by Ivy Fox
“We came home and talked. You told me how you were Snow and how much my brothers were being total dicks. Not that much has changed.” I scoff, giving both Ash and Ollie the evil eye.
“I just want to interrupt and say that both Ash and I are trying to make amends,” Ollie adds, looking offended.
“Not the time, Ollie,” I scold, rolling my eyes and raising my hand to stop Ollie from saying another word on the matter.
We’ve got bigger fish to fry.
“Well, after you fell asleep, I remembered seeing a piano in the music room, and I thought maybe if I put words to music about how I was feeling, it might untangle the mess in my head. Since I didn’t think anyone would go to that room so late at night, I thought I wouldn’t bother anyone if I went there to sort my mind out,” Holland begins to explain, but then I start seeing her struggle with her words, the color draining from her face with each second that passes. “After a while, your father came into the room. And he… Well, he…”
“The fucker tried to rape her,” Ash growls, throwing his arms in the air, Ollie immediately punching him in the arm for his less-than-stellar tact.
“What?!” I gasp, suddenly feeling faint.
“Nice going, asshole!” Ollie reprimands.
“If you want her to know, then there is no use in sugar-coating it,” Ash counters abruptly, pulling me into his arms and staring me dead in the eye. “Our father tried to rape Snow, Elle. That’s God’s honest truth. The seventeen-year-old stepdaughter that had barely graced his home—the one any honest man would do his best to protect after all the shit that happened to her throughout her entire life—was just too tempting for the fucker not to put his grimy hands on. They fought, and Snow did what she needed to defend herself. She grabbed whatever she could to get the bastard off of her and plunged one of his humanitarian awards through his skull. That’s how Rome, Ollie, and I found her—barely functional, shattered, and out of her mind, with the monster still lying beside her. Rome didn’t do this. Snow did. But I promise you, Elle, if any one of us had gotten there earlier, our father was a dead man anyway.”
I take in all of what Ash just said and let it fester in my head for a bit.
My father was more than a monster.
He was fucking Satan himself.
I believe Holland’s account of that night. She doesn’t have a bad bone in her body. She would have never taken a life if she hadn’t been fighting for her own. I know that much. If it was self-defense, then there is no reason why Rome should spend one night in a jail cell.
So, what are we still standing around for?
“We have to tell the police,” I tell them and turn around to grab the first officer I see. Unfortunately, I don’t get very far when Ollie steps in my way.
“Sorry, sis. That’s going to be a no can do.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Oliver?! Of course, we have to go to the police!” I begin to shout from the top of my lungs, only to have the idiot slam his hand over my mouth.
“No one is going to do a goddamn thing. Not until I talk to Rome and figure out what our next move is,” Ash reprimands in a hard tone, pointing at Holland and me. That small slip tells me that Holland isn’t on board with this plan either.
“I swear to God, Elle. I’m fucking serious! You are not to open that mouth of yours to anyone. Not the cops. Not to your BFF Chad. No one. Am I making myself clear?!”
If I could, I’d wring Asher’s neck right now. But instead, I shrug Ollie’s grip off of me, crossing my arms over my chest before I do something stupid and kill one of my brothers with my bare hands.
“Fine. Then what are we going to do?”
“What we Graysons do best—take the world on and make them regret ever coming for one of us,” Ash smirks menacingly.
I just hope for my brother’s sake that’s enough.
Chapter 11
Saint
“Any news on Elenora?” my mother asks for what feels like to be her gazillionth time this week.
Sullenly I shake my head, pushing the uneaten bowl of cereal away from me.
“Hmm. I’m sure she’ll call when she can, mijo. Just give her some time. The poor thing is going through a lot right now worrying about her brother. Not to mention that the newspapers and TV haven’t necessarily been very kind to her and her family these past few weeks.”
No, they have not.
