Pranked

by Sienna Valentine

  I was fourteen when it all went down. Wyatt was just eleven. Ash had been eighteen for a whole three days. Out of all of us, he had the most to lose. His family. His future. His freedom.

  That didn’t stop him from fighting tooth and claw for us, though. He even managed to get custody so we wouldn’t end up bouncing around between foster homes. We might not have made out so good, if he hadn’t. Wyatt and I could’ve been separated, and as much as I wanted to knock him upside his head right now, it would’ve been a disaster. We were family. Blood. It was ride or die with us. And if this little intervention was any indication, it still was.

  I just wished we could get through to him. Maybe it was because he was too young to really remember how bad things were, or to really understand what we all could’ve lost ‘cause of Pops’ lust for money and blood, but whatever it was, it was obvious Ash and I were going to have to nip it in the bud. Now.

  “When are you gonna get it through your head that Pops wasn’t some kind of outlaw hero?” I asked Wyatt, keeping my voice low. Nobody needed to know our business but us, and that went double for anything having to do with our father. “He was a goddamn drug dealer, Wyatt. A murderer. A psycho.”

  “You talk about him like he worked some corner for some low-level gangbangers,” Wyatt hissed in reply. “He ran a fucking empire, Reid. Like Escobar, or…”

  “Plenty of assholes have run empires,” Ash interjected sternly. “Hitler, for example.”

  Wyatt was seething. The muscle in his jaw pulsed. He looked about ready to hit something, or someone. Maybe flip the table. I pulled my beer off it, just in case. “Dad was not Hitler.”

  Ash shrugged. “Stalin, then.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands disarmingly. “That’s enough hyperbole. Wyatt, I get what you’re saying. I do. Pops worked hard to get where he did, and he was a powerful man, but he wasn’t a good man, and therein lies the problem. Look where he ended up. Is that what you want for your life?” Petulantly, Wyatt refused to answer. I growled. “Well, it’s sure as hell not what me and Ash want for you.”

  “Whatever,” Wyatt said at last, and that was the end of that. For now, anyway. I got the distinct impression that this shit was gonna come up over and over, just like it had for the past few years.

  I shot Ash a glance over the table, then shifted my gaze pointedly to Wyatt, encouraging our eldest brother to give it a shot. To say something, anything that would get our favorite asshole to listen to reason. As much as I hated to admit it, Ash was pretty good at that stuff. He’d had to be; he was our guardian.

  But he just shrugged. Held his hands out, palms up. He had nothing to offer. Fuck. And here I was, hoping we could fix this shit once and for all. Now all that was left to do was to finish our drinks in awkward silence. The only alternative was for one of us to strangle Wyatt into unconsciousness and hope the ensuing brain damage would change his mind in our favor.

  I glanced at him again and saw he wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He wasn’t looking at me or Ash, either. Wyatt had turned his attention to something over my left shoulder, but he was doing it furtively, turning his eyes in a way that was just a little too casual to actually be casual.

  I turned my head and looked. It wasn’t often something could distract Wyatt from a temper tantrum. And then I realized he wasn’t staring at something. He was staring at someone.

  And she was goddamn beautiful.

  Her big, doe-like eyes were the first thing I noticed about her. Fettered by thick lashes, they were wide and round, like she’d never been in a bar before and was utterly amazed by the idea that people drank beer and watched sports sometimes. Then I noticed her strawberry-blonde hair, the perfect fucking shade, peeking out from underneath a gasp of white frill that looked like some kind of bonnet—what the hell was that about? I frowned as I took in the rest of her get-up. This chick looked like she’d walked out of some kind of Colonial Times reenactment, or some shit. Christ, her dress went all the way down to her ankles. But I could tell from the way she carried herself that she had a pair of absolutely killer legs underneath that full skirt. Probably a set of hips that would kill a man with their sway, too.

  I gave Wyatt a sideways glance, but he wasn’t paying any attention to me. He was still staring at the girl. I felt a twinge of annoyance. That boy was chasing cars. He’d have no idea what to do with her if he ever caught her.

