by Chloe Walsh
Breathless, I shook my wrists out before walking over to the worn leather couch shoved against the far wall of the garage and sank down. “I’m so fucking done.” With all of it. Every little fucking aspect of my life. “It’s the same bullshit repeating itself over and fucking over.”
“It’s not the same this time,” Daryl offered as he came and sat beside me. “What happened before?” He turned and stared into my eyes. “It’s nothing like that. She’s just a girl, dude.”
“I don’t care,” I replied angrily, accepting the bottle of Gatorade he was offering me. I didn’t care if Six was just a girl. She didn’t need to be in my house. Her mother didn’t need to be there either. “I want them gone.”
Daryl laughed. “That’s gonna be hard now that your step momma’s pregnant.”
“That house is mine, D, mine,” I hissed through clenched teeth before taking another slug from my bottle. “After all the shit last year, Dad thinks he’s gonna pull this crap on me and Millie again?” I shook my head in disgust. “Nah, man. I don’t fucking think so.”
“Focus on the game, Rourke,” Daryl ordered, tone suddenly serious. “Concentrate on getting to state and ignore the girl.”
“Easy for you to say,” I shot back angrily. “You’re not the one that has to sleep in the goddamn room next to hers.”
“What got into you last night anyway?” Daryl asked, curious. “I’ve known you my whole life, man, and I ain’t never seen you lose it with a female like you lost it with her.”
“You know what got into me.” I took another sip of my Gatorade and blocked out the petrified feeling that had consumed me when I realized that Six had been in my room. In my fucking drawer. “Crazy bitch stole my condoms.”
“You sure that’s all it was?”
“Tell me how you’d have reacted if you had Brittany Beckitt buck ass naked on your bed waiting for your dick and some stupid girl stole your stash of rubbers?” I asked, lying through my teeth. I didn’t care about Brittany’s pussy. Not anymore. I cared about my privacy. I cared about my fucking journal. Exhaling a deep breath, I twisted my neck from side to side.
“I would have thanked Jesus and kissed the girl’s feet,” Daryl shot back with a crooked grin. “Britt’s a nasty bitch, man. You know it. I know it. Hell, the whole damn town knows it.”
“You don’t know anything about it, D.” Britt and I weren’t a couple like we’d been in the past, but that didn’t mean I was going to sit around and listen to Daryl talk shit about her. Hell, I was still in her pants most weekends. Way I saw it, I’d be a poor fucking excuse if I sat around bitching about the girl I was sleeping with.
“Girl done you wrong,” Daryl argued. “More than once. You need to cut her loose. For once and for all.”
Yeah, Daryl was probably right about that, but it was easier said than done. Britt was familiar and safe and I’d loved her once. It was hard to walk away from your first everything. That’s what Brittany Beckitt represented to me; my first fucking everything. There’d been a time when I’d genuinely believed she would be my only everything. Of course, that was before she crushed my heart, but still.
“Maybe you should just go on and get it over with.”
“Get what over with?”
“Banging your stepsister,” Daryl shot back with a snicker. “All that pent up sexual frustration ain’t good for a guy’s game, you know.”
“Don’t,” I warned, blocking out the image of that fucking girl’s body. Goddamn Six. She messed with my head. One damn dinner, and I couldn’t get her feisty little attitude out of my head.
“Fine.” Daryl threw his hands up. “If you’re not interested in tapping that ass, then step aside and let the master get to work.” Grinning, he waggled his brows. “I’ve got something between my legs that will help that stepsister of yours work out her anger.”
“Touch her and I’ll fucking kill you.” I didn’t mean to yell. Hell, I didn’t mean to care. I shouldn’t… but I did. “I mean it, D,” I snarled, agitated at the thought of my best friend chasing after Six. “She’s off limits, man.”
“I knew it!” He threw his head back and laughed. “You like her.”
“No.” I shook my head, refutably denying the fucking notion. “I don’t.”
