by Rose, Renee
“He’s puncturing my skin over and over again with an ink-filled needle. Yeah it hurts. Did it not hurt when you got yours?”
She shrugs. “I don’t remember.”
The tattoo artist, Eric, a lanky, pierced guy with close-cropped hair and full sleeves of tats on both arms, exchanges a glance with Rayne like they’re sharing some secret. Or agreeing I’m being a big wimp.
Maybe I am. I blow out my breath. I deserve this pain.
For Catrina.
“Uh oh.” Rayne spins her chair around so the back faces the window. “Don’t look now.”
“What? Oh.”
Fuck.
The WRH football team is jogging around the town square today. Lucky me.
“Excuse me?” I say to the tattoo artist. “Could we, um, face the other way?”
But it’s too late. They are running past, and I see the teammates’ heads swiveling from me to Cole, who is in the middle of the pack. He catches sight of me and does a quick reverse step, nearly pulling the handle off the door with his momentum. Two of his buddies stop with him.
As he opens the door, one of them says, “Dude, no. Coach Jamison will kill us all if you disappear.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” Cole’s grin is wicked.
Butterflies flap panicked wings in my belly, smacking into my ribs and sending my pulse skyrocketing.
Cole saunters over. His muscles stretch his white t-shirt. He’s hardly sweating, even though he was running in the afternoon sun. In Colorado it would be crispy fall by October, but apparently Arizona didn’t get the autumn memo.
“It smells like pain in here.” He saunters in my direction, gloating and glee radiating from every line of his athletic body. His brown eyes glitter. “Pain and”—he sniffs the air, then whirls suddenly to face Rayne—“fear.” He lunges at her, gripping the two arm rests of the captain’s chair and trapping her in it.
She squeaks.
He’s right. She looks absolutely terrified.
“What are you doing here, Rayne-bow?”
She shrinks in her chair, eyes wide.
Anger flares and I get over my own sense of intimidation. “Get the fuck away from her,” I snap.
He keeps her caged in, but slowly turns his face toward me. “Rayne-bow and Pink. I guess you two go together.” He frowns though, and to my relief, pulls away from Rayne.
I don’t even care when he comes in my direction. I can handle him.
“What’s up, Muchmore?” Eric mumbles, darting a sideways glance in Cole’s direction. Great. Even the local business owners are intimidated by this high school punk.
Figures.
Cole crowds beside him, studying me. “You’re in pain, Pink. Delicate little flower, aren’t you?”
I roll my eyes. “It probably turns you on to see a person suffer, doesn’t it?”
“Only you, Pink.” He grins and squeezes his junk through his gym shorts.
I follow the motion with my gaze before I can stop myself. Oh lordy. He’s got a big package, and yes... it is bulging.
And just like that, my body decides now is the time to bloom into womanhood. Again. I need to have a serious talk with my body and what it considers healthy sexual interactions. Teen hormones are the worst.
I mean, seriously, up to this point, I considered myself sort of asexual. I’ve kissed a few boys. Made out with a couple girls. Neither did much for me.
Right now, though, it’s like a match just burst into flame in my core. Heat prickles across my skin. My nipples bead to painful little points.
And unfortunately, Cole doesn’t miss it. His nostrils flare right before his gaze lands on my nips which are pointy even under my daisy trimmed lace bralette. “Who’s turned on by suffering?” he mocks.
My face heats, comebacks eluding me as I become even more acutely aware of the tightness of my breasts. The pulsing heat between my legs.
“Go to hell, Muchmore.”
Yep, super mature.
Eric stops needling my skin and clears his throat, like he wants to say something to Cole, but doesn’t quite have the nerve.
“Take a break,” Cole orders and the spineless twit immediately backs away, leaving me totally exposed and alone for Cole’s attack.
And attack he does, only it’s not in the direction I expect.
He leans in, gripping the arms of my chair like he did with Rayne. “It’s good you like pain, little flower. Because I plan to make you suffer.”
