Violence (Antihero Inferno Book 3)

by Lily White

Ava’s voice is urgent, which means whatever Gabriel did to Ivy must be bad.

  Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before opening them again.

  “I don’t want you hurting anybody, Ezra. And I don’t want anybody hurting you.”

  Something unsaid rolls behind his eyes, wild and shadowed. He releases my hand, a quick untangling of our fingers to signal that the odd moment is over.

  Forcing myself to break our stare, I run to the door where Ava is waiting, my body hesitating for only a second longer before I rush out entirely to leave Ezra’s and my secrets behind.

  Emily

  Ezra wasn’t lying. Which honestly surprised me. I hadn’t expected him to keep his word.

  On Saturday night, I’d left him in a dark room with the secret of his bruises and the secret of my inexperience, and I thought, with those secrets, I was also leaving a promise behind to linger in the darkness before it fizzled out entirely with time and disinterest.

  Apparently, Ezra carried it out with him, held onto it, and followed through with it when the first opportunity arose for him to show me he meant what he said.

  He nurtured those words.

  So when Thomas Alexander made a passing comment about my banging both the twins, Ezra hurt him for it.

  He made an example of him, actually, and also demanded Thomas spread a message through school with two black eyes and a bloody nose that any mention of Emily Donahue and who she kisses is strictly off limits.

  I wasn’t there to see the fight, but like everything that happens in school, the story spread like wildfire.

  At first, I was kept in the dark, only noticing when the boys I’ve known my entire life looked at me like some new girl that’s interesting, while the girls held even more envy in their eyes than I’m accustomed to.

  There was jealousy in their eyes as well, ugly and green, something they’ve never shown around me.

  I’m not like Ivy or Ava with the ability to date who I want or have much freedom. I can’t date unless it’s Mason. I can’t go to dances unless it’s Mason. And since Mason and I can’t stand each other, the girls in school have no reason to be jealous of me.

  It was Ivy who finally told me what was spreading around school, suspicion arching her brow because why would Ezra do something like that if all we did was kiss?

  And that was all before the third bell rang this morning.

  It’s after fourth period now.

  As usual, Ivy comes out of calculus with wariness in her expression. I laugh and shake my head because she hates math more than anything, even if she’s damn good at it.

  Linking our arms together, we head down another hall to pick up Ava from her class, the three of us taking our time dropping our books off in our lockers before heading to the lunchroom.

  We never eat in there because the lawns out back are preferable, but Ava likes their salads and always insists on stopping to grab one.

  “So...” Ivy says, blue eyes peering my way from where she stands on the other side of Ava.

  I don’t like the sound of that quick syllable, especially the snap of it from Ivy’s lips. It feels weighted, several hooks stuck through its skin with wriggling questions hanging from them. Somehow I know they’re questions I don’t want to answer.

  “You want to tell me what was really going on between you and Ezra in that room Saturday night?”

  “About as much as you want to talk about walking to the car looking like Carrie with red paint all over you,” I answer, a smirk on my face because her white blond hair is still stained pink from where she couldn’t get all of it out.

  “Fucking Gabriel,” she mutters. “I’ll get him back for it. But sure, I’ll talk all about it when you finish telling me why Ava said Ezra didn’t have a shirt on and you two were laying on the bed.”

  A groan crawls over my lips, and I shoot a look at Ava that’s dripping with disdain for opening her mouth.

  She shrugs it off.

  There are no secrets between us, and I know better than to be upset Ava told Ivy what she saw.

  “Want to tell me why his shirt was off?”

  I can’t tell her. It’s Ezra’s secret, and even though he never told me not to say anything, I feel obligated to stay quiet.

  Sure, they were bruises, nothing new when it comes to the twins. But there was something different about the ones I saw, something darker and more painful, something that still sets my teeth together with anger.

  “Not particularly. Plus, per Ezra’s rules, nobody is allowed to talk about me or who I kiss. You might want to shut up before he beats your ass next.”