  But me? Well, that was a different story. And maybe one-upping Wyatt on this would show him who was boss.

  I was just turning to check her out again when Ash said, “So, I see you two have finally noticed we’re not the only ones in the room.”

  “Finally?” I said, slinging an arm over the back of my chair. Ash regarded me with a smirk. Of course. He’d known they were there all along. That was what Ash did best—noticed women.

  “Yeah,” Wyatt said slowly, his ears a little red. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught. “Wonder what those clothes are all about. What’s their story?”

  “ ‘Their’?” I repeated, scrunching up my face. Before I could question further, Ash cut in.

  “Uh, yeah, Reid. There’s three chicks over there.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Didn’t you see ‘em?”

  I whirled probably a little too fast for my own good. Holy shit, he was right. There were three of them over there, but somehow I’d only noticed her. What the hell was wrong with me? She wasn’t even the only one wearing a weird dress. Right next to her was a shorter, younger-looking girl with hair the color of fresh-plucked straw, tucked up under the same kind of bonnet that looked like it belonged in a museum. She wasn’t quite as wide-eyed as the girl I’d set eyes on, but she had a pretty pair—a shade of blue bordering on aquamarine. She was rocking on the balls of her feet, hands moving as she talked, clearly excited about something. I realized that she was the one Wyatt had singled out, not the girl who’d caught my eye, and lowered my hackles.

  The third chick looked like she actually belonged here, but when coupled with the other two, stuck out like a sore thumb. Her hair was bonnet-free and a darker shade than the first two, maybe dyed, for all I knew. Styled in soft waves, very modern-looking, the kind of girl I’d expect to see here. She had green eyes that flashed whenever they caught in the light and was wearing a pair of skinny jeans she looked like she’d been poured into. Ash’s eyes were trained on her alone. So predictable, going for the easy prey.

  Some of us were better than that. Some of us liked a challenge, the thrill of the chase. In my mind, Ash’s player status was completely undeserved. He always took the easy way out. Maybe I hadn’t stuck my dick in as many women as he had, but then again, I had standards.

  “I think they might be Amish,” Ash said to Wyatt while I was checking out the lineup. “I’ve seen a few buggies on the outskirts of town. They’ve got a village there. Usually I only see men.”

  “Wonder what the hell they’re doin’ here,” Wyatt murmured.

  “Yeah, thought they were, like… insular, or some shit. Isolationist,” I said. I didn’t know much about the Amish, but I at least knew that.

  “They are,” Ash said. “Normally. But here they are.” He finished off his whiskey. “Why don’t we go ask them?”

  I snorted. “What, just like that? Aren’t they über-religious, or something? They’re not gonna fall for some cheesy pick-up line like ‘What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?’ Do they even speak English?”

  “Good question.” Ash rose. “I think I’m gonna find out.”

  “You’re serious?” Wyatt said, turning to him. “Reid’s right. Girls like that, they’re… out of our league. Shit, they’re playing a whole different game.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Speak for yourself.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Wyatt hissed back. “But look at ‘em. Except for the tall one, they look like goddamn nuns. We’d be barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

  “Maybe you two losers would be,” Ash said, smoothing his
hair. “But not me. I don’t strike out.”

  “That’s because you don’t swing for the stands,” I sneered, “or the curve balls. You take the low, slow pitch every time.”

  “What’s wrong, Reid?” Ash asked, a grin splitting his face. “You afraid of a little competition? Does it piss you off that I could walk over there, right now, and have all three girls eating out of the palm of my hand, just like that?” He snapped his fingers dangerously close to my face. Dangerously, because if he’d left them there a second longer I would have broken them.

  “Fuck off,” I said, also rising from my seat. “There’s a lot of words I’d use to describe you, Ash, but ‘competition’ isn’t one of them.” I’d seen my brother do some crazy shit when it came to women, but getting all three of them into bed, especially two church mice? Bullshit. Wasn’t gonna happen.

  “Oh, really?” Ash said. “Don’t suppose you’d care to bet on it?”

  “On what?” Wyatt asked, turning his attention to us again. “On all three of them?”

