Found (The Scions Book 2)

by Gemma Weir

  I blink up at the crowd of people who are stood by the window, all of them guiltily smiling at me. “You all saw that then?” I question.

  They nod as one and I stifle a giggle.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Mom says, rushing forward and pulling me in for a hug.

  “You’re proud that I told him off?”

  “No, baby, I’m proud that you kneed him in the balls. It was awesome.”

  I laugh against her shoulder, eventually pushing away and moving to stand beside her. “It wasn’t him,” I announce.

  Zeke, Emmy, and Griffin all nod in agreement. “We don’t think so either.” Emmy says.

  “You need to decide what you want to do,” Zeke says.

  I lift an eyebrow in question unsure what he means.

  “Do you want to find out who it was then reclaim the school? Or do you want to let them do their thing and sink into social oblivion? Either way we’re with you,” my brother says, shrugging his shoulder like it’s nothing that they’d give up being popular for me.

  “I don’t want the school, but I do want to know who did this,” I admit.

  “Then let’s find out whose ass we need to kick next,” Griff says, stepping forward and slinging his arm over my shoulder, a gleeful grin etched across his lips.

  There’s still blood dripping from my nose and the ache in my balls isn’t going away any time soon. I deserve it though; I deserve it all. A shrill laugh bursts from me. I don’t know why this is funny; it’s not. But I’m happy. I love that she shouted at me. I love that she nailed me in the balls; because she was strong while she did it, fearless, and I’ll take anything she has to give me to keep seeing her like that.

  Seeing her on the floor of the corridor, tears running down her face, broken. It broke something inside of me too. Until that moment I didn’t fully appreciate how much I liked her, how much she’d buried herself inside of me without me even realizing.

  The whole time I was messing with her, I thought I was the one in control. How fucking wrong I was. While I was teasing her and bullying her, she was making me want her more and more. That day in my room, that changed the game for me and at the time I didn’t even see it. I didn’t recognize that she turned the tables on me and instead of her dancing to my tune, my whims, I became a slave to hers.

  I can still the feel the heat of her lips on mine the first time she came to me willingly. Hot and wet and sweet, she owned me with that glimpse at what it would be like if she were mine. Looking back, I should have given up the bullshit then and there, but my issues, my insecurities, are louder than my own common sense.

  This girl, this girl who is fragile and weak one moment, has the capacity to be so fucking strong the next, and I don’t think she even sees it. She dealt with my shit and never told anyone so she could protect her family. That kind of loyalty is so fucking foreign to me, at first I didn’t even recognize what it was.

  My mom never stood up and shielded me or protected me. Instead, she hid and pretended and then in the end when she couldn’t live with having to think about anyone but herself; she threw me away like a pair of last season’s shoes.

  A signature on paper and she just stopped being my mom. Where was the loyalty then? I begged her; I cried and screamed, and I begged her to keep me. But she just looked past me like I was nothing. I am nothing, nothing to her.

  Being at Nova’s house with them, all of them, had felt good, but that ship’s sailed and I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me for what I’ve done, even if this last offence wasn’t me. I need to figure out who posted the video and why. It won’t make them forgive me, but it’ll go a long way.

  The walk home—I mean the walk to Brandi and Sleaze’s I silently correct myself, because it isn’t home, it’s just the last step before freedom—is long and painful. Pushing through the front door, I wave off Brandi’s gasp of shock and concern and pad upstairs to the bathroom to survey the damage to my face. The punches weren’t exactly unexpected, but fuck they hurt.

  Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I’m impressed by how much damage they managed to do with only two hits. My eye is half swollen shut—I’ll have an impressive black eye by the morning—and I’m fairly sure my nose is broken. It’s not the first time it’s happened, so I fill the sink with warm water and wash away as much of the blood as I can, gingerly pinching the bridge of my nose to see if I need a trip to the ER or if I can do without.

  A person fills the doorway, their hand outstretched, the ice pack gripped in their fingers. “Zeke, Griffin, or Echo?” Sleaze asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  “Zeke the eye, Griffin the nose, and Nova my balls,” I admit wincing as I place the icepack against my face.

