by J Bree
I don’t look away from my breakfast but I can see her eyes narrow at me from the corner of my eye. Blaise doesn’t say a word and I wonder again if she’s his girlfriend. She lets him go and turns on me but I snort at her derisively and tuck back into my breakfast. “Well, that just shows your a stalker and he should start sleeping with one eye open at night. I did hear you’re obsessed with him. Don’t you sleep in one of his band tees?”
I try not to blush but I fail. Avery fucking Beaumont and that damned photo she took of me in my pajamas. Of course she’s shared it around. I glue my eyes to Annabelle so my traitorous eyes can’t flit over to Blaise. “Actually, it shows I like his music and not his reputation or his face. But what am I saying? At this school all of the girls just like how much money a guy has.”
She rolls her eyes at me and I clench my fists at her. “Sure you don’t. It doesn’t matter anyway, he would never fuck trash. No guy with any self respect at this school would.”
I know I need to work on my poker face now I’m not channelling the Wolf everyday but I manage to stare the little bitch down as I clear up my breakfast. I accidentally glance towards Blaise and see the look he’s giving me, like I’ve just shocked the shit out of him. I pick up my tray and leave the dining hall without looking back. I tell myself I’m not going to hate Annabelle just because she sleeping with two of the hottest guys in our grade but I’ve never been good at lying to myself.
I’m still feeling hot and irritable with embarrassment when I take a seat at the assembly.
Blaise is sitting two rows in front of me and Harley is with him. They’re both laughing and nudging each other boisterously. The twins are nowhere in sight.
I look around to find Annabelle sitting amongst Avery’s flunkies. She's gazing at the two boys with appreciative and possessive eyes. She could be sleeping with them both and hiding it. They could be sharing her. I wish they'd share me, I think and then I shut that part of my brain down tight. I am Mounty trash to them. I need to get over my little crushes. They will never want someone like me and the sooner I accept that the better.
Mr Trevelen stands on the small stage and the chatter around me ceases. The twins still haven't appeared and Harley looks around, concern clear on his face. Blaise joins in and he looks back at me. I feel a jolt of lightning in my blood as his eyes meet mine and I look away quickly. I hate that I have somehow gained his attention and I definitely shouldn’t have come to his defense in the dining hall. He didn’t need my help with anything but his studies. He certainly didn’t thank me for interfering.
As the principal’s speech starts and he drones on I watch as Harley becomes more and more agitated. He’s practically vibrating in his chair, his leg bouncing so hard I can feel it two rows back and his hand keeps running through the hair at the back on his head until it’s all mussed up. His concern worries me. I glance around and I see Joey isn’t here either. Harlow and that idiot Devon are both present. I pick out all of Joey’s cronies. Not a good sign. I have a sinking feeling that the violence Joey unleashes on his siblings is kept behind closed doors.
No wonder Harley and Blaise are antsy.
Harley makes as if to stand and Blaise shoots out an arm to keep him seated. I can’t hear what they’re whispering but they’re getting more and more heated. The other students around them are starting to take notice.
“Trouble in paradise?” Lauren murmurs. She’s been getting braver about talking to me outside of our choir class. I give her a sidelong look and grin and she wiggles her eyebrows in response. I don’t question myself before I ask, “Hey, do you know anything about that Annabelle girl? The brunette over there?”
Lauren doesn’t have to look to where I gesture.
“Yeah. Her family are old money but not like the Beaumont’s. Her great-grandfather was loaded, something to do with oil, but then her grandfather made a lot of bad business moves. They nearly lost it all. Her father married her mom to pay back debts and now they’re stable enough. She struts around like she’s royalty when really her father is constantly skating on ice to keep them millionaires.”
Huh. Calling me inferior when she’s pretending her family isn’t struggling? What an idiot. Especially if it’s common knowledge. I guess that’s what they call fake it ’til you make it.
“She’s obsessed with Avery’s boys. She drapes herself over them at every opportunity. Avery only allows it because she’s discreet about whether she’s actually banging them.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Them? As in…”
Lauren nods and eyes the back of Blaise’s head with pure lust. “She’s totally doing them all. Her room is next to mine and her roommate is constantly getting kicked out because one of them shows up.”
