Done Deal (Arcadia High Anarchists Book 5)

by Max Henry

  She’s screwed.

  And everyone knows it.

  TUCK

  “Oh, Tuck. Good.” Mrs Epsom slows her roll, arms swinging at her sides as she hastens across the yard. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Mick around?”

  I thumb back to where Beau and I have come from. “He’s next to the bonfire.”

  “Brilliant.” She sets off again at a decent clip.

  “Well, that was weird.” Beau watches Maggie’s mum disappear around the side of the shed, and the turns to follow me. “Should we be concerned?”

  “Don’t think so.” I focus on the lights at the door of the homestead. “Although it still seems strange that we haven’t seen Johnson or Ed yet.” I turn my head and squint, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness beyond. “Wonder what they’re doing?”

  Beau lifts his phone, frowning at the screen before he hoists it over his head and does the where-the-fuck-is-the-signal walk. I fold my arms and widen my stance, waiting while he does figure eights and backtracks over the same ground at least twice before giving up with a sigh.

  “Technology is overrated.”

  I chuckle. “You overlook that these things get developed by people who live in a city. They forget that there are people like us who live out in the real world where there isn’t a cell tower every four blocks.”

  “Be so much simpler if Dee let us use her WIFI.”

  “Even simpler if we do it the old-fashioned way and ask around.” I hook an eyebrow. “But first, you think we should see if the girls are inside?”

  “I’m sure they’re fine.” Beau shrugs. “Maggie’s mum would have said, otherwise, right?”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” The house seems quiet, but then it is a big place, and there’s plenty of noise coming from the bonfire.

  My gut tells me that I had the right idea seeking Lacey out, but then my head argues that’s just because I’m a dominating prick who wants to know where his woman is at all times. Seen my father drive my mother nuts doing that; don’t intend to be the same.

  “We’ll find the idiots first,” I decide, taking the lead toward the same paddock as the girls.

  If they’d been at the bonfire, we would have seen them in our travels. Plus, Mick did say they headed toward the road, so this seems like the right direction.

  “Have you heard from them since they left Lacey’s?” Beau shrugs his jacket higher, unhooking the hood of his sweatshirt beneath to tug it over his head.

  “Nope.” I shunt my hands in pockets to keep them warmer, wishing I’d brought something more substantial than the holey jumper that’s been in my truck for months. “I just— I mean, when the hell did it happen that we went off on two completely different tangents about this shit?”

  Beau shrugs, pushing up on his toes as he walks to see over a beaten-up station wagon. “Dunno.”

  “You were there at the pub this morning. We talked about what we were going to do.”

  “Yeah.” He tips his head to one side. “But I didn’t hear him agree to it.”

  “True.” I check down a row of vehicles and only come up with one couple making out on the back of the dude’s car. “It sucks is all.”

  “That you lost control of him?”

  I meet Beau’s raised eyebrows with a hard stare. “What do you mean, control? You think I bossed him around?”

  He shrugs, stepping forward to duck between two utes. “You did tell him what to do a lot.”

  “Because I was protecting him.”

  “From what?”

  I sigh, pausing in the middle of the field to tip my head back to the sky. “Himself.” The stars are sparse tonight, dotted in the breaks between the invisible clouds.

  I should have Lacey out here with me. We should be rugged up under a blanket laughing at our friends making dumbarses of themselves, but instead, I’m on a scavenger hunt for my former best friend and the relative stranger I call Ed.

  What the fuck happened these past months?

  In a way, I get the hatred some feel toward Lacey and Colt. Before them, we were in a kind of routine. Sure, shit wasn’t perfect, but we knew what was expected of us and went about our days on the predetermined course set down by either our parents or ourselves.

  And then the Williams siblings arrived.

  Everything changed.

  All our harboured guilt, secrets, and betrayals flooded to the damn surface and stayed there like rain on the sun-parched land. Big, muddy puddles that you couldn’t help but step in if you wanted to move forward.

  I don’t hold it against her; never will. She inadvertently made us all face our shit and own up to the damage we individually caused.