It’s a threat, but his eyes are heavy-lidded. Like he’s in sexual ecstasy at the thought.
And for some reason, my body keeps responding to his nearness. A thrum between my legs matches my heartbeat.
He leans in even closer, so close I think he’s going to bite me or something, but all he does is inhale deeply, his nose at the side of my neck.
When he pulls back, his eyes look weird. Like more gold than brown. He gives a sharp shake of his head and exhales. Snatches my hand up and examines the ink, like he’s using it as a distraction.
“Little Miss Perfect is getting a tattoo? I can’t believe it.”
I’m too flustered to answer. Too off-center. Too vulnerable.
“I wouldn’t think your straight-laced mom would sign the permission form to let her perfect little girl get marked up.”
“She’s eighteen today,” Rayne offers.
I would glare at her, but I’m too busy studying Cole’s eyes, which now appear to be back to brown. Had I just imagined them turning gold? I must have.
Cole’s brows shoot up. “This is your birthday deed, huh? You were chomping at the bit to get inked?”
I don’t know why his interest causes such a sideways shifting in my chest. I try to pull my wrist back, but he doesn’t release it.
“What is this? A skull?” He cocks his head at me, examining my face, then returning to study the artwork. “Some kind of Mexican heritage thing?” Again, he looks at my face. “Or did someone die?”
I swear I didn’t show anything, but he goes still. “Who died, Pink?”
This time I do manage to yank my hand back. “Get out of here, Cole.” I choke. Unwelcome grief bubbles up to the surface, and I sure as hell don’t want to break down in front of my worst enemy.
I’m saved by his two football buddies pushing the door open.
“Cole, move it. Coach hasn’t noticed yet, but he’s going to,” Wilde, the biggest one says. I think he’s captain of the football team. Definitely another superstar alpha-hole at WRH.
Cole slowly backs up, still raking me over with his gaze. Then he turns and walks out with his friends, taking all the oxygen from the room with him.
I can’t manage to suck in a breath until they’re out of sight, around the corner.
“Huh,” Rayne says.
“What?”
Eric shuffles back toward me and resumes his work as if nothing happened. This time, I hardly notice the pain.
“I think you have more power with Cole Muchmore than you think.”
My gut clenches, nerves still raw. “What do you mean, more power?”
She looks thoughtfully out the window in the direction the boys disappeared. “It’s true he can’t stand you. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to get you horizontal.”
I wish my reaction to that news was revulsion, but instead, lightning zings through my core and a shiver runs through me. Eric tightens his grip on my hand to keep me from screwing up the tattoo, then shoots a look at Rayne that for some reason reads as a warning.
He’s warning her not to distract me? Or not to encourage me to tangle with Cole?
It’s not like I plan to.
But if Rayne’s right? If Cole Muchmore wants me? That changes everything. If it’s true, I do hold a shred of power. And I can use it as a weapon…
* * *
Cole
Bailey and the defective little runt Rayne.
That’s a combination I wouldn’t have ever put together. I nearly made Rayne pee herself over
breaking my school-wide edict of not befriending the human, but the truth is, I don’t give a shit. If Pink wants to be friends with the lowest kid in the pack, that’s fine. She probably needs someone to talk to.
Something about it irritates me, though. Rayne’s not good enough for Pink. She’s like two or three years younger and a friendless nobody. Pack dynamic demands it be that way. If Pink were at a human school, she’d be in a strata close to the top, considering she’s librarian-hot. She wouldn’t be hanging out with a kid like Rayne.
I kind of loved the way Pink protected the runt, though. It’s funny to see humans display the same alpha protection of friends that packs rely on. They probably don’t even understand the biology beneath it. But Pink has backbone, I’ll give her that.
I run back to the field, mulling over Pink’s new ink. Turns out there’s more depth to the hot nerd than I noticed. She lost someone, too. She has a wound.
Some might think it would make me want to pour salt and lemon juice all over, but it doesn’t.
She’s already broken.
She already knows pain.
