Present
“Fuck.”
I roll over onto my back, my heavy fucking eyelids close shut when the first violent assault comes at me full-blown.
I really need to stop drinking.
Yeah, well, maybe one day I will but right now, this is the best way to go in my world as far as I’m concerned and I’m fucking taking it.
“Good, you’re awake,” an irritated, deep voice says from somewhere far yet strangely close by. “I was beginning to think the good Lord finally did me a solid by taking your ragged, naked, pathetic, narrow ass.”
That would be good news to me too, but so far, no dice. What does a ragged, naked, pathetic, narrow ass have to do to die in this world?
“Still here,” I croak, the headache becoming full-blown the more I become conscious.
“Apparently,” the voice mutters.
“And so it seems so are you.”
“So it would seem,” he grits out.
Silence.
Touchy subject, and yet, no one’s more aware of how death’s hovering close by than my flat mate, brother in hate, whatever you want to call him.
Emmett has to face the fact that any heartbeat might be his last, but the asshole lives like he’s immortal and damned if I don’t begrudge him for that.
“But then again, I’m not the one who was drunk, naked and abandoned in the middle of nowhere by the girl who’s job I fucked with.”
A groan escapes my lips as last night flashes in my head.
She fucking left me out there.
“Well, you’re the one who gave her a ‘you go girl!’ cheer. She stole your car.”
“It’s parked right outside.”
What. The. Fuck?
“She brought it back?”
“Hours ago, actually,” Emmett says coldly. “God only knows what happened out in that wilderness for her to leave you, but I wasn’t surprised.”
“Did she at least tell you where I was?” I mutter.
“I didn’t ask and she certainly didn’t offer.”
Fuck.
“Well, just so you know, she’s not as nice as you think.”
“Really? Someone who effectively gets rid of you for a night and returns property that was taken by force by some jerk, and all out of the kindness of her own heart? She’s Mother Teresa.”
“Fake Mother Teresa and an emotional terrorist is what she is!” I snap.
“Maybe to you,” Emmett says. I sigh, feeling exasperated.
“Is that coffee I smell?” I croak, my fucking throat parched, which is a far cry from the sweetness that coated my fingers and then my tongue hours ago.
Fuck.
The way she rode me, the way she never broke stride while kissing me, the sound of her moans… then what she said when she left me.
Fuck.
“It might be, what’s it to you?”
Why the fuck do I live with his sour ass again? Oh yeah, he makes the best coffee in the fucking world. And someone needs to keep a close eye on his secretive, quiet ass.
“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I heard someone telling Astraea that you have no regard for your own well-being and that you shouldn’t be drinking the devil’s brew. Who said that again?” I muss sarcastically. “Was it Spider, nope, it must’ve been King but wait, he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but his soon to be baby mama and after what you did, I know he hates you so…”
“Noah—”
“Then that leaves the gorgeous Ivy.” I hear him inhale sharply. If I wasn’t feeling this miserable, I would’ve smiled. “Or fuck, maybe I didn’t hear that correctly.”
There’s a heavy silence in the air. The moment I mention Ivy’s name, it’s been all systems go. And then…
“So, this is what we’re doing today, then?”
I sit up straight immediately, which is a bad fucking idea.
It feels like someone is throwing stones behind my eyes and I wince, but I’m pretty fucking sure I’m not hearing things.
“You’re damn right this is what we’re doing today,” I seethe, staring up at the asshole standing by the floor to ceiling length windows, looking like he fucking belongs. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Silence.
“How do you think you got back here?” George says silently, a grim look on his face.
I glance at Emmett. Suddenly his foul mood makes sense but then again, he’s still Emmett so there’s that. He’s even flipping through a freaking newspaper! Who reads the news on paper these days? Hasn’t he heard of a fucking iPad?
“Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters disinterestedly. “You’re the one who drove all the way back to that hell last night.”
“And why didn’t you come pick me up?” I demand. “I called you.”
“You left me sloppy, discernible voicemails that I didn’t bother listening to. You called him.”
Ah shit.
“Just when I thought I’d erased the asshole from my life…” I trail off with a groan.
“I’m right here,” George says. “If you’re going to talk about me like that…”
“I fucking know that you’re standing where you shouldn’t be and what’s bothering me beside this fucking hangover is why you’re not gone yet.”
See, George did us all a solid that we’ll never forget.
The selfish sonofabitch chose himself when he could’ve just come clean about everything. I’m fucking sure that we wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t faked his own fucking death.
“I wanted to make sure your sorry ass wasn’t dead, after that Kim chick left you out there,” George snaps. I know he probably dislikes Kim because of the way my girl saw through all of George and Laura’s fucking lies at Christmas.
“Gee, thanks for bringing me hope,” I mutter sarcastically.
“How long are you going to ice me out?” he demands. “After what happened last Christmas, we can’t be divided.”
Ah last Christmas! The most wonderful time of the year. Not.
Astraea and King are expecting.
Emmett and I made a huge bet about the baby’s sex.
