Saintsville

by Brittani Louise Taylor

  “What?” Maggie asks, checking her makeup in a small compact.

  “Nothing….”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Noticing that Eve’s focus seems to be on what’s behind them, Maggie whips around, sees their neighbor’s car, and gasps.

  “Fuck yeah!” Maggie exclaims, winking at Eve.

  “You know our windows aren’t tinted,” Eve points out. “They can see you right now.”

  “Let them look….”

  Maggie leans on the seat back, flashing a seductive smile.

  From within the other car, Maggie watches as the younger male’s mouth turns up ever so slightly.

  He is smiling too.

  There is absolutely nothing impressive about this school. Located smack dab in the middle of two farms, it’s oddly out of place. There are cornfields on either side, and a large, square, pink stone building. There are also a few—also pink—smaller buildings hugging a football field. Realizing that, apparently, the school’s mascot is an angel—Saintsville, Saints—Maggie guesses it makes sense. A terrifying, biblical-looking man with large wings is painted on the outside of the main entry.

  Judging every soul that enters.

  Probably judging her pink eyeshadow, which she now regrets wearing.

  The parking lot could hold maybe fifty cars, max. But as the students pour off the typical yellow bus, Maggie is led to believe that a lot of her peers choose not to drive. Or, more than likely, their uptight parents don’t let them. Eve had floored it the moment Maggie had gotten out, abandoning the teenager to her fate.

  God forbid Eve wasn’t twenty minutes early to her first day at Jill’s.

  Eve. Maggie always associates her sister with a puzzle. Too many pieces, and too many unturned.

  Maggie wonders if maybe her sister just needs to acquire a social life? If Eve actually had some friends, then maybe she wouldn’t be on Maggie’s back so much. Even a little romance could do her good, but Maggie has no clue what her sister is into. For all she knows, Eve could be a lesbian.

  No judgment there. Maggie is known for being fluid, appreciating beauty regardless of her latest infatuation’s gender. But Eve hadn’t gone on a date, had a crush, or hooked up with anyone since their parents’ disappearance, male or female. At least not to Maggie’s knowledge. And now, there were five of the hottest male specimens Maggie had ever seen in her life, living right next door to them, and Eve was treating the beefcakes like they were lepers. Or cavemen? Neanderthals who were going to club Maggie and Eve and drag them by their hair back to their cave.

  Not that Maggie would object.

  And she knows, without turning around, that one of the five is somewhere behind her.

  Maggie’s stomach tingles in excitement, hoping beyond hope that whoever he is, he will be in one of her classes.

  First period, according to the crumpled piece of paper she holds, is English. She already has her class schedule memorized, but holding it gives her something to do with her hands. Heading up the steps, she enters and locates her locker. A nerdy yearbook guy—Phil? Paul? Something with a P—gave her a tour last week. It was the only time Eve let her leave the house since their arrival, besides grocery runs, the laundromat, or random errands.

  His upper lip was sweaty, dressed in a checkered wool sweater and tan khakis, but that was all that Maggie really remembered. She had taken one look at his pants and burned his existence from her memory.

  Looking down the main hallway, her worst fears are confirmed.

  This school is too dang small. Phil-Paul told her that her arrival was very exciting, as they haven’t had a “new kid” in over a year. At least Eve was right about one thing. Saintsville did have more than 140 residents. Fifty years had passed since their town sign had been erected on the highway, and now they were up to a whopping 353. Amazing what you can find out when you’re bored and have Wi-Fi.

  Apparently, students from a neighboring town were bused in as well. So in total, the high school had a roster of around a hundred between all four grades.

  Thirty of those students being football players.

  So cliché. Small town. Football is king. Maggie feels like she is trapped in an episode of Friday Night Lights.

  Also apparently, Maggie is the only person here with a sense of style. Minus her mysteriously sexy neighbor.

  The girls are mostly wearing knee-length dresses. Or jeans and flowy floral tops. Their hair perfectly styled. Makeup, soft and dewy. Virginal.

  Maggie could vomit.

