Savage Love

by Bloom, Penelope

  I eyed the bottle of liquor while he rooted through my fridge. Every time I thought about drinking, I couldn’t stop myself from imagining my dad. Part of me hated alcohol for what it had turned him into. Then another part of me thought all the alcohol had really done was strip away the façade. After all, he’d been too scared to come into the house looking for me or mom before he’d ever been a drunk. What kind of man was that? What kind of love was that?

  I blew out a breath and decided to stop being dramatic. A little numbness would be just what I needed.

  An hour later—maybe two, I wasn’t really sure—Clint and I had both had our fair share. My head spun pleasantly, but was veering into the unpleasantly drunk territory, where I was starting to wonder if the only way this would feel better was if I threw up.

  Clint had his arm around me, and his legs splayed wide. He wore jeans, but I could feel the warmth of his skin pulsing through them into me. And then we were kissing.

  I didn’t remember how it started, but his lips were on mine. He tasted like liquor and the sugary aftertaste of the soda we’d chased it with. Underneath the scent was a stale, warm rush of something less pleasant. Simple bad breath, but I figured mine probably wasn’t pristine either after a few hours of sipping drinks.

  I kissed him back, and even through the drinks, it wasn’t all fireworks and starlight. It was enough that my body responded, filling me with a pleasant kind of warmth and the natural hunger that came with it. But when I put my hand on his neck thoughtlessly, I couldn’t help sensing the shadow of Cassian that lingered there.

  My breath caught, and I found myself kissing him more intensely. Clint responded, shifting his weight and putting his hand on my chest. I stiffened but let him reach to unbutton my blouse.

  That was when the door swung open.

  We both jolted apart, but there was no hiding the red of our cheeks or the way I was hastily trying to button my blouse back up.

  My dad was staring at us with barely hidden rage in his face.

  “You were supposed to be at work.” My voice sounded dumb in my own ears.

  “And this is what you do when I’m working? Fuck around on my couch? In my house?” He loped toward Clint, but Clint stood, holding his palms up.

  “Mr. Rhodes, I’ll leave. We were kissing, and I—”

  My dad took a wild swing at Clint, but Clint easily ducked the attack and sidestepped toward the door. My dad took two staggering, drunken steps toward him before he lost his balance and had to lean on a wall.

  Clint shot me a look at the door. “Will you be okay?”

  “It’s better if you go.” I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to beg him to stay. My dad had never laid a hand on me in anger, but I wondered if that would still be true in a few minutes.

  He watched Clint go, realizing he had no hope of catching him. My dad turned his focus on me. The one who was stuck here. The prey.

  “I’ve suffered your disrespect enough. It’s time you learn a lesson.” He advanced toward me.

  I’d sat through his abuse more times than I could count. I’d let him make me feel useless and weak. But something was different now. I felt a spark that refused to die down, even when the full wrath of his anger was staring me in the face.

  “You were too much of a coward to come back for us.” My tone dripped with accusation.

  He stopped short, narrowing his eyes. “Who the fuck have you been talking to?”

  “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you came back in the house to look for us.”

  “You’re an ungrateful little bitch. That’s what I’ll tell you.” He lunged for me, but I backpedaled toward the kitchen.

  He grimaced at the bottle of liquor Clint and I had left on the coffee table, then picked it up and eyed the label. Without a second thought, he took a long swig straight from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “All it takes is a little booze for you to put out, huh?”

  “Don’t change the subject.” My teeth were clenched and almost all the buzzing effect of the alcohol felt like it was burning off me in waves. “Did you or did you not come in the house for us?”

  He swiped his hand as if he could knock the accusation away. “You know what happened to that fucking ‘hero’ your mom was always so enamored with next door when he went in there? He roasted. I could hear his screams from the front lawn. I could smell him. That’s what being a hero got him. Fucking burnt barbecue.”

  I sucked in a few rapid breaths, then grabbed a plate from the countertop. I hurled it at my dad. He tried to duck it but was too slow. It clipped the top of his head and bounced to shatter to the ground.

  He fell to one knee, pressing his hand there without taking his hateful eyes away from me. “I’m done with you.”

  “Good,” I snapped. “Because maybe you’ll realize how pathetic you’ve become when I’m not here to wipe your ass.”

  He sneered. “Get the fuck out of my house. Hell, I’m lucky you haven’t burned this place down and killed me, too.”

  I grabbed my book bag, not caring about the clothes in my room or anything else. I snagged a coat by the door and walked outside, knowing I was going to do everything in my power to never step foot in his house again.

  15

  Cassian

  There was a soft, almost frightened knock at my bedroom door. I was lounging on my bed with my phone and music playing quietly in one ear.

  I waited, then saw my mom poke her head in. “Hey, sweetie. Can I come in?”

  I may have lost most of the respect I had for my mom when she decided to marry Walter a couple years back, but I knew my dad would’ve hated to see me be a dick to her. So I swallowed the usual anger I felt at the sight of her and nodded. “Yeah.”

