by Annie Stone
6
Hunter
When Carey and I head over to Devon’s to play video games, Ava’s there, too, which annoys me at first. But, somehow, she manages not to bug us. In fact, she’s cool, in a way I didn’t know girls could be.
“Fuck, man!” Devon yells when Ava shoots him down in Return to Castle Wolfenstein.
She laughs happily and punches his shoulder. “I’m not a man!”
Devon runs a hand through his hair. “Thank God for that.” He kisses her forehead.
In his eyes, I can see pride. And he has every right to it. What girl not only plays shooting games but wins, hands down, against all the guys? I don’t really want to admit it, but she’s already kicked my ass a few times, too. But I’ll still kill whoever brings it up.
Carey makes retching sounds as we watch their affectionate exchange, and Ava blows him a kiss. I just grin and shake my head. He’ll just have to bear with them, I guess.
“Are you guys going to Fisher’s tomorrow?” Ava asks as we return to the game.
As usual, Carey looks to me. I shrug and cross my foot over my knee. “His parties used to be better.”
Devon shakes his head. “Actually, they’ve never been that great.”
“Well, I get the impression they’ve lost their zing a little,” I say.
“Maybe because it’s always the same thing,” Ava suggests. “Drinking, girls, rowdiness.”
“The trinity of male youth,” Devon laughs.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Carey mocks him. “You’ve already got a leash tied around your neck.” He grins at Ava, who flips him her middle finger. That’s exactly what makes her so cool.
“I think you talk an awful lot for somebody who hasn’t played yet,” she says, nodding at the TV. “You afraid of losing?” It’s not hard to challenge Carey. After about three seconds, he’s got the controller in his hand.
“Don’t think you can beat me as easily as your boyfriend,” he says.
Devon laughs, stuffs a handful of chips in his mouth, and sits back to watch his girl kick his friend’s ass. Obviously, I’m going to deny that it’s ever happened to me. But it’s fun to watch it happen to Carey.
“Shoot that Nazi!” Devon calls cheerfully as Ava walks around a corner in the game.
She fires, and the animated bastard sinks to the ground. Devon puts his fist out to her, and she touches hers to it. This kind of couple-y behavior usually makes me gag, but somehow these two make it look okay.
When she’s killed Carey, too, Ava says, “What’s your stepmother up to?”
“Shit, man! Don’t call her that!” Carey protests. “That’s never going to happen. Dad isn’t stupid enough not to know a gold digger when he sees one. He probably just wants to wet his dick a little.”
“Dude, seriously?” I ask him. “I don’t even want to imagine him doing that.”
Carey laughs. “You just don’t want him doing it with her.”
Devon looks at me. “You got a thing for Mac?”
I give Carey a deadly look. “I do not have a thing for Mac.” Fuck. How did he know? I thought I’d managed to hide my thing—my giant hard-on thing.
“Then why are you getting all worked up about it?” Ava asks.
Did I say she was cool? No, she isn’t. She’s not cool at all now that I think about it.
“Fuck, Hunt! Are you actually into Dad’s hooker?” Carey sounds shocked. “I was joking!”
I run my hand across my face. “For fuck’s sake—no. Why would I be into someone who’s fucking my old man?”
Carey looks really pale, like he’s about to throw up just thinking about someone being into that viper. And I’d feel exactly the same if…if my dick didn’t get hard at the mere thought of her. It’s so fucked up.
“Seriously, Hunter,” Devon says reasonably. “She’s young. Why shouldn’t you be into her?”
“Are you kidding me? She may be young and have a reasonably okay ass”—I don’t even bat an eye as I lie to them—“but there’s nothing on the inside but the rotting husk of a whore.”
“Wow!” Ava says. “What an image.”
I grin faintly. “It’s the only one that fits. She’s such a bitch, not even that old woman from India could balance it out. What’s her name again? That saint from India?”
They all give me a look like I’ve gone right off the deep end.
“That little wrinkly one!” I yell. “Oh, come on! You know who I mean!”
