Delinquent (Academy of Misfits Book 1)

by Bea Paige

  Run.

  And that’s what I do. Despite the rage and the anger, I run.

  Pretty soon I’m on the first floor pelting it towards my bedroom. All those years spent running from the police has given me an edge, and I make a mental note not to bitch anymore about P.E. If Mr Langdon wants to start making me run five kilometres a day, I’m going to do it. Fuck, I’ll even run ten if it means I can stay ahead of this bunch of bastards. Reaching my door, I whip out my key, slide it in the lock and open the door in one go. Fuck only knows how I manage to do that with my hands shaking so much, but I do. Maybe there’s someone up there looking out for me. Perhaps it’s my mum finally being a mother and protecting me from the afterlife… then again, perhaps not.

  By the time Monk and his crew have caught up, I’ve locked my door and shoved my chair under the handle for good measure. The oxygen that kept me moving, suddenly leaves my lungs and I slump to the floor, angry tears welling in my eyes.

  I never fucking run, but this time I did, and I hate myself for it.

  “Open up, bitch!” Monk roars from the other side of the door, his fists pounding against the wood. It shakes in the frame, but it doesn’t open.

  “FUCK YOU!” I scream, unable to hold back the rage a second longer. It takes every ounce of willpower not to open the door and launch myself at the bastard. But I have to be smart, and that wouldn’t be smart at all.

  “I see you’ve met Monk,” a voice says from the doorway of my bathroom.

  Stiffening, I swivel my head, not truly believing what I’ve heard. Hoping and praying that I’m hallucinating.

  I’m not.

  Leaning against the doorframe, with my sketchbook in hand, is Camden.

  18

  Scrambling to my feet, I lose all self-control. I lose all sense of anything. My anger and fear all funnel towards the boy standing before me. If my words were daggers, he’d surely be dead.

  “You motherfucking bastard! This was all you!” I scream. I’m vaguely aware that the pounding on my door has stopped, leaving a gaping silence, as though I imagined it all. I’m shaking so bad that my teeth are chattering, and my vision is wobbling with the tears that I know are falling. I swipe at my face, angry at myself for showing weakness.

  I’m so fucking angry.

  I never cry and now I am, in front of him.

  Camden’s face is neutral, showing no emotion at my outburst. He flicks open my sketchpad, holding it gently in his large hands as he flips through the pages. I know the second he’s found the portrait I sketched earlier today in the library, because his eyes widen just a fraction before glancing up at me, a question in his eyes.

  “Give that back,” I seethe, taking a step towards him.

  He closes the sketchbook and throws it on my bed, pulling out my mobile phone from his back pocket. “This is what I came for. Now that I’ve got it, I’ll leave.”

  “No you fucking won’t,” I snarl, not caring anymore. He may be big, he may be built, but I’m back in more familiar territory. One-on-one I can do. This I can do.

  “You’ll step aside, Asia. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says calmly. So calmly that I want to scratch his eyes out.

  “Harder than it needs to be? You set your pack of wolves on me, for what? So they can distract me whilst you steal my phone? Whilst you take away the only ability I have to contact my friend!” I bark out a hysterical laugh. “What the fuck are you even doing here anyway? Don’t you have a crew to rule, lives to destroy and a town to fucking terrorise?” I’m panting so hard by now that it’s difficult to keep myself upright. There isn’t nearly enough oxygen in the room for the two of us.

  “Number one, that wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with that,” Camden says, his topaz eyes darkening with… what? Anger? That throws me a little. “Number two, the cops caught Eastern last night, and they have his phone. I’m taking this so you can’t get him into any more shit with your messages and texts, and number three, Oceanside is my new home now too, so we’ll be seeing a lot of each other…”

  “Wait, what?” I respond, my anger successfully doused by his response.

  “Eastern is in custody,” he says more slowly this time. “I can’t have you calling him, texting him and getting everyone into deeper shit.”

