Blackthorn Elite: The Entire Series

by Beck, J. L.

  When Jillian died, a piece of me died with her. It broke off, shattered. My heart became a black hole for anger and pain. Now that she’s here, I’m reminded of that loss and the pain. My anger is amplified.

  “You sure you want to do this tonight?” Talon interrupts my thoughts. I met him during freshman orientation at Blackthorn. I wasn’t trying to make friends, but the fuckface wouldn’t leave me alone, and so here we are now.

  Glaring at him, I continue stretching. “We’re doing this, either that or I can pick some random prick off the street and beat the shit out of him.”

  Talon shrugs. “I guess. You know they have classes to deal with this shit, right?”

  “What shit?” I pretend as if I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  Talon doesn’t know me. He thinks he does because we fuck the same girls and have drinks together, but he doesn’t really know me. He doesn’t know the feelings I harbor, my past, the loss I’ve endured. He thinks I have an anger problem, and he’s not wrong. I do.

  But if he knew why I’m angry, if he knew what happened, then he would understand better. Problem is, I don’t give a fuck about making him understand better.

  “Why you always play stupid?” He grins at me.

  Arching a brow, I reply, “Why you always ask stupid questions?”

  Talon doesn’t respond and just shakes his head at me. It’s for the best, I tell myself. I’m not here for friends. In fact, I wouldn’t be here at all if my mother hadn’t guilted me into it.

  Every Saturday night just outside of Blackthorn, at an abandoned warehouse, there is a fight. It’s called the pits and for good reason, because two fuckers enter the “pit” and clobber the shit out of each other. At the end, there is only one winner. Most of the time, it’s me, sometimes, it’s some other fucker. I don’t really care who wins, because at the end of the day I get my aggression out either way.

  I guess you could say it’s my personal version of anger management. Tonight there’s only a small crowd. I look over to Franco, the guy who puts these things on, while I continue stretching, cracking each knuckle on my hand, as well as my neck.

  The smell of sweat and smoke clings to the air. My muscles tighten at the mere thought of pulverizing one of these assholes’ faces.

  “You know the rules, fuckers. Tap out or knock out. Winner takes all the cash. We got a small crowd, but you better make it worth it for them tonight,” Franco scolds as if we’re elementary students who can’t listen or comprehend basic rules.

  Blocking him out, I scan the crowd, the girls are licking their lips, and batting their eyes as they look me and the other fighters up and down. We aren’t seen as regular frat boys here. We’re seen as sexed-up warriors, and these ladies want to take a bite out of us.

  “Into the pit, you two,” Franco orders, and I hop down into the makeshift ring, landing on the balls of my feet. I’ve ditched my shirt and am wearing a pair of low hanging shorts and tennis shoes. Sweat dribbles down my back and chest, my muscles tingle, and I lift my gaze, making eye contact with the guy across from me.

  I’m going to fuck up his face tonight.

  Grinning like a shark, I wait for the bell to ring. As soon as the sound pierces my ears, I take a step forward. The fucker in front of me does the same, but instead of sizing me up, he makes the first move, his fist flying through the air, and in the direction of my head.

  Naturally, I duck and kick my leg out, taking him out at the feet. The sound of skin hitting skin is all I can hear, and it feeds into the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I feel high as I lurch forward and pummel the guy with my closed fists.

  My knuckles make contact with his nose, and a sickening crunch meets my ears a moment before blood pours out. Even with blood coating my chest and hands, I don’t stop. I can’t. Each punch makes my muscles burn, and my heart thunder in my chest. Fuck, there is nothing better than beating the shit out of someone.

  Focused on the fight, I don’t realize two of Franco’s men are pulling me off of him. He gets back up, and they release me. He’s watching me, his eyes bleed into mine as he wipes away the blood from his lip. The crowd roars as Franco speaks into the microphone. Clenching my jaw, my molars grind together. The anger rippling through me is now at a low simmer, but it’s still there, and I want it gone. I want her gone.