Carey looks at me like I’ve grown three heads. “Are you talking about Mother Teresa?”
I smack my hand on my thigh. “Exactly! Not even Mother Teresa could make up for this bitch’s personality defects.”
Devon shakes his head, looking amused, while Ava falls over laughing and clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, Hunt, that’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever said!”
This is too much deep talk for my taste. The good thing about guys is that they don’t talk about their fucking feelings like girls do. It must be Ava’s fault we got into this in the first place.
“So are we going to Fisher’s tomorrow?” I ask Carey, changing the subject.
“You want to go?” he says, making it my decision like he always does.
“Probably better than sitting around at home,” I say. “What about you guys?”
Devon puts an arm around Ava’s shoulders. “I think we’ll stay in.” He winks at her. Very subtly. So subtly everybody in the room now knows he’s going to fuck her. Seriously? I don’t need to know that kind of thing.
“Put your dick away,” I groan loudly.
Devon grins and takes a sip of Coke. “What, are you jealous, Tilman?”
“Yeah, since you’re not getting it, nobody else should either?” Ava asks with a diabolical laugh. You’d think she would be uncomfortable with this kind of talk. But she’s not that kind of girl.
“You’re wrong there, sweetheart,” I say in a Texan accent. “I’m fucking Liza.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh my God! Her? She’s like herpes. Once you’ve caught it, you’ll never get rid of it.”
That makes everybody laugh. Because she’s not wrong. Liza is such a clingy monster!
After a few hours, during which Ava repeatedly kicks everybody’s ass, Carey and I make our way home. I’m driving Dad’s car, but I can’t wait to get my own.
She’ll be sexy. Really sexy.
With sleek, black leather. If only she was mine already. I’m talking about my BMW M3, of course. What were you thinking?
The party at Fisher’s the next day is just as boring as all the previous ones. Liza comes on to me again. And, once again, I fuck her in the shed in the backyard, and she’s happy. Other than that, I sit on the couch nursing my beer, as slowly as possible. After all, I’m not into drunk driving, but I do need something to get me through the evening.
Across the room, I see Carey look at a girl. I’ve never seen him show interest in anyone before. Sure, he has his Playboys under his bed, but who doesn’t? Not just for the interviews, I mean.
“Hey, dude.” Fisher drops onto the couch beside me.
He holds out his fist, and I bump it with mine. “Hey.”
“Listen. About what happened with Jensen at your place the other day…” He gives me an uncertain look. But I’ve already made my decision. Mac did the right thing. Jensen’s behavior was completely revolting. The thought of having seen similar incidents in the past without interfering is fucking with my brain. It’s seriously messed up. That’s the only way I can put it. I’m deeply embarrassed that I haven’t stopped guys like Jensen in the past. Never mind my general lack of respect for Mac, she’s still opened my eyes.
“What about it?” I grumble.
“He’s our brother, right?” Fisher says, looking nervous. “Sure, it was a really shitty thing to do, but…” He brushes his hair out of his face. “Fuck, man.”
“Listen, bro. Some things are just inexcusable. Fucking an unconscious girl is one of them. If she says
no or is not in a state to say no, you keep your dick in your pants, no matter how hot she is. Sorry, but I don’t need someone like that for a brother.”
“You’re putting me in a fucked-up position, man.”
I shrug. “I don’t care. The guy was about to rape someone in my house. That’s not cool.”
“No, you’re right. But he’s sorry about it.”
“Yeah right. Do you know how many times he’s pulled shit like that?”
“Look at it this way, Tilman—you’re new here. You could use a few friends.”
I give him a penetrating look—at least that’s what I’m aiming for. “I can do without that kind of friend.”
Fisher raises both hands. “Okay, okay.” He shakes his head. “Fuck.”
“You said it, buddy.”
Sure, it’s an awkward situation for Fisher. The bastard’s his good friend. And then I get here—a guy he’s maybe seen five times in the last three years—and tell him what’s what. I’d understand if he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. But we both know that as soon as we set foot in that school this fall, I’ll be the fucking king. The guys are already kissing my ass, and the women…well, they’re trying to do something like that, too. I’m free to do whatever the fuck I want.