  “You kind of deserve it,” Sleaze says with a shrug. “But you aren’t the first asshole teenage kid to fuck-up. Do better, be better, and they’ll forgive you, although I think it’ll be awhile before they forget.”

  Sighing, I nod, my body suddenly weary. Sleaze turns and goes to leave, but I call out stopping him. “Sleaze.”

  “Yeah,” he says, twisting around to look at me.

  “Thanks.”

  He dips his chin then leaves, no more words, no platitudes or dismissals, just a gesture then he walks away.

  Dropping to my bed, I lie back against my pillows and stare up at the ceiling with the icepack against my face. I’ve spent the last three years running away from forming relationships, from everything that wasn’t about getting home, getting my money and getting back control of my life. Archer’s Creek, this town, these people, Nova. This is the closest I’ve come to actually settling since the day I was torn from my home.

  And why is that? What is it about her, about this place, that makes it different? It scares me that I don’t know. Maybe it’s being in a home, rather than a house full of other angry kids just like me, or maybe it’s being in a small town where everyone knows each other. Or maybe it’s just Nova and her family, who accepted me so easily and who would have continued to accept me if I hadn’t have fucked with their Princess.

  The first time I’d seen Nova’s face it had been so beautiful, so uniquely Nova, but the look in her eyes had been so similar to the look I’d seen in Bella’s. Fragile and sad.

  Bella. What a fucking shit show that was. Would I be who I am now if I’d never met her? Who knows?

  * * *

  Two and a half years ago

  * * *

  Valentine

  Everything I own smells like trash bags, the distinctive plastic smell has permeated its way into everything and now it’s all I can smell. The cases I left my mom’s with lasted until the first group home. The kids there took one look at my matching designer luggage and they were gone less than twenty-four hours later.

  Most of my clothes were gone within a week. I hadn’t realized back then that you had to hide anything you coveted, because it stands a chance that someone else will covet it too and these kids will take whatever they can’t afford.

  The house I’m staying in is a crumbling Victorian mansion in the suburbs of Blacksburg, Virginia. The old house was originally set in grounds that have been sold off in chunks, so now all that remains is the house, a small overgrown yard and the driveway. There are fifteen kids here at the minute and a rotating staff that stay for a couple of days then change to someone new.

  This place is hell: drafty windows, intermittent hot water, and a staff that couldn’t give a shit about the kids in their care. Apart from one eleven-year-old, all the rest of us range in age from thirteen to eighteen, a mix of guys and girls, all of us throwaways, each with our own tragic tale to tell.

  I learned pretty quick at the last home I was in to try and keep myself to myself, but this place is proving to be an even bigger minefield. The group of oldest kids clearly rule the roost. The first time I took a shower, three huge fucking guys barged in, pinned me to the wall, hands on my junk and threatened to make me their bitch if I didn’t fall in line. So I fell in line.

/>   I’ve been here almost two months; I have nothing except my cell phone left from when I was dragged from my home and I live in constant fear that those guys will come back to bend me over if I don’t watch my step.

  My life is a fucking shit show. After my mom’s betrayal I spent the first month running away and trying to become emancipated from the state. When the courts ruled I wasn’t old enough to be out on my own they shipped me here, to bumfuck (hopefully not literally) Virginia.

  Going to school is the only normal thing I do and somehow, I’ve managed to keep my grades up despite all the upheaval. I hate my mom, my dad for dying, the social workers for bringing me here, the courts for refusing to allow me to access to my trust early so I could live alone, and every kid in this house for being a fucking psycho. I hate everything and everybody.

  Most days I stay at school as late as possible, studying and generally avoiding going back to the house. At my old prep school, I played football, but there’s no one to pay for sports when you’re a throwaway, so bye-bye ball, bye-bye teammates and friends. Now all I am is a throwaway, the scum in secondhand clothes that smell like trash bags.

  When I push through the front door of the house, I spot most of the kids in the kitchen around the huge pine dining table eating dinner.