  My lips curl at the thought of her, and I take a step toward the nameless guy. He follows, and soon we’re slugging each other. I let him get in a few punches and kicks because the pain overshadows everything else, it dulls all the other emotions I’m feeling.

  Fighting until we’re both exhausted, I get the guy on the ground and pound his face in until he’s screaming, his hand slapping against the ground over and over again. Then I stand and let Franco lift my hand, letting everyone know that I’ve won.

  Climbing out of the pit, I’m greeted by Talon and two chicks I’ve never seen before. Their tits are hanging out, and they’re wearing shorts that leave very little to the imagination.

  I bet I could fuck them right here in front of everyone if I wanted to, and neither of them would object.

  The brunette purrs, rubbing against me, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s fuck,” she leans in, and whispers yells.

  “Yeah, Jackson, won’t you fuck us?” The brunette’s friend adds, batting her eyes seductively at me. Rolling my shoulders, I shake the brunette’s hand off me.

  “No, thanks, babes, maybe later.”

  Both girls give me a pout but walk away on unsteady feet.

  Running my bloody hands through my hair, I turn to Talon, who is counting out the cash that Franco just gave him.

  “I need a beer,” I grunt, already feeling the familiar ache in my muscles. There’s a calmness inside of, me but I know a couple of drinks will make that calmness last a little longer, spread throughout my body. Slowly, my heart rate returns to a normal pace. Talon passes me a beer, and I pop it open and guzzle it down like water, crushing the can when I’m finished.

  Fuck is that refreshing.

  “Good fight tonight, Jackson. Maybe consider coming every Saturday?” Franco hints, just as he has been for the last month. He wants to highlight me as one of the main fighters, but I don’t give a fuck about what he wants. I come here to let loose, mainly so I can make it through the fucking week without committing some type of murder.

  My mom would be heartbroken if I ended up in prison.

  “No, thanks. I’ll let you know if I ever change my mind though.” I sling my shirt over my shoulder and head for the door. Talon is hot on my heels, and I snatch another beer from him as we walk out to his car. The cool night air makes me shiver when it connects with my sweat-clad chest. Tipping the beer to my lips, I swallow down the frothy beer, letting the cold liquid cool me from the inside out.

  Wiping my face with my shoulder, I crush yet another can and toss it over my shoulder once we reach Talon’s car.

  “Dude, you want to binge drink tonight or something?” Talon says, unlocking his SUV. His family has money, hell, everyone that goes to Blackthorn has money. Or grades. Good grades will get you in, it’s how I got in, after all.

  “I mean, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea, but…” I pause as I open the car door and hop inside. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”

  “What’s better than binge drinking?” Talon cocks his brow, and even in the dark, I can see the smile tugging at his lips. In a way, he’s the devil’s advocate, sometimes pushing me to do shit, while other times, he tugs me back away from the edge.

  “Tormenting someone.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” he asks, shifting the car into drive.

  “It means I need you to take me over to Oakwood apartments.”

  “What’s at Oakwood?”

  “It isn’t what but who.”

  “Sounds mysterious. Want to clue me in?” he asks, a little more curiously than I like. Do I want to tell him about Kennedy? No. My brain replies before I can even think about it. An
d not because I don’t want him to know who she is, or because I’m hiding something. I’m not. I don’t want him to know about her because I’m not ready for him to start asking questions, so leaving this entire thing open-ended is the best.

  “Not really. It’s no one important. I just need to stop by and pay them a little visit. Then I’ll meet you back at the complex.”

  Twisting around in my seat, I grab another beer and open it just as Talon speaks, “You don’t want me to stay and give you a ride home?”

  “Nah, I’m fine to walk. It clears my head,” I say before taking a chug of the beer.

  I’m a lot calmer now. My head felt like it’d been run through a blender the last time I talked to Kennedy. Being so close to her, her scent surrounding me, having her so close but yet so far away. She’s the only thing that I’ve left of my sister, and yet, I want to watch her burn. Want to see her bleed. No amount of pain I inflict on her would ever bring Jillian back, but it would make me feel better, and that’s the best I have.