“Then what?” He looked at me in confusion. “You don’t want her, but you don’t want any of the rest of us having her either?”
“Exactly.”
“You’re an asshole, Rourke.”
I was. But no one was touching Six.
“Rourke.” Daryl’s tone was suddenly serious. “All jokes aside, man; I think you should give her a chance. Or at the very least, leave her alone.”
“You cannot be serious.” I gaped at the absolute bullshit that was coming from my best friend’s mouth. “You know what happened the last time I gave someone a chance.”
“History ain’t repeating itself here, Rourke,” he replied, voice pained, eyes full of sympathy. He could fuck his sympathy. I didn’t want it. “She’s just a girl, man, tryna make it in a new town. If you give Sissy a chance, I bet you’ll be surprised with what you find.”
“Quit calling her Sissy.”
“What, and call her Six?” Daryl cocked a brow. “No thanks. I’m not that cold.” Shaking his head, Daryl exhaled heavily. “Come on, man, she doesn’t need the wrath that comes with being on your bad side. You know how it works around here; if you hate her then the whole town’s gonna hate her.”
I knew what Daryl was trying to say. Fuck, I even wanted to listen, but every time I tried to comprehend the notion of accepting my new family, the image of my sister’s face penetrated my mind, shutting down any sort of welcoming thought. “I don’t care,” I hissed finally. “Let ‘em hate her.”
Mercedes
I HATED MY STEPBROTHER.
Seriously, I hated him more than I hated anyone in my life – even more than the scumbag that knocked my mom up at fifteen and left her to raise me alone. Whoever he was.
I normally had a handle on my emotions, but since arriving in Ocean Bay, I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs. My nerves were in shreds and I was burning with anxiety and rage. Who the hell did Rourke Owens think he was? Talking down to me like I was trash? Making me feel like a bad person for breathing? And throwing me in his stupid swimming pool in front of his stupid friends? Rage coursed through me. He wasn’t going to get away with it.
The alarm on my phone cut through my thoughts and I quickly snaked a hand out from under my warm duvet to turn it off, wondering why I ever bothered setting an alarm when I always woke before it went off.
It was 7am on a Saturday morning in mid-July. Most teenagers I knew would be sleeping the morning away. But if I had been back in Kansas, I would have been getting up for work right about now. I guess old habits die hard.
Throwing the covers off myself, I climbed out of my warm bed and straight into a fancy-pants shower that had more water jets than I had skin to wash.
Drying off, I dressed in a black tank and my denim cut offs before ambling downstairs to the kitchen to fix some breakfast.
Grateful for my early bird nature, I tackled the empty kitchen, making myself familiar with every cupboard door and expensive looking appliance.
When I had fixed myself a plate of bacon and eggs, I sat down on one the stools at the huge granite marble counter and dived in.
As I munched on the crispy bacon, I gazed out the gigantic floor to ceiling window in dismay, taking in the sight of that damn swimming pool Rourke had tried to drown me in last night. Jerk.
“Fond memories?” a familiar deep voice asked. I bit back the urge to growl when Rourke sauntered into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants hung low on his hips. The white shirt I presumed he had been wearing was wrapped around his left fist.
“What the hell happened to you?” I blurted out, eyes locked on the blood smeared shirt in his hand.
“What the hell has it got to do with you?” Rourke shot ba
ck coolly, tossing the shirt down on the counter in front of me.
“Nothing,” I replied, flicking it away from my plate. “Bleed to death for all I care.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Reaching into the fridge, Rourke grabbed a bottle of water and cracked the cap open. “To get me out of the way so you and your momma can clean up?”
Was he for real?
Did he actually believe that crap?
I opened my mouth to respond to his ridiculous accusations, but he was already walking out of the kitchen. “Save it, Six,” he tossed over his shoulder as he walked out. “I wouldn’t believe a word that came out of your mouth anyway.”
Oh yeah, I really did hate him.