  She sat on the edge of my bed and smiled. “I don’t talk about your father much anymore because it… hurts to think about. But,” she cleared her throat, then took a shaky breath. “Walter heard through his connections with the police that the girl—the one from the fire—was picked up wandering through the cold. It turns out her father lost his job, and he’s only a few steps from losing his house, too.”

  I tried not to let my interest show. Yeah, I’d wanted to watch Charli’s life go up in flames, but something about what I was hearing didn’t feel as sweet as I’d imagined. It felt bitter. “And?” I asked, trying to sound bored.

  “And if she goes back there, they said it has child protective services written all over it. But she’s only a few months from graduating. Then she could maybe have a shot at figuring things out on her own. After everything that happened, and after the sacrifice your father made… Well, we’re going to let her stay with us until she graduates. Longer, if she needs it.”

  My throat went dry. We’re what?

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  She smiled tightly, then squeezed my leg. “I just wanted to tell you. I thought you might be excited. I know you two were thick as thieves when you were younger.”

  “Yeah, we were.”

  My mom got up and left.

  I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, slowly picking apart what she’d just told me and examining every detail.

  Charli was going to live in my house.

  Under our roof.

  I ran through the logistics of which room she’d be in and realized it would make the most sense to put her down the hall from me. The two of us would be alone on this side of the house. She’d be trapped with me in a gilded cage.

  A grin slowly spread across my face.

  I can’t wait to introduce you to my very own, personal hell, Charli.

  16

  Charli

  I used to always have this recurring dream where I was getting pulled toward a closet full of fire. I could never see who gripped me with such strong hands, but it never mattered how hard I fought. It always ended as I watched my feet dragging on the pavement until one of my shoes fell off. Then the hands would spin me around and toss me into the flames with one final, great heave.
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  Except I always woke up from that dream. I might be covered in sweat and panting, but I always woke.

  It was just a way for my traumatized brain to try to cope with everything that happened when I was a kid.

  Now I was riding in the back seat of a woman’s car I’d just met. She worked for the state, and she was taking me to my temporary home. I watched the trees slip by the window and even though it wasn’t the exact image from my dream, the sinking dread in my stomach was the same. The helplessness of knowing I couldn’t stop myself from being cast into hell itself was there, too.

  The whole series of events had been such a blur.

  My fight with dad.

  Getting picked up by the police.

  The system absorbing me and bouncing me from counselor to counselor.

  And then the news that “an old family friend” was happy to take me in.

  It was probably stupid of me, but I’d actually tried to convince the counselor to put me in a foster home, instead. I’d told her all about Cassian and what he’d do to me if I had to live in his house. But it appeared the Stone’s had already injected money into the equation.

  I made my way through three different counselors, having to re-explain the situation in full before I realized someone in power was simply re-assigning people to my case whenever I caused trouble.

  I had avoided my phone for the entirety of my time in the system. It was mostly because I figured my dad would’ve called trying to get me to come back. But when I finally checked my texts in the back seat, only Zoe and Clint had texted.

  Zoe: Please call me when you can. I heard what happened. You okay???

  Clint: Where are you?

  Clint: Someone said you’re at Cassian’s house? Seriously?

  Clint: I’m going to come see you as soon as I can.

  I typed out a quick reply to Zoe letting her know where I was and what had happened. Then I thought about replying to Clint. It would be better to wait until I was at school tomorrow so I could explain it to him in person. If he tried to come see me and Cassian was around to see it, I had a sinking feeling it’d be a bloodbath.

  We arrived at Cassian’s mansion in the afternoon. I’d missed the last few days of school, but one small mercy was that Cassian should’ve still been at football practice. At least I’d have a chance to get settled without him looming over me.

  The woman gave me a smile that said she had no idea what she was delivering me into. “We’re here, sweetie. Need any help with your things?”

  I patted the backpack, which was the only thing I’d brought with me. “I’m good.” I smiled tightly. “Thanks for the ride.”

  I walked up to the house, seeing it for the first time up close and in the daylight. Perfectly manicured hedges led me toward a sprawling front entrance with a pair of doors that must’ve been twelve feet high. I knocked and waited, steadying my nerves as well as I could.

  The door swung open and Cassian’s mom smiled at me. Her lips were just a little too full, though not to the comedic level I’d seen some aging celebrities’ resort to. Her forehead was a little too stiff, even as she flashed a wide, perfectly white smile and rushed to hug me.

  I also noticed her breasts were a little too firm as they tried to repel me from the hug, but her gym-toned arms kept me locked in tight to her.

  “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  I frowned slightly, then hugged her back. I guess it would make sense that Cassian’s mom might not know what was really going on. She probably thought he and I were long lost friends and she was doing me a favor. But then who had been supplying the money and influence to keep me from getting out of this little arrangement?

  She cupped my cheeks, then looked me up and down. “We need to get you fed. You look like you could go for a nice, warm meal.”

  I let her swoop me into a small typhoon of motherly affection. She fed me, showed me the clothes she’d had ordered for me—in a range of sizes because she wasn’t sure what I wore and could just donate the rest—and finally led me to my room.