  By being brave enough to stand up for herself, she taught us to do the same. And yeah, maybe a few of us will never be as close as we were, but at least we avoid having the lies and pain festering beneath the surface, rotting us from the inside out.

  “There, the fuckers are.” Beau takes off toward something only he can see.

  I heave a deep breath, allowing the chilled night air to scour a path down to my lungs that reminds me where I am and what the fuck I’m here to do.

  Past the last line of cars and trucks, and toward the road, I finally spot what Beau makes a beeline for.

  Ed stands on our side of the three-rail fence, arms resting on the capping. Cate perches beside him, feet propped on the top line of timber. They watch Johnson from a relatively close distance, seemingly silent while he crouches beside the open door of a small European hatchback.

  “Who’s he talking to?” I ask, finally catching up to Beau.

  “Don’t recognise the car.” He lifts his chin to acknowledge Cate when she turns to see who approaches.

  I stop alongside Ed, matching his stance as I run my eye over the deep blue Peugeot. “What have you got here?” Possibly a lost Riverbourne attendee? A new face in Arcadia? It could be anything.

  “Her name is Gayle.”

  Gayle. I feel as though I’ve heard that somewhere before.

  “Mandy asked her to come out here.”

  “Really?” I glance around. “Where is she?”

  “Looking for Lacey.” He stares straight ahead, never once turning his head to acknowledge me.

  “She’s at the house.”

  Beau steps up on the bottom rail beside Cate, gaining Johnson’s attention. He regards our group and then returns his focus to the girl in the car. She’s small, or maybe it just seems so when she’s seated in a little car like that with all of Johnson’s bulk over-shadowing her. Short, dark hair, and cautious eyes as she peers out at our line-up.

  “She’s from Riverbourne, right?” I ask anyone who’ll care to answer. “Her name’s familiar.”

  “Should be,” Cate says quietly, leaning forward to whisper the next part to me. “She’s the girl who got inked.”

  Holy shit. That’ll be why her name rang bells. “Did Lacey know she was coming?”

  “Don’t think so,” Ed grumbles. “Why? Think she deserved time to plan her lines?”

  “Knock it off,” Cate chides. “You know Lace had nothing to do with that.”

  “Colt admitted even he didn’t know the whole plan,” I add as though that’ll make all the fucking difference when the shit that they did to Gayle was that bad. “Why’s she just sitting here?”

  “She’s nervous,” Ed explains as plainly as though he describes an unbroken horse. “Johnson’s trying to talk her around.”

  It appears to work a little when he stands to allow Gayle out of the car. She fidgets with the cropped jacket she has on, tugging it down over some soft knitted jumper thing with a super deep V-neck. The girl looks classy, despite being all of seventeen at most.

  At least she had the sense to wear flat-soled boots.

  “We’ll start at this end,” Johnson says, gesturing to Beau. “This dark horse is Beau. Don’t let his quietness fool you; he sees everything.” Our boy Maun gives Gayle a wink. “Next is Cate. She’s harmless, despite ro
cking the badass style.”

  “Hey.” Gayle lifts a hand to them both.

  “Then you have Ed. Bull-rider, bronc-breaker. He’s about as country as you can get.”

  “Sounds exciting.” Gayle smiles, yet there’s no swoon like most chicks. She seems genuinely curious.

  “And lastly, Tuck.” Johnson’s gaze meets mine, and he holds it for a beat before adding, “He’s reliable as fuck, and sometimes bossy, but he means well.”

  It was an olive branch. A few words useless on their own, but he could have chosen to say anything about me. Instead, he used it to offer the apology he can’t voice straight up.

  “Glad you came,” I tell her honestly even if I don’t understand why.

  “What the fuck is taking Mandy so long?” J asks Cate.

  She shrugs, moving to swing one leg over the fence so she can hop down on the right side. “Dunno.” Her boots hit the grass, and she straightens to address Gayle. “Lock your car, honey, and we’ll shoot up to the homestead.”

  Gayle grins, seemingly amused by how cliché half of what Cate just said sounds. “Okay.”