George’s baby’s mother is Emmett’s long-lost sibling who grew up in close proximity, apparently.
Kimberly begged me to make love to her, I rejected her right after I saw the scars on her back…
“Dolls don’t have the power to fight back every asshole that puts it down and decides to abuse it. Just like me.”
Fuck!
I drank myself silly trying to figure out what she meant, but it was fucking clear. The scars on her back, the horrors in those sharp grey eyes… they all lead back to one fucking monster. Her sperm donor, rapist of a father.
“Divided? You chose to take matters into your own hands and then, surprise, surprise, IT BLEW UP IN OUR FUCKING FACES!” I snap. “Ours, George. Not yours! You were not there for what happened!”
“Jesus Christ, Noah, don’t you think I don’t know that?” George demands. “Did you think I anticipated a kind of blowback like that? King is my best friend too! Astraea is my twin!”
“That you abandoned!” I seethe. “You faked a death. We mourned you. We fought for you. But you must’ve laughed at our stupidity with your pregnant girlfriend or whoever the hell she is to you!”
“She…” he trails off as a thunderous look crosses his face. It’s a look I’ve seen on King’s face before—when Astraea left him in the middle of an airport tarmac. Broken and bleeding.
“Well then,” I mutter. “I guess some things are not worth it, huh?”
Kicking a man while he’s down is a cowardly thing to do, I know that. But I never said I was above that.
I’m as petty as they come. Even more so, depending on who you ask, i.e. Kimberly Allory.
“Yeah, well that might be true, but hate me or not, forgive me or not, Emmett’s father has targets on all our backs.”
“Is that what Eli told you?” I demand. Eli is George and Astraea’s long-los
t father who’s probably one of the most powerful, most dangerous men I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s one of those people that you never see, or even hear about. Which made him and his fucking Phoenix Corp, the bloody undertakers.
“He’s not wrong.”
I look at Emmett who decides to speak up for the first time.
“I’m sorry, I think this hangover is messing with my head.”
“Your head’s messed up all right.”
“Yeah, yeah, but did you just say he’s not wrong?”
“Noah, you saw what was painted in that cabin at Christmas,” Emmett starts, his voice low and as calm as ever.
“It was just a blue glow in the dark skull. Anyone could’ve done that.”
“And the bull’s head and the blood all over the wall and floor?” George prompts. “Anyone could’ve just left it there?”
Ah fuck.
“You heard what Eli said and I know the girls were slightly high, but Astraea wasn’t. There were people in that cabin with ski masks on.”
“Yeah, sure, and you believe them?” I scoff. “Do you also believe in the boogeyman, the Candyman and the fucking fake-death man?”
The thing is, it’s fucking possible that what happened at Christmas was a message to us but if it was, then I’m pushed to believe that it’s all George’s fault. He suddenly appears, completely uninvited, and that shit happens? No way that’s not connected.
“Actually, yes,” George says seriously, holding my gaze. “I’ve seen shit.”
“I’d think so. You joined some secret mafia shit.”
“That you’re part of.”
“What?” Emmett and I say at the same time. “What the fuck?”
“Oh yeah, now you want to know what I’m fucking talking about, huh?” George seethes. “The Phoenix Corp is a whole different ball game but what do you think King’s father was going on about when we were in high school? Why do you think my family was pulled in?”
“Because of fucking Larry!” I snap. The anger that spikes in me with a viciousness I wasn’t expecting at the mention of that asshole’s name makes me freeze. That man did so much damage it almost feels like too much.
“Yeah, we know about that bastard but like I’ve been trying to tell you, it’s more than that!” George says. “Why the fuck do you think your father is coming after us, Emmett? And you, Noah, why the fuck does your father want back in the game?”
“He WHAT?”
It’s as if a bomb just went off in the room. Emmett and George look at each other but I catch the look.
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” I demand but they ignore me.
“He just woke up after a wild night, George. Let him collect his bearings,” Emmett says.
“Well, we’re running out of time.”
“Did you talk to King about all this shit you’re spewing?” I demand. George turns back to the windows that look out to the city.
“He blocked my number,” he mutters.
“Well fuck,” I say with a chuckle. “That serves you fucking right.”
And that’s the answer that I needed. If King doesn’t trust George still—especially after everything that happened—then everything he just said, is bullshit.
“Noah—”
“I won’t say thanks for picking me up when I was stranded in the wild and then dropping me off here, George, but I do owe you one.”
“That’s what we do now? Owe each other ones with no friendship.”
“No, don’t do that,” I snap. “You don’t get to hurl the friendship bomb in my face when it meant nothing to you before. Now, like I said, I owe you one. I’ll cash in when you need me to, but for now, please do us a favor and fuck off.”
With that, I get up and leave the room. I need to fucking pee.
Chapter 7
NOAH
Past
ME: Tell me something that hurts but you still cherish.
Kimmy: Something that hurts?
ME: Yes.
Kimmy: One time when my mother wasn’t… out of her mind on drugs… she called me something.