Rourke
BRITT STOPPED BY last night. Part of me wanted to throw her out on her ass when she walked into my bedroom like she had the right to everything inside of it. She didn’t. Not anymore. I should have sent her on her way. I didn’t. I was a fucking idiot for it, but there was something screwed up in my head when it came to that girl. And it was my mother’s birthday.
Mom would have been forty-four years old yesterday – had she lived – and Britt remembered that. No one else had. My father certainly hadn’t. The sound of him giving it to his new wife on the third floor had been so loud that I would have been surprised if he remembered his own damn name.
Asshole.
When I woke this morning, I felt dirty. Like I’d done something really fucking stupid by accepting Britt’s body and offer of comfort last night. I tried to ease my conscience by telling myself there was nothing wrong with hooking up with her. I forced myself to believe that it was okay to need someone’s touch every once and a while. That it was okay to need someone, period.
I knew Britt was the wrong fucking girl for me to attach myself to, especially since all that had happened last summer, but she was all I’d known for such a long time that it was hard to walk away. As fucked up as it sounded, Britt was the only permanent thing I’d had in a lifetime of temporary everything.
Then I thought of Six and anger coursed through me.
Goddamn that girl.
I couldn’t get her out of my head. She was driving me batshit crazy. Her quirky remarks and quick comebacks entertained me far more than I wanted them to. When she looked at me, it felt as though she was looking straight through me. It was as if she was seeing past the material bullshit and straight into my black heart. Nobody looked at me like she did. It unnerved the hell out of me.
I wanted to hate her so damn much. She and her momma represented everything I despised in life. They represented yet another bad decision by my father. Another wife. Another stepsibling. Another fucking mouth to support.
I didn’t care if Six was a girl. I didn’t care if history wasn’t repeating itself. I was still fucking angry that Dad had gone and done this again without thinking of the consequences. Without thinking about us.
Forcing my mind free from all thoughts of Six and her mother, I showered and then slipped on a pair of shorts and my Nikes before heading downstairs. The moment I was outside the front door, I broke into a run, needing to work off some of this pent-up frustration festering inside of me.
Like a cruel twist of fate, Six was climbing out of her car when I jogged back up the driveway. The moment I laid eyes on her, I realized that the last ninety minutes of running had done jack shit to curb the energy bristling inside of me, and every time I put my eyes on that girl, it ignited even further.
Her grey eyes landed on my face and that energy bristling inside of me erupted into something I could only describe as molten fucking lava in my veins.
“What the hell are you looking at?” I snarled, because it was the only thing I could say. Her eyes on my face affected me more than I cared to acknowledge.
“You,” she replied evenly. Slamming her car door, Six stalked towards me. I slowed to a walk, waiting to receive her “I’m looking at you, asshole.”
Goddammit, Six needed to cut it with the catty remarks. I was quickly learning that smart mouth of hers was a major turn on for me – which only aggravated me more.
“Got a problem?”
“Yes, I do,” she snapped, not stopping until our shoes were touching. “You’re my problem. You and your sex noises.”
I grinned. “Sex noises?” Was she for real?
“I could hear you last night,” she hissed, red faced. “Having sex with that girl.”
“Really?” I cocked a brow and smirked. “I didn’t know you were listening. I would’ve put on a show.”
“Ugh. Spare me.” She made a gagging noise. “Next time, keep it down.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” I asked, amused.
“Take it whatever way you want,” she shot back, not giving me an inch. “I don’t give a shit so long as I don’t have to listen to some stupid girl screaming the house down like a freaking hyena.”
“Sounds like you’re jealous, Six,” I shot back, grinning, when she made a heaving sound.
“And it sounds like you’re delusional, Rourke,” she retorted before swinging around and storming off in the direction of the house.
Mercedes
I WOULD NOT LET him get to me. I refused to allow Rourke Owens to hold any sort of power over my emotions.
“Sounds like you’re jealous, Six,” Rourke taunted, towering above me with a shit eating grin etched on his face.