  “What, he’s been arrested? Tracy never said anything.” I know I told him to hand himself in, but now that I know he’s been caught I’m afraid for him. So afraid. There are too many people relying on him, Braydon, his mum, my little brothers’, me. A small sound escapes my throat, and I clamp my lips shut forcing myself not to cry. No more tears. Not in front of this arsehole.

  “Tracy doesn’t know yet.”

  “And you do?”

  “Yes,” Camden says softly, too softly, as though he feels some remorse, some guilt about Eastern’s arrest. My eyes snap up, meeting his. For a fleeting moment I see pity, then he shuts it down. His face void of emotion. I see it happen right there in front of me.

  “Monk showed me a video of Eastern. It’s why I went to meet him. He promised to show me the rest if I went on a date with him,” I say, spitting the words out in disgust.

  “And you believed him? I thought you were smarter than that?”

  “Fuck you, Camden. Do you have the video or not? I’m assuming you’ve got a damn copy. How else would Monk get it?”

  Camden sighs. “Yes, I have the video.” He reaches into his back pocket pulling out another phone. I watch as he frowns, scrolling through to find what he’s looking for. “Here,” he says, holding the phone up so I can watch it. He’s not fool enough to hand it over, that’s for sure.

  The video plays again, repeating what I’d seen earlier. Apart from Eastern looking over his shoulder in fear, there’s no more footage. It stops just as abruptly.

  “Where’s the rest?” I snap.

  “There is no more. This is all I have.”

  “You fucking liar!” I shout.

  “Believe what you want. This is it.”

  “But Monk said…” my voice trails off at just how much of a fool I’ve been. I mentally kick myself. I’m not usually this fucking stupid. “That lying piece of shit.”

  “Not long after I was sent this, I heard he was caught.” Camden shrugs as though it’s no big deal. I want to scratch his eyes out.

  “You fucking arsehole. You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

  “He’s in custody. Get used to it,” he lashes out.

  I stumble-walk over to my desk and sit down heavily on the chair. Camden pushes off from the wall and reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. He grabs one and lights it, drawing in a deep lungful before blowing it out slowly.

  “You can’t smoke in the rooms,” I say, rubbing my hands over my thighs. I don’t know why I say that instead of addressing the fact that my friend has been arrested and what that means. I don’t actually care that he’s smoking, I’ve lit up often enough, but it’s my room and he’s got no right making himself comfortable. His gaze moves to my bouncing legs. All the adrenaline rushing through me needs a place to go and this is the result. I wish they’d stop moving. To give myself something to do, I open the window behind me then sit back down, forcing myself to keep still. Forcing my breathing to calm down and my thoughts to stop racing.

  “It fucking stinks,” I say, wafting my hand in front of my face. Not really talking about the cigarette smoke, but about this whole sorry night.

  “I don’t give a shit,” Camden retorts, making himself comfortable on my bed. His gaze lands on the sketchpad. Reaching for it, he flicks it open randomly, showing a drawing of Eastern and Braydon. They’re smiling, happy. I drew it last Christmas when I joined them for dinner.

  It was a good day and my heart squeezes at how shitty everything is now, at how quickly everything can change. You’d think I’d be used to how my life can flip on a coin. I’m not.

  “It’s a good likeness,” Camden remarks, but when I catch his gaze, I d
on’t know whether he’s talking about this sketch or the one that made his eyes widen earlier. When I refuse to acknowledge his compliment, a scowl forms on his beautiful, lethal face. That’s exactly what he is. Sharp, dangerous, deadly, just like the edge of a knife.

  I have the sudden urge to snatch up my sketchpad, but I don’t. I refuse to do or say anything that would give my feelings away. He’s already seen me cry and I won’t give him any more of me. He’s had enough of a glimpse already. Too much, actually. He’s seen more than anyone else has, Eastern included.

  Instead, I let the silence fill the space between us. I don’t need to have a conversation with him. This is my fucking room. If he doesn’t like the company, he can get the fuck out. Honestly, I’m in shock that he's actually here right now sitting on my bed without a care in the world. Yet, I’ve just run for my life from his crew only to find out that my best friend is in custody and I can’t contact him anymore. Eastern’s video message told me not to ‘piss him off’ but he wasn’t talking about Monk, he was talking about Camden. It all makes sense now.