In fact, they’ve been acting like fucking vultures, eagerly picking at the dead skin of what is left of the Grayson family’s reputation. There isn’t one media outlet out there that isn’t talking trash about her family. All of them going on tangents about how Elle’s father’s murder is a perfect reflection of the decay of family virtues in our current fucked-up society. They’ve gone as far as painting her brother as this money-hungry elitist bastard with too much privilege to think that laws apply to him. Like he’s some sociopath that doesn’t know the difference between right and wrong. It really grinds my gears since not months ago, Roman Grayson had been on the cover of every magazine you could find, announcing him as New York’s most eligible bachelor under the age of twenty-five.
It’s just like the media building people up only to tear them down later.
Assholes, the lot of them.
I knew the judge must have been a total cunt by the way I’d overhear Elle complain to Boy Scout about him. Still, I really didn’t think Rome had it in him to off his old man like that. Even though I want to say he didn’t look the type that would get his hands dirty, there’s no denying Rome had a mean protective streak in him. If the judge was terrorizing his kids, then I guess there was only so much Elle’s brother could tolerate before he lost it completely and rid them of the bastard once and for all.
I’d do the same if I were in his shoes.
“Have a good day at school, Santo. Call me if you have any news from your girlfriend,” Mom adds, placing a kiss on my cheek before she rushes out the door for work.
Girlfriend.
The mere mention of the word should cause me to break out in hives in panic, but it doesn’t.
Far from it.
And that’s because Elle isn’t my girlfriend.
At least not in the traditional sense of the word.
If she were, then I wouldn’t have hesitated in marching over to the manor weeks ago and seeing with my own two eyes how she was doing. It’s been killing me to stay away, not knowing what is happening in her life. Even the few texts we’ve exchanged feel like scraps in comparison to actually being able to wrap my arms around her and listen to her voice.
The only thing that eases the ache I feel from living in this constant state of uncertainty is that Boy Scout is just as oblivious about Elle’s current state of mind as I am. I see it in his eyes every time he passes me in the halls at school. There is this flicker of resentment in his gaze that tells me he thinks I know more than he does about how Elle is handling this immense clusterfuck in her life. It’s his bloated pride that refuses to ask me outright what I know. And although it’s petty as fuck, I pretend to hold all the answers he seeks, throwing him a smug, knowing smirk at every turn. For years I was the odd man out when it came to synchronicity between the two of them. Let him sweat it for a while and see how it feels for a change.
However, this sitting around doing nothing, twiddling my thumbs, while anxiously waiting for news of Elle to find its way to me, isn’t my style either.
I need to do something.
Otherwise, I’ll end up crawling up the walls if I don’t.
For the past few days, I’ve been kicking an idea around, and today I finally woke up with the stones to do something about it—no matter how uncomfortable it will be.
With new resolve, I pick up my stuff and knock on Maya’s door. She’s quick to answer and, just as swiftly, closes the door behind her, not leaving me much time to do a full inspection of her place. Ever since Maya returned back home, she’s been keeping me at arm’s length. I’m not sure if i
t’s her protective way of keeping me out of her parents’ mess or if she’s just too ashamed to let on that nothing has changed, even after Damasio paid them a nasty visit.
Not that it matters.
Reid might have come up with the money to pay their debt, but I was the one who had to call in a favor with Hector. I made it clear that Damasio has to leave Maya the fuck alone, and if her folks were ever in deep with the Kings again for him to come to me first. And knowing those two junkies, it’s only a matter of time until Hector shows up at my doorstep to collect. I’ve already been stashing money to the side just so I’m not caught off-guard next time.
I got lucky that Reid did me a solid and fronted the bill the first time, but I can’t expect him to cough up more cash every time Maya’s folks go on a bender. Truth be told, I’m still unsure why he helped us out in the first place. I don’t like owing any favors, no matter how well-intentioned. And although Reid isn’t like the rest of those rich Pembroke High pricks, I’m not a hundred percent sold on where his loyalties lie.
