by Lucy Smoke
head home.”
"What?" I rear up. "Why?"
"'Cause we got shit to do tomorrow," Dean replies.
"Oh?" I relax against him. Even knowing that people are staring, it doesn't
make the skin on the back of my neck itch like it normally would. The looks
are there, the quiet whispers follow us—or at least the edges of them. I can't
make out what anyone is saying, but I know what they're talking about. Me—
the girl who drives Dean Carter out of his fucking mind. At least there's a
tradeoff. He drives me out of my fucking mind as well. "What are we doing
tomorrow?" I ask.
"Don't worry about what's happening tomorrow," Dean says. "You should
worry about what's going to happen tonight."
Maybe I should be worried, but Dean is one of the few people in this
world I trust. One of the few men I know would fucking stop if he knew I
really wanted him to. So, instead of asking a million and one questions, I just
relax against his back and let him carry me through the party on the patio and
around the side of the house.
When we're no longer in view of the others, he sets me back on my feet
and I find myself tipping my head back to look up at him. Reaching up, I
touch the side of his face, the pad of my thumb skimming down a bruise
that's already forming from his earlier fight.
"There were other ways to deal with Luc, you know," I point out.
Dean's hand comes up and catches my wrist. A boyish grin takes over his
features. No—not a boyish grin. The wickedly amused grin of a man who
knows he's God's gift to womankind. What an arrogant asshole. And then a
smaller voice pipes up. My arrogant asshole.
"None were nearly as fun," he replies.
"I think your definition of fun and mine are completely different," I point
out.
"Oh?" He pushes me back until my spine meets the side paneling of the
house. Back here there's so much goddamn greenery, even if someone were
to walk by there's no telling if they'd actually be able to see us or not. Then
again, it's not like I care if someone sees us. I don't care much about anything
these days. If it doesn't have to do with my revenge, with understanding why
I seem to be the center of so much hate, and if it doesn't have to do with my
boys then it's insignificant.
"Ava..." Dean leans down, his breath blowing across my face. Once, I
hated this man. Once, I wanted to put my hands around his neck and strangle
him. I would've done anything to get him to leave me the fuck alone. Strange
how time and experience change things, though.
Dean Carter scares me. He awakens a bone deep fear inside of me that I
didn't even know exists. If he disappears. If he dies. If he abandons me …
What will there be left of me? An empty husk of a person? Or will I at least
remain human? I can't imagine it. I don't want to. My breath catches in my
throat as he leans down and presses his mouth to mine. His tongue moves
against me, pressing my lips apart and diving deep.
Everything is spinning out of control.
I'm being too needy. I'm getting too attached. I never wanted to be one of
those girls who needed someone. Trails of ice drip down my spine as an
image from my past resurfaces. Micki's warning. Never need anything
because then people will take advantage of you.
"Dean." My voice is hoarse in the darkness. If he hears me, he doesn't
show it. His hands find the hem of my shirt and dive beneath it. I jerk when
the heat of his palms touches my stomach. He curves upward until the
undersides of my breasts are within his grasp. "Dean—wait."
His mouth descends on mine once more, silencing and driving away my
thoughts. I want this. I want him. Fuck. I want his cock. It's the only thing
that makes me feel grounded anymore. Adrenaline pours into my system.
I was always strong. Stronger than any mountain. Stronger than any wall.
I kept people at a distance. I was aggressive before they could be. And it was
all for nothing. Micki was right. Rylie was right. Even Patricia … she was
right.
There comes a time when you're nothing if not open. You're nothing if
not completely reliant on another person. Patricia said I'd end up paying …
and here I am. Just not in the way she expected.
"Avalon." Dean's voice is deep, hypnotizing. He pulls away from me, and
in the darkness, I see the slightest glimmer in his eyes. I don't want to think
anymore. I just want to feel. I want to feel him. My arms lift and wrap around
his neck and I go up on my toes.
He's so much taller than me. Larger than fucking life, itself. That, too, is a
turn on.
"Dean..." His name is a whisper on my lips, a fucking prayer to someone
so goddamn self-righteous. Before he can respond, before anything else can
happen, something shatters in the nearby distance.
"I said no!" That voice. I know that voice. It's Rylie.
Without a second thought, I push Dean back as our heads turn towards
the sound.
"You're a fucking bitch, you know that?" a deeper male voice responds.
"I don't give a shit what you think, asshole," Rylie replies. "I told you to
leave me alone and you didn't. You got what you deserved."
What the hell is going on? Dean releases me and, together, the two of us
move back towards the path.
Some guy I don't recognize is standing on the path in front of Rylie, and
from the looks of it, he's not happy. His shaggy light brown hair falls over
one side of his face, and like half of the guys that showed up tonight, he's
dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt.
"I told you what my payment was," Rylie continues, unaware of our
presence. "It did not include having you fuck me at a Sick Boys party."