Yep. I hate her. I think I might even hate her as much as I hate Joey. Damn my hormones. This must all show on my face because Lauren grins at me again and nods, her own jealousy clear to see.
Mr Trevelen starts handing out awards and I try to focus again. I know I’m going to get one of the academic trophies and I’m sure Harley will too. As students begin to take the stage and accept their frames accolades I see Harley slip away. Blaise doesn’t move and when my name is finally called I catch a glimpse of his face as I walk past.
He’s livid.
His eyes are glowing green orbs and his jaw is clenched so tight I’m worried his teeth will crack.
I take my award and stand on the stage to have my photo taken. Harley’s name is called out and when he doesn’t come up Mr Trevelen grumbles into the microphone. I look down at Blaise again and I feel the dread start to take hold in my stomach.
I look around to see Harlow smirking at me. I’m not afraid of her summoning me to face Joey at all. I’m only really worried about what he’s doing to the twins. I’m clearly crazy because Avery is trying her best to get me out of the school and Ash insults me every opportunity he has.
Yet I’m still having trouble breathing.
When I arrived at the abandoned warehouse to complete the last round of the Game I had been faced with the remaining members of the Twelve. There were only eleven men present, plus myself and the two other contenders for the spot. The Coyote and the Fox both looked at me like I was a raw piece of meat. It didn’t rattle me, I’d spent weeks being put to the test and I had gotten used to being the untried liability or the group. Only the Jackal looked at me like I was someone worth backing.
I wasn’t afraid of Geordie. He was the bigger of the two other contenders but he only really had his size to use to try and win. He wasn’t bright, or cunning, he didn’t know how to blend in, or take someone by surprise. He didn’t have the skills required to seduce someone into taking a drink without sniffing it first, or to get out of handcuffs or an exemplary sailors knot. He didn’t know how to survive in the underground criminal world.
Xavier did. He only looked at me when he absolutely had to but when he did, I felt the piercing slice of her eyes on every inch of my soul. If I lost to him he would take pleasure in what he did to me. Every cut his blade made would be savored, every ounce of blood would be intentional.
I know exactly what it means to look into the soul of a killer.
When I arrive at Hannaford Prep’s chapel the grin on Joey’s face chills me to my core.
He’s not pretending to be a decent person anymore. There’s no fake civility. All I see is the evil that lives under his skin, an echo of Xavier rings out in my mind and the inventory of what it took to disable him. I can’t believe I’d thought he looked like Ash and Avery. The differences in the siblings was so clear to me now I struggle to see their similarities. I am no longer blinded by the good looks.
The girl I had put away to come to this school, the one that lived inside a box in my mind, her job wasn’t quite done yet.
“Thank you for joining us, Mounty.” His tone is conversational and jovial. I want to hit him so badly I clench my fists to stop myself from lunging at him. “I thought we should all get to know you a little better. I took t
he liberty of looking into your records so we could get a better idea of who Eclipse Anderson really is.”
My records, fuck. I manage to keep my breathing even. They can’t know about Matteo or the Wolf. There’s no written evidence of my position at the Club or as one of the Twelve. I’d never been caught or implicated in any of my jobs. There’s nothing he could have that would break me.
I wasn’t wrong.
He doesn’t break me.
But fuck it if I don’t bend a little.
Chapter Eleven
I’m the only kid in my class who walks to and from school without a parent or older sibling. The area I live in isn’t safe, not by a long shot, but my mom doesn’t care if I make it home alive. She would probably rather I disappeared so she didn’t have to feed me.
The holes in my jeans aren’t artfully placed or fashionable. The shirt I’m wearing has bloodstains from the last time my mom’s boyfriend smacked my so hard my nose shattered. I still have the lump to remind me not to breathe too loudly around a guy so high on meth he thinks his skin is crawling with insects and the walls are bleeding. My mom had told me it was my own fault as she threw a dirty rag at me to wipe up. I didn’t have any respect for her left to lose.
My teacher had pulled me to the front of the class to sing happy birthday to me. I was embarrassed and I didn’t want to admit it was the first time I’d ever been sung to. What kid wants to admit their mom never remembers the day they were born? I only knew when my birthday was because of my enrollment at school and the teachers adding my name to the class birthday tree each year.
I hear sirens in the distance as I approach the front steps of our house. It’s barely a step up from sleeping on the streets. It's ancient and decrepit and it belongs to my moms dealer. He arrives twice a week to take his payment from her and she makes me sit outside while she gives it to him. I can still hear them.
The door is locked but I don’t need a key. I jiggle the door handle until the lock springs free and the door opens. The room is dark as I enter but that nothing out of the ordinary. I kick my shoes off and sling my bag to the floor, wincing as I feel the straps pull. It's threadbare and ratty like everything else I own. I've had the use duct tape to fill in a hole and I know I'm a few short weeks away from having to find a replacement. I have no money and no way of making money. Well, there are ways I could make money but the thought of getting down onto my knees in the bathroom of the gas station on the corner and doing… that stuff is inconceivable to me. I know girls my age who are doing it to eat at night. I'd rather starve.
I do starve.
I start towards the kitchen and as soon as the door cracks open the smell hits me. I gag and step back. It’s smells like vomit and shit and rotting meat. There had been a heatwave happening in Cali for weeks and the temperature had gone over a hundred degrees everyday that week. We didn't have air conditioning or even a fan. I'd learnt to just sweat it out. It helped that I was skin and bone.
I know now that the heat has accelerated my mothers decomposition.
She had overdosed. Vomited and shat herself while she fitted on the dirty kitchen floor. I might have even been home that morning when it happened and not noticed. Her eyes are bloodshot and milky. Her hands are rigid and twisted like claws and one of her fingernails is ripped out at the nail bed from where she clawed at the floor in her dying moments. Her hair is lank and matted. Her lips are blue and stretched over what is left of her rotting teeth. I can see the burn scars that cover her arms and belly, the gray hue of her skin distorting the look until I'm sure she's made of wax and this is all a nightmare.
It takes me a while to realize I'm screaming.
The smell has crawled up through my nose and down into my lungs and I think I'll never be able to get it out of my body again. I'm rooted to the ground. I can't move my arms or my legs, every fibre of my being has turned to stone. I just stand and stare and bear witness to the demise of my mother had been crawling to my entire life.
I'm only nine years old.
Eventually, long after the sun has set and the traffic has picked up on the road out front, I shake myself out of the trance I'm in. I need help. I need to call someone to get her and take her away. I just want someone to take her away.
There's no landline. I don't have a call phone but my mom has one. I do a quick check of the house with shaking knees. There's only really three rooms to check so I'm quick about it. Then I realize, with a stuttering heart that just won't pump the way it's supposed to, that I can see the outline of the cell in her pocket.
I have to touch her to get it out.
I sit and hug my knees. I let myself cry for the first time but I hate the feel of the fat, hot tears sliding down my cheeks. I think the smell has dissipated but really I've just grown accustomed to it. My body has absorbed the unthinkable stench of death and now I'm immune.
The feel of my mother's skin slipping from her bones as I wiggle the cell out of her pocket will stay with me forever. If I ever need to vomit on command that is the memory I recall. I open the backdown to vomit on the rickety wooden steps.
My hands shake as I dial 911.
I pause before I hit call. I'm a smart kid. I know what will happen if I call the emergency services. There's girls in my class being abused by their foster dad. I could just run away. I could leave and let the neighbors call it in when the smell finally hit them. It's tempting but then I think about the girls kneeling in the gas station restroom and I finally hit the call button.
My voice shakes.
I am only nine years old.
As the recording of my 911 call plays over the PA system I have two choices. I can give in to the chaos of my trauma or I can retreat into the dark and survive. It’s not really a choice. I can never lose myself again. I had climbed out of the pit of Mounts Bay tooth and nail. I would never be forced back into the desperate form I’d once been.
I let the calm wash over me instead.
I let everything drop away from me. Everything that is destroying the little scraps that remain of my soul slips away and, instead, I open the box in my mind and I let my senses out to play. I’d honed these senses for two years under the watchful eye of the Jackal. I’d learnt how to walk in and out of a building without a single eye touching me. I’d learnt how to endure extreme, bone shattering pain without screaming out. I’d learnt how to kill a man. I’d left all this behind me when I’d arrived at Hannaford but now I let it all out.
I’m surrounded. There are two exits, the door I just came through and one on the far side of the room. I see a familiar flash of blond hair but I put that aside. I don’t need to be distracted by gorgeous, intelligent, ruthless boys. There’s wooden bench seats in neat rows littered with students gaping at the scene playing out before them. Joey has chosen the spot with careful consideration to maximize the audience and my humiliation. I don’t have any allies in this room, I don’t have my knife, and there isn’t much I can do to stop the recording. The damage is done.
Joey is smirking at me and he’s flanked by his usual group of guys. Every last one of them has approached me for sex, every single one has tried to win the bet. I look at each one of them long enough to commit their faces to my memory. I will never forget their willing participation in this. The girls who flock them are all laughing behind sly hands, fanned out. If they try to attack me I know exactly what to do. I may not have my knife but I don’t truly need it. As long as my busted leg holds together I know I have a chance of getting out of the room. I doubt the girls have ever raised a fist in their lives and the guys… well, I doubt they’ve ever had to fight for their lives. I don’t make the first move. I don’t need to. One of Joey's flunkies grabs my arm in an attempt to stop me from leaving.
Big mistake.
My body is in survival mode. Not private school, I'm-so-sad, survival mode but true life-or-death survival mode. The type of survival you need when your back is against the wall and a guy three times the size of you is coming at you for blood. The type y
ou need to survive your leg being smashed to pieces and someone looming over you with a knife. The type of thing none of these rich kids could ever understand. My eyes lock with Harley. He's standing at the end of the chapel and he's the only one not laughing. He's the only one who can read the cold, dead calm in my eyes. He doesn't call out to help the girl who's touched me. He just stands witness.
Good.
Let him watch.
I swing the textbook that's in my arms and listen to the satisfying crunch as Harlow Roqueford’s nose breaks, shatters completely under the sheer force of my swing.
Her blood goes flying, I'm spattered in it, and the room explodes with her screams. She drops to her knees and cradles her face with both of her hands. I get a fist full of her hair and her hands scramble at me pathetically. I tighten my grip until she squeals and her hands drop to her side. Her eyes meet mine and they’re wide, petrified. Devon lurches towards us but he stops when I jerk her body closer to mine. The PA system is still playing the 911 call, it's on repeat, and I can hear the nine year old version of me screaming but the fifteen year old me, standing here covered in blood with a fist full of some rich bitch’s hair, she is hollow. She is carved out until there is nothing but cold, dead calm.
She is the Wolf.
“Let her go. You can't take us all.” Devon tries for commanding but his voice trembles. Pathetic. My eyes stay on Harley. He's watching me with such a grim satisfaction that I wonder what this group has been doing to him. I wonder what torture his cousin had been putting him through. I wonder what he did to the twins today. I answer Devon without bothering to glance at him.
“Are you sure?” My voice doesn't tremble. It does, however, push them all back. Everyone except Joey takes a step away from me. He holds his arms out and grins at me.
“Looks like you're out, Mounty. This school is a zero tolerance establishment. The principal has no choice but to throw you out like the trash you are.” His words should inspire some sort of dread in me but nothing can penetrate my frozen walls. I pull Harlow up to stand by her auburn hair and her whimpers fail to incite any sort of remorse on my part. She’s crying. Fat tears are rolling down her face and mixing with the blood pouring from her nose. I think about pushing her, bending her and seeing how quickly she breaks. I doubt it would take much. Her eyes are pleading on mine. Truly pathetic. She would never survive the Jackal. She’s a child playing at a game she has no real place in.
