I turn my cheek and stare at the man. “Why don’t you inform us,” I say.
Nothing but more silence and when I’ve about had enough, my father finally reaches into the briefcase he always carries around—always keeps somewhere just out of sight—and removes a file. “You pulled information on a new student at the school,” he begins.
My spine goes rigid. “Yeah,” I snap. “She’s been causing issues, what about it?”
He arches his brow at my tone. “Can you handle the situation?” The question is an insult.
“Of course I can,” is my immediate response. She’ll be removed within a few days and on her way back to her bum fuck little town. “It’s handled. What does that have to do with anything?”
“This student was specially recruited and we want to bring her in closer,” Lionel says. “By any means necessary.”
My whole body freezes. “What does that mean?” I clarify.
“It means,” Lionel continues, “that this one is a bit different. She’s currently finishing up her high school diploma and once she does, we’ll be offering her a full ride. If she doesn’t accept, we expect that you’ll figure out a way to persuade her.”
All of my plans to get rid of the girl go up in smoke. Lionel leans forward and fixes Abel with a meaningful look. “And when we say ‘any means necessary’ we mean it,” he states.
Abel’s back stiffens. Of all the people in the world, there are honestly no more than three people that I believe I would truly enjoy killing. And all three of them are in this room.
I know what they expect from us. They expect the worst.
Violence from Braxton.
Murder from me.
Sex from Abel.
Born, bred, and reared for these roles. Each man is a head of Hydra, herself. Cut one off and two more grow back. Each different. Each deadly. Though I want to bring a gun to their heads and pull the trigger, I know it’ll never happen.
I lean forward, bringing my hand down on the table between Abel and Lionel. “It’s handled,” I repeat the words with more force.
I can feel my father’s gaze on me. Even as Lionel turns his head and looks at me with mild surprise. “By you?” he inquires with a hum. “Well, that is unexpected.”
“Not entirely,” my father manages to say as he slides the file to the center of the table. I don’t reach for it yet, though. For all I know, touching it could be the failure to whatever test this is.
“Why is the girl important?” Abel is the one to ask the question we’re both wondering. Braxton, though, I doubt he cares. He has to be here for the meeting because he’s one of the heirs—but women are not his specialty. Blood is.
“The why doesn’t matter,” Lionel answers. “It is for us to know and for you to find out when the time is right and that time is not now.”
“Are we supposed to fuck her or protect her?” I demand.
If anyone’s going to be fucking her, it won’t be Abel. My dick still remembers the feel of her pussy pressed up against it through the fabric of our clothes. What strikes me stupid, though, is that she was even hotter standing on the lawn of our party house, soaked down after just having chucked a flaming bottle at Kate Coleman’s Mercedes than any other woman I’ve ever seen in my life. That little bit of savage crazy is what makes the image of her rebound across my mind, stirring my shaft and making me more than a little itchy inside. She’s like a train wreck when she walks by, and I can’t help but stare and watch her burn. Deadly. Fatal. Full of sorrow. And yet, so fucking beautiful at the same time.
“Neither,” my father says, answering my question. “For now, we want her under observation. If the only way to keep her there is by fucking her, then fine.”
“Is she valuable?” Abel asks.
Instead of answering, Nicholas smiles and picks his briefcase up off the floor. He turns to me as he stands up. The three of us—Abel, Braxton, and I—all rise, too, when Lionel and Elric do as well. “It was good seeing you, son,” he says, nodding down at the file on the table. “This is everything else your search missed. You’re welcome to browse it.”
With that, the three of them leave the room, one by one. Elric is the last one. He pauses alongside Braxton and looks down at him for a brief moment before turning his gaze to us. “I hope I’ll see you three at the games this year,” he says, and then he’s gone.
The only thing that can be heard in the room after their departure is the turning of the ancient fan above us as it sways in time with the mechanism that keeps it going.
“What now?” Abel asks.
I reach over and pick up the folder. “Now,” I say, striding forward and clamping a hand on Brax’s shoulder. He doesn’t react. “We get drunk.”
“I mean about the girl,” Abel presses.
There’s really only one answer to that. We can’t send her packing. We can’t get rid of her. There’s nothing else we can do but the impossible. I slide my tongue over my teeth, my fingers gripping the folder in my hand. “We claim her,” I tell him. “From now on, she’s Sick Boys’ property.”
18
Avalon
By the middle of the following week, it's clear that the majority of Eastpoint has heard about the party and the Molotov Cocktail incident. I can feel the stares or at least someone constantly watching me. The fact that I can’t figure out who is slowly starting to drive me insane. Despite that, while the event itself hasn't exactly made me Miss Popular, I have noticed a distinct lack of violent glares from my classmates. They no longer go out of their way to ignore me, but neither does anyone seem too keen on sticking around me. Particularly, not Rylie.
"I'm not eating with you," she informs me as she packs her bag for class. "I need to keep my head down, and you," she pauses and points at me in accusation, "draw way too much fucking attention." Each sentence is said with a biting irritation. She says it, but a part of her doesn't mean it. I don't know how—considering her life has probably been just as fucked up as my own—but I know she's a bit softer than she should be. It's there in the way she nags me to keep my own head down. I won't ever do it, but it's cute that she thinks it's what's best for girls like us. It’s almost … nice to feel like someone gives a shit, if a bit unfamiliar.
I chuckle lightly as I thumb through a textbook and scan the contents, prepping for a quiz I know is coming up. "I mean it," she says.
"Sure," I say. "Ignore me all you want. Won't bother me."
She pauses just beside the door, her messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Her cool hazel eyes glare at me. Finally, she just throws her hands up and storms out. I wait a few more minutes to make sure she's not coming back for anything before I throw the textbook down and get up. I stretch up onto my toes, yawning and popping my joints.
My stomach growls as I debate what to do next and it solidifies my afternoon plans. Quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a new t-shirt, I snatch my keys and ID card and head for the student food court.
Halfway through the food court, I spot a familiar face that I haven't seen since the party and I stop dead, changing directions, and head for him. "Hey," I say, plopping down in front of him.