  Ivy snorts. “Yeah, okay. Somehow I don’t think that rule applies to us.”

  It’s a nice rule, though. One that makes my heart squeeze tightly in my chest, the pernicious feeling of hope once again alive on the fluttering wings in my stomach and the whispers in my head.

  Maybe he’s not as bad as the rest of the Inferno.

  Maybe this is more than fun.

  Maybe...

  “I’m not even sure why he’s threatening people for you,” Ivy rambles on. “He asked Hillary to prom and Damon is taking her best friend, Kelly. So whatever it is you two were doing, don’t do it again. The twins are just as bad as the rest of their group.”

  Or maybe not.

  All the fluttering stops, and my hope crash lands into a festering wound Ivy tore open, one filled and bubbling with disgust. I should have known those secrets meant nothing.

  “Why Hillary?”

  It’s an accident to ask the question aloud, a thought that managed to sneak off my tongue before I could stop it.

  They both glance at me, but it’s Ava that answers.

  “Why does it matter? The twins are still up to their usual crap, and it’s better you find out now than after-“

  Ivy elbows Ava and gives her a sharp look.

  “We should all make a pact to avoid the Inferno guys,” Ivy offers. “I’ll stay away from Gabriel...”

  Ava and I both laugh at that, which only earns us both a nasty glare.

  “...and you stay away from the twins. It looks like the only person we don’t have to worry about is Ava. But only because she’s smart enough to stay away from all of them.”

  Ava nods her head. “Of course I am. But then, I’ve always been the smartest among us.”

  “Says the girl going to the same college as them,” Ivy retorts in a sing-song voice.

  “Oh, please. The campus is huge. I highly doubt it will be a problem. Once high school is over, I plan to never have anything to do with them ever again.”

  I believe her. Ava has always been popular with guys and has never once glanced in any of the Inferno boys’ directions. Plus, she is so dedicated to school, that she’ll be too busy at Yale studying to worry about socializing.

  We turn a corner into the lunchroom, and it’s like the wind is knocked out of me.

  Stopping dead the second I see the twins at the other end of the large space, heat races across my cheeks to see Hillary and Kelly standing next to them.

  It shouldn’t feel like a knife is being stabbed in the center of my spine to catch my heart and shred it to pulp. Yet that’s exactly how it feels.

  Thankfully, nobody has noticed us, and amber eyes don’t have a chance to lift and glance in my direction before I’m being dragged to a line for Ava’s salad.

  “Don’t even look at them,” Ivy whispers. “It’s not worth it.”

  “I’m not,” I lie, my eyes betraying me when they flick across the room to see the twins walking out the back door with Hillary and Kelly following behind them like puppies.

  “Uh huh. Right. I believe that entirely,” she deadpans, sympathy in her stare. “I should have never encouraged you to get involved with them.”

  “Why did you?” I ask, not in an accusatory way, or even mad, but because I’m curious why she felt the need to push me their direction.

  She’s distracted, her eyes meeting mine for just a second before darti
ng past me. I don’t have to turn around to know Gabriel is walking through the room. Only one person has the ability to draw Ivy like a moon orbiting the Earth.

  “I don’t know,” she finally breathes out. “I thought it might be good for you. Especially with Ava and I having dates to prom, and for you it will be -“

  “More of the same,” I finish for her.

  She frowns.

  “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

  When Ava gets back with a salad in hand, we walk through the lunchroom to go outside and take our usual place beneath a large willow tree that sits majestically near a retention pond most students call a lake.

  We haven’t made it halfway across the expansive, sun-kissed lawn before Paul Rollings runs toward us, his brown hair tousled and blue eyes striking beneath the midday sun.

  Ivy and Ava both step up because it must be one of them he wants to talk to. He smiles and excuses himself to step around and face me.

  “Hey, do you have a second? I want to ask you something.”

  Surprised, I blink up at him.