  We mill around and wait while she secures the Peugeot, Johnson then helping her to climb the capped fence. There would be a gate no more than twenty metres to the left of us if he wanted to make it easy on her. But with tight jeans like those on, I’d probably make her climb over too. Dirty dog.

  “So, Mandy invited you out to hang with us, huh?” I aim for subtle, yet the look Ed gives me says otherwise.

  “She wants me to see that I’m welcome out here any time I want an escape.” Gayle tucks both hands beneath her arms, hugging herself tight.

  The ink isn’t visible thanks to her layers, but I imagine it must be one hell of a mind fuck to face it every damn day in the shower, or while you dress. Forever reminded of that fucking night when summer rolls around, and you can’t wear short sleeves or a dress as it may be for a chick.

  She stumbles in the knotty grass, her eyes not as accustomed to getting around under the moonlight as ours. Johnson reaches out, grabbing her by the arm to provide stability for the rest of the walk to the yard.

  I sneak a glance when we hit the hard dirt and gravel, curious to see if he lets go.

  He doesn’t.

  Willow emerges from the stained-glass framed entrance as we approach the house, followed by a limping Ingrid.

  Both Gayle and Ingrid freeze like bunnies in the spotlight, eyes locked on one another.

  “What are you doing here?” They say the same thing at the same time.

  “You first,” Ingrid instructs, using Willow as a partial shield.

  “I was invited.” Gayle moves a fraction closer to Johnson. “You?”

  The redhead shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly invited, but nobody’s told me to leave either, so…”

  Awkward silence ensues.

  “Where are you two off to?” I ask.

  “We’re heading out to look for the others,” Willow states, glancing over my shoulder. “Seen them?”

  “Not since we got here.”

  “What others?” Johnson frowns.

  “A few of the Riverbourne crew are here,” Ingrid explains. She looks pointedly at Gayle. “The Chosen.”

  I swear I heard Gayle swallow. “Who?”

  “Christian, Barrett, Greer.” Ingrid offers a smile. “They won’t do anything to hurt you. I promise.”

  “Bit of an empty promise coming from you, right?” Ed steps forward, eyeing Ingrid’s strapped ankle. “If I heard the story right, she got mauled because of you.”

  “She wasn’t exactly mauled,” Ingrid protests weakly, shrinking behind a reluctant Willow.

  “What would you call it then?” Gayle asks, her voice strong and sure.

  “Tortured,” Johnson answers. “You don’t need to stick around and argue this bullshit,” he tells Gayle. “Let’s go inside.”

  He carefully guides her past the girls, shielding Gayle from Ingrid with his body.

  He needn’t worry. Ingrid looks as though she’d invert on herself if she could, she wants to hide that bad.

  “Don’t suppose you saw any of them?” Willow asks with a forced smile.

  “Nope.” Beau heads after Johnson. “Try the bonfire, though.”

  “We just came from the cars,” I elaborate, “and they weren’t there.”

  “Thanks.” With a take-no-shit tug, Willow urges Ingrid forward and out of the fray. “We better go find them before Maggie’s mum gets back with Amber’s dad.”

  “Step-dad,” Ed corrects.

  “Why does everyone keep driving that point home?” Ingrid asks, using Willow as a leaning post with one hand on her shoulder.

  “You’ll understand when you see it.” I nod toward her foot. “If it’s giving you grief, perhaps you should leave Willow to do this on her own?”

  “I’m good.” Ingrid gingerly touches the ground. “Picked the wrong shoes.”

  “They’re trainers,” Cate states, frowning down at her running shoes.

  “Yeah, but the soles are super thin, and I feel, like, every rock and stone out here. I’ve almost rolled my ankle twice already.”

  “It’s a hard life being soft of foot,” Willow drones, eyes skyward. “Come on, hoppity. We’ve got rich pricks to hunt.”

  TUCK

  “There you are.” Willow picks her way through the uneven grass, clearly concerned with the cleanliness of her custom Chucks. “We need you all at the house.”

  Ingrid lags, holding herself up at a fencepost, injured foot off the ground.

  “What’s going on?” Maggie asks, stepping up beside me.

