jerk in the direction of the main room. “I’m not done with you.” He turns and stalks away, leaving me breathless.

The girls in the line gape at me. The one standing next to me asks, “Do you know him?”

I nod. Thankfully, Ash emerges from the bathroom before more conversation breaks out. She loops her arm through mine and tugs me back toward the party.

Everything appears in order, so the source of the crashing sound must have been people falling down. There’s an entire group of drugged and dazed partygoers sitting against a far wall, swaying like they’re listening to Enya rather than Tronex’s driving beats.

Our spot close to the stage has been claimed. Without making eye contact with Jamie, I follow Ash and melt into the crowd on the dance floor.

We cheer Tronex on when he plays his new tracks, shaking our fists in the air as we jump up and down. Then, my favorite track, Burn Down , comes on and I lose my mind, yelling to Ash that it’s my theme song.

I don’t so much sing as shout the lyrics, lost in the moment. All those lonely days and nights that tore me down and made me feel broken—that made me wonder if a bonfire might not be the best thing that could happen to my life. And now, feeling the opposite emotions. It’s cathartic beyond belief.

As the song winds down, I throw my arm around Ash’s shoulders, and we dance together. Even under her heavy makeup, I can see her face’s happy flush. Mine must be the same.

When a tall guy in a wolverine mask stops in front of us, at first I think it’s to flirt. Then I clock the rage in his eyes and a second later recognize them and the small mole above the corner of his mouth. It’s my pseudo brother, Brad.

“Sawyer,” he snarls, grabbing my face.

I break his grip, but when my chin slips free, he grabs my arm and rips the mermaid wig off, tearing pins from their positions in my real hair. My gasp rings out as he shoves my mask halfway up my forehead and raises his phone.

I recoil but can’t free myself in time. He’s shooting video of my face, with its smeared makeup and disheveled sweaty hair framing it, along with the bodice of the slip dress where my breasts are partially exposed by the plunging neckline and whisper-thin fabric.

Ash’s slim fingers snatch the phone and dislodge it from his grasp.

Brad turns and grabs her, but she twists away and focuses on the phone, clearly trying to delete what he’s captured. As he wraps an arm around her throat from behind, he drags her backward, knocking into people. I claw his arm, trying in vain to get him to release her.

Then, suddenly, we’re not alone. Bodies go flying as War shoves people out of his way. His massive hand grabs Brad’s throat, and Jamie appears and shoves me behind him.

Then things happen in a blur. Jamie plants a foot in the back of Brad’s leg, causing Brad to drop to his knee. As he goes down, War releases him. Because of Brad’s hold—though loosened—around Ash’s throat, she buckles backward as he falls. Before she lands on Brad or the floor, though, War grabs Ash around the waist. He yanks her away from Brad, lifting her several feet off the floor so her side is flush with the sweat-drenched t-shirt that’s stretched across his chest.

My heart hammers like I’m sprinting for an Olympic record, but Ash doesn’t even bobble the phone when she’s wrenched out of my brother’s grip. Instead, she slides her fingers over the screen intently.

When she looks up, she locks eyes with me. “Deleted. Nothing to worry about, Seesaw.” Holding the phone in her right hand, she reaches out with her left to tug my mask back into position.

“Give me my phone,” Brad snaps as he rises to his feet.

“Go fuck yourself.” Ash’s smug tone causes him to stiffen and ball his fist.

“Skinny cunt?—”

Jamie hauls Brad backward. In the same instant, War’s left fist shoots out and slams into Brad’s stomach, knocking him farther into Jamie.

Brad’s breath wheezes out of him as he doubles over and lands back on the floor. I don’t think he got the full effect of the punch though, since his momentum was away from it, but he’s shaking from more than rage as he retches.

Jamie signals two other security guys who are hovering nearby. “Outside and slow his roll,” Jamie orders.

The men grab a startled Brad to haul him away. “O’Rourke, you don’t want to do this. You’ll lose your scholarship and your spot on the team.”

Jamie’s blue eyes are deadly cold, but he remains silent.

Moving into our orbit, Crosby Bergmann appears from nowhere. He’s not wearing a mask or costume. His black shirt hangs open revealing thick pecs and a barrel-shaped torso. “Hey, what the hell’s up? Ashling, is that you?”

