by Anna Martin
Bright Young Things
Anna Martin
Copyright © 2020 Anna Martin
www.annamartin-fiction.com
© 2020 Anna Martin
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
First edition November 2014 (Dreamspinner Press) – released as Les faits accomplis
Second edition June 2020
Characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Any person depicted on the cover of this book is a model and is not affiliated with, nor do they endorse, this story.
Bright Young Things
by Anna Martin
Prologue: The Bet
New Harbor, Washington State, USA
September 2014
9:15pm
Adam swayed his head in time with Snoop and tapped his bare toe to the beat of the music. He was hazily high and sexually satisfied—some closeted kid had blown him in the linen closet an hour ago.
Parties at Chris’s house were almost as good as the parties Adam’s. New Harbor was a small town north of Seattle, situated on Whidbey Island on Puget Sound. The town had been developed surprisingly early in the history of the area and remained a pocket of conservative Republicanism in what was otherwise a fairly liberal state. Probably because of the sheer, mind-boggling wealth of its inhabitants.
There was a dusky sort of early evening heat hanging in the air that made chilling out on the porch perfect. The party was happening inside, but out here, in a rocker, watching the world go by in peace, was just about all Adam needed.
“Drink?”
He blinked and looked up into a pair of dark eyes framed with impossibly long lashes. Clare. Great. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her.
“What is it?” Adam demanded.
“Psh. Gin and juice.”
Gin and juice was pretty standard at Chris’s place. He was… old school. Or, he liked to think he was. Normally Adam would be wary of taking anything from Clare, especially drinks he hadn’t seen her pour. But the weed was making him blasé and actually, he wanted the damn drink.
Adam took the short glass, sipped at the clear liquid. When he was satisfied it was what she claimed, he swallowed the rest in one gulp, then handed the glass back to her.
“Thanks.”
A few moments later, she hadn’t moved. Adam regarded her lazily. “Can I help you?”
Clare smiled slowly.
Adam found himself in a hot tub with three beautiful women, something he was sure many men would envy. He wasn’t like most men, though. That much was clear to anyone who met him.
“So,” Adam said, sipping at another gin while the girls reclined in the gently bubbling water, breasts bobbing on the surface. “What can I do for you ladies?”
School started again in a week. This was the pre-party-party, the one where they could all let go for one last time before starting their senior year. The last time they’d ever rule the school. Until they got to college, of course.
Adam was going to Harvard. He’d said it so many times, it had become a given in the same way “tomorrow will be Saturday” was taken for granted, or “Adam likes getting his dick sucked.” He knew his grades were good enough, and even if they hadn’t been, his mom knew the right people. There was something to be said about getting into college on one’s own merits, though.
Clare sighed, quietly drawing attention to herself, and lifted a delicate champagne flute to her lips. “We’ve only got a year left. I want to have some fun, Adam.”
“So go have fun,” he said. “I don’t give a fuck what you do.” His head lolled back in the steamy water, and he grinned at the night sky.
“I thought we could play one of our little games.”
They had been playing Clare’s “little games” for years. It was how Mia had broken her arm back in eighth grade, and how Tristan got his first blowjob, and probably the reason why Nora fled town in tears only a year ago, convinced her house was haunted by an evil spirit and she was possessed.
For a while, Adam had refused to play. He’d made up his own fun, on his terms, and let Clare do her thing.
“What sort of game?” he asked, curious.
“Well, you know I told you about the new guy.” Adam gave her a carry-on-and-hurry-up gesture. “He’s gay.”
“Whoopie-do.”
“He’s a virgin.”
Adam laughed. “How the fuck can you know that?”
“The records from his counseling session at his last school.” She grinned, and sipped her champagne again. “His Daddy sent him to military school because Jared’s a raging homo. The one time he tried to play ‘drop the soap in the showers’ he got the shit beaten out of him by all the other boys who are successfully repressing their own homosexual desires. He didn’t try again after that. At least, that’s what he told his counselor.”
“All right, so what? You want me to fuck him? Oh God, is he really ugly?”
“He’s quite hot, actually,” Clare said. “Tall. Blond. Sort of surfer type, although I’m not sure he’s ever surfed. He plays soccer.”
“It’s truly terrifying how you know these things.”
Or it would have been if Adam hadn’t known almost all there was to know about Clare Metago. Under the veneer of cool disinterest, she had been worming her way into other people’s computers, lives, and heads for years. She was a hacker. And she did it in style.
“What’s in it for me?” Adam demanded.
“Other than the delight you’ll surely take in being his first?”
“I can have sex whenever I want,” he said dismissively. “You’re going to have to give me some incentive other than that.”
“How about,” she said, “something you’d never be able to get otherwise. Something totally priceless.”
Adam leaned forward, the water lapping around his waist.
“I’m listening,” he said.
Chapter 1
If Jared was surprised there was a party happening on a school night, he tried not to let it show. He’d only been in town for a few days, but he’d already figured out that he was going to need his poker face a lot.
