Hidden (The Scions Book 1)

by Gemma Weir

  Hidden. The Scions: Book One

  Copyright © 2019 by Gemma Weir

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover design by Rebel Ink Co

  Interior design by Rebel Ink Co

  Contents

  Also by Gemma Weir

  Scion

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Gemma Weir

  Echo (Archer’s Creek #1)

  Daisy (Archer’s Creek #2)

  Blade (Archer’s Creek #3)

  Echo & Liv (Archer’s Creek #3.5)

  Park (Archer’s Creek #4)

  Smoke (Archer’s Creek #5)

  * * *

  Hidden (The Scions #1)

  Found (The Scions #2)

  For everyone out there who isn’t as okay as they pretend to be.

  Scion

  * * *

  noun

  Sci-on

  Definition

  DESCENDANT, CHILD especially: a descendant of a wealthy, aristocratic, or influential family

  HEIR sense: scion of a railroad empire

  Smile.

  Walk.

  Drink.

  Don’t look at them, don’t make eye contact, don’t let them see.

  It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.

  I hate these parties. I hate the crowds of kids who stare at me, silently judging because for some reason they all think they want to be me.

  I hate the crush of bodies, as a hundred people all try to squeeze into a room only big enough for thirty.

  I hate how loud the music is and how I never know what to do with my hands.

  I hate that I hate it so much, when every other person around me is laughing and smiling and enjoying themselves.

  I hate that I’m the only person pretending.

  Someone jostles my arm and the drink I’m holding splashes from my cup, spilling onto my stomach and the leg of my jeans.

  “My bad,” a voice slurs from behind me.

  I glance at my wet jeans, then turn to look at whoever knocked me. A glassy-eyed junior stares back at me, his drunken leer falling from his face when he realizes who I am.

  “Fuck, Nova. Shit,” he hisses, his eyes nervously glancing from side to side. He’s probably searching for my brother. Zeke and I drive each other crazy, but I’ve lost count of the times he’s kicked someone’s ass just for looking at me the wrong way.

  “Benny,” I sneer, my practiced bitchy expression firmly in place.

  “I’m sorry, Nova. Fuck, let me get a towel,” he says, his words a panicked rush.

  “Go away.” I snap, blinking at him slowly and dismissing him with a curl of my lips and flick of my wrist.

  He nods, backing away as quickly as he can, stumbling over his feet in his haste to leave.

  My friend Brit laughs coldly. “Did you see his face? I think he actually pissed his pants.”

  I force a cold, fake smile onto my lips, but I don’t say anything. Instead, I look down at the liquid still coating my skin and grimace. “For fuck’s sake. I need to go clean up,” I mutter.

  I don’t wait for her to respond. I’m already walking away; my stride confident, my ass swaying from side to side with each step. When I’m only a few feet from the downstairs restroom, I see the line of ten people waiting and groan. Bypassing them, I head for the stairs, climbing them quickly. I don’t stop on the first landing, I keep climbing, making my way to the top floor and straight to Charlie’s bedroom.

  We dated for like a minute about a year ago and he’d brought me up to his bedroom in the eaves of the house and tried to feel me up on his bed. After dealing with his sloppy kisses and roaming hands, I’d dumped his ass before he even got to second base. Charlie might have been a dud as a boyfriend, but the one good thing that came from our brief relationship is that now I know where a private bathroom is whenever he throws huge parties like this.

  He always keeps his room locked—probably trying to make sure no one has sex on his sheets—but during our doomed make-out session he also showed me where he kept his key. I pull it out from its hiding spot behind a book on the shelf to the right of his bedroom and unlock the door, glad that horny teenage boys are stupid enough to share their secrets when they think they’re going to get laid.

  Locking the door behind me, I walk straight into his bathroom and wash the sticky soda from my belly, doing my best to dry the wet patches on my jeans where the drink splashed. Up here the music is only a muted, dull thud and for the first time since Brit and I walked through the door, I manage to inhale a full breath and let the fake smile fall from my face.

  I push down the lid of his toilet and sink down onto it, dropping my head into my hands and rubbing at my temples with my thumbs. Every nagging thought I’ve been fighting to keep at bay roars to life in the quiet room and I’m assaulted with one doubt after the next, until I can barely breathe.

  Why am I here?

  Are they staring at me?

  Do I look fat?

  Does everyone hate me?

  Should they hate me?

  Do I hate them?

  Can I go home?

  If I do will Brit bitch about me being boring?

  Should I go home?

  Should I hide?

  Can I stay up here?

  Should I leave?

  Do I look like the fake that I am?

  Over and over the thoughts slam into me, barraging me with anxious doubt, until all I can do to stop myself from screaming is to pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I try to breathe, try to quiet the never-ending fear and anxiety that’s clawing at my mind, but it’s too late and my brain is whirring at a hundred miles an hour.

