Natalie brings her hand to her throat, fiddling with the orange scarf she’s got on. It’s not that cold outside but whatever. I guess I can’t talk. I’m wearing a fucking bandana.
“She’s...” Natalie swallows, takes a tiny step back from me as if I won’t notice. As if I’m a rabid dog. Close enough, I guess. “She goes to the school I volunteer at.”
I frown. Glance at the redhead. She’s still sitting away from the rest of us, her back against a tree, head turned to the side, away from me. I have a bad feeling about her. I happen to like bad feelings.
I toss the spliff at my feet and do my due diligence not to set these woods on fire by grinding it out with my boot. “Natalie. Can you just explain what the fuck you’re talking about?” I don’t know a damn thing about Natalie except that she goes to AU and fucks Atlas. I definitely don’t know what fucking school she volunteers at. I didn’t know druggies could even be volunteers. Now that I do, it’s like a whole new world has opened up for me.
Ah, the possibilities.
“I help out at a place called The Ark. For people with uh...special needs. Mental health issues.”
This time I don’t just glance at the girl. I stare at her as I slide my hands into my pockets.
“So, what’s wrong with her?”
Natalie gives a nervous laugh. “She’s um...”
I turn my head, looking at Natalie. I want to wring her fucking neck. Just spit it the fuck out.
“She just doesn’t talk a lot. And she’s got um...well, Mayhem, I shouldn’t really say—”
I cut her off with a glare. “Atlas know you’re doing so many drugs?”
She looks like she might faint. I hear the fire pop at our backs. Hear Atlas laugh and Ezra’s rumbling voice. Atlas might not be laughing if he knew I was threatening his girl, but I don’t give a shit. I could use a fight right now with someone. Anyone.
None of my brothers have asked me about Pammie. Only Ezra really knows, and he’s the least likely to talk to them about it, so they might be clueless. Either way, with Natalie here, we couldn’t discuss it anyway.
And I don’t want to. It’s not that that’s got me on edge. It’s…everything else.
“She’s got borderline personality disorder.” Natalie stumbles backward, throwing up her hands. “A few home issues. Don’t mess with her, Mayhem.” She frowns. “She’s been doing well.” And then she turns away, scurrying back to Atlas, whose eyes are on me, an uncertain smile plastered on his boyish face.
She’s doing well.
Well I’m just the person to fuck that up for her, aren’t I?
I walk over to her even as Atlas says my name at my back. No doubt he’s ready to go around the circle and have everyone share our New Year’s resolutions like we’re fucking five years old.
My New Year’s resolutions are simple: Get my sister back from Jeremiah. Don’t fuck anyone that’s kin to me. And maybe kill my dad if I’m feeling ambitious.
Surviving Noctem would be good, too.
Ella, if that’s her name, is wearing a long, black dress pushed up to her knees, with knee-high black boots and grey socks beneath. She’s got her hands in her lap, twisting something between her fingers.
She looks up as I approach, and I’m momentarily startled by the sheer number of freckles on her pale face. They’re...everywhere. There’s something else, too. A red mark on her cheek, right below her eye.
I can’t really make out what it is.
Her dark red hair falls past one shoulder as she tilts her head.
She arches a thick brow. Says nothing.
She hasn’t even looked at my tattoo yet, and that’s the first thing people see when they see me. It’s a clear warning: I’m fucked up. Maybe she’s the type to ignore that kind of warning, which means she’s just my type for tonight.
She stares into my eyes. In the light from the fire and the pyros’ work lights, I see hers are green, framed by long, dark lashes, but they’re puffy. Lined with red, like she’s been crying.
Fuck.
I break the silence between us first. “I’m just wondering why the fuck you’d come to a New Year’s Eve party and sit out here by yourself.”
She blinks, looking annoyed.
Wow.
I cross my arms, cock my head. “Ella, is it?”
She furrows her brow, stops twirling around whatever it is between her fingers and frowns. But she still doesn’t say a word.
I have no patience as it is, and right now, horny, hungry, and not that high, I’m about to snap. Not to mention I still haven’t decided if I’m gonna kill my best friend or not.
It’s been a long night and it’s not over yet. I’m ready to pick a fight.
“Look, if you’re gonna be such a bitch, why don’t you just—”
She stands to her feet. She’s a hell of a lot shorter than me, but she doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by my height.
“Yo, asshole!” Atlas calls to me.
She glances over my shoulder, and I don’t know why it annoys me, but it does. I grab her chin, force her gaze back to me as I ignore Atlas.
She looks startled, but her eyes harden quickly, startled turning to anger.
“I’m talking to you,” I grind out.
I hear a small pop at my back, and I know it’s the test for the fireworks. She flinches but keeps her eyes on me.
Smart girl.
“Why’re you over here by yourself?” I ask her, running my thumb over her red lips. I know it’s inappropriate, but my dick is growing hard all over again and I just don’t fucking care. “You been crying alone?”
She hasn’t run yet. There’s that.
“Dickhead!” Cain bellows this time, and I hear another pop. Another firework going off, which must mean it’s getting close to midnight.
Ella finally speaks. “Your friends want you, Pretty Boy.” Her voice is surprisingly soft. A little Southern, but it’s a subtle accent and doesn’t sound like the standard North Carolinian drawl. I wonder where she’s from.
“Yeah, but what do you want?” I counter. “What’re you crying about?”
She bites her lip, and I want to bite it, too, but I take a breath and try to control myself. People usually talk before they fuck, right? How many minutes is standard? Two? Three? Can I get away with that? Usually, yes. But we’re in the middle of the woods and it’s kinda cold out here. I don’t really care, but she might.
Fuck, I might not care about that either.
She steps closer. I remember Natalie’s warning: She’s doing well.
So how was she doing before?
“Get your hand off of me,” she says calmly. She brings her own hand to my cheek, scrapes something hard against my face.
I back away, letting go of her face and yanking her hand down. I see what she was playing with. Some sort of bone, shaped almost like a V. It reminds me of a bird, and I’ve seen enough dead, decomposing bodies to know it isn’t a human bone.
Somehow, it doesn’t make me feel much better, but thankfully, she drops it.
“What the fuck is that—”
“Goddammit, leave the kid alone!” Ezra growls at me, and I clench my hands into fists as more pops go off, and the music gets louder.