  “You’re late,” Dennis, one of the staff says from his perch on a stool by the kitchen counter. He’s not the worst member of staff, but his lazy asshole ways rub me the wrong way.

  “I was at school,” I say.

  “There’s not much left, grab a plate,” he says, dismissing me and focusing on playing Candy Crush on his cell.

  With my backpack still on my back—I’m not stupid enough to leave it anywhere it can be stolen—I grab a plate and dish up the small portion of lasagna that’s left in the pan. There are no seats free, so I lean up against the counter and eat my food standing up and as quickly as possible.

  I don’t know the names of the majority of kids that live here given my introduction to them was with guys threatening to rape me, so forgive me if I’m not feeling particularly friendly. But I do recognize faces, and when I spot a tiny, blonde girl, her hair almost entirely covering her face at the far end of the table I know that she’s new. For a moment I wonder if the guys do to the girls what they did to me when I first arrived, or if they let the older girls scare the shit out of the younger ones?

  I watch as she plays with the tiny portion of food on her plate, her wrists and arms so scrawny she doesn’t look like she’s eaten a decent meal in months. Something about her draws me in, maybe it’s that she looks even more unhappy to be here than me. Maybe it’s some kind of inner broken radar that says that she’s a kindred spirit, I don’t know. But whatever it is, as I eat, my eyes don’t leave her.

  When I’ve finished the meagre portion of lasagna, I move to the sink and fill it with hot water and soap. The steam rises as the sink fills, and again I think about my old life, about the maid and cook that would take my plate from wherever I left it and clean it. Until I stepped foot in that first group home, I’d never washed a dish, I’d never had to pick up after myself, or cook for myself.

  Look at me now.

  Turning off the faucet, I sink my plate into the hot water and scrub off the dirt, washing my fork, then drying them both with a dish towel and placing them back into the cupboard. I don’t wait around; I leave the kitchen and the new girl and head for my bed.

  The rooms are like huge dorms with sets of bunks lining each of the long walls. My bed is on the bottom, the closest to the door. The mattress sags in the middle, the comforter smells funky, and my pillows are lumpy, but at least for the moment it’s mine.

  I don’t speak to any of the other guys in the room. I don’t speak to anyone. I just crawl into my bunk, hide my cell phone in the slot I found in the side of the mattress, and close my eyes, trying to pretend this isn’t my life.

  I’m not sure what wakes me, but when my eyes flash open, the room is dark, the moon shining through the thin fabric of the curtains that cover the window. Reaching for my cell, I roll out of bed, sliding my feet into my sneakers and pulling open the door inch by inch as silently as I can.

  The quiet hum of the TV has me walking toward the media room. In theory, this room is for everyone’s use, but this is only the second time I’ve actually been in here, unwilling before now to risk the wrath of my potential rapists. My eyes scan the dark room and that’s when I spot her. Knees pulled up to her chest; her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on the barely audible TV screen. She looks tiny and so fucking lost. Something about her calls to me, and for the first time since I walked into this house I move toward her, slide onto the couch next to her and say, “I’m Valentine.”

  He didn’t do it.

  I can’t help the surge of happiness that pulses through me every time I tell myself that he didn’t play that video, he wasn’t the one responsible for pushing me over the edge. But I haven’t forgiven him for the other stuff. Earlier, when he told me it was all because he liked me but has issues, I was so angry at him. Angry that he’s an idiot, angry that we missed a chance at being a normal couple, at being together, because he has almost as many, maybe more, issues than me.

  I want him.

  I can’t say the words out loud, but inside my head where no one else can hear them, I can admit the truth. That despite all of his bullshit, despite everything he’s done, I still want him. I’m not sure if it makes me an idiot for having feelings for someone who so systematically tried to hurt and manipulate me, or maybe it just makes me human. A stupid teenage girl who fell for the bad boy.

  “You okay?” My mom asks, pushing my door open a little wider and leaning against the frame, two mugs in her hands.

  I nod.