  I inhale slowly, listening to the sound of my own breath. When my lungs are full of air and I’m convinced that I’ve forgotten how to breathe, I exhale as slowly as I can, pushing everything aside and forcing my body to focus solely on staying alive and not on the constant festering questions. I repeat the process five more times and feel the telltale burn of tears, but I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and refuse to let them fall.

  I’m not weak. I’m anything but fucking weak and I refuse to allow my emotions to get the better of me. I’m the daughter of a badass biker. I’m the princess of the Doomsday Sinners MC. I’m not this lost girl who hides in bathrooms and questions everything.

  Only that’s exactly who I am. I’m a simpering, pathetic mess and I hate it, but I just can’t make it stop.

  Dropping my feet to the floor, I finally open my eyes. When I find my reflection in the mirror, I stare at myself recognizing the fear and hopelessnes
s in my eyes. I look away. That’s not me, or at least it’s not who I want to be and it’s not who I show the world I am.

  To the kids at school, I’m shallow and vapid. I care more about the way I look than anything else. I’m nothing but a mean, pretty shell. This is who I tell them I am, the person I allow them to see. It’s who I have to be, because I can never let them see inside, never let them see the real me.

  Standing up, I force myself to look at my reflection again. This time I smooth my expression into the familiar mask I wear most days and firmly fix it in place. Long brown hair, shiny and poker straight; black shirt cropped beneath my breasts, exposing several inches of my flat, tanned stomach. Skintight jeans with perfectly placed rips at the knees; and a blank, expressionless, disinterested mask.

  I don’t have to study my face in the mirror. I know how I look. High cheekbones, straight nose, lips that are a little too full. I look like my mom; only in my eyes there are nothing but secrets, where hers have always been full of life and happiness.

  I wish I was more like her, but I’m not. My mom enters a room and she’s instantly at ease. Everyone loves her because she’s funny and smart and beautiful. People are drawn to her, but they shy away from me. My peers think I’m cold, mean and hard; only what no one realizes is that I’m none of those things. I’m just amazing at pretending.

  I’m Nova Stubbs, the princess of a biker club, darling to a group of dangerous men. No one would believe that I’m really weak and pathetic. But that’s exactly what I am. I’m small and scared and hiding. Always hiding.

  On the first day of middle school my dad drove me to school on his bike. It was huge, black and shiny, and the engine roared loud enough that every single person stopped and stared at us. Daddy was wearing his cut like he always does, and he’d lifted me off the back of the bike and kissed me goodbye, while the rest of the school watched us with a mixture of wonder and fear.

  What I didn’t know back then, was that my dad was playing his part too. He’s the big tattooed biker, scary and intimidating, and that day when he dropped me off, he made me untouchable. Every kid saw who I was and who my family was. It didn’t matter that the Sinners have been a part of Archer’s Creek for decades, or that the members kids have all gone to the exact same school as me. I was different.

  The day Zeke started, Daddy did the same for him and when the twins started, he took one and Uncle Blade took the other. He made us all untouchable; he made us different. From that very first day the kids in my class treated me like I was someone they should be scared of. They either chose to ignore me through fear, or they deliberately befriended me because they wanted to know about the dangerous men on the big motorcycles.

  On our first day of high school, me, Zeke, Emmy, and Griffin were dropped at school with an entourage of Uncle Sleaze, Uncle Daisy, Uncle Blade, Uncle Park, Uncle Smoke, and Duke. The noise of their bikes was so loud that every kid, parent, and teacher stopped and stared as we pulled up to the school.

  Maybe in a different school, in a different town this would have put a target on my back. Perhaps I would have been better if I’d insisted he let me ride the bus, but I knew that allowing him to tell the world I was protected by the force of the club would make my life easier.

  None of us have ever been bullied; who would dare? But although this segregation made us safe, it also made us vulnerable, and so the day I started high school I made myself become the person that my peers expected me to be.

  My dad is a badass, silent and stoic at times, terrifying and aggressive at others. To me he’s a marshmallow who calls me his ‘Princess’ and thinks the world starts and ends with my mom and us kids. But to every mean girl and horny boy, he’s someone not to be crossed and so that’s who I became too.

  I’m not a bully. I don’t prey on the weak, or torture the kids who make themselves easy targets. I’m equal opportunity: mean to everyone, and for some reason that’s made me top tier. My group of friends are the most popular kids at school, the ones the others are scared of crossing, and the ones everyone wants to be a part of. They all think they know me, but they don’t, and I can’t ever let them see who I really am.

  Pulling myself together, I force all of my anxiety down to that place inside of me where all of my fears and insecurities live. Then I lock eyes with myself in the mirror and watch as my lips move. “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me.” I say. “I can’t go home. I won’t leave my friends.”

