by R. A. Smyth
Concerned creases furrow along my forehead as I run the pad of my thumb under his eye. “You got in late last night.”
“Yeah, they had me going through all their surveillance tapes for their next targets. It took hours.”
My lips pinch. He’s going to end up in an early grave if he has to continue going to the compound and doing what he’s doing.
“Come on, I just want to hold you.”
He tugs me over to the sofa, and I curl up beside him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“When do you have to go back?”
“Not for a few weeks.”
Good. The guys will be back from Easter break by then. “Maybe we’ll have something useful by then,” I say hopefully.
“Yeah, maybe.”
I hate the dejected tone in his voice. He’s always really low after he comes back from visiting the compound. Not that I can blame him, but I hate seeing him like this. He always seems so strong, like nothing could get to him, but underneath his rough exterior, he’s as vulnerable as the rest of us.
“You know what’s weird?” he muses. “I thought I saw Wilder’s dad there.”
“At the compound?”
“Yeah. I remember him from the engagement party, and I’m sure it was him. But what would he be doing there?”
“How does he even know about the compound?”
We lapse into silence and I can feel something tugging on my brain, a memory that I can’t quite pull to the surface. Thinking back over the very limited contact I’ve had with Benjamin Clearwater, I remember the night Wilder and I met him for dinner. Him blocking me in the bathroom. What he said.
I gasp as I lean up on Beck’s chest. “What if the deal he made with my parents was so he could have access to the recruits?”
Beck looks at me confused, not following. Right, probably need to explain it better.
“The night Wilder and I met him for dinner”—Beck’s eyes darken and his jaw clenches, remembering exactly what happened that night—“he said how I was older than his usual preferences.”
Beck’s face scrunches up in disgust, but understanding dawns. “You think he demanded access to the underage recruits as part of the business contract?”
“Why else would he be there? I don’t imagine it’s easy to get your hands on underaged girls, but our parents have a whole bunch of them just sitting at the compound. Nobody cares about them. No one is going to come save them. Hell, most of the guards have probably already taken their turn, so why not pass them around to one more person.”
My stomach revolts even as I say it, and the dejected look in Beck’s eyes confirms I’m right about the guards. “I’ve heard a few things on my visits,” he verifies in a hollow voice. I’m pretty sure the only reason I wasn’t violated in such a way was because of Lawrence. Not that I can be grateful to him for that small mercy, considering I’m pretty sure he’s the one that stuck me in that godforsaken prison in the first place.
“Well, at least we understand his motives now.” He sighs.
True. He’s just one more name to add to the list of fuckers I want to watch burn.
***
“So,” Emilia asks, waggling her eyebrows. “What’s it like to be an engaged woman?”
We’re in the theater room, having our usual weekly movie session. Wilder decided to duck out of tonight. I think he realized I needed a bit of time with my friends, although I haven’t told Michael the truth, and having discussed it with the guys, we agreed that the less people who know, the better. No one outside of the six of us, Wilder and Emilia knows that the engagement is fake, and neither of us have any intention of going through with it. Unfortunately, that means I’m stuck pretending to be a happy bride-to-be tonight.
“Exactly the same as being un-engaged, except I have to cart this heavy rock around,” I joke, flapping my hand in front of her face.
I nearly died when Wilder presented it to me this afternoon. It’s legit worth more than anything I’ve ever owned, and it weighs a fucking ton. On the plus side, it would do a hell of a lot of damage if I decided to swing my left hand at some fucker's face. Small wins, I guess.
“You’re seriously going to marry him?” Michael scoffs, looking disgusted. He and Wilder don’t exactly see eye to eye, but I think Michael’s just jealous. He’s used to being the only guy in our group, and if he’s still harboring a bit of a crush—which Emilia thinks he is—then he’s going to be put out by Wilder’s sudden appearance.
I shrug. “It’s mostly a business arrangement, but I mean, I can think of worse people to marry.”
“He’s definitely hot enough,” Emilia agrees. “And rich. Other than being a little weird, he’s the total package.” She sighs. Clearly, she’s given the idea of marrying him way too much thought.
“I thought you didn’t care about money?”
I look at Michael in confusion. “I don’t. I told you, it’s mostly a business deal.”
“Why do you care about agreeing to a business deal? You’ve hated the Princes and all the rich assholes in this place since day one, now all of a sudden you’re fucking them and marrying someone just like them?”
You could hear a pin drop in the room as Emilia and I gape at Michael, shocked at his outburst.
“It’s none of your business what I decide to do,” I snap back.
He scoffs, looking disgusted. “Then don’t have sex where anyone can see you.”
I mentally wrack my brain, trying to figure out who he could have seen me with, but dammit, I’ve had sex in a public space with both Mason and Cam. It could be either, or both of them.
Thinking back, I recall the night of the party when Cam and I snuck off into the forest. I was certain I heard someone in the trees that night, and when we came back, Michael was gone.
Gasping, I exclaim, “Was that you, that night in the forest? Were you watching us?”
“What the hell, Michael?” Emilia gapes.
“You’re just like everyone else here,” Michael yells, “a two-faced bitch.”
