“I read too much,” Church says, gesturing at his manga stack on the nightstand. “Lots of hentai,” he whispers, putting his mouth up against my forehead. Hentai is Japanese porn, by the way. “The occasional romance. You know what my favorite genre is?”
“Am I about to find out?” I look over at him, still breathing hard, still tied up.
“Bully romance,” he says with a smile. “I like to see the bad guys get redeemed in the end.”
“And who’s the bad guy here?” I ask, cocking a brow as Church sits up and leans over me to grab one of the books, flipping open to a page that’s been marked carefully with a bookmark.
“You. You are the bully, Chuck Carson. You knocked my project into the water, and then refused to apologize. When we asked you to help fix your mistake, you acted like we were in the wrong. So, you’re the bully in this scenario, trying to regain my trust because you’re madly in love with me.”
“Is that what’s happening here?” I ask, but my voice is too foggy from the double orgasms; I don’t sound much like a bully right now. More like a girl who’s just trying to figure out how to be an adult.
“He uses his cock, his tongue, and his fingers to bring me to pleasure over and over again, until I feel like I’m breaking apart. And then I let him put me back together with his body. That’s when I knew I belonged to him—fully and completely.” Church stops reading and lets the cover flip closed, thumbing through the pages absently.
“So you want to belong to me, fully and completely?” I ask, getting a bit of that snark back in my voice. Hah! Take that, Church, big old dominant douche-canoe. “That works for me.”
“No, Charlotte Carson. You might be the bully, but I’m the boss.” He smiles and hooks his left leg over mine, moving between my thighs and grabbing my ass to readjust my hips. “We’re going to recreate every scene in this book, starting with this one. The hero ties the heroine up after their wedding and takes her nice and slow. He doesn’t worry about his own pleasure until she’s shaking.” Church turns his head to the side and looks me over. “This should do.”
He covers my body with his own, sliding into me inch by careful inch, so slow that it feels like we might never be fully joined together.
“My little California girl,” he whispers against my mouth, moving inside of me until I’m coming again, and then using the shudders of my body to find his own climax.
Afterward, Church unties me, leaving the loose tie around my wrist, and kissing me until the sun sinks low in the sky.
“We just defiled your mother’s wedding dress,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Yes,” he says, our foreheads pressed close together. “Yes, we did.”
When Church told me that riding in his family’s jet would make first class look like a joke, he wasn’t kidding. The plane that we end up boarding is at a private airport, just outside of Nutmeg, and it’s so tricked out on the inside, it makes my father’s house at Adamson look like a dump.
“Fucking rich people,” I murmur as Tobias pokes me in the back and encourages me to actually set foot inside what’s essentially a fancy little dining area. There are four seats—similar to regular airplane seats but decked out in leather—around a dining table, and just across from a long counter with a wall-mounted TV above it.
“That’s right—sometimes I forget you’re a peasant,” Tobias teases as I pause to elbow him in the side. My father, as terrifying as he can be, is no match for the Montagues. I’m going to London, even if he doesn’t want me to. “Poor people don’t do much travelling, do they?”
My eye twitches as I give the tall, lean form of Tobias McCarthy a scathing look.
“Travel takes money, and billionaires horde it all and don’t pay fair wages, so what do you think the answer to that question is?”
“Take a seat, Chuck, and relax,” Micah says, scooting around behind me and flopping into one of the spots around the dining table. I grab the one across from him and Spencer slides in next to me. Ranger, Tobias, and Church, on the other hand, take up the sofas in the narrow ‘living room’.
I’m still recovering from the embarrassment of the other day, you know, when the others found me and Church cuddled up with a wrinkled wedding dress. I’d just as soon stay over here. Five for five, right, Spence? I think, buckling my seatbelt and tapping my fingers on the surface of the table. We’re sort of waiting for Elizabeth and David who got caught up making out outside. That happens, a lot, apparently, the Montagues getting lost in each other.