“Party at Biggie’s,” Jared had been told while he leaned against the front bumper of his truck and smoked a rolled cigarette. “Be there or you’re nobody.”
That had been in the parking lot of the local Metropolitan Market. Jared had given the girl a withering look and not responded. The fact that she seemed to know who he was made him feel slightly uncomfortable, but it was a small town. There was no point in getting upset about it.
It took a couple minutes of Internet searching to find out who “Biggie” was and where he lived. Fortunately, he already had access to the school’s student forums, and he knew what to look for to get the information he needed.
Jared had driven out of town, then took a road that looked like it led nowhere. After ten minutes he almost turned back, convinced he’d been given false directions and someone, or a number of someones, were lying in wait to ambush the new guy.
He rounded another corner, and a huge white house came into view, lit up against the dark sky.
Mansion. Jared rolled the word around in his head. It was a motherfucking mansion.
There was a rhythmical thumping coming from the building that seemed to reverberate through the car, the source surely bass speakers of seriously decent quality. A few girls were smoking on the porch that wrapped around the front of the house. Another was already puking in the bushes.
Jesus Christ, Jared thought. It’s not even eight thirty.<
br />
He grabbed the bottle of Jack from the passenger seat and his rolling tobacco, stuffing the latter in his pocket before sliding out of the truck. There were a number of other cars already parked around the perimeter of the driveway, a fountain stuck ostentatiously in the middle. Audis, Mercedes, Jags, Bentleys. These kids knew how to play, considering none of them were out of high school yet.
Since he’d not been given an address for the party, let alone a dress code, Jared had gone with casual elegance in cutoff khakis and a denim shirt, the sleeves turned up to his elbows. Vans sneakers and his knitted beanie hat hiding his scruffy blond hair stopped it all from being too damn preppy. Being tall, Jared was always told to straighten his shoulders, stand with his chin up. He tended to hunch his shoulders.
Jared didn’t acknowledge the girls who stopped their conversation when he approached. Nor did he bother to knock on the door, instead letting himself into a party that already filled the enormous house with a mess of color, noise, and raging teenage hormones.
The music was coming from his left, so he headed right through an elegantly decorated living room to a kitchen at the back. The house was packed with people, all his age or slightly younger. Maybe one or two older college kids from UDub who had decided to join them.
Jared smacked the bottle of Jack ceremoniously on the center island and looked around.
“Mixers?” he asked to no one in particular.
A tall girl scrutinized him, tipping her head to one side. Then she walked over, physically pushing a smaller girl out of the way, and grabbed hold of his chin. Razor-sharp fingernails dug into his skin.
“You’re Jared Rawell,” she said in a husky voice. Thick, luscious chestnut hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her dark eyes were heavily made up.
“Yeah. Who the fuck are you?”
The fingers on his chin tightened, and Jared refused to react. Then the girl smiled, her eyes suddenly bright.
“Clare Metago. I’ll let that go since you’re new.”
She released his chin and gestured to the enormous fridge. “Mixers are in there, surprisingly enough.”
Jared looked at her, then nodded. “Want one?”
“Sure. With Pepsi.”
Having nothing better to do, and intrigued by the Amazonian girl, Jared pulled a can of Pepsi from the fridge, filled two plastic cups with ice, and poured generous servings of whiskey before topping it with soda.
“When did you get here?” Clare asked, accepting the drink with a nod.
“Two days ago. I got out of school today because I’m jet-lagged.”
“You came from Michigan, not the freaking moon.”
“How do you even know that?”
She gave him a tiny shrug and sipped her drink. “I make a point of knowing everything around here.”
“Where’s Biggie?” Jared asked.
“I can tell you don’t know jack about how this place works yet,” Clare said. “He’s holding court. Let me introduce you.”
Abandoning the whiskey, which he didn’t expect to see again, Jared followed the girl as she weaved through the house. Her dark hair was so long, it reached her waist in a glossy curtain over her back. She was wearing tight indigo jeans and a thin cotton tank top—casual, but still classy.
They ended up in the room to the left, the one with the ear-splitting music and a large, African-American guy sitting on a sofa with a girl on either side of him. Jared forced his expression into neutral. He was clearly the same age as Jared, yet he looked like a ’90s gangsta rapper.
Several glinting gold chains snaked around his neck over a white T-shirt. His jeans looked several sizes too big, and heavy, and sand-colored Timberland boots were kicked up onto a low coffee table.
“Chris,” Clare yelled. “Chris. This is the new guy.”
With a flick of his wrist, Chris had someone turn the music down to merely several decibels loud and waved his girlfriends away.
“Take a seat, new guy,” Chris said.
Jared sat. “Jared,” he said, extending a hand.
“Biggie.”
“Really?”
Clare brought a hand up to cover her mouth, either in shock or to hide a smile.
“You’re new, so I’ll let that slide,” he said. His nostrils flared slightly, and his eyes were unnaturally wide. Pills, Jared decided. “Clare. Explain.”