  Looking at the various bodies as she walks, there are a few that vary from the status quo. Like any school, there is a smattering of nerds and attention seekers. But for the most part, Maggie likens the females to wannabe beauty queens. And the males—button-down shirts with a clean-cut vibe. Lots of letterman jackets and hair gel. She doesn’t mind them as much, as they are wholesome and ripe for debauchery.

  All eyes are on Maggie as she makes her way down the hall.

  The more heads that turn—the more that people whisper, pointing straight at her—the more defiant she feels.

  Fine. If they want to stare, she is going to give them something to stare at.

  Passing a pretty blonde, with stick-straight shiny hair, Maggie can see that she is mid-laugh. Touching the arm of the jock in front of her, his crooked smile indicating that he is enjoying her advances. If Maggie had to guess, this female is popular. Spoiled, by the looks of her designer handbag and expensive clothing, a rarity in these parts. Maggie groans internally, knowing already that she and this girl are going to clash.

  Noticing Maggie, the freckled, wavy-haired, crooked-smile, letterman-jacket-sporting jock stops talking midsentence.

  Suddenly, the blonde no longer exists.

  Wondering what on earth could be so important, the popular girl locates the new girl, and instantly, she knows who has stolen her spotlight. Eyes narrowing, she scowls.

  It is almost as if Maggie can read the thoughts running through the blonde’s head. That she is a goth, or “alternative.” Someone new for her and her followers to gossip about. Maggie has only been at school for a few minutes, and already made her first enemy.

  Making matters worse, Maggie purposely locks eyes with the object of the blonde’s attention and flashes him a dazzling smile, passing them both. Taking a quick left, she locates the classroom for her first period. Once inside, Maggie’s relieved to find it empty.

  Heading straight to the back, she chooses a desk in the far-left corner. Not that there are many options, with the max capacity of the room at roughly twenty. Taking out her cracked cellphone, she puts in her ear buds, trying to drown out her agitation. Maggie usually likes attention, but that had been too much, even for her.

  Technically, she knows that cellphones are to be off except for lunch—she had lazily read through the classroom rules in her welcome packet, and that particular policy had stood out. But she highly doubts that she will be doled out detention on her first day.

  In her hallway escape, she has forgotten about the guy living in the house across the field. One of the five she’s been secretly watching this past week.

  That is, until a pair of black leather boots come into view.

  And she looks up.

  Eve looks up from the scalding coffee spilled on the floor and grinds her teeth. She’s worked as a barista before. In the language of latte and cappuccino she is fluent. But Jill’s espresso machine, which she fondly calls “Bertha,” well…Eve is convinced that her aunt’s apparatus is possessed. The hot water tap works for Jill, but when Eve tries it, the water is ice cold. Don’t even start Eve on the steam wand, which is already responsible for multiple burns, including the coffee spill that just occurred.

  She wants to quit and it’s only her first day.

  A plump man with a receding hairline and a rosy face waits patiently. He reminds Eve of Santa Claus, sans beard. Eve, mopping up the floor with a rag, notices him rocking back and forth on his toes. The poor man has been w
aiting over ten minutes, and Eve has yet to deliver him his hot mocha.

  “Hey, Mister Mayor. How are you on this fine Monday?” Jill, coming from the back, looks adorable in her red-and-white-striped apron, a splash of baking flour on one cheek. Her messy, Maggie-like curls are piled on top of her head as Jill continues to greet their other customers by name.

  Noticing her aunt, the Mayor’s already-red cheeks deepen.

  So far, during the hour that Eve has been working behind the counter, it seems that every customer who enters is courting her aunt. No wonder she has such a thriving business. Not an easy feat in this sleepy town, when most customers have easily a thirty-minute commute just for a scone and a cup of joe.

  Noticing her niece in distress and knowing the Mayor’s usual, Jill swiftly whips up his mocha and hands it over. Disappointed that their interlude is over, the Mayor leaves, indicated by the bells on the doors chiming as he exits. Eve is on her hands and knees, scrubbing. The pile of towels at her side are thoroughly soaked.