  “And that is Cassian’s room,” she gestured to a plain white door along the hallway we were using upstairs.

  I glanced at it and felt slightly surprised to see it wasn’t painted black or full of skull engravings in the wood.

  Just an ordinary door for a boy who was anything but ordinary.

  She had hardly stopped chattering since I’d arrived nearly an hour ago, and I got my first taste of silence once she closed the door and advised me to “get some rest,” even though it wasn’t even dark outside. “Oh,” she said, stopping with her palm on the half-closed door. “Walter and I won’t be back till morning, but the fridge is stocked. Make yourself at home.”

  With that, she closed the door and left me to myself.

  I took a look around the room. It was loaded with expensive furniture and splashes of colorful decorations. It was also about twice the size of a normal bedroom, with a vaulted ceiling and a huge bay window.

  I ran my hand along the dresser, marveling that it wasn’t even dusty.

  The room was beautiful, but it was still a cage. Whether Cassian’s mom realized it or not, I was just down the hall from the boy who wanted nothing more than to torment me.

  About an hour later, I heard a knock at the front door. I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed in a sort of trance. Nothing in the room felt like it was mine, so I’d settled for clutching my backpack in my lap and waiting—for what, I didn’t know.

  I headed down the long hallway, which was devoid of any childhood pictures or personal touches. The decor was all highbrow, artsy, and expensive. It was designed to impress guests more than to make the three people who lived here feel at home. Then again, maybe they felt most at home when whipping out their figurative money dicks and laying them on the table for everyone to bow down to.

  By the time I descended the spiraling staircase and half-jogged across the foyer, whoever was at the door began knocking more forcefully.

  Dumbly, I felt a wave of dread that it might be Cassian. Then I realized people don’t usually knock to enter their own houses. Maybe it’d be a door to door salesman, and I could convince them to bust me out of here.

  That was stupid, too. I had nowhere to go.

  Back home? Dad was one drink away from self-destructing. But part of me thought what he needed most was a wakeup call. If it was just a matter of surviving his explosions, I could manage.

  For now, this was my home.

  My prison.

  I opened the door and felt my eyebrows shoot up.

  “Clint? If Cassian sees you here, he’ll kill you.” Somehow, I felt like that was an understatement. Cassian had looked like he wanted to burn the whole restaurant down when he saw us together at Dead Ringers.

  Clint winked. I could still see the bruises on his neck, but he looked unworried. “Then let me in before he sees me.”

  17

  Cassian

  I skipped Dead Ringers, even though Tristan, Logan, Gage, and about half the school would be there to pre-party for the basher some kid from Calvary was throwing across town tonight. All the drugs, alcohol, and pussy in the world couldn’t distract me from the shiny new toy I had waiting at home. It had been a test of will to avoid skipping class and then practice today, but I didn’t want her to have the satisfaction of knowing how much I was planning to enjoy this.

  I flung the front doors open and sniffed deeply, though I wasn’t sure what I expected. Did I think I’d smell her on the air? That I’d find a trail of fear leading me straight to her?

  I grinned.

  She’d watched me nearly kill her would-be boyfriend and then ran out on her dad in the span of a few days. Now she was just finishing a tour of the system for misplaced and unwanted children in all its glory. I wondered if she’d still have that defiant glint in her eyes. If she’d still have the spine to look me in the eyes like she was the one who had a right to be mad.

  Your childhood friend hates you now, Scarface
? Boo fucking hoo.

  I hadn’t even thought about what I’d say or do. All I knew was the cards had been laid on the table at Dead Ringers before I did my brief visitation with the prison system. I still wanted to hear her try and fail to explain herself.

  I yanked open her door and froze.

  Charli was sitting on her bed next to Clint, who had a hand on her shoulder. The dumb fucker still had bruises on his neck, and he was…

  I sucked in a slow breath, watching the both of them stare up at me like scared children.

  “In my own house?” My voice came out as a low whisper, devoid of emotion despite the roiling rage running just beneath the surface.

  Charli stood, putting herself between me and Clint. “Your parents got you out of jail once. You really think they could do it again?”

  “You really think I give a shit? Move, Scarface.”

  Clint stood now, holding up his palms. “Look, man. I’m over it, okay? Water under the bridge. Can we just agree to be cool?” He stuck his hand out for me to shake.

  I stared down at his hand, letting a slow smile form as I reached for it.

  18

  Charli

  Cassian still loomed in the doorway like a shadow made flesh. Black pants, black shirt, and hair the color of raven feathers. The only hint of color was the icy blue of his eyes, and somehow, those seemed to burn more like fire as he looked down at Clint’s outstretched hand.

  It seemed so obvious to me in that moment. A guy like Clint was no match for someone like Cassian. He was too good. Too nice. Too reasonable. He wasn’t going to be willing to go to the lengths Cassian would to get what he wanted, and the only thing he’d accomplish was getting chewed up in the process.

  I was about to pull Clint back when Cassian gripped his hand.