  Friends. I almost scoff at the word. The only real friends I have are Emmy, my brother, and Griffin. The rest of them are friends in the loosest term. Some want to be me, some want the popularity that comes with being my friend. None of them really know me and they don’t want to.

  Rolling back my shoulders, I try to throw some confidence into my step as I exit the bathroom, unlock Charlie’s bedroom door and push it open. My brother Zeke is stood on the other side, his huge body rested against the wall, his eyes narrowed. Zeke is exactly one year and three weeks younger than me, but because he got pushed forward a grade in middle school, we’re both seniors, have the same friends and go to the same parties.

  “You okay?” He asks, worry wrinkling his brow.

  “I’m fine.” I say, as I move to walk past him.

  His arm shoots out and he stops me from passing. “Nova.”

  Sighing, I relax my tense shoulders and turn to face him. “Benny Hardman knocked me and I got soda on me. I just came upstairs to clean up because the line for the restroom downstairs was long. I’m fine.”

  “You have a moment?” He asks quietly.

  Zeke’s my brother. We fight, we piss each other off. Some days we can’t stand to speak to one another; but deep down, beneath all of the sibling crap, he’s my best friend. He’s one of the only people in the world who truly knows who I am. He gets me, he understands, and he loves me in spite of all the pretense.

  He only has to look at me, to know exactly what just happened. “Princess,” he says on a pained sigh, pulling me in for a hug. His huge arms, that are far too big for a seventeen-year-old boy, hold me tight and I feel his sad exhale against my head.

  “I’m okay,” I say into his shirt. But he knows me too well. He sees straight past my bullshit and he knows all of the thoughts that plague me.

  “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  “No,” I cry, pushing at his chest until he releases me.

  “Nova.”

  “No, Zeke. I’m not going home, I’m fine. Go find Briella and a room.”

  “Nova, don’t be like this. You hate these parties, you hate the crowds, and they make you feel shitty. So let me take you home and we can watch a movie in the basement. Mom went to the grocery store and she packed the freezer with ice cream. We can watch something so scary we almost piss ourselves and binge on Cookie Dough.”

  I waver, going home and eating ice cream sounds great right now.

  “Come on,” he coaxes. “Bri and I are done. I can’t deal with her drama anymore and she’s already pitched a fit and tried to dry hump Griff to make me jealous. I drove here, so I can’t have a drink and honestly, I was ‘bout ready to leave anyway.”

  “Brit drove, so she has her car,” I think aloud.

  Zeke’s arm drops across my shoulders and before I can say anything else, he’s leading me down the stairs and into the party again. When people notice us, they clear a path, because everyone knows who we are. I’m Queen Bee and Zeke’s the star football player, and we’re a son and daughter of the Doomsday Sinners MC.

  No-one questions why we’re leaving a party when it’s barely 11pm. We come and go as we please, and no one ever expects us to explain ourselves. Hell, if we announced we were going to another party, every kid in this place would be in their car and following us in a matter of minutes.

  My brother feels the moment my mask slides back into place and his arm falls from me. My shoulders roll back and I let my haughty, disinterested expression cover my face, as I glide through the room like every single person
except my brother is completely beneath me.

  Brit appears at my side, her tits almost falling from her low-cut shirt as she struts to keep pace. “Where are we going?”

  “Nova and I are out,” Zeke says, answering her question before I get a chance. “Bri and I broke up and she’s being dramatic. If the group leaves, she’ll follow, so you guys stay here, and keep her crazy ass confined. I don’t want her showing up at my house in the middle of the fucking night again.”

  Brit is one of my closest friends. She’s a shallow bitch, but she’s honest about it and I love that about her. But as I watch her stare up at my brother longingly, I realize that maybe she’s a little in love with him. She isn’t his type and I think I’ll need to have a chat with her about how making a play for him would be stupid.

  “Okay, we’ll keep her here and throw her in Lance’s direction. Maybe she’ll go for him next and leave you alone,” she says with a drunken giggle. “Nova, I’ll call you.”

  “Bye, Brit.” I say, never slowing my pace, my gaze now firmly fixed on the front door and escape. Our best friend Griffin—another one of the Sinners kids—falls into step with Zeke, but when he sees that we’re leaving he quickly falls back, saluting us with a grin as he scoops a girl into his arms and twirls her around.

  The partygoers stop and stare at Zeke and I as we leave, watching us like we’re exhibits in a zoo. When we get to his car, he unlocks the doors and I climb in, not allowing my calm expression to drop until we’re a mile down the street and away from the party and all of our friends.

  “No one would care if you let the perfect little ice princess act go.”

  “We both know that’s not true,” I say sadly, staring out of the window at our small town as Zeke drives us home.