“Fuck off,” War says, still holding Ash against him.

“Hello, Cros. Did you come with Asshat Brad? If so, I hope you drove because he’s been bounced, and if he’s your ride, you’re walking.”

“Allendale’s not with me,” he says quickly. “Not after a certain girl made her feelings on him crystal clear. Hey, Andre the Giant, you can put the princess down now.”

I expect War to drop Ash so he can hit Crosby, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.

Still, there’s a toxic cloud of testosterone and rage swirling around us. I don’t want Ash and I caught in the middle of a fight if one erupts. My muscles tighten as I pick up my wig and yank it into place, trying to figure out how to get us away.

“Princess Bride. I love that movie,” Ash says in an easy tone as if her feet aren’t dangling well above the ground. She looks War in the face and gives him a pretty smile that’s mock flirtatious. “If you wanted to dance, all you had to do was ask.”

Oh, my God. He is not someone to taunt?—

“For fuck’s sake,” Jamie says.

Ash grimaces, and I guess at the cause because of the way she looks down at her side where War has her in a vise grip.

Jamie moves forward, but before he intercedes physically, Ash’s voice changes again. Now she’s calm and serious. “War, truce.” As their gazes lock, something passes between them. Her voice implores him. “For the night, truce.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” War says as he sets her on her feet.

“Not up to you.”

“Your cousin banned you.”

“Not up to him, either.” Her eyes flick to Jamie. “No offense, James. I love you, but if you want me to respect a ban, it needs to come down from the top.”

Jamie’s lips tighten into a frown. “If that’s the way you want to play it, all right.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Still friends?”

His angry expression eases and he nods grudgingly. “Always.”

Stepping forward, she gives him a hug, which he doesn’t return. “The party was great.” She turns. “I’m ready to go.” Her hand catches mine and holds it, claiming me as hers. “Cros, walk us out?”

“No.” War’s arm stretches between them, blocking Crosby’s access to Ash. “That’s J or me.”

Ash cocks her head. “Can they really spare you, Security Monster?”

“Get moving,” he growls, giving her shoulder an impatient push that propels her forward. “You, too,” he says to me before taking the lead.

Jamie’s hand slides down to tap my ass in a subtle threat. “I’ll see you later.” His gaze traps mine.

I try to keep the rebellion from my eyes. And fail. It’s not my fault Brad is an asshole.

Jamie’s lips flatten into an annoyed line, but I don’t wince or shrink back. Ash and I had an amazing time. I don’t regret coming, despite how badly the night ended.

War forces people to clear a path.

Ash tugs me along, still holding my hand as though we’re five years old. Glowing and completely unruffled, she walks directly in War’s wake. “This is the most fresh air I’ve breathed all night.” Her tone is faintly amused. “Having a human tsunami lead us out is helpful.”

* * *

In our dorm room, we’re in the middle of changing clothes and removing makeup when my phone rings from an unknown caller. When I don’t pick up, I get a text.

Unknown: Come down with phone now or later you get what you get.

Realizing it’s Brad, I stiffen and all my earlier bravado falters. Even without video evidence, he’ll probably give a full report to our family. The slutty lingerie outfit and wild dancing… He might even claim I was drinking and using drugs. Most people were. There would be no way for me to prove I wasn’t.

“Fuck,” I say, scrubbing off my makeup and pitching the wipe into the trash. I need to tread carefully.

“What?” Ash pulls pins from her hair, and blond waves tumble down.

“Give me Brad’s phone.” I send a text to the borrowed phone he’s currently using.

Sawyer: I’ll bring it down.

Ash’s eyes narrow, but she makes no move to dig his phone from her bag.

Extending a hand, I bend my fingers in a “c’mon” gesture. “He’s threatening to make trouble if he doesn’t get it back right now.”

“Threats,” she murmurs with a roll of her eyes. “Idiot.” She shrugs. “But I’ll give it back.”

“Oh no, I’ll do it.”

As much as I love Ash’s attitude, I’m concerned about how wrong things could go if I let her do the handoff. If she lets him get too close, he could do something to hurt her. It would be subtle and something he could deny… “No, I didn’t twist and break her finger. She must have injured it earlier and is blaming me out of spite.” He has a psycho personality that allows him to go from menacing to blank-faced in an instant. In my experience, people always give Brad the benefit of the doubt.