My jaw drops open in shock as I stare at him, flabbergasted, my fists clenched at my sides. “I’m not sure what I did to upset you,” I start, trying really fucking hard to keep my temper under control. “And I’m sorry if I hurt you, but you have no right to talk to me that way.”
Not waiting for him to dig himself any further into a hole, I storm out of the room.
“I can’t get over him,” Emilia fumes when she catches up to me on the path back to the dorms. “And he saw you with one of them? Do you know who?”
“I think it was Cam.” I sigh. “But that was weeks ago.”
“And he never said anything?” she gasps.
“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’, completely baffled at what the fuck just happened in there.
“Damn.”
Something in Emilia’s tone has me looking over at her. “What?”
She grimaces. “Well, he must be hurt and confused. He’s had a crush on you all year, then he catches you sleeping with someone you’ve spent half the year hating, and now you’re ‘happily engaged’ to someone else.”
Damn, the girl makes a lot of sense sometimes.
I sigh heavily, rubbing at my eyes with my fingers.
“I fucked up, didn’t I?”
“Maybe a little, but he fucked up massively tonight. He should have just talked to you.”
If the asshole wants to apologize and explain himself tomorrow, then fine, but otherwise, he can go fuck himself.
***
The next day, the guys all leave for Easter break. They’ll be staying at their parents' houses for the next week as it’s closer to the offices. None of us are happy about being separated, but I’m hopeful this will be the perfect opportunity for us to gain some leverage. It has to be, otherwise I’ve no idea what we’re going to do.
“Don’t go anywhere alone,” Hawk reiterates for like the ninetieth time. “And don’t go out in the dark.” I roll my eyes behind his back as he lifts his ba
g off his bed. “In fact, just spend all of your time with Beck. He won’t have any sessions so he can entertain you.”
“You realize I’m not a puppy or a child, right?”
“I’m being serious,” he snaps, piercing me with a deadly look.
“So was I.” When he continues to glower at me, I sigh. “Okay, I promise. I won’t so much as insert a tampon without telling Beck.”
His face blanches. “Gross,” he grumbles.
I grin brightly, bouncing over to him and throwing my arms around him. “I’m gonna miss you, big bro.”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second before returning my hug. “I’ll miss you too, little sis,” he mutters, sounding reluctant, but I know it’s all an act. We’ve made heaps of progress in the last few weeks and I really am going to miss the ornery fucker.
It takes forever to say goodbye to the other guys—mostly because Cam refuses to let me go—but with one final kiss, they all head out, and as the door closes behind them, my shoulders slump.
“None of that,” Beck chastises, pulling me back against him. “We have the whole apartment to ourselves. I bet we can’t have sex in every room before they come back.”
Laughing, I turn around in his embrace. “Oh yeah? I’ll take that bet.”
I press up onto my toes, fusing my lips to his, wondering what room we should start this bet in. Hmm, the sofa’s the closest, so living room it is.
Despite my teasing of Hawk, I spend pretty much every moment of the next week with Beck. The guys check in frequently, and they send me plenty of sexts and dick pics which I use as fuel to win my bet with Beck. We don’t talk much about whether or not they’ve managed to find anything useful, preferring to wait until we’re all back together in person to discuss it, but as the holidays draw to a close, excitement at seeing them all again and possibly being able to take some actual steps forward with the plan to take down our parents, has me bouncing around like a madwoman.
I’m in the guys’ apartment—where I’ve basically sequestered myself for the last week, under the guys’ orders—with Wilder. We’re trying to watch a movie, but I just can’t sit still.
“Sunshine,” he gripes. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“Sorry. I’m just so sick of being in this apartment, and the guys are coming back tonight, and it just feels like it’s been forever.”
He chuckles, shaking his head at me. “Ah, to be in love.”
“Shut up,” I grouse, punching him hard enough to give him a dead arm.
Flicking off the TV, he turns to me. “Right, well, if you aren’t going to let me watch my movie, you can at least teach me some of those knife wielding skills of yours.”
I cock a brow. “You wanna learn how to stab your daddy in the hand?”
“Or anyone else who crosses me.” He gets that dark psychotic look in his eyes, that should probably be a warning not to teach the guy to use sharp weapons, but, well, I’m bored and I haven’t gotten to play with my knife in ages.
I spend the rest of the afternoon teaching him how to properly hold a knife and the best body parts to aim for, if you want to do the most damage. The throat is a nice, bloody one, but it doesn’t have to be messy. A well-aimed slice through the ribs is relatively blood free and will pierce a fucker’s lungs. They’ll be drowning in their blood in no time. Likewise, a nick to the spleen will have the blood pouring out into their abdomen so fast they won’t even know what happened. The femoral artery is another good one, albeit the blood spray is just as impressive as the carotid. It also doesn’t have to be all about the deadly blows. A slice to your opponent's Achilles will have them crashing to the ground, unable to walk. Similarly, if you go through the back of their knee, you can tear through their ligaments and really fuck up their leg. If you’re looking to do lasting damage to their upper arms, then going through their armpit and destroying their brachial plexus will have them losing all feeling and function in that arm. There are just so many ways to beat down and kill your opponent with a knife. That’s why it’s my favorite weapon.