“I’m gonna give him the tour,” she shouted over the music. “I’ll bring him up to speed for you.”
“Do that.”
Jared stood and nodded. “Catch ya later, Big Poppa.”
For a moment, Chris looked as if he was trying to figure out if Jared was making fun of him or not. Then he grinned. “Sit with us tomorrow, new boy.”
Jared nodded and followed Clare out of the room, then up the stairs where things were blessedly quieter.
“What the fuck just happened?” he asked as they slipped into an enormous bathroom where one guy was sharing a tub with three naked girls. It felt like he’d stepped into an alternate universe. Or maybe back in time. “What the fuck is going on?”
“This,” Clare said, hopping up onto a counter and pulling a tiny ziplock bag from her bra, “is the residence of Christopher Antony Wallace. Also known as Biggie.”
“All right, he shares a name with The Notorious B.I.G.”
“Chris was born on the day Biggie died. He’s convinced he’s the reincarnated soul of the legendary rap musician.”
“What’s he on?” Jared asked.
“’Roids, mostly,” Clare said without missing a beat. “E for funsies. Weed on the weekends. He deals, so if you want anything, hit him up.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jared said drily. “So, what, does Chris run this joint?”
Clare tipped the contents of the bag onto the counter and used her black Amex to shift it into a series of white, powdery lines.
“Chris wishes,” she said with a snort.
Jared was going to ask for more details, but two of the girls started to get out of the bath, and he was forced to look away until they were wrapped in towels big enough to hide things Jared didn’t want to see. When they approached, he took in details. One was incredibly thin with bouncy blonde hair that swirled damply over her shoulders. The other wore her whisky-colored hair in a pixie cut and had boobs that were very not real.
“My associates,” Clare said drily, gesturing to the girls. “Mia Haggerty and Ryder Gorden.”
“Jared, right?” Ryder asked.
Jared kept his eyes firmly on hers. “Yeah.”
“We gotta get out. Torres wants to fuck,” Mia said.
“I am more than fine with that,” Jared mumbled.
Clare slid down off the counter and gestured to the cocaine. “Bump?”
“No, thanks.”
“Girls?”
Jared elected to wait outside, finishing his drink then throwing the cup over the banister to land on the head of one of the dancing kids below. They didn’t even notice.
“Jared,” Ryder cooed as she came out of the bathroom, sniffing. “Come with us.”
With nothing better to do, he followed the girls he’d started to think of as the three witches.
In an upstairs bedroom, Ryder and Mia dropped their towels and started to dress, forcing Jared to once again avert his eyes. Clare watched from the end of the bed, her eyes flashing in silent amusement.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said sensually.
“Oh, honey. So gay,” Jared said, deciding to get it out of the way before anyone asked. He was way, way out of the closet and had no intention of going back in again. Not even for this group of psychopathic rich kids. “So very, very gay.”
Clare laughed. “I know. If I hadn’t already heard, your reaction to Ryder’s fake tits was enough to confirm the rumors.”
“Hey,” Ryder said, clearly offended. “My tits are awesome.”
“I’m sure they are, darling,” Jared said, hoping to calm her. “I’m thinking,
” he added, answering Clare, “that you’re all batshit fucking crazy.”
“You’d be right,” she said simply. “Wanna play with the big boys?”
“Always.”
Mia grinned, her eyes lighting up from more than a simple coke high.
“You asked who runs this place,” Clare said. “And it’s quite easy, really. Chris might hold court, but Adam will want your ass.”
“I have no idea who Adam is, let alone any intention of letting him anywhere near my ass.”
“You will,” Ryder said. “They all say that to start with, then they all give in.”
“Who is he?”
Mia sighed. “Adam is… well, his mother is the queen of New Harbor, and his grandfather was the ruling king until he died a few years back and left his millions to his sole surviving grandson. Hemlock senior owned most of the businesses in this town. If you live here, you can pretty much guarantee Adam owns you. If not your ass, then your land. Or your parents. Or the fucking school.”
“What does he have to do with me?” Jared said crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against a dresser.
“Nothing,” she said dismissively. “Except for the fact that you’re fresh meat. We don’t get a lot of out, gay, fresh meat around here.”
“He’s gay?”
“So very, very gay,” Ryder said mockingly.
“Wait up. Top dog in this freaking island town is a gay dude? Bullshit.”
“Welcome to the twenty-first century, asshole,” Mia said scathingly.
“The problem with losing your V card at fourteen,” Clare said, interrupting, “is that by the time you get to your senior year, you’ve fucked everyone worth fucking. Sometimes twice. Adam is gonna take one look at the new, hot, gay guy who just moved here and will want his piece of you.”
“So what? If I like him, I’ll fuck him.”
“Uh, uh, uh,” Ryder said disapprovingly, shaking her head. “Adam doesn’t get fucked, baby. He fucks.”
“Right now he’s in Seattle,” Mia added. “He can’t get any decent tail in this town, so he drove an hour to get into a club with his fake ID.”
