Page 2 of Queen Of Clubs

There’s no way Karen and Charles would ever waste their money on anything for us. They only provide us with what is required, paid with the monthly government-issued checks. Even then, they give us the bare minimum and the cheapest of everything, pocketing the rest.

The guys are all seventeen and have jobs, but they don’t make enough money for this kind of equipment. And me? Well, our foster parents won't let me get a job. They said the place for a woman is to be at home, caring for the house.

If that’s true, then tell me why the fuck Karen gets to sit on her lazy ass all day while I’m forced to do her ‘job’?

Anyway, because the guys can’t afford their instruments, they’ve worked out a deal with the school. At the end of every day, the guys are allowed to come in to practice, and in return, all they have to do is clean the room and all the equipment.

I come and watch, cheering them on and occasionally singing too. The only reason I’m not in their band is because of the type of music they play. They’re a bit punk rock, and I’m more of an electro-pop kind of girl. But I do like the music they make, or maybe it’s just the guys who make it that I like.

Zane starts to sing, his voice lowering a few octaves as it fills the room. It’s husky and smooth, making all the hairs on my body stand. I have to suppress a shiver, but it’s hard because not even a few seconds later, Everett and Griffin join in, and the result is pure magic.

The whole hour they practice, I sit and listen, hanging onto every word, every note. I could do this for hours on end, just listening to them play, seeing the pure love for what they're doing on their faces.

It’s only the beeping of Zane’s cell that pops our little bubble.

“Fuck,” he grunts, staring at his phone, that’s sitting on the chair a few down from me. “It’s been an hour already?”

“Time goes by fast when you’re having fun,” Griffin sighs, pulling the strap to the guitar over his head and placing it back where it belongs.

We all work together to clean the classroom. It’s not much, just organizing a few things and sanitizing the instruments, stuff like that.

“Alright, Trouble, you ready to go home?” Zane asks, handing me my backpack.

“No,” I grumble, taking it reluctantly.

“We can take the long way.” Griffin wraps his arm around my shoulder as we head out of the room. I hate how much I enjoy his touch. How much I enjoy any of their touches.

It’s wrong, they are my foster brothers, I shouldn’t have these kinds of feelings for them... but I do. Because how can I not? It’s not just because they’re good looking guys. They’re also the best people I’ve ever met.

All of them are there for me no matter what. Whether I need a shoulder to cry on or someone to help deal with the odd bully or two. They’re even there when I need to vent about anything; they sit and listen, and when the time is right, they get angry with me, trashing whoever needs to be talked shit about. They’re the best hype squad a girl can ask for.