“Champagne?” a flight attendant asks, and I glance Church’s way. He gives a slight shrug of his shoulder.
“My parents will likely be on their laptops or gazing into one another’s eyes for most of the flight; they don’t care if you drink.”
I accept some champagne then, and clink glasses with Micah and Spencer.
“On our way out of the country, and goodbye crazy cult,” I mumble under my breath, leaning my head back and taking a long drink. I promised Dad that I wouldn’t go to Eric Warren’s house, and I intend to respect that.
But Ranger’s going.
The others are going to stay behind and watch over me.
It’s a crapshoot, but it’s worth a shot, right?
At the very least, I get a trip to London.
“Do poor people always wear dirty, mismatched socks with sandals on multi-million-dollar private jets?” Micah asks as Spencer grins. They love teaming up to pick on me. I kick his shin under the table and he makes a face at me.
“They’re not dirty! They’re just … discolored from lots of use, okay? God. Give me some credit.”
“Uh, are sandals with mismatched socks cool to wear to London in winter?” Spencer asks, and I give him a look. “Please don’t tell me you’re wearing those dirty boy’s underwear you like so much.”
“They were never dirty,” I grumble, poking him in the arm as the Montagues finally board the plane. Elizabeth blows through like a hurricane force wind, a presence to be reckoned with. I look down at the ring and then back up at her, a weight lifted from my chest.
This is never how I saw my life going, but … I like the direction it’s taking.
I like being engaged to Church, and baking naked with Ranger, watching gay porn with Spencer (we totally did once), drag racing with Micah, practicing martial arts with Tobias.
“Shall we?” Elizabeth asks, giving Church another kiss on the forehead before settling into her seat.
The flight attendants sit down, fasten their seatbelts, and we prepare for takeoff.
“You look so West Coast,” Ranger whispers to me, Tobias, and Micah. I might be wearing sandals with socks, but they’re rocking big, poofy sleeveless vests with fur around the necklines, and shorts. “Cold as hell, foggy, drizzling. You guys are ridiculous.”
“But the tour guide said he’d never heard someone describe Westminster Abbey as dope AF, right? That’s something!” I’m in a good mood now, sipping my to-go tea and enjoying the relative quiet of the countryside as we walk up a curving hill toward Highgate Cemetery. We’re getting a private tour today, and I’m beyond excited.
“Oh, that’s something alright,” Ranger says with a roll of his eyes. He can’t deny it though: he likes my goofiness, he admitted it.
We’ve done a full round of touristy things—the Natural History Museum and the British Museum some of my faves—but I’m excited to get away from the crowds for a while and take a breather.
“I can’t believe we drove all the way out here to see a bunch of dead people,” Spencer says, spinning a black umbrella above our heads as we approach a pair of open gates, one on either side of the road. The part of the cemetery we’re starting with is only open to tours, while the other side is open to the public. Regardless, they’re both equally creepy, stepped in fog, and perfectly horror movie-esque in appearance.
“Less interesting than dead people,” Micah says as we cross the street and Church inquires with the woman in the gift shop about our tour. “R
ocks sitting on top of dirt where dead people are buried. Yawn-fest.”
“This was the one thing on my list, so slow your roll, dickhead,” Ranger says, tucking his hands into his black cargo pants as he studies the brick arch above our heads. “I like this kind of shit.”
“No, you want to like this kind of shit,” Spencer says, turning his phone around and flashing a video of border collie puppies herding ducklings. “But in reality, this is your thing, man. Just accept it.” Ranger slaps the phone away from his face and pretends not to be interested, but there’s that twinkle in his eyes that he just can’t hide.
“This way, my friends,” Church says, gesturing us out of the gift shop and to a central courtyard area where our tour guide’s waiting. The old man introduces himself and then starts off on a speech about the cemetery. Meanwhile, my eyes are already wandering the tree-covered hill behind him, gravestones peeking out of the shadows.