  “Nah, that’d be way too hard for you two,” Ash answered. “We’ll go for one each. Whoever gets one of those three girls into bed first, wins.”

  This was absurd. “Wins what?” I asked him.

  Ash shrugged. “Respect. Bragging rights. Shit, if it’s you, Reid, I won’t call you a pussy for a whole year. How’s that sound? If you don’t, though, it’s all I’m gonna call you. Same goes for if you don’t take the bet.”

  I glowered at him. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious. Pussy.”

  I ran a hand through my hair and looked back at the girls at the bar. For a moment, I couldn’t decide what I wanted more: the one with the strawberry-blonde hair, or to pick up my chair and crack it over Ash’s skull. Only one of those wouldn’t land me in jail… probably.

  “Whatever,” I said, both a dismissal and sign of acceptance. “I call dibs on the one with the freckles.”

  “The tall one,” Ash said, “in normal chick clothes. What about you, Wyatt? You in?”

  “Deck seems kinda stacked, doesn’t it?” Wyatt said, but his gaze was locked on the blue-eyed girl. “I mean, we get the nuns, you get the normal one. The fuck’s up with that?”

  “I have it on good authority she’s a tough nut to crack,” Ash replied, “and I’ll tone down my game to give you two a better chance. How’s that?”

  “Bullshit,” I answered. “Bullshit, is what it is.”

  But I had the urge to look back at those girls again, at the one with the gorgeous hair and softly parted lips. Those wide eyes, so innocent, so full of wonder and a little fear. They made me want to know more about her. So much more…

  “Does that mean you don’t want in, then?” Ash said, snapping me back to the conversation like a too-tight rubber band. He was leering at the group of girls now, a wicked grin on his face. “’Cause if you don’t, a two-for-one special would suit me just fine.”

  Something in the pit of my stomach began to burn and I clenched my fists hard enough to turn my knuckles white. No way in hell I was letting Ash at her. No way was I going to let him drag my name and reputation through the mud on this one. I was Reid-fucking-Brody. I didn’t back down from a challenge.

  “I said the one with the freckles,” I growled, and it was like the room dropped ten degrees. Even Wyatt winced. He was a hothead. A ball of flame when he got pissed off. But me? My rage was always served cold. Hard. Relentless. Ash’s smile faded just a little and he couldn’t hold my eyes. He turned to Wyatt instead and clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Well, guess that leaves you with blondie,” he said. Wyatt didn’t seem to mind going last, for once. He just nodded, shrugged, then took a long draught of his shitty Pabst beer.

  “Now that it’s all settled,” Ash continued. “I’d say all that’s left to do is for us to meet our marks. You two sure you’re ready for this?” He eyed us skeptically. “I’d hate to throw you to the wolves…”

  I shook my head and picked my beer up from the table. “Those aren’t wolves, Ash. They’re sheep. Lost little lambs come in from the cold. And I’m going in for the kill.” I stepped away from the table. “Whenever you two ladies wanna join me…”

  I turned around then and set my sights on those strawberry blonde locks. That girl, whoever she was, was mine. She just didn’t know it yet.

  But I knew. From the very moment I saw her… I had to have her.

  2

  Sarah

  Of all the places I never thought I’d be, here in this bar was the most unexpected of all of them.

  I still couldn’t believe I’d done it. That I’d actually run away from home. The sheer insanity of it was threatening to double me over. The lights were getting fuzzy around the edges, a halo that served to remind me just how far from grace I was about to fall.

  “Hey.” Next to me, Beth had noticed I was crashing. “Are you all right, sister?”

  “I’m not sure,” I whispered in reply. The room seemed to be spinning. The scents of liquor and sweat and blood and all kinds of unspeakable debauchery were an assault I could not defend myself from. Underneath it all was the crippling guilt that we’d sinned. We had failed to honor the laws of our father. I think I mumbled something else then, something in our mother tongue, when I felt a much stronger hand upon me.