  “Honey, you need to show Bertha who’s boss. She’s a mean old bat, but I swear, this girl makes the best espresso…. Those new machines don’t come close!” she insists, patting Bertha fondly.

  Eve suppresses the urge to look at her aunt like she is insane. “I am so sorry, I’m trying!”

  “Don’t worry love, I’m going to go grab you a few more towels!” Jill offers with a warm smile. She heads into the back, leaving Eve to her misery.

  Chime. The door opens. The sound of multiple pairs of boots on the linoleum forces Eve to look up.

  Through the glass bakery case, she sees them.

  Four tall, tattooed, muscular, now-familiar faces.

  The neighbors.

  Chapter 8

  Shooting straight to her feet, Eve’s eyes are wide. She looks toward the back room, willing Jill to hurry back with the extra linens. Maybe she can make some excuse, head to the restroom, and hide until they leave?

  Anything to avoid interacting with…them.

  Eve’s sleek bun from that morning is now lopsided, pieces of loose hair hanging down around the bangs framing her face. The foam from the failed mocha is splattered throughout her locks, marring her simple dress as well. The four men approach, with the one with half his head closely shaved and braids taking the lead.

  Eve definitely doesn’t like the way he’s looking at her.

  Studying the menu for a moment, he then leans across the counter, closing the uncomfortable distance between them. Her heart is pounding.

  “Hi. Can we get four espressos? One a double shot?” His voice is gravelly and raspy. Provocative. “And your name? I believe you live next door, but we haven’t been properly introduced.”

  Eve can’t move. She knows she must look like an idiot, but try as she might, no words will come out her mouth. She and Maggie have spent the good part of the past week staring at these very humans, and now that they are right in front of her, she has no clue what to say.

  “Okay, there are more in the drawer next to the knives if you need them….” Jill begins to explain, but she doesn’t complete her sentence as she emerges from the kitchen holding a stack of towels. Her eyes narrow, spotting the threat before her.

  This side of Jill Eve hasn’t seen before. Her aunt turns cold. It’s obvious that they know each other, and Eve’s actually more terrified of Jill in this moment than the neighbors. Not looking at Eve, she tosses the rags onto the floor, the white fabric turning brown as they soak up her niece’s many mistakes.

  “Rowan….”

  “This place hasn’t changed much.” The man—is his name Rowan?—plays with the tip jar, brushing off Jill’s aggression.

  “What do you want?” states Jill, moving to stand securely in front of Eve.

  “Coffee.”

  “What do you really want?”

  With this he laughs, the other three remaining silent in the background.

  “I see you haven’t changed. And who’s the pretty girl behind you?”

  Eve rolls her eyes, her fear lessening. Suddenly embarrassed by her cowardice, she moves to stand beside her aunt.

  “Eve. I’m Eve. Jill, four espressos, one a double. I’ll ring them up.”

  Weighing her options, Jill decides to make their drinks. The sooner she’s done and they’re gone, the better.

  Now in front of the register, Eve presses the designated keys and accepts the cash handed to her. As she doles out his change, Rowan speaks again.

  “Aren’t you going to ask who I am?” Flirting, he leans further forward on the counter. Eve studies him for a moment. He’s pale—all of them are—but it doesn’t detract from his classic beauty. Chiseled cheeks, a full mouth and dark brown eyes. The blonde hair on the right side of his head is a combination of dreads and braids. Not readily apparent from their view from the attic had been the small metal charms woven throughout with care.

  “Jill called you Rowan. So I assume you’re Rowan…?” Eve suggests warily.

  “Bingo. The one with the glasses is my brother Martin. The angry guy in the middle is Tate, and the serious one on the right is our family’s firstborn, Luca. We, fair maiden, are the Quinns.”

  Anyone else calling her a “fair maiden” would have caused Eve to gag. But Rowan has a way of making every word he utters alluring.

  So, Eve and Maggie were right. They are all brothers.