“So Jensen’s out?” Fisher asks.
I nod and put the bottle to my lips. “Yup.”
“I’ll pass that on then, I guess.”
I have no idea what happens here when somebody falls out of favor, but I imagine it won’t be pretty. He’s dug his own grave, though. “Go ahead. Let everybody know that we think what he did sucks.”
Fisher looks at me and nods slowly. When he gets up, I down the rest of my beer. It’s piss-warm. Fuck.
Turning, I look around to find Carey, only to shake my head. He’s still standing in the same place, sneaking glances at the girl. He’s hopeless.
I get up, go over to him, and put my arm around his shoulders. “If you want her, go get her.”
He looks at me. “I don’t want anyone.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, really,” he insists.
“You’ve been looking at that blond for about two hours. I’m surprised her skin hasn’t been burned away by your laser-like glare yet.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tugs at his earlobe. A telltale sign, if you know Carey. He’s lying.
“Just walk up to her and tell her you think she’s hot.”
This time he doesn’t answer. There’s desire in his eyes, but it’s obvious he’s not going to do anything about it. Fuck. Once again, I need to handle this shit. Shaking my head, I walk toward the girl. Carey flails at my arm and begs me to stop, hissing desperately.
I shove him off and approach her. “Hey,” I say, and she gives me a flattered smile. “I’m Hunter.”
She looks up at me from under her lashes. “I know who you are.”
“Great. Then you also know who Carey is.”
She looks in his direction. “Yeah.”
“Go over there.”
She gives me an irritated look. “Excuse me?”
“Go over there.” I grab a beer. “Give this to him and talk.”
I can’t read her expression. Is she disappointed or relieved? Doesn’t matter, as long as she makes sure my brother is no longer a virgin at the end of the night. Let him have some fun. After all, if I remember correctly, I still owe him a bitch for winning our bet at the last party.
After hesitating a moment, she takes the beer and walks over to him. She hands him the beer and smiles, playing with her hair. Why? Why do women play with their hair when they flirt? Guys only like hair to pull while they fuck someone. If you really want to turn us on, why not play with your tits?
Thinking of tits—and, inevitably, Mac’s tits—gets my pants tight. I reach for my dick to straighten it. Maybe I should go find Liza again? I could put my dick in her mouth and imagine Mackenzie’s lips.
Fuck, I’m in hell. Why can’t I stop thinking about that bitch for one second?
When I wake up the next day, my cock is already standing at attention, as usual. Even though I’d rather stick it in a woman, I grab it with my hand and rub up and down. I close my eyes, imagining it’s Mac’s hand touching me. Her tits are bare, and my fingers are pinching her nipples. Does she have big nipples or small ones? Rosy or brown? Big areolae or small ones?
Just the thought of it makes me breathe faster, grab harder. Fuck yeah! That chick is out to drive me crazy! I want to stick my dick in her. In every fucking hole. And I want her to whimper when I ram her.
I squeeze it tighter, feel for my balls with my other hand and massage them. My head is stretched back on the pillow, the veins in my neck bulging.
“Fuck!” I growl as I cum. I see stars, and her face, smiling at me.
This fucked-up situation is killing me! Something’s gotta give. Either I have to fuck her, or I have to get out of here…
7
Mackenzie
Brittany’s right. I have to talk to Carter. He’ll believe me when I tell him his boys are out to make my life hell. Right? Yes, definitely. He trusts me. He’ll believe me.
But I can’t shake the doubts. Why should he believe me? They’re his sons. He loves me, I know. But they’re everything to him. I know that, too.
I pick up the phone several times but can’t bring myself to call him. What’s wrong with me? I’m never like this. At least not anymore. Why am I suddenly scared again?
Because I have something to lose, I realize. I don’t want to lose Carter. I love him too much.