Somehow that satisfies the angriest part of me. Like it levels the field between us.
Doesn’t mean I don’t still want to take her down a few notches. Get her under me. Begging me. Calling my name. Eager to give me anything, everything, I want.
I give my head a shake. Just the thought makes my step lighter.
I think that may be all I need. To fuck the human.
Once I’ve conquered Bailey—once I’ve broken her myself—then I can let this go.
* * *
Bailey
I wasn’t planning on going to the homecoming game. I don’t even know why I’m here.
Because Rayne talked me into it, I guess.
We sit way in the back, where we still have to squeeze to get seats.
I swear, the entire town showed up for this game. People are all dressed in blue and white, waving signs and pom-pons.
“Welcome Wolf Ridge!” Austin, student council president and one of the football alpha-holes, stands in the middle of the field with a microphone. “Before the game, we’ll be announcing the homecoming royalty.”
“Dammit, I wanted to steal you that crown,” I mutter to Rayne, who laughs. She’s been giving me the inside scoop on everyone around us—the who’s who of Wolf Ridge.
“From the junior class, the prince is Alex Shank.” The crowd cheers as one of the football players jogs up to get his crown. “And junior class princess… Chiara Deane!” More whoops and cheers. “And our senior class king is…” His dramatic pause goes on too long and the crowd starts stomping and cheering. “Cole Muchmore!”
“Ugh,” I groan. “Like he needs the boost to his ego.”
“Actually, he might,” Rayne says, reminding me of his dad’s unemployment which sends a stab of guilt through me.
“And the queen is… Adriana Drake!”
I have no opinion about Adriana Drake, the blonde cheerleader who dashes out to the field to get her crown. That is until she throws her arms around Cole’s neck like they’re announcing their engagement. Then I decide she’s a conceited bitch without brains who probably doesn’t even know how to tie her own shoes.
“Oh that’s cute,” Rayne says dryly. “They dated last year. Looks like the student body wants to see them together again.”
My stomach cramps, a hot ball of something that’s not jealousy lodging in my chest.
I’m not jealous.
Definitely not jealous.
Why would I be jealous of someone dating Cole? I should welcome his distraction from making my life a living hell.
Reasoning with myself doesn’t help, though. I can’t stand the cheerleader I already decided is a bitch. She gets her crown but stays glued to Cole, one arm wrapped around his waist.
It’s hard to tell from where we’re sitting, but his posture looks bored and impatient, though maybe that’s what I want to see.
Dammit.
I seem to be getting as obsessed about my tormentor as he is with me.
The royalty leaves the field and the band plays a couple numbers.
The cheerleaders and pom-pon girls make two lines outside the stadium doors where the team comes out and lift their shivering pom-pons overhead to make a tunnel.
The crowd gets on their feet cheering for the grand entrance.
“Woo hoo, you ran out on a field,” I mock in a voice only Rayne can hear.
She elbows me in the ribs. “Get in the spirit. Games are fun.”
Games are fun.
Okay. I’ll have to take her word for it.
I scan the players. They all look the same in their big shoulder pads and helmets.
“Number twenty-six,” Rayne says.
“What?”
“That’s Cole’s number. You were looking for him, right?”
My face grows hot. “Nope.”
She grins. “Liar.”
I find twenty-six and instantly wonder how I didn’t recognize him. Cole struts out on the field with that predatory grace, making the rest of the team look like lumbering idiots.
The coin is tossed. The teams line up. The other team gets the ball.
I watch the game with less interest in the actual sport, although I am fairly fascinated at the prowess of one quarterback in particular, but more as an anthropological study.
Sports have replaced battle in our culture. They’re a proving ground for young warriors—part of young people’s rite of passage into adulthood. What else can we do with these amazing physical abilities we no longer need in today’s society? Use it or lose it in evolution, right?
I have to admit I’m impressed by the beauty of the dance out on the field. And truly, Wolf Ridge High’s players are ten times better than the other team’s. More coordinated, stronger, bigger.