The unknown guy scoffs. "Like you don't want it," he says. "I see how
you've been looking at me."
"Like you're an insect that needs to be squashed?" Rylie shoots back.
"Don't fucking mistake politeness for attraction, asshole. You wanted me to
run a background check. I did. Either pay me, or the information you need
disappears, and I fucking promise I’ll make sure no one else can find it,
dick."
We're still in the shadows, Dean and I, so I take the brief moment before I
know we'll interrupt the two of them to really take a look at the situation.
Rylie is tense. Her back straight and her hands balled into fists as if she's
ready to take a swing at any given moment.
Why? I wonder.
Then my eyes trail to the unknown guy. He's taller than her, though that's
not hard to accomplish. She barely tops out at five-two. Even I've got a few
good inches on her and I'm nowhere near tall. He's relaxed where she isn't.
He doesn't even seem to give a shit that he's crowding her. His face is smug,
as if he expects her to fall in line with whatever he's contracted her to do.
Knowing what Rylie's little side gig is, I can guess, adding to what they've
both been saying.
"Come on, Rylie," the dude wheedles. "It's not such a hardship, is it? I
ain't a bad looking guy. Heard you haven't done shit with anyone else
anyway. S'not like I'll tell anyone."
I scoff quietly, and Dean g
lances down, curious. I shake my head. Do
guys really think we don't know that they are bigger gossips than any
woman? The second Rylie lets this shitbag of a dude into her pants, he'd be
blabbing it across the campus. I know that, and I have to hazard a guess that
so the fuck does she if her next words are anything to go by.
"I wouldn't give a rat’s ass if you were the hottest thing to walk the earth,
Matthews," she grits out. "You either pay me what we agreed or that
background about your dad's new mistress goes missing … who knows
maybe it'll show up in your Dad's email along with a little note about how
you planned to blackmail him with it."
The guy's cajoling attitude disappears in an instant and his face falls into a
mask of anger. He takes a step closer, not even concerned when she moves
back. "You wouldn't fucking dare," he growls.
Rylie swallows and takes another step back for good measure. When
Dean moves to break up this little party, I put a hand on his arm, stopping
him. No, I want to see what she'll do. I want to see what she'll say.
It's not friendship that keeps me there, in the dark. If we even have one,
it's loose at best. It's a curiosity, maybe. Rylie Moore still has a lot of secrets.
They're like nondescript sounds in the dark or shadows on the wall. I hear
them. I see them. I know they're there, but I don't know what's causing them
or what they truly are. I have an idea and if I'm right, then she's more than
just a girl from the wrong side of the tracks like me. She's just as fucked up as
I am, just as damaged.
"Try me," she threatens. "I offer a service for payment—not for dick. If
you want to whore yourself out, go to some other chick."
The guy's face turns a deep shade of red. "The fuck did you just call me,
you little bitch?" He reaches for her, but before he can even touch her, she's
gone. I blink and she's another few steps back, her fists drawn up and settled
on her hips. I doubt Dean or this Matthews guy can see the way she's shaking.
From fear? I wonder. Or adrenaline?
"Give me the fucking information and I'll pay you as soon as I get the
money from him," Matthews tries again. "He's cut me off, Rylie. Why do you
think I came to you? I need that fucking money. I don't have anything to give
you right now."
"Then you're not getting shit from me, dickhead," she snaps. "Go find
your party girls to wet your dick; we're done here." She moves around him,
giving him a wide berth, and heads back towards the party.
"Oh, no we're not—" Matthews snarls, reaching for her once more. And
this is where this little drama scene ends for me. I take several steps forward,
the soles of my shoes hitting the stones and alerting the two of them to my
presence. Rylie spins around much faster than the guy, and as soon as her
eyes land on me they widen in surprise.
Matthews, on the other hand, doesn't get the opportunity. I grab his wrist,
turning and yanking until it's pressed firmly against his back. He struggles in
my grasp, cursing a blue streak. "Fuck!" he shouts. "You had a goddamn
bitch watching us?"
Rylie doesn't say a word. She doesn't have to. Dean moves from the
shadows into the light, and as soon as Matthews sees him, he freezes. "D-
Dean?"
Dean looks from me to Matthews and then frowns when I grin at him
over the guy's shoulder. He sighs, then draws his fist back and punches the
dude in the face—once, twice, three times until he lists in my grip and
crumples to the ground like a deflated balloon. Rylie gapes.
"W-why did you hit him?" she asks as I wipe my hands against the sides
of my shorts.
I shrug. "He was being annoying,” I answer for Dean. “That’s reason
enough.”
She continues to stare open-mouthed at me and then Dean. "You two are
fucking psycho," she finally says. I don't say anything. It's not like she's
wrong. I glance at Dean.
"You ready to go, baby?" he asks, holding his hand out.
"Yeah." I nod, reaching back for him.