And wouldn’t it be better to talk about something like this face to face? I know it’s cowardly to put it off any longer, but it’ll let me spend a few more days under the illusion that everything is going to be fine.
I go to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge just as Carey comes in.
“Hey, Carey,” I say, hoping I don’t sound like an overexcited puppy.
“Get out of my way,” he says, barreling toward the fridge. When I don’t react fast enough for his liking, he shoves me.
I stare it him, stunned. Why on earth is he doing this? He actually put his hands on me.
“All right!” I say, trying to sound firm, but I’m not sure it’s working. My anger and nerves are making my voice shake. “That is it.”
“Shut up,” Carey snaps, retrieving bread and ham from the fridge. He proceeds to make himself a sandwich. Very calmly. Like he hasn’t just shaken up my whole world.
But I’m not the girl I used to be. After working at Free at Last, I know: just because they’re stronger doesn’t mean they can have anything they want from him.
“I’ve told you before,” I say, my voice shaking, “I don’t want you to talk to me like that.”
He looks at me like I’m scum. “Why are you still talking, you fat bitch?”
I open my mouth to retort, but at that moment, Hunter arrives in the kitchen, and his brown eyes impale me. Great. I’m outnumbered again. How can I ever win this match? And why am I even still playing the game?
Hunter doesn’t say a word, just gives me this look…this look that makes the grown woman I thought I’d become turn into a blubbering mess. All at once, I realize I’m scared. This situation is actually, seriously freaking me out.
Hunter crosses his arms over his chest, and I know he’s only seventeen, but physically speaking, he’s a man. His body has retained some of the lankiness of youth, but it’s increasingly filling out. Which only contributes to my panic.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” Carey mocks me.
I realize then that I’m trapped. Hunter’s standing in the doorway, and Carey’s blocking my way to the back door. Suddenly, I feel hot and cold at the same time. I pull at the collar of my T-shirt. I don’t know why, but it feels like I’m choking.
“Sure,” Carey laughs, “you can wrap an old fart around your little finger, but when—”
“Mac?” Hunter s
ays suddenly.
He says it quietly, no longer menacing. In fact, he sounds almost like he cares. And that’s the moment that makes me crack. Literally. Tears burst from my eyes, and I claw at the fabric of my shirt until my knuckles are white.
“Is everything okay?” Carey asks now, taking a step closer.
I step back. I can’t take this closeness. I’m scared. I want to be far, far away.
“Don’t,” Hunter warns Carey, and Carey goes still.
Hunter steps aside—my chance to slip through the door.
I run up the stairs at breakneck speed and into the bedroom. Slamming the door shut, I let myself sink onto the edge of the bed. I’m alone. I’m alone. Thank God!
I’m still trapped in my memories. I don’t like to admit it, but if what just happened is any indication, it’s true. There are still situations that bring the memories flooding back up, making me feel helpless.
Triggers. There are so many triggers. I thought I’d left all that behind a long time ago. But I was wrong.
My heart starts beating more slowly again, and the tightness in my chest gradually dissolves until I can breathe easily.
Something’s got to give. Otherwise, I’m going to break down. I need to tell Carter. As soon as he gets back, I have to talk to him. He needs to talk to his boys, even if he’s worried they’ll run back to their mom—or whatever his reasoning is for not setting them healthy boundaries. Hunter’s almost a legal adult, but especially at his age, limits are important from parents.
Jesus, listen to me! When did I become such an arrogant know-it-all ? I sound as snobby as my first-grade teacher who insisted we call her “fräulein” because she had German ancestors and wouldn’t answer to anything else. God, when did I turn into Fräulein Müller?
Still, one thing is clear: I can’t go on like this. I can’t collapse into fear and panic whenever one of Carter’s sons gets anywhere near me.
Carter needs to do something. He will do something. Right?
The three of us avoid each other until Carter gets back. The boys go hang out with their friends or whatever—I don’t really know, because I work. And work. I’ve always been a bit of a workaholic since I can’t leave if there’s someone there who needs help. But these days, work’s turning into an obsession.