  “Can I come in? I brought coffee.”

  Smiling, I motion for her to come in and eagerly take the mug from her hand. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills my nose and I sigh happily.

  “Coffee stunts your growth; just saying,” Mom says, lowering herself onto my bed and taking a sip from her own mug.

  “I never wanted to be tall.”

  Her laugh is warm and familiar, her eyes crinkling happily. “He’s a very handsome boy.”

  “Who?” I ask stupidly, as if I don’t know she’s talking about Valentine.

  Tilting her head to the side, she flashes me a look and I sigh.

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “Pretty boys are their own brand of kryptonite.”

  Smiling wanly, I nod.

  “Did I ever tell you how me and your dad met?”

  “I know you were traveling and ended up in Archer’s Creek.”

  Mom’s eyes soften and she smiles. “I was on a bus trying to get to El Paso to catch up with some friends of friends who were in a band and had offered to give me a ride. The bus broke down right outside town. I met your dad when I realized they’d fixed it and left without me. He appeared on his bike and was so sexy; everything about him just screaming bad boy. There I was cursing like a sailor at the universe, fate, and stupid buses, and your dad laughed at me.”

  “But then you fell in love?”

  “Eventually, but it wasn’t smooth sailing. Your dad was a dick. He sort of tricked me into being his old lady. He got me to walk through the club in his cut and stalked me, threatening to give me a spanking every time I told him to go fuck himself.”

  I laugh, imagining my mom cursing my dad out.

  Her voice lowers. “Something happened to me and your dad. He, well, it was rough. I even left Texas. I went back to England and your dad tracked me down and brought me home.”

  “He did?” I ask, not having heard any of this before.

  “Yeah, he was plenty pissed at me for running.” Mom admits, a faint red blush covering her cheeks. “I don’t like that Valentine hurt you. I don’t think you should forgive him; at least not without making him work damn hard for it. But I saw the way you looked at him. I can see the way you look now and…” Mom pauses and swallow
s, reaching out and placing a hand on my knee. “Sometimes really shitty things happen. That video, what happened at school, it was horrible. But I want you to know I am so proud of the way you’re dealing with it all, how strong you are. And you are strong, baby; never doubt that, even in your weakest moments. If you decide to forgive him, that won’t make you weak, it just makes you human. We’ll learn to forgive him too, but just make sure you don’t make it easy on him.”

  “Am I an idiot for liking him?” I whisper.

  “Yes, but then apparently us Stubbs girls are idiots over beautiful bad boys. Must be something in our genes,” she says with a wink.

  A giggle bursts from me and I place my mug on the bedside table and throw my arms around her neck. She lifts her free hand and wraps it across my arm, holding me to her. “I love you, baby girl.”

  “Love you too, Mom,” I say, eventually pulling away and settling back onto the comforter.

  When Monday morning rolls around, I’ve written then deleted ten texts to Valentine. My head is telling me that contacting him will only hurt me more, that he’ll only hurt me; but he told me I remind him of someone and I want to know who. I want to know him. To understand what the hell could cause him to hate me enough to torment me, instead of just saying he liked me.

  In kindergarten a kid pulled my pigtails and when I asked him why he did it, he said it was because I was pretty but that girls had cooties. I didn’t understand it then and I don’t understand Valentine now.

  Grabbing my cell from beside me on the bed, I type out a message and hit send before I can second guess myself.

  Me: Who do I remind you of?

  I don’t wait for his reply. Instead, I silence my cell and get ready for my appointment with Dot. It feels odd not to be at school today. My alarm went off this morning and I just lay there wondering if I could do it, if I could walk into that school and face all those kids, all those people who saw me at my lowest. The thought made my head buzz so loud and so many doubts surged to life that I leapt out of bed and ran into my mom’s room, tears in my eyes. She soothed me like I was a little kid and right then I felt like one. My mom and dad have chased away the monsters beneath my bed my entire life, and somehow as I cried and told my mom in broken sobs how I wasn’t sure I could ever go back there again, I let her chase away the demons inside my head too.