My neck prickles with unease, and I look around, expecting to see those creeps in fox masks waiting for me next to a mausoleum. There’s nobody and nothing there when I search the landscape, but the feeling’s pretty persistent as we trudge up the hill, pausing next to certain graves to hear the stories about them.
At first, I’m pretty skeptical, but the further we get into the tour and the cemetery, the more I start to dig it. There’s a section of the cemetery called Egyptian Avenue that looks like a set for an adventure film. According to the tour guide, there’s a rare type of spider that lives in the tombs here that requires total darkness to thrive.
“But don’t worry,” he says with a laugh and a wave of his hand, “they can’t come out during the day, so you’re perfectly safe.” I start down the dark hall, lined with tombs on either side, and keep my arms wrapped around myself.
“This so freaking creepy,” I murmur as the twins sneak up behind me. One of them pulls my collar back, and the other drops something with legs onto my spine. With a shriek, I start tearing my sweatshirt off and flailing around while Ranger curses under his breath, and Spencer steps in to grab my arms.
“Hey, hey, hey, Chuck-let,” he whispers as the McCarthy boys snicker at me. I can’t exactly see them because my hoodie’s pulled up over my face but Spencer stops me from taking it off the rest of the way, tugging it back down again. “It’s just a plastic spider this time.”
“This time,” I groan, sagging in relief and then noticing the rather cool breeze across my midsection. “My bra is showing, isn’t it?” I ask, thinking of that scene in Mean Girls where the teacher tries to pull her sweater off and ends up taking her shirt along with it. Yep, that’s what’s happening to me now. “The one with the see-through lace and bows?”
“That’s the one,” Spencer says, pushing the sweatshirt back in place and then kissing me quick on the lips as the twins high five each other and continue on up the path.
“I’m going to murder those fuckers,” I mumble, narrowing my eyes and continuing after them, into this really cool circle of mausoleums that used to surround a giant cedar tree. Apparently, it fell over in a recent storm, but it’s still impressive as hell.
Eventually, we end up at the catacombs, stepping into the cool, musty air as our guide uses a flashlight to show us around.
“Right this way,” he says, a bounce in his step as he takes us over to a very specific casket and begins to explain the life and times of the surgeon that’s buried there. While he’s talking, I get that feeling again, putting a hand on the back of my neck and glancing over my shoulder to see if maybe there’s an animal peeking out from the shadows or something.
But there’s nothing there, nothing at all.
My breathing quickens up just a tad, and Spencer notices. He’s attentive like that. I bet he’d make a good dad one day.
I freeze up like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, trying not to interrupt our tour guide’s enthusiastic speech.
“I’m not having kids until I’m thirty,” I blurt, and Spencer gives me the weirdest look known to man before bursting out laughing.
“Aww, Chuck-let,” he says, doubling over with laughter as the others glance back to see what all the fuss is about.
My random foot-in-mouth disaster drops my guard for just a little while, making me forget about the creepy feeling.
What a mistake.
We continue our tour through the brick-vaulted gallery, and then head back to the entrance. I’m in the back of the group with Spencer, trying to avoid his teasing about all the babies he’s going to give me, when I hear the sound of a scuffed shoe behind me.
A hand wraps around my mouth, and I’m yanked back into the darkness. The iron gate in front of me is slammed shut by two people in hoodies, and while one of them slaps a deadbolt on the door, the other turns toward me and I see the fox mask underneath his hood.
“Chuck!” Spencer screams as the other boys turn around and spot me being dragged through the darkness. Our poor tour guide looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.
The person holding me drags me around the corner and into the shadows as the other two approach, each one taking a leg the way they did before, at the Valentine’s Day incident. I’m pulled into the vault, kicking and screaming against a warm, sweaty palm.
They’re going fast, too, running full-tilt down the shadowed walkway.
They followed us all the way here, all the way to a different country.
I mean, I knew they could and would follow me, but this? This is next level.
