My lips twitch. "What are we going to do about her?" Brax asks, noticing the direction of his gaze, and me still sitting here.
"Oh, don't mind me, boys," I say. I stand up and stretch, hopping off the rocky dais. "I'm just gonna go find a way home."
"Oh no you're not." Abel cuts me off, sliding in my path.
I don't slow. In fact, I keep going until my entire front is against his. "You going to stop me, frontman?" I ask.
Blue eyes narrow on me. "Why the fuck do you keep calling me that?" I shrug, but my nonanswer seems to piss him off. He growls and whips his head in his friend's direction. "We brought her here to teach her a lesson," he snaps. "It doesn't look like she's learned it."
"What lesson?" I ask curiously.
Brax chuckles, but it's Abel who answers. "We can do what the fuck we want whenever the fuck we want to, princess," he bites out, shoving his chest forward and bumping me. "Just like tonight, you could be walking along the street, and out of fucking nowhere, you've got a bag over your head and you're in our domain."
I laugh. "Is that what you think you accomplished tonight?" The idea of them—all domineering, though they are—trying to put me in my place is ridiculous. "But sure, alright, fine. Say I follow your little rules." I flick my fingers their way. It won't fucking happen, but they don't know that. "What then?"
"You get to keep breathing," Abel says.
"Newsflash, cupcake," I reply. "I'm breathing right now in case you've missed it, but I'm not under your command at all."
His hand reaches out and snags my wrist. Bringing it up to his face, he licks a slow path up my palm, making my eyebrows shoot up towards my hairline. “Is that supposed to be sexy?” I deadpan.
"You're still here, aren't you?" he asks.
Before I have time to formulate a reply, Dean's voice barks out. "Enough," he grits, slicing his irritated gaze to Abel. "Release her," he snaps. "Now." Abel lets go immediately and backs up. "We have more important shit to deal with." Dean levels me with a look that dares me to challenge him. Little does this rich boy know, I love a good challenge.
14
Avalon
It’s easy to tell when someone isn't really paying attention. I'd spent enough time in boring high school classes to recognize when a person's focus isn't on what it should be, and right now, I know that Dean Carter's attention—thank you mysterious, yet bitchy ex-girlfriend for that full name—is not on me. And whether he knows it yet or not, that's a mistake.
Because if he’s not watching me closely enough—and hell, even if he is—I’m locked and loaded, ready to cause a little mischief simply as payback for forcing me to come to his stupid Sick Boys’ party.
Perhaps he and his friends are far too used to having their every order followed. That's the only explanation I can think of. It's clear that he wants me to stay right where I am until he so deigns to address me, but I'm not the kind of girl that just sits around and waits for a guy to give her the time of day. No. I'm the exact opposite.
So, as soon as I'm sure he's more intent on whatever it is that his friend Brax is saying to him, I'm gone. Like a whisper in the wind.
Okay, not really, but I do find it all too easy to slip away as the music cranks back up and bodies start grinding on the dance floor again. As if sensing a predator in their mix, the partiers part for me, letting me through rather easily until I'm back in the house. Smart little drunk lambs, I think.
I make my way through the bottom floor of the Frazier House until I reach the front door. In the time I've been here, more cars have arrived. They pile out of the right side of one long driveway, one after another until there's really no viable space for anyone to get out, and that's where I see her. Interestingly enough, there’s a second driveway that spans the opposite side of the house, but that one is empty.
Disregarding it, I prop myself against one of the pillars of the front porch of the mansion and eye the blonde as she scowls in frustrated fury at what looks to be a brand new Mercedes. A giant souped-up SUV is parked barely a few inches from her bumper. She turns back to the house as if ready to come back and ream someone a new asshole, but stops when she sees me, and I can't help but chuckle.
She might be rich, but it's clear that she's no better than I am in the eyes of the Kings hosting this party. I can't help but like that. Even if they're wrong to think that I'm a peasant to their royalty.
"What the fuck are you laughing at, bitch?" she snarls, stomping forward.
I cross my arms and arch a brow. "You," I say, nodding to the hot ride she's left in favor of coming to stand before me. "And your predicament."
Her pretty blue eyes narrow. "You think you're something special just because Dean Carter wants to fuck you?" she asks. “Just because you’re a passing interest?”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t correct her. "Not particularly," I say. Not that the King of Kings really has an interest in me. She doesn't seem to realize it yet, but I was merely a distraction for her—an annoyance. A tool and a pawn. Not something I let myself be too often, but when the mood strikes me—and I can find some amusement like I did tonight—I don't mind it.
"You're not," she says.
My nose twitches as the scent of strong alcohol, cigarettes, and vomit hit me when the front door crashes open and a guy comes stumbling out. He takes one look at us and mumbles something to himself, dropping a bottle of rum into the grass as he fumbles into his pocket. A second later, he finally finds his lighter and pulls a joint from the pocket of his button down collared shirt. I shake my head. Just goes to show, no matter where you are, there are degenerates.
"Want a hit?" he asks the girl on the steps—Kate. “You look like you could use it.”
She sneers at him, so I speak up. "Yeah," I say. "I'll take one."
He shrugs and hands it over.
Kate's face snaps back to mine. “Wow, he really went and found himself a top class whore,” she says, not even bothering to mask the disgust on her face as I inhale the weed. It's pretty strong shit too. I can already feel my head growing clearer.
"Not a whore," I say, handing the joint back to the guy as he plops down on the edge of the porch and leans his head back, closing his eyes and taking another hit. "Not Dean Carter's or anyone else’s."
Kate narrows her eyes on me before striding up the stone steps until she's right alongside me. "You better watch your back here, new girl," she hisses as she passes by. "Your days are numbered. Dean Carter isn't the only one with power."
As soon as those words are spat my way, she marches past me and into the house to presumably find the owner of the SUV currently blocking her in. I hum low in my throat. "Not the only one with power, huh?" I wonder aloud. What is it that these rich kids think they know about power? Power is nothing but a game. Sex is about power. Intelligence is about power. Hell, money is about power too. Everyone has some sort of power. She just doesn’t realize it yet.