Ash pulls on an oversized black sweatshirt. “We’ll go together. Safety in numbers.”

It is smart for me to have a witness. “Okay,” I finally say. “But you hang back. I’ll do the handover.”

“Sure.” Ash pulls his phone from her purse. “I don’t suppose you’d let me wipe it?” The twinkle in her eyes drags a nervous laugh from my lungs.

“Why do you wanna cause more trouble?”

“Because family doesn’t try to get dirt on each other to keep in a camera roll.” She clenches her jaw and, for an instant, looks halfway menacing. “Fuck that little traitor.”

I give her a hug. “Thanks for grabbing his phone and deleting the video.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” She drops the phone into my hand. “I wanted you to come out and you did. No way would I let anyone mess with you at a Crue party.”

A crew party? Was the event put on by the rowing team? No… because Brad’s on the team, and he wouldn’t threaten to get a teammate in trouble if it was the whole group’s underground party.

I fall silent as we leave the room. My heartbeat races, though I try not to show my anxiety at facing off against Brad.

Would the Allendales believe me about him now? As a child, I told our parents he punched me and shoved me down the two-step landing. He claimed I’d tripped and was blaming him because he wouldn’t give me some toy I wanted. They believed him, making it clear I hadn’t lived down the lies I’d told when I first arrived as a desperate foster kid. I’d been branded a liar, and he was not.

Worse than our parents sweeping aside my plea for help against a much bigger brother was that the Allendale grandparents were outraged I’d accused Brad of anything. They told my parents it was dangerous to keep me in the house, as though I were a dog who’d bitten someone and clearly needed to be dropped off at the pound to be put down.

When Mom and Dad didn’t immediately toss nine-year-old me out, the Allendale grandparents waited for an opportunity to talk to me privately. I remember standing in the corner of their library with the enormous Christmas tree’s bows and shelves of leather-bound books looming above. They said if I ever made up another damaging story about their grandson, they’d see me “exiled.” They reminded me my dad hadn’t adopted me because they forbade it and claimed my mom could be pressured to return me. They were her most important financial backers, so she’d lose her political career without them and their friends.

I knew my mom’s career was the most important thing to her. If they could ruin that, she’d never be able to stand up to them. Their words haunted me for a long time. “You’ll be sent back into the foster care system where you belong.” The sting of their disgust and the threat of being cast out paralyzed me.

For a while, I didn’t stand up to Brad. If he took something from my room, I let him. If he broke something of mine, I accepted it. When he belittled me, I swallowed it. My goal was simple. Withstand him. Persevere. Keep his parents as my own. That was the best way to beat him.

As we grew up, his anger at my presence in the house seemed to lessen. His focus was elsewhere, and my life got easier. Until now.

At the front door, Ash lets me walk out first and remains just behind me in the open doorway.

Brad’s red-faced from anger and the cold. One eye is swollen nearly shut. I recall Jamie’s words. Slow his roll. Was that a suggestion to the other bouncers to beat Brad up? If so, I have mixed feelings about it. I don’t care if Brad gets hurt. He hurt me plenty of times when we were young. But humiliating him will make him more determined to get the upper hand. And I’m the one who has to be in the same house with him over the holidays.

Brad’s angular features are so pinched even his good eye is a slit. The weight of his hatred makes me want to draw back, but I don’t move. He shoves limp strands of brown hair back from his forehead. “You're nothing,” he spits, his voice dripping with disgust. “And if you keep pushing me, I’ll make sure everyone knows it.”

Why his fury has flared again so darkly isn’t clear. I suspect it’s because I’m not trying to make myself small at the moment. Plus, I’m keeping company with a girl who openly despises him. Women disrespecting him—or taking up space in a big way—isn’t something he can stand.

“Here,” I say, tossing the phone the few feet to him.

He catches it with a glare and checks it.

While he’s distracted, I backtrack to the door. I tap my ID against the security pad. At the sound of the doors sliding open, Brad looks up at me with an expression that implies he’ll be eviscerating me at the earliest opportunity.

“Listen—” I start, in a conciliatory tone.

“No,” Ash says, dragging me inside.

The doors close, ending the possibility of any more conversation with Brad. Glancing over her shoulder, Ash raises her middle finger at my brother.

A part of me likes that she does it.

Another part winces.