Like hell… “And it sounds like you’re delusional, Rourke,” I shot back before turning my back on him and rushing towards the house. I needed to get away from this boy. When I was around him, I didn’t feel in control of my emotions. And I wasn’t jealous. He could screw whoever the hell he wanted. It didn’t matter to me who he brought into his room at night, just as long as he didn’t keep me awake while he was entertaining them. Asshole.
Shoving the front door open, I marched into the foyer, holding onto my temper by the skin of my teeth.
Breathe, Mercy, breathe. Don’t let that jackass get to you.
“You’re pissy today,” Rourke taunted as he followed close behind me “What’s wrong with you, Six?”
You! You’re what’s wrong with me… “Leave me alone, Rourke,” I shot back, jaw clenched, moving for the staircase. “I’m tired and hungry and in no mood for your bullshit.”
I heard Rourke laughing, but thankfully, he didn’t follow me upstairs.
When I reached my bedroom, I slipped inside and slammed the door shut before leaning against it. Exhaling a loud sigh, I closed my eyes and forced myself to calm the hell down. I needed to get a grip on myself. I couldn’t let this guy continue to get to me like this.
I wouldn’t.
Mercedes
CHECKING MY REFLECTION in the bathroom mirror, I nodded in approval.
The job I had managed to snag at a coffee house on the pier required the female staff wear a black, tight-fitted skirt and fitted white shirt.
Thankfully, they supplied the uniform, and although I didn’t own a decent pair of black shoes, the manager had assured me my black Converse were fine.
When I popped in last week and handed my resume to the insanely hot manager, he’d hired me on the spot. He told me to be in bright and early the following Monday.
Grabbing my backpack off my bed, I headed out, feeling both nervous and excited about my first day at a new job.
When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I headed straight for the kitchen, ready to go for what had to be round thirty with my darling stepbrother.
I’d been living here two weeks now and it was becoming glaringly obvious that Rourke Owens and I would never be able to stomach being in the same room together for longer than five minutes at a time, much less hold down a civilized conversation.
He hated my guts which was perfectly fine by me since I despised the ground the big dick walked on. In the days that had passed since our altercation at the beach, we had clashed on several more issues.
Rourke played music ridiculously loud at night. Ou
r parents didn’t care. They never once told him to stop or rein in the debauchery. Once I learned that Amelia’s bedroom was on the ground floor, and our parent’s room took up the entire third floor, I realized these late-night shenanigans were for my benefit.
Of course, I drowned out his shitty rock music by blaring my favorite television show on Netflix at the very maximum my flat screen was capable of projecting. To which I was rewarded with some sort of ball being banged against my wall for a solid thirty minutes so hard that it caused the TV to fall off the wall stand it was mounted to and crash to the floor.
I returned the gesture by picking up said television and stalking into the enemy’s territory and casually dropping it on his head. Lucky for him, it was a flimsy flat screen, because the way he made me feel it could have just as well been a cement block.
Asshole.
To my absolute delight, the kitchen was void of all traces of Rourke Owens when I walked inside. Immediately, my mood brightened to the point I was borderline smiling when I poured myself a cup of coffee.
“Good morning, Mercedes,” Gabe’s voice filled the room. “You look… dare I say, happy?”
Damn…
“I was,” I muttered under my breath before slugging back a mouthful of coffee.
“Hmm?” Gabe asked as he poured himself a coffee. “Did you say something?”
“Nope.” I watched my stepfather as he prepared his drink. Gabe was extremely handsome for a man in his mid-forties, with a strong physical physique and a full head of dark hair that only bore the slightest slither of silver. His looks alone made me suspicious.
From what I’d seen growing up, men that looked like Gabriel Owens were rarely monogamous. Mom had moved from man to man my whole life.
My earliest childhood memory consisted of me sitting in the back of my mother’s space wagon, with everything we owned loaded inside, waving goodbye to the man I’d later come to learn wasn’t my father, but had been a good fit at the time.