There’s a door at the end of the hallway that leads to a set of steps and out into the woods again. I see it all in a blur as the three psychos bounce up the stone staircase and take off into the trees.
Panic is taking over me, but I struggle to fight through it, pulling up memories of practicing with the twins. I’m no ninja, believe me, but I come up with a plan on the fly. The person holding my top half has to keep one hand over my mouth to stop me from screaming, so they’ve only got one of my arms locked down.
With the other, I swing my fist down and nail my attacker right in the crotch.
Luckily, it’s a dude holding me up there this time, and my swing finds purchase. The man stumbles briefly, just briefly, but it’s enough that the forward momentum of the other two brings my legs toward my chest, allowing me enough power to kick out.
We come to a bit of a stumbling halt, a tangle of arms and legs on the ground as the boys’ shouts for me ring out across the woods.
“This is so not my job,” one of the hoodie-dicks growls, and it’s definitely a male voice, but not one that I recognize. Trust me: I’ve heard Mark’s irritating little quips enough times to know what he’d sound like.
“Just sort it out,” a whispered female voice responds as they try to get ahold of me again. But the second that palm slips off my mouth, I scream. And maybe it’s all the, like, orgasms I’ve been having lately, but I swear I’ve amped up my screaming game.
The sound echoes across the cemetery as my attacker moves his hand from my arm and back to my mouth. Unfortunately, the group quickly regains control, and we take off again.
We’re on our way out an open side gate now, where a limo’s waiting, the door open, engine idling. If I get into that car, and it takes off, I’m dead. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
They shove me inside, and I panic at the sight of another person in a fox mask, but this one isn’t wearing a hoodie: he’s wearing robes. I kick out my left foot and hit them square in the face, knocking the mask loose just enough that I can see the person’s scowling mouth. When I kick out again, I manage to make them bleed before they’re grabbing onto my ankle.
The attacker in the fox mask behind me is yanked back with a grunt, and I can see that the boys have finally caught up to me.
“Drive,” the bleeding man commands, shoving me out of the way and heading for the door. But if he thought I’d be easy to subdue, he’s wrong. I’m not a superhero, but I’m a little scrappy. Shit, I really sho
uld’ve been Scrappy-Doo for Halloween, huh?
I leap onto the man’s back as he tries to close the door, knocking him to the floor as the limo’s tires squeal across the pavement and it starts to take off.
There’s a person right there, though, just outside the door. On a whim, I fling my hand out, praying it’s one of the guys and not one of the Fellowship assholes. My fingers curl around Tobias’ and he yanks me out just as the limo really gets some speed going and disappears up the hill.
Two of my three attackers are fleeing in the opposite direction, the third lagging just slightly behind. Spencer grabs onto the back of the guy's hoodie, but the fabric slips through his fingers and the asshole takes off running.
“Ranger!” he shouts, and then there he is, bursting from the front entrance and slamming full force into the guy. The two of them go tumbling across the sidewalk and into the cobblestone street, coming to a stop with Ranger on top. He doesn't hesitate either, throwing a punch into the side of the man’s head that makes a cracking sound. I can hear it, even from all the way over here.
Damn.
My friends are as ruthless as my enemies, aren't they?
Ranger doesn't stop punching the guy until he goes still.
“Alright, that's enough,” the twins say, pulling their friend off while Church puts a hand on the side of my face.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod before he turns away and heads over to the downed man, bending low near the guy's face as Spencer grabs me by the hand. I curl my fingers through his and we make our way over.
When the mask comes off, I find myself … slightly less shocked than I should be.
“Hello Mark,” Church says, and the way those words come out of his mouth … I’d be scared if I were Mark fucking Grandam.
“Get the hell off of me!” Mark shouts, but we’re not at Adamson right now, and there is no headmaster to save him. There will, however, be plenty of onlookers if we don’t wrap this up quick. It’s a quiet, drizzly day, but this isn’t exactly a ghost town.
The Forever Crew Page 19