  Paul is the varsity quarterback for our football team, and even though their season is done, he still carries that title and draws a large crowd of hopeful admirers everywhere he goes.

  Compared to the Inferno boys, he’s standard, but that can be said of anyone not in their exclusive group.

  Still, it’s weird he wants to talk to me. We’ve known each other for years and have spoken in class or said hello in passing, but nothing more than that.

  Ivy and Ava are staring at me from behind him, odd expressions on their faces, a mixture of surprise and excitement, although I’m not sure why.

  I look at him again, my voice soft. “Um, yeah.”

  His hand gently touches my elbow as he leads me away a few steps, far enough that Ava and Ivy won’t overhear us.

  It’s actually kind of cute how he shifts his weight between his feet and reaches to rub the back of his neck. He’s nervous, but I have no idea why.

  “I’m just going to spit this out.” His blue eyes meet mine. “Would you go to prom with me?”

  Okay, this is unexpected.

  That bitch of a feeling blooms in me again, not as strong this time, nothing that grips my heart or flutters in my stomach. But this type of hope is more a gentle warmth that lets me believe for just one second that my life is normal, just like everybody else’s, and that I’m not bound to a marriage I don’t want.

  Ten years.

  Plenty of time to have fun.

  Even if it’s not with the boy who first suggested it.

  Temporary thoughts float through my mind of dressing up and waiting for Paul to arrive at my house. I can imagine the awkward feeling of first inviting him in and my mother wanting pictures, the scratchy band of the corsage he’ll put on my wrist, and the relief of finally walking out the door to go to the waiting car.

  It’s all right there until reality comes crashing in that it will be Mason who does those things.

  Always Mason.

  The hope is gone again, and I hate myself for allowing the feeling at all.

  “I-“ Breath leaks out of me, my shoulders withering. “I have to go with Mason,” I explain, “but if you’re okay with meeting me at the dance-“

  Paul’s gaze shoots past me before I can finish the thought, eyes rounding as concern bleeds into his expression. He takes a step back and looks down at me.

  “Actually, never mind. It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He practically runs away from me like I’d insulted him, that or threatened him for as quickly as he moves. It hurts that he rescinded the offer so fast, confusion strangling me as I turn around to see what Paul is running from.

  Damn it.

  I’m moving now, too, because the last person I want to deal with is Ezra...or Damon...I don’t know which one, to be honest. But he’s walking straight to me, and I refuse to get caught up in their bullshit again.

  I make it as far as Ivy and Ava, both of them glancing up to see who I’m trying to avoid.

  Thankfully, Ivy snaps into protect-the-bestie mode and blocks his path, her mouth opening to tell him off when he grabs her by the shoulders, moves her aside without hurting her, and continues walking to me.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Don’t you have Hillary or Kelly to talk to? I’m sure you have a lot of planning to do since you’re going to prom with them.”

  I don’t mean to sound jealous, but it slipped out anyway to land at his feet like a slimy, flopping fish. His mouth curls at the corner, those amber eyes glimmering with something I can’t name.

  “That’s what we need to talk about.”

  Shaking my head, I cross my arms over my chest, the hope I felt earlier completely dead, brutalized and murdered by the anger that’s overtaking me now.

  “No, we don’t. And what did you do to chase Paul off?”

  How dare he think he has the right to step in and demand I talk to him about anything? Also, how fucking dare he somehow threaten another boy who wanted to speak to me?

  No, he didn’t yell, or growl in that way he does, but he did something to chase Paul all the damn way across the lawn, running as if his life depended on it.

  “You don’t own me,” I snap, not sure where the words are coming from.

  And then, there it is, that growl. Not as a warning or a threat, more in frustration when he loses his patience and grabs my elbow to lead me away like Paul did earlier.

  Except his touch is much firmer, more possessive, sparks erupting over my skin and shooting up my arm from where our bodies are in contact.