  “Sarah…”

  I looked over. Hannah was there, her jade green eyes tethering me to the here and now. When she smiled, I felt the hot sting of tears. I hadn’t seen my older sister in so long…

  “It’s okay,” Hannah said, sitting me down on a barstool. I wobbled a bit and had to grab the bar to keep from toppling over. “This is new. This is all so new. I get that. It felt like that for me, the first time around…”

  Rumspringa. That was what Hannah was talking about. It was an Amish rite of passage for youths who had not yet committed themselves to the church. A time when they could explore the English world—that was what we called anything outside our community—and decide which appealed more: the simple life, or the allure of something darker, more complex. A life of temptation. Of sin.

  Hannah had embarked upon her Rumspringa years ago. And she never came back. Not even to say goodbye. Of course, the night before she’d gone away, she had told me and Beth how much we meant to her. How very much she loved us. It took me some time to accept, but I realized as I matured that that had been her goodbye to us. Even if she’d never uttered that exact word.

  And now here she was. A bartender. In this… place. Wearing those clothes; skin-tight denim and a sleeveless blouse—a tank-top—sheer enough to show off the color of her undergarments beneath. I blushed on her behalf. It was… scandalous. Frankly, I’d never seen anything like it, and I wasn’t handling it well.

  Beth, though? She was as awestruck as I was, but in a different way. For her, this was incredibly exciting. She had that youthful elation still; she was the most defiant of us all, no matter how many times our mother tried to teach her temperance. She was a bundle of nerves in the way that she couldn’t stop herself from vibrating, from practically jumping up and down at the newness of it all. Part of me wished I had half her enthusiasm.

  Beth was the one who had convinced me to go. Right at the last second I hesitated, and she had given me the push I needed to come here, to see Hannah after almost two years. The letters Hannah managed to leave in a hollow stump on the edges of our land weren’t enough; no matter how often we corresponded, defying our parents’ instruction, Beth and I needed more. We needed to see her. Our sister. The one whose name our parents refused to speak. Whose name had been forbidden from our lips, as well.

  We’d been forbidden from more than that. We’d been forbidden from Rumspringa entirely. All the girls who had come of age were. The young men were merely discouraged, but for us, shunning was at stake. I was already mentally preparing myself for that possibility when we returned. Or, as Beth kept saying, if we returned.

  I couldn’t think about
that now. Not when my heart was beating so fast already.

  I looked up into Hannah’s face as she said, “You wanna drink? Should calm you down a little. Promise I won’t card you, though I’m pretty happy with the way those IDs came out, if you know what I mean.” And she winked.

  I knew roughly two-thirds of what that meant. But “carding”? What was that? I stared blankly at her, and she rolled her eyes and snapped at a man on the other side of the bar. “Hey, Jake, can you grab my sister a…” Hannah turned her attention back to me, looking me up and down. “You know what? Just get her some wine. We’ll start slow.” Jake nodded and I watched him uncork a bottle, filling up a glass halfway.

  When he set it down in front of me, my stomach turned. This was too much, too fast. We didn’t drink in the community. We were New Order, which means we didn’t drink or smoke. Those were gateways to ruin, our father often said. And here Hannah was, serving it up, not just to me, but to a whole room full of people. Too many people…

  “This is too much,” I whispered to Beth. But she wasn’t paying attention to me. Only Hannah seemed to hear.

  “Look,” she said, “you two are out in the real world now. You’ve gotta do some real world things. Live a little! Isn’t that what Rumspringa’s supposed to be about—exploring, getting your hands dirty?”

  “You seem to have done quite a bit of both,” I muttered, then winced immediately. I hadn’t meant it like that—not really. It wasn’t my place to judge Hannah, after all. But a little bit of my mother had shown through just then, and I could see the hurt in Hannah’s eyes. I swallowed hard and reached over to take her hand. “I’m sorry, sister. My tongue got away from me…”

  For as long as I could remember, Hannah had been the “strong one” of our trio. She was passionate, headstrong, and seemingly invulnerable—in many ways, she reminded me of our late grandmother, who’d been referred to as a “hard woman” by almost every man in our village. She was quite skilled at putting up barriers and walls. So when I saw even the briefest flicker of shame cross my sister’s face, it pulled at the strings of my heart with such regret my cheeks burned.