Just better.
I can see why sports are big here.
At halftime, I brave the crowds to buy some nachos. Rayne sticks by my side, although she darts nervous glances at the people around us.
“Do you hate big crowds?” I ask to ease her tension. “I do.”
“Um, yeah. Totally.” She gnaws on her lip, and I get the feeling there’s more to it.
While I’m waiting for the nachos, the homecoming queen cuts into the line. What’s her name? Oh yeah… Adriana.
She catches sight of me and gives me the once-over, then does the same to Rayne. Her lip curls. “What are you doing with the new girl, Rayne?” There’s venom and accusation in her voice, and it sends chills up and down my spine.
I remember what Cole said to her in the tattoo shop: What are you doing here?
Was there some rule about no one befriending me?
No, that’s nuts. I’m being way too paranoid.
But Adriana advances on Rayne, crowding into her with a level of physical intimidation I’m not used to seeing in girls. “I’m serious. What. Do you think. You’re doing?”
I grab Rayne and pull her behind me. She may be small, but that doesn’t mean people can push her around.
“Back off, princess.” I eye her crown, fantasizing about ripping it off her head and breaking it. Or better yet, putting it on Rayne’s head. I’m not the type to get into altercations—ever—but I swear the culture at this school is all about aggression and intimidation, and I’m not going to tuck my tail and run this time. I’m done staying quiet while everyone acts like asswipes.
Adriana lets out a sound that resembles a growling dog.
It’s not attractive.
“Don’t.” Rayne pulls my arm with urgency. “Seriously, walk away. Come on.”
It’s only because Rayne’s alarm seems so genuine that I let her tug me away. It seems like it goes beyond social discomfort and into real fear, and that disturbs me.
We get some distance between us before I remember my nachos.
“Leave them,” Rayne says. Her eyes are still wide and frightened. “Seriously. Don’t start trouble with those girl
s. You could get hurt.”
“Like… physically hurt?”
She nods rapidly. “Yeah.”
My stomach turns over. Jesus. This town just gets weirder and weirder. Its vibe is somewhere between Deadly Class and the 1990s horror movie Disturbing Behavior.
There may have been a few mean girls at my old high school, but I don’t think kids were quaking in fear over getting beat up. That’s a problem that needs to be rectified. Like the culture here needs to change.
“I was hungry,” I complain.
“Come on,” Rayne says. “There’s a Dairy Queen on the corner. We can walk over.”
I’d just as soon head home, but since I don’t drive anymore and I told my mom to pick me up at ten, it’s not an option. Besides, I don’t want to leave Rayne in the lurch. Seems like she needs my friendship as much as I need hers.
Also, Oreo Blizzards go a long way toward fixing most problems.
We stay for the entire second half of the game, not walking back until we hear the victory cheers echo from the stadium.
By the time we get to the parking lot, it’s empty of over half the cars carrying parents and families, and teeming with kids from school getting into every kind of trouble you can imagine. There’s a full-on bare knuckle brawl going on in one corner, the scent of pot wafting through the air. One group openly passes a huge bottle of vodka around their semicircle, taking pulls of it and handing it over to the next person like it’s a joint.
Cole Muchmore leans against his antique Ford, wearing a ripped t-shirt and jeans. His hair looks wet, like he’s fresh out of the shower. His main accessory is the cheerleader trying to climb him.
Adriana, the homecoming queen.
I don’t want to look—I swear I don’t—but I find myself staring as we go by.
I’m probably reading more into it than I should, but it looks like he’s trying to push her away—is annoyed by her attempts to consummate their royal marriage.
And then he sees me. The moment he does, I know I’m fucked. There’s so much glee. The promise of punishment. My steps falter. Our gazes lock.
He wraps his fist in the back of Adriana’s hair and pushes her down, forcing her to her knees in front of his crotch. Apparently she’s desperate enough to oblige his vulgar suggestion, because she mouths him through his jeans, biting at the bulge there.