ME: Butterfly?
Kimmy: How did you know?
ME: I pay attention to you & you also talk in your restless sleep.
Kimmy: You never sleep. I also pay attention to you.
ME: Do you miss it?
Kimmy: … yes.
Kimmy: Is that why you called me Butterfly?
Me: That. And the tattoo across your heart.
ME: And just so we’re fucking clear, I don’t call you that because of your mother.
Kimmy: Why then?
ME: Because I’m not your fucking mother. I’ll never take you for granted. When I call you that, just know I got you. I fucking see you and I need you to trust me.
Kimmy: … okay Blue Fairy. (Also, why Blue Fairy?)
ME: Why the fuck not?
Kimmy: I’m serious.
ME: I know you are. But you claim to be smart. Give it your best shot!
Kimmy: You grant wishes. I know that. But there’s more than that.
ME: What else?
Kimmy: Something that’s been right there but you’ve been hiding from everyone else.
ME: I’m an open book. But out of curiosity, what am I hiding?
Kimmy: If you can be blue, there’s a chance you’ll go black.
Kimmy: And something else I know. You’re already halfway down the road to irredeemable darkness.
Present
To be fucking clear, this isn’t usually how the morning after goes.
It’s still Hell Day but when the thing with Kim first started, the morning after was a bit bearable because all I could think of in the morning was her.
The way she squeezes my dick with her gorgeous, greedy tight pussy.
The way she looks into my eyes when I’m coming for her.
The way our darkness seems to merge in a way neither one of us understands but appreciates because it fucking alleviates the pressure in the chest for the rest of the day.
Not this time, apparently.
But then again, what else was I expecting when I told her we were never going to do that shit again, all because I couldn’t handle the power she has over me.
I take a piss and then because I’m already in there, I take a shower, my mind racing with what George just said.
That was a bit harsh, I know but I don’t care. I don’t think I care about anything else these days.
There was a time when my ex-best friend and I would have a shit load of fun every time we linked up. George was my guy.
We had the type of friendship where we fucked the same girl and called it a fucking day.
He was there when I got my first tattoo.
He was privy to some shit I did—like tracking down and fucking up every shithead that had something to say about Craig when he was still alive.
It was a pretty long list—consisting of jocks at Westbrook Blues High who thought they could just shove Craig in a locker and fucking lock him up in there for hours.
Douchebags who thought they could whisper shit about my brother when he passed through the school halls or spray paint the word faggot on his locker.
I went after them. George knew. But only Kim knows just how brutal I was when I got my hands on them—thanks to her unwanted stalking.
Case in point, he was my brother and he stabbed me in the back. Then after all that turmoil, he shows up, fully alive with a baby in tow, whose mother was one of Astraea’s bullies and Kim’s twisted stepsister’s best friend.
In this case, I know better than to think Emmett will just drop it like that. He’s probably regrouping, calculating and strategizing just so when he attacks me later when I go back to the large as fuck living room, I find him still there, obviously waiting for me.
“That was harsh,” he says, looking like the Godfather in that fucking chair, legs crossed with a hooded gaze to go.
“He’ll get over it.”
“He�
�s still one of us.”
“Is he?” I snap. “See, I remember what you said in that club last night. You said I’m the one who has no regard for my wellbeing, but then, I never faked my own death and put everyone who I love in a tailspin, did I?”
“Didn’t you also say I don’t have enough guaranteed heartbeats in this fucking chest to be lying?” the god says, his voice soft, smooth, betraying nothing.
“Did I lie?” I rub my forehead, feeling the onset of a new headache as the room spins around me for a second. How much did I fucking drink?
“No, but if we’re talking about being careless with one’s life, should we talk about the way you’ve been on a marathon to drink your own body weight, getting high on those joints you keep in every corner of this penthouse? Because if you’ve decided that’s the only acceptable way that you’re going to commit suicide, then I’ll draft a letter and send it to my father right now and tell that fucker that he doesn’t have to worry about one suicidal jerk and then I’ll put your fucking signature on it!”
He says that so calmly, too calmly in fact you’d think he’s actually unbothered by all this, but I know better.
This entire thing about his father and what the man did, I can see it’s been weighing on him. To be honest, it’s been like that for years, wondering what happened to his mother and now this.
No one knows the weight of dealing with the sins of the father than the Blue fucking Boys.
“I’m not going to off myself,” I bite out.
“I’d like to think so but then again, it’s the anniversary of Craig’s death today. You wouldn’t want to be that kind of asshole.”
“When I told you to not fucking talk about this shit last night, I meant shut your trap about it forever, but here you are, bringing it up again. It makes me think you don’t give a damn about how I feel.”
“The only person that doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings is you, Noah,” he says coldly. “You know that we’re all a target! You know that things always go south when we’re not united and keep shit from each other, and yet, you give George the cold shoulder but still call him while you were drunk and high. He picked you up, carried your sorry ass all the way up here—”
Petty Rage: Westbrook Blues Book 4 Page 10