  Neither one of us speak. Camden smokes the cigarette right down to the butt, then pinches his fingers over the end putting it out, before chucking it out of my open window. He blows out a plume of smoke then looks at me. His topaz eyes flashing through the haze.

  “Eastern was caught delivering speed and amphetamines to a third-party distributor. He fucked up, but he managed to get away. He ran, he hid, and then the police found him and arrested him.”

  “You say that like it’s his fault! You sent him on the job. This is all on you!” I shout.

  Camden leans forward. “No, this is on him. He knew the score and he made his choice. End of story.”

  “This is bullshit. He has a family to look after, his kid brother is disabled, for fuck sake. His mum doesn’t have anyone left. What the hell is she supposed to do now?”

  “Not my problem. We all have baggage.” There’s that coldness again. The I-don’t-give-a-flying-fuck-about-anyone-else look. I hate it. I hate him.

  From outside my room I can hear footsteps and talking. There’s some laughter too. I’m pretty sure I can hear Sonny cuss out Bram but I’m too angry to try and distinguish what he’s saying. My whole body is vibrating with it. “That’s it? No apology for fucking up my best friend’s life?”

  “I don’t apologise for something that isn’t my fault.”

  “I hate you,” I spit.

  “Whatever.” Camden stands. I get to my feet stepping closer to him.

  “And setting your crew on me, I suppose that isn’t your fault either?”

  “No. Not my style.”

  “Bullshit,” I snap back, not believing him for a second.

  “I don’t play games, Asia. If I want to take out an enemy, I go for the jugular.”

  “Oh, I get it. I see where we’re at. I insulted you in front of your crew, so you set up my best friend. You sent him on a drop that would get him arrested. Is that what you mean by going for the jugular?”

  Camden’s jaw clenches; I can almost hear the grinding of his teeth. “No. Eastern already made his choice to work for me. To join my crew. I didn’t set him up. His mistake has fucked us all over. The final nail in my coffin. That’s why I’m here, paying for his fucking mistake. He owes me big.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Point is, no one wins. We’re all fucking losers.”

  “Don’t try and make out he owes you one. You brought this on yourself. You set my friend up and you sent Monk and his posse after me because I pissed you off. That’s the kind of person you are. A fucking tyrant.”

  He steps closer to me, crossing his muscular arms across his broad chest. “Believe what you want. It’s the truth. We might be on opposite sides of the line, Asia, but I respect my enemies. I don’t play games. I take them out.”

  “So, we are still enemies then?” I don’t know why I ask that, but for some reason I need it clarified. This conversation doesn’t feel like the ones I have with Monk, if you can call them conveersations- more like a bully meting out punishment. It’s just as well that I refuse to be Monk’s victim. I’m his adversary, there’s a difference. He won’t beat me down and neither will this arsehole.

  “That was your choice, Asia. I offered you a spot in my crew, you didn’t take it.”

  I bark out an almost hysterical laugh. “Thank fuck I didn’t if those arseholes are anything to go by.”

  “I shall say it one more time, I had nothing to do with Monk’s games. I had no idea what he was planning.”

  “I don’t give a shit if you did or you didn’t. He’s part of your crew. You’re his leader and therefore you’re responsible for his actions. Now, I want you out of my room. If I find you in here again, I won’t be so accommodating.”

  This time it’s Camden’s turn to laugh. He laughs so hard that his perfect white teeth flash in the semi-darkness. “I suppose you’ll try to hit me again?” he asks, scoffing as he takes another step closer until we are almost toe to toe.

  My whole body trembles, but it isn’t with fear. Rage, absolutely. Fear, definitely not. I don’t know what it is that I feel between us. I’m both livid with anger and consumed with something else… something I do not want to try and understand. Jesus, this is not how I imagined my evening going. Monk has well and truly fucked with my head and Camden is the cherry on top. I fucking hate cherries.

  “Yeah, and next time you won’t be able to stop me. I’ll rule your arse,” I say brazenly, way past giving a shit.