  Ignoring the way I feel when he touches me is impossible.

  My legs move independently of what my mind wants as Ezra or Damon - again, I have no clue - leads me behind a thick curtain of willow branches to a spot where nobody can see us.

  It takes effort to yank my arm from his hold, but somehow I manage it. I take a step back as I spin to face him, the distance meaning nothing when he steps forward to steal it, his hands cupping my face like they always do and his head dipping down to be eye level with mine.

  I should say something, but I melt the instant his mouth brushes mine. Fucking melt when his tongue slips between my lips and I’m guided to where my back is against the thick trunk of the tree. I melt when his scent wafts beneath my nose, something spicy and masculine...something dangerous.

  His arm slips around my lower back when my knees become rubbery and it’s difficult to stand, his fingers clamping down on my hip when I open my mouth wider for him even though I shouldn’t.

  My body freezes in place when his other hand collars my throat, not hard or choking, but the hint of a seductive threat that feels right and wrong and everything in between. My mind is short-circuiting as something else takes over.

  I’m melting.

  Despite how pathetic and weak it is.

  Despite all the reasons for me to hate him.

  Despite having no idea who’s kissing me.

  He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to mine.

  All I see is amber with green flecks.

  All I know is the shapes and colors of his bruises.

  All I care about is the heat radiating off his body as dappled sunlight filters between us like fireworks against his skin each time a breeze brushes the branches aside to let in more of that light.

  The fingers over my throat flex just enough to remind me his hand is still there, but instead of feeling frightened, I tip my chin higher to give him better access.

  I don’t know why I do it. But the reflex is there, the reaction. Like a chip in my brain that signals for me to surrender completely at that particular touch with this particular person.

  “Are you mad?” he whispers.

  “Yes.”

  He smiles. “Don’t be.”

  As if I can help it. My jealousy is pervasive, all-consuming, sharp razors slicing through my veins until all I can feel is the trickle of hot blood seeping bene
ath my skin.

  “Why Hillary?”

  That unreadable smile stretches, curiosity floating behind his eyes. “Why not?”

  He cocks a brow on that question, and I want to tell him because he’s mine, but I can’t really say that, can I?

  I have no right to him, no claim. Not when my future is already mapped out for me. Not when he can’t come to my house to pick me up for prom and not when I can’t date him openly.

  All we have is this.

  Dappled sunlight and shadowed rooms.

  Secrets and more secrets all piled together.

  “Fine. But why did you chase Paul off?”

  Another growl erupts low in his chest, the sound vibrating against my bones and between my thighs. Except unlike the other, this one is a distinct threat, just not toward me.

  “He only wants you because I said you’re off limits.”

  And now I’m angry again. “That’s not fair.”

  Before I can continue complaining, he runs his thumb along the line of my jaw, his hand cradling my chin gently.

  His eyes stare at my mouth, so much heat behind them that the amber color becomes whiskey, liquid and thick, something sweet that will still burn your throat when you swallow it down.

  “You’re off limits,” is all he says before pulling his hand free and stepping back, a chill running over my body when his heat is gone.

  Our eyes lock, anger surging through me again.

  “Like hell I am.”

  He winks as he walks backwards to put more space between us.

  When he turns to leave me standing in place, I glance down at his shoulder where his shirt is unbuttoned and has fallen open. I immediately notice something that only makes me angrier.

  That wasn’t Ezra this time.

  Or maybe it wasn’t Damon.

  There’s no telling, and it only frustrates me more.

  What I do know is that the handprint bruise isn’t there like it was on Saturday, which means the twins really are taking turns driving me crazy.

  Emily

  “I hate him.”

  Ivy laughs. “Who? Ezra or Damon?”

  “Both,” I grumble while walking through my room to grab my Converse.

  In twenty minutes, Mom is taking me to get my hair, nails and makeup done for prom tonight, even though I’d rather stay home and binge television with a bucket of ice cream than go.