  Taking a quick peek at the three behind Rowan, Eve is fascinated by their genetic similarities…but even more so by how much they differ. Martin seems shrewd, no-nonsense. His facial structure is akin to Rowan’s, but his jaw is square. Intelligent, dark blue irises in contrast to Rowan’s brown. She can tell, looking at Tate next, that he’s the broken one. Blue, like Martin, but his eyes are cold and menacing. Of the four she has met so far, he worried her the most. Tate is bigger, more muscular than his brothers. Stocky in frame with a thick neck, he reminds Eve of an ape.

  Lastly, locking eyes with Luca, her stomach flutters. He is the tallest of the bunch, his features more angled. Hawk-like. Almond eyes—a warm caramel brown—are studying her. His gaze is so intense that Eve’s cheeks flush, forcing her to look away.

  Changing her mind, she decides that Luca is, by far, her biggest threat.

  Slam. Four small paper cups make contact with the counter, causing Eve to flinch.

  With a salute, Rowan grabs the espressos and retreats.

  “Nice to see you, Jill. It’s good to be home!”

  Chapter 9

  Maggie is positively giddy.

  Looking up from her desk and into the face of the delicious young man before her, she’s suddenly glad that they moved. She is thankful for the dilapidated shack they call home. She fully supports every decision made by Eve that brought her to this moment. Like that, like a switch being flipped, things are finally looking brighter.

  If she would have known a month ago that male prospects like this existed? And that she would get the chance to try and seduce them? Her and her red curls would have bounced with joy all the way to Saintsville.

  None of this shows externally, of course, as she calmly leans forward onto her desk and smirks.

  Grinning back, he flashes his perfect white teeth. Deep dimples frame his full mouth. Up close, he’s even more handsome than she thought. With his flawless skin and shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair, half of which he has tied back. The intensity in his light brown eyes is mesmerizing as he crouches down before her. Reaching under her desk, he picks up a pen from the floor and sets it in front of Maggie.

  Taking out her headphones, she studies the generic ballpoint.

  “Sorry, not mine,” Maggie shrugs.

  “It is now,” he teases, sitting down in a seat beside her.

  “But what if I don’t want it?”

  Picking up the writing device, Maggie places it on his desk. His eyebrows raise as he reaches for the pen, giving Maggie a chance to study him more. Staring at his exposed arms, Maggie can tell they are defined and muscular, covered in
a complex pattern dominating the surface. To say his tattoos are unusual would be an understatement. In her experience, people’s ink usually had a random aesthetic. Mermaids, skulls, sappy inspirational quotes, favorite cereals. They were either spontaneous, or extremely personal in nature.

  The small thick lines with breaks in between, covering both of his arms, have no clear message. Angled various directions, they remind her of an intricate maze.

  “It’s not polite to return a gift,” he prods with mock annoyance, setting the pen back in front of her.

  “I don’t accept gifts from strangers,” Maggie taunts.

  “We’re not strangers.”

  “We’ve never met….”

  He holds out his large hand, and Maggie accepts, giving it a shake.

  “West.”

  “Maggie.”

  “So…you’re the girl in the attic.”

  “Well…shit.” Maggie mumbles, causing West to laugh.

  If Maggie would have known that they could see her, she wouldn’t have been so obvious in her reconnaissance. Neither she nor Eve had seen them look the direction of their shack once while they had been doing God knows what to that field. But West did seek her out today and is being straightforward about her spying. If he is creeped out by it, he isn’t giving her any indication.

  Maybe he is the voyeuristic type? She could work with that.

  A high-pitched female voice pushes into their conversation, forcing West and Maggie to turn.

  “You live in an attic? Wow…charming?”

  Maggie can’t help but groan, noticing the attractive blonde from the hallway planted firmly in front of them, her delicate features arranged in manufactured concern. Maggie hadn’t even noticed the classroom filling up, the seats now half occupied.

  She’d been too interested in West to care.

  “I’m Zoe,” says the pert blonde, to West only, gracefully seating herself in front of him. “You are…?” she continues.

  “West,” he mumbles politely, brushing her off.

  Good. Maggie takes his dismissal as a cue to continue with their previous banter.