  Camden shakes his head, grinning like we’ve just shared a private joke. “There won’t be a next time, Asia. You don’t ever strike the boss unless you intend to win the fight and take the leadership. I don’t lose, ever.” His topaz eyes darken with warning.

  “Number one,” I say sarcastically, throwing his words back at him, “I’m not in your crew, and number two, you’re not my boss, so I can do what the fuck I want whenever I want to. If you want a challenge, go fight Ford. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to serve you your arse.”

  His smile drops instantly. “Ford’s here?” he snaps.

  “He’s here,” I confirm, loving the look of shock that’s quickly covered by a slow easy smile. “Scared he's going to make a fool of you again?”

  “Careful, Asia, you’re pushing it.”

  “I wasn’t, but now I am,” I snap, surging forward suddenly, shoving the flat of my hands as hard as I can against his chest. It’s like slamming into a brick wall. He grabs my wrists, squeezing tightly. My skin tingles.

  “Don’t,” he bites out, glaring at me.

  We look at each other. My breath quickens.

  One beat.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four…

  I don’t move, he doesn’t either. Then his head dips down, his beautiful eyes boring into mine. For a fraction of a second I think he’s going to kiss me and my stomach clenches with… what? I’m not sure. Hate, lust? Jesus.

  Then just as quickly, he drops my wrists, nudges me out of the way with his shoulder and reaches for my sketchpad. He flicks through the pages, finds what he’s looking for and rips the page out of the book. “I’m taking it,” he states, daring me to object.

  My mouth pops open, then shuts again. “Have it. It’s a shit likeness anyway,” I retort.

  “See you around,” he grinds out.

  “Not if I see you first.”

  Then he strides to my bedroom door, yanks the chair out of the way, unlocks it and flings the door open with a crash. After a beat I rush to the door and watch Camden as he walks away. Monk is waiting for him at the other end of the corridor. He notices me and smirks. I give him the finger.

  “Yo, Cam! Good to see you, bro. See you’ve been catching up with the resident skank,” Monk says, barking out a laugh. Camden reaches him and, without saying a word, punches him twice in the face in quick succession. I suck in a surprised breath at the sudden unpredictable viole
nce. Monk falls to the floor, knocked out cold.

  “Her name’s Asia, prick,” he grinds out, and as if he knew I’d been watching him all along, Camden turns on his feet and looks at me. He nods once, a clipped look in his expression. Then he steps over Monk, unlocks his door and enters his room.

  An immediate thought come to mind; I lied when I said the sketch I drew of Camden wasn’t a good likeness. I think it captured him perfectly.

  19

  Sleep evades me. I’m too wired to even contemplate sleeping. Instead, I pull out my tobacco and papers and roll up a cigarette, then sit on my window ledge looking out at the view. Below us, Hastings is lit up with twinkling lights from the houses and hotels peppering the valley below. Nearer the shoreline are the multicoloured lights of the funfair, a permanent fixture along the promenade. A Ferris wheel moves in a slow circle, each seat adorned with different coloured lights whilst a rollercoaster whizzes around and around. I’ve never been to a funfair; actually, that’s a lie. I’ve been, I’ve just never had enough money to go on any of the rides. Sighing, I lean my head back against the wall and smoke my cigarette, enjoying the way the smoke fills my lungs and the rush I get from it. I’m addicted to nicotine but at least that’s it. I can give or take marijuana. I don’t need it like others do. Tonight, however, I wish I had some. It might have helped me to sleep, given it’s almost midnight and I’m still wide awake and full of restless energy.

  Breathing in the briny smell of the sea, my eyes catch movement below. Sitting forward I squint into the darkness. Someone is jumping off the flat roof of the equipment store at the back of our building. Pooled in darkness it’s difficult to see who. So, I watch and wait.

  Then a spotlight flicks on from the movement and I see Sonny backing up against the wall, evaporating into the shadows of a doorway. He waits a beat for the light to flick off, then makes a mad dash across the asphalt of the carpark behind our building, before squeezing through a gap in the fence and disappearing into the copse of trees beyond it.