We set up a target against one wall and I get him to practice throwing. It’s a lot harder than it looks, and the first few times—despite his cocky attitude—he throws it all wrong and the handle ends up tearing through the paper target.
I can see, with every new trick I teach him, questions grow in Wilder’s eyes. He’s most likely wondering how I know all of this. Yeah, some of it you can probably pick up, but as I get caught up in the comforting feel of palming my knife and twirling it in my hand, I think he picks up on the fact I’m more than just self-taught. Thankfully, he keeps his questions to himself. That’s the great thing about Wilder. He never oversteps the mark. Even if he did ask a question, he’d just laugh and shrug it off if I told him to mind his own business.
I’m laughing my ass off as Wilder misses the target again, his inability to hit it getting to him as the color rises in his face, when my tablet pings.
Retrieving it from where I plugged it in to charge in the kitchen, I notice a message from Michael. I haven’t heard from him since he blew a gasket in the movie theater. He’s been keeping his distance from me and vice versa. I figured I’d let him cool off and he’d come to me when he was ready to talk.
Michael: Can we meet? I think we should talk, and I need to apologize.
I guess he’s ready to talk.
Chapter 24
This week has been the week from Hell. When our parents said we would be working for them over Easter, I thought it would be boring business meetings at the office and horrifying visits to wherever they keep and train their mercenaries, but nope. Since my dad is no longer around to do his part, I have to step up. Apparently, as part of his job, he would take quarterly trips to Black Creek. Without him around, no one else has been able, or is willing to go in his place, so I was the lucky sod that was tasked with coming.
I’ve spent most of the week here, meeting with shady fuckers. I was told to collect the packages, and that’s it. I’m not allowed to open them or ask questions. Literally just pick up the packages. So I’m basically a glorified delivery man. But every time one of the crazy-eyed druggies hands me the parcel, I’m torn between needing to know what’s inside and feeling like I’d be better off if I never found out.
“This place is disgusting,” I grumble, sneering at the sticky bar table that I’m fairly certain is going to give me hepatitis. I’ve never missed home more than I have in the past few days. The G&T is a rundown shack of a strip club, and even though it’s barely midday, the place is packed with what looks like homeless vagrants, but I’m pretty sure it’s just the way the people here look—gaunt and skeletal, like they’re barely surviving. I naively assumed G&T stood for gin and tonic, but after making a passing remark about how it didn’t make sense that they didn’t stock any gin, the bartender informed me it stood for guns and titties. Makes much more sense, especially when I snuck a glance around the bar and realized how many guys had a gun stuffed down the back of their jeans. Some even have them sitting out in the open on their table while they lean back in their chairs, warily observing their surroundings. Obviously carrying a firearm is a requirement in Black Creek.
The bodyguard I was assigned chuckles. His eyes never leave the crowd, though, roaming over everyone, constantly assessing for possible threats. He looks far more at ease here than I do, although, being one of our parents’ trained mercenaries, he’s as broad as I am, so the two of us stick out like sore thumbs.
According to Barton, my dad never came here alone. A bodyguard was always assigned to him for personal protection, but I’m not sure if that’s the truth, or if it’s just our parents' way of keeping an eye on me while I’m up here. Either way, I’ve been careful to watch what I say around him. For the most part, we’ve gotten along fine. He doesn’t talk much, so it’s hard to get a read on him.
“Aye, it’s a shithole, but it spits out the best recruits.”
I have to squash my look of disbelief as I look around
at the people sipping their drinks and hollering at the half naked women on stage. No one stands out as being mercenary material here. They’re all druggies or alcoholics, skin and bone with zero muscle mass. No way is anyone here like the men they had attack us at Christmas.
“If you say so.”
“Not people like this.” The guy looks unimpressed at the riff-raff in the room. “But, yeah, there’s a lot of untapped potential in Black Creek.”
Cryptic. I don’t dare ask him anything further, despite the number of questions dancing on my tongue. I can’t be sure he won’t report anything back to our parents, and I also don’t know how much he thinks I know. He’s more likely to let something slip if he thinks I already know everything our families are up to.
We sit in silence for a while longer, the guard constantly assessing the room. We’re in this dingy bar to meet some guy who apparently has information for me that I need to take back to our parents, but I don’t know who the fuck he is or what information he has, so I guess we’re stuck here waiting until he shows up.
The crowd gets riled up, shouting and hollering when the music switches and a new dancer comes on stage; I’m guessing she’s their favorite.
Following their gazes, I look up to the stage where a skinny girl, a few years older than me, with perky tits and a nice ass, not to mention long coppery-red hair that I’m sure most guys can imagine twisted around their fist as they fuck her, sways her hips seductively. She doesn’t do it for me personally, but I can see why she would be a favorite among the men.
A greasy-haired man in a ratty trench coat approaches our table, gesturing with his head for us to follow him. Without question, the guard gets to his feet, indicating I should go in front of him as we follow the guy into a back room. It must be soundproofed as the noise from the bar dies as soon as he closes the door. I can only imagine what this room is used for, and I make sure not to touch any of the furniture or walls.