As if it's the most natural thing in the world, Dean pulls me into his side
and slings an arm over my shoulders, before glancing back to where Rylie
still stands. "You should take better care with your customers, Rylie," he
says. "We let you run your business on the side, but also remember—we're
top priority."
"Yeah," she mutters, "you’ve made that clear.”
11
AVALON
DEAN STOLE ABEL'S KEYS. I DON'T KNOW WHEN IT HAPPENED. ALL I KNOW IS
that when we arrived, Abel had them. Now, Dean has them and he uses them
to unlock the Mustang doors and closes mine behind me before rounding the
front and climbing into the driver's seat.
"You want the top down?" he asks as he starts the car.
"Don't care," I say. I assume he takes that to mean that I don't, so he
leaves it up, but rolls down all of the windows so that the wind whips through
the interior of the car as he pulls out of the makeshift lawn parking lot and
onto the main road.
"How're the others getting back?" I ask quietly.
"Braxton will take care of it.”
I hum an acknowledgment in my throat, but my brain is feeling fuzzy
from all the alcohol Abel had poured for me earlier. I'd sobered well enough
to watch the scene with Rylie and that client of hers, but now that I'm back in
a safe space—alone with Dean—it's coming back to kick me in the ass. My
eyes droop low as I watch him. I trace the outline of his features in the dark.
Every once in a while, light passes into the car—headlights from another
vehicle or one of the randomly sporadic street lights we pass as we move
further and further away from the main part of Eastpoint, heading home.
"Got something to say, baby?" he asks, glancing my way after what feels
like several minutes of comfortable silence.
I turn my head one way and then the other, resting against the passenger
seat, with my cheek pressed into the headrest. "Why are you looking at me
like that then?" Dean's voice rumbles in the dark interior of the car. With one
hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift, he flicks his gaze
from the road and back to me several times when I still don't verbally answer
him.
His hand lifts and moves over, gripping my thigh as his thumb rubs back
and forth. "How much did you have to drink?" he asks. "Are you feeling
sick?"
I sigh. "No, Dean. I'm fine." I shift, restlessly, but I don't try to remove his
hand. "Where are we going tomorrow?"
Dean doesn't respond for a long time. Long enough that I begin to grow
nervous. I turn my head. My eyes center on him, on the way his jaw clenches
and his hands tighten on both my thigh and the steering wheel. "Dean?" I
repeat.
"You'll see," he tells me.
I don't like the way he says that—without meeting my eyes. "Dean."
There's a warning in my tone.
He shakes his head and withdraws his grasp from my leg. My body turns
cold. He doesn't do that. He doesn't pull away from me. If anything, Dean is a
pusher. He pushes and pushes until I'm backed into a corne
r with nowhere
else to go but towards him. What the fuck is going on?
"Dean, what are you hiding from me?" I demand.
The front of the Mustang turns into a familiar driveway. Dean still doesn't
say a word as he pulls in front of the mansion, hits a button that lifts the
garage door open, and then pulls the car inside. My heart beats frantically in
my chest.
"Come on," he finally murmurs. "You're probably tired."
Tired? I am as far from tired as a person can get. I'm keyed up. Angry.
Frightened. I stop as he pops his door and steps out of the car. Frightened? I
repeat the word inside my head. Is that what this feeling is? Fear?
I pop the door and step out, letting it swing shut behind me as he rounds
the hood of the Mustang, keys in hand, and heads for the door leading into
the main part of the house. I don't move. He opens the door, hangs the keys
on their hook, and then pauses. I don't know if it's because he doesn't hear my
footsteps following or if he senses the rising tide of my emotions.
Anger. Fear. Panic. Uncertainty. They come crashing through me like a
wave. For years, I'd gone without feeling anything too strongly. The only
emotion I'd ever needed was anger. It'd been the root of my survival. Fear had
been a much smaller monster. I became immune to it. When everything
around you needed to be feared, it didn't hold as much weight anymore.
I've gotten too comfortable. I've come to rely on this man. Him and Abel
and Braxton.
"Are you done?" I ask when Dean finally turns around to face me.
He frowns. "What are you talking about?"
"This," I gesture between us. "Are you fucking done with this? Is that
why you won't tell me what the hell is going on?" Anger, yes. That one I can
handle. That emotion is easy—like coming home to an old friend. It's the fear
I can't stand. The fear that makes me want to … I shake my head. I'm not
going there. Other bitches beg. I do not.
"Baby..." Dean takes a step away from the doorway and move towards
me. "There's nothing going on."
"Then where the hell are we going tomorrow?" I demand. "Don't fucking
lie to me, Dean. Lie to Abel and Braxton, fine. Lie to your father, I don't give
a shit. But do not fucking lie to me."
"Avalon." My chest is pumping up and down rapidly. I can feel my heart
pounding in my ears. Dean moves ever closer until his hands fall on my