  “You sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Talon says when we finally pull into the complex. It’s late and Kennedy is probably asleep, but I don’t really give a fuck. After following her home one night, I knew that I’d eventually come to this point. Showing up at her place, barging in. Briefly, I wonder if she’ll fight me? Call the cops? Scream?

  The thought makes me smile. If she fights, I’ll fight back, and I can guarantee it’ll be the last time she pushes me.

  “Jackson,” Talon says my name, and I realize I never answered him.

  “I’m good, man. Go home. I’ll be a little bit.” I chuckle as I open the door and slip out of the SUV. Tugging on my shirt, I close the door and wave Talon off. When he starts to back up out of the parking space, I walk to her apartment.

  I know I shouldn’t let my brain wander with thoughts of Kennedy, but it’s hard, so fucking hard. There was a time when I cared for her so much, I would’ve ripped my beating heart out of my chest and given it to her, but then everything fell apart. She couldn’t wait five fucking minutes. She couldn’t wait for me to show up and take her and Jillian home.

  Part of me wondered for a long time if things would have been different if I had been at that party that night and not fucking Nicole. Then I realized nothing I did would have changed the choice that Kennedy had made.

  Making my way down the sidewalk, I cut across the grass and walk right up to her door. The screen door creaks as I open it, and I lift my bruised knuckle, banging on it loudly. If she was sleeping, she isn’t now.

  I keep my eyes firmly on the door and whistle a tune to stop myself from becoming impatient. A second later, I can hear the lock disengaging and the door opens, Kennedy’s tiny frame comes into view, her face full of sleep. I let my gaze wander for half a second over her body, which is hidden beneath sleep pants, and a T-shirt that says “Book Nerd” in big, bold letters and hangs off one shoulder.

  She looks adorable, but that doesn’t change what I came here to do. Kennedy is going to pay, and the fun has just begun.

  69

  Kennedy

  I must still be asleep because there is no way that Jackson is standing on my threshold right now. And yet, there is no way this is a dream because if it was how could I smell him so vividly, see him.

  My nose wrinkles at the assault of scents that greet it. Sweat, alcohol, aftershave, and… blood?

  Peering up into his face, his glassy eyes meet mine. He’s been drinking, and yet his movements are precise and without hesitation. I notice there is a small gash on his forehead, and his bottom lip is swollen and partially split open. Was he in a fight? My heart rate spikes at the thought. What happened to him? When I lower my gaze, my eyes find his hands, and I see that his knuckles are bruised, confirming my suspicions. Just another reason why he doesn’t need to be here right now. Drinking and fighting. Yeah, I don’t have time to deal with that.

  “You need to leave,” I tell him, my voice still laced with sleep.

  His eyes pinch together. “I’ll leave when I’m ready, thank you.” Pushing the door open a little wider, he continues, “Why did you open the door in the first place?” He looks around my small apartment, which looks even smaller with his large body filling up the space.

  “I didn’t want you to wake up the neighbors,” I say, a half-lie. That’s part of it. The other part is I know it wouldn’t matter. If he wanted to get in, he would.

  “Sure, whatever you have to tell yourself, bug.” I cringe at the nickname.

  He used to call me Junebug when we were little as a pet name, but the way he says it now is filled with vengeful hate. It sounds more like an insult and not like an endearment that it was once upon a time.

  Dropping my hand from the door, I take a step back. “What do you want, Jackson?”

  “I want my sister back, but since I can’t have that, I’ll do with watching you suffer.”

  All you have to do is open your eyes.

  How does he not see how much I’m already suffering? Have I become that good at hiding it? Or maybe whatever he sees isn’t enough.

  “Where is your bathroom?” he asks, scanning the room. I point in the direction of my bathroom, afraid that if I don’t, he’ll start opening and closing every door. Pushing past me, he waltzes through my apartment like he owns the place.

  He flips on the light like he’s always known where it is but doesn’t close the door behind him. Instead, he starts opening the cabinets and drawers rifling through everything.

  What the hell?