Ironic how I’m about to test said loyalties with the very man who taught me their importance.
Maya keeps to her usual mute state, but only until we reach the subway and I tell her she’s going solo this morning.
“You’re not coming to school today?” she asks, her jade eyes wide in concern.
“I’m just bailing this morning. I’ll be there around lunchtime. There’s just something I need to do first.”
“Is this about Elle?” she questions perceptively.
I offer her a clipped nod, not really wanting to hash out what my plans are with her.
“Okay. I’ll cover for you,” she retorts with a smile.
I’m not sure what Maya means by covering for me, but I thank her nonetheless.
I wave her off, and instead of taking the subway uptown with her like I usually do, I change platforms and take the one that will get me to Rikers Island.
A little over an hour later, I’m being patted down and then led to the visitation room in the prison. I take my seat and avoid all eye contact with the other visitors and standing guards by staring at the chipping gray paint on one wall, nervously tapping the steel table with my thumb. It doesn’t take much time after that for the guard to call out Lazaro García’s name, making the pit of my stomach twist up something fierce when my father enters the bleak room.
When I was a kid, I always thought my pops was larger than life. His very presence took up all the air in the room, and like a magnet, he attracted all eyes on him. But to see him now, in his ugly-ass orange jumpsuit, cuffed and chained like some wild animal, that grand image of my youth is tainted and replaced with this caged washed-up version of the man he could have been.
The minute my pops lays eyes on me, his black gaze turns to stone, only adding to my apprehension at coming to see him.
“The fuck you doing here, Santo?”
“Hi to you too, Pops,” I reply sarcastically as he sits across from me.
“Don’t ‘hi’ me, kid. It’s a fucking school day. Shouldn’t you be at that fancy school of yours right about now?”
“Quit busting my chops about Pembroke. You know I wouldn’t have come today if it wasn’t serious.”
“Is it your mom? Is Lucía alright?” he asks agitatedly, his forehead pinching in alarm, thinking the only reason I would skip school to see him must have something to do with my mom.
“Mom’s fine,” I placate him, but when he lets out a relieved breath, it irks me to no end. “Of course, she would be a whole lot better if your ass weren’t stuck in jail, but that’s a talk for another day.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” he states, bypassing my scornful remark. “So, if your mom is good and you look like you’re doing alright, why did you come here to see me on a fucking school day no less?” he asks point-blank, never one to beat around the bush.
I shift in my seat, kicking myself for not practicing what to say to him before I got here. My father is a mean fucker. Always has been, always will be. Years being locked up in the joint has done nothing to diminish his impulsive temper. Since he’s always been volatile that way, I’m never really sure how he’ll take things. He could blow up on some poor fucker for the littlest of transgressions, and although he’s never been a prick to me, I’m not sure how he’ll react to what I’m about to ask of him.
I’m still trying to find my words and see what the best approach is when he leans back in his seat, the unsettling sound of the chains around his ankles reminding me of why it’s crucial I get through to him.
“I ain’t getting younger or prettier, kid. Don’t make me sit here and wait the whole hour for you to grow a pair and tell me why you came to see me, Santo. I could have been watching my telenovelas.” He smirks.
“I need a favor,” I blurt out.
The teasing smile on his face instantly disappears, replaced with a disapproving frown.
“Heard you’ve been asking for a lot of those recently.”
Fuck.
“I see you talked to Hector.” I grind my teeth, hating that my Maya problem got back to him.
“More like he talked to me.”
“I’ve got it under control,” I snap, squaring my shoulders and evening my spine, so he can get the hint to move on to another topic.
Unfortunately for me, my pops isn’t having it.
“I’m sure you think you do.” He scoffs. “But I raised you better than to get yourself involved in junkie bullshit. That was some stupid-ass shit you pulled.”
My jaw ticks.
“What was I supposed to do, huh? Let that bastard, Damasio, hurt Maya just because her folks are the scum of the earth?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what you should have done.”