  “Colt’s sister has Amber cornered.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” I abandon the rest of the group and push off the front of the ute I’d been using as a leaner.

  “What’s the rush?” Christian calls out behind me.

  I don’t bother to stop or answer; Maggie can explain to the others.

  Reaching Ingrid, I glance down at her ankle and hesitate. “Is it actually sore, or are you milking it for the new audience?”

  She frowns, lips set in a firm line. “It hurts, Colt. Don’t be a dick.”

  I should leave her here, but she showed guts coming out to Arcadia and staying when Libby left. I respect her for that. It can’t be easy to show face and admit you were wrong when you’ve done nothing but make enemies with everyone here.

  “Get on.” I crouch beside her.

  “Pardon?”

  “Now, Ingrid,” I bark. “I don’t have time to fuck around.”

  “Wait up.” Greer arrives the moment Ingrid finally decides to obey. “What the hell? Get off him.”

  “I asked her to.” My eyes connect with Greer’s, and I silently demand she leaves it alone.

  She scowls, marching off ahead as I bundle Ingrid on my back and begin the trek back to the house. As cute as her jealously is, I don’t have time for bitch-fights when my sister has started one of her own.

  “Gayle’s here,” Ingrid murmurs beside my head. “I saw her heading inside with the cowboys when we came out to find you guys.”

  “What the fuck?” Could this shit get any more complicated? “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I guess she got the invite same as everyone else.”

  “And came alone?” I scoff. “Unlikely. This stinks of Libby.”

  “Eh, I don’t think so.”

  Twisting my head at an unnatural angle, I glance up at Ingrid. “Why not?”

  “First, Libby wouldn’t let some pleb do her bidding and get all the fun out of it. And second, if you were Gayle, would you trust a thing Libby says?”

  She has a point. “No.”

  By the time our feet hit the veranda, the remainder of the gang has caught up. I drop Ingrid, possibly a little harder than I should in my haste, and lead the group inside.

  Shocked as shit doesn’t begin to cover how I feel when I lay eyes on our father overseeing this heated debate. Does he condone this?

&nbs
p; “—never gave us a chance to explain,” Lacey hollers to an enraged looking Amber.

  The bleached blonde rolls her eyes, flat out ignoring my sister’s tirade. Sure enough, Gayle stands in the corner with Johnson, eyes wide and looking as though she’s wondering what the fuck she stepped in on.

  “What the actual hell is going on in here?”

  “Colt.” Dad intercepts my approach, frowning as the remainder of our ever-growing party fills the room. “We’re waiting for Amber’s step-father to arrive, and then we’re putting this dispute to bed once and for all.”

  Dee sits frozen at the table, sandwiched between Amber at the closest end and Cate at the other. Mandy hovers over Amber’s shoulder, arms folded, and leant back against the wall while she oversees.

  At first glance, it seems as though the Arcadia girls stick together. But as the seconds pass by, it becomes irreverently clear that the better three surround Amber as protection—in equal parts for her and from her.

  “She says that we’re the ones who bully her,” Lacey complains, diverting her attention to me. “She’s so damn pig-headed that she can’t take fault for any of this.”

  “Not can’t,” Amber retorts. “Won’t.”

  Lacey’s eyes are already red, and her cheeks flushed how they do when she’s agitated. I see my frustration mirrored in her, the exhaustion, and the anger.

  “Let her dad arrive—”

  “Step-dad,” no less than three of the onlookers correct, including Johnson.

  “Step-dad,” I repeat. “And then we can talk about this fairly, okay?”

  I don’t like the girl. Never once found a redeeming quality in the brat. But having everyone in this room on the opposing side? Yeah, that’s not fair.

  “I don’t even know why we have to do this,” Amber gripes, stretching one arm across the table and then resting the side of her head on it. “The lot of you should go home and butt out of my business.”

  “By firmly shoving yourself in everyone else’s business,” Tuck snaps, “you made yourself our business.”

  “Actions have consequences,” Dad firmly tells her. “And none of us parents would be worth much if we let you run riot without.”