  “What are you looking for?” I ask, my voice small. Does he need something? Pain meds? A band-aid, maybe?

  He doesn’t answer and continues rifling through my belongings like a madman. When he finds my pink makeup bag, he briefly stops and smirks at me over his shoulder before unzipping it and dumping its entire content out in the open toilet.

  What the actual fuck? My mouth falls open, and for a while, I just stand there in shock. Why… Why would he do that? Dropping the now empty bag on the floor, he takes a few steps toward me. I’m intimidated by his presence, by his size. I don’t know what to make of this situation. How did he even know where I was living?

  Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he leans against the doorframe. It’s a casual look for someone so menacing.

  “You don’t get to cover up your scar. Everybody needs to see what you’ve done. How ugly you are inside and out.” His words are like a slap to the face, and even though there are many feet between us, I shrink back like he actually hit me.

  “Fine, I won’t wear makeup,” I tell him after I compose myself.

  If that makes him happy, then so be it. I owe it to him to at least do whatever he wants or do whatever eases some of the pain that I caused. I don’t really care what other people think of me anyway. The only reason I cover it up is so I can blend in better and stay off of people’s radar. I don’t want to draw any attention to myself, and I don’t want anyone’s pity.

  Right after the accident, when my scar was still bright red and very visible to the world, everyone kept asking me if I was okay. Asking what happened and saying how sorry they were. I don’t want to experience that again. I just want to be left alone.

  “You’ve made your point. I won’t cover my scar up anymore. Can you please leave now?” I ask, gesturing toward the door.

  He cocks his head to the side and inspects me, his gaze roaming up and down the length of my body, and only then do I become aware of what I’m wearing.

  The pajama bottoms cover every inch of my legs, but the T-shirt I’m wearing hangs off one shoulder and is tight across my chest, doing very little to hide my breasts. As soon as the thought enters my mind, my cheeks heat, and my nipples tighten. I’m sure he is well aware since his gaze falls to my chest, where the thin material of the fabric is showcasing my tits.

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I cover up my boobs as much as I can, which only makes him smirk and draws more attention to myself. Embarrassed
and completely defeated, I look down at the floor. Anywhere besides his stupidly handsome face will do right now.

  “You know I turned down fucking two chicks earlier so I could come here. Maybe I should fuck you instead?” Shocked by his words, I look up again.

  Our gazes collide, and he starts walking toward me. A low heat forms in my belly. I don’t want to react to his nearness, but I can’t help it. Everything about him reminds me of a past, of a life I no longer live in.

  Closing the distance between us, he comes to a stop mere inches away from me. I can feel the heat of his body rolling off of him and slamming into me. I want to tell him to leave, to go away but the words won’t come.

  I watch cautiously as he reaches out and tugs at a piece of my blonde hair, rubbing the strand between two fingers as if he’s testing its durability. It reminds me of a time when we were kids, and he’d always pull on my pigtails. Today that seems as if it was an eternity ago. What he just said finally hits me, and my response rolls right off the tip of my tongue.

  “Why would you do that? You hate me.” I don’t know why I ask that question because once I say it out loud, I realize how bad it sounds. How much it sounds like I want that to happen.

  “I don’t have to like you to get off,” he says, snickering, his eyes appearing darker.

  “Well… I-I don’t want to do that.” I take a step back, desperate to put some distance between us, but he takes that as an invitation and instead moves forward, continuing to crowd me.

  “I didn’t want my sister to get in the car with you that night, but she did. Sometimes we don’t get what we want…” His voice trails off, and I become increasingly aware of the fact that I’m alone with him in my apartment. He could easily overpower me, easily take whatever he wants from me. Would he really do that? Go that far? Would I even fight back? I’m not sure. I deserve everything coming my way, don’t I?

  Those vibrant green eyes of his twinkle with an unreadable emotion, and when my back hits the wall, panic starts to claw up my spine. I can’t tell if he’s trying to scare me or if he’s serious when he moves even closer until there isn’t even an inch of space between us. My chest rises and falls rapidly. Can he hear the thump of my heartbeat?