Is he fucking for real?
“This is Maya we’re talking about. You do remember Maya, right? She’s the same little girl you used to give popsicles and coloring books to when she was a kid.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s not our problem. You should have stayed out of it,” he scolds like I should have known better.
“And let an innocent girl get gang-raped? Yeah, not happening, Pops. You might have become immune to that type of fucked-up shit happening in here, but in the real world, we don’t let bad things happen to people we care about.”
My father’s expression softens somewhat. He leans in closer to the middle of the table so that we’re both eye to eye.
“You think you did Maya any good? All you did was delay the inevitable, kid. If Hector’s little brother has a hard-on for the girl, she’s as good as his. Don’t waste your time on damaged goods. Move on. Her fate is done for.”
My back molars grind so hard, I’m positive I’m seconds away from breaking them.
“That’s not happening.”
“It is, Santo. You’re just too stubborn to see it.” He huffs in discontent, his black eyes staring into mine with unrestrained frustration.
“I don’t want to talk about Maya with you anymore,” I state evenly, knowing that there is no way I’ll get through to him on this.
“Fine,” he relents. “Then what do you want to talk about?”
“Like I said, I need a favor.”
“Kid, look at me. I’m not exactly in a place where I can do many of those.”
“You’re the only one who can, actually. A friend of mine is in here with you. I need you to look out for him. Just in case he needs it.”
“A friend?” He arches a suspicious brow. “Does this friend have a name?”
“Roman Grayson.”
“Jesus Christ.” He exhales, running his hand over his face. “You have been keeping rich company. Grayson paying you to come ask me for muscle?”
I shake my head.
“Rome doesn’t even know I’m here. I doubt he knows a thing about me, come to think about it.”
I doubt very much Princess would confide in her brother that she lo
st her V-card to me, and aside from that humdinger, there has never been anything noteworthy between us where my name would even come up with her brothers.
“Hmm. So let me get this straight. You want me to look after a total stranger?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t buy it. What’s in it for you? You gonna strong-arm his family or something?”
“Fuck, Dad. Is everything a hustle with you?” I counter, exasperated.
“Life is a hustle, Santo. Those who think differently are the ones being conned. So, I’m going to ask you again. What’s in it for you?”
“Nothing.”
He leans back in his chair and takes a long hard look at me.
“Hmm.” He rubs his chin pensively as he takes stock of my unnerved form. “This is about a girl. The one the news is always getting on camera at the courthouse. I’m not talking about the one with the long, blonde-white hair that looks like she’s about to toss her cookies at any minute, either. It’s the pretty small brunette who can fit in your pocket. The one who looks at the cameras like everyone can kiss her culito redondo. She’s why you came to see me, isn’t it?”
I roll my tongue ring over my teeth, the barbell doing little to cool my temper.
“Eleanor Grayson. That’s her name.” He bangs the table with his open palms once he’s remembered Princess’ name.
“It’s Elle, actually.”
“Fuck!” He laughs. “Never thought I’d see the day my son was pussy-whipped by a woman. A little pixie of a thing at that. For a second there, I thought Maya was the one you had your eye on. But you didn’t come to me when she was in trouble. Nah. You dealt with that shit all on your own. Which tells me that if you’re here, this one is special. Important. Am I wrong?”
“Can we drop the macho bullshit for a second? Mom had you all bent out of shape too, as I recall, every time she kicked you out of the house.”
“Don’t talk to me about Lucía!” He slams his fist on the table, gaining a warning roar from a nearby guard. My father cracks his neck and fists his hands on top of his thighs to keep his rage in check. “Your mom is nothing like this rich bitch you got the hard-on for,” he adds once he’s simmered down. “Lucía is a good woman who had the misfortune of falling in love with a bad man. If I loved her as much as I proclaimed, I would have left her alone from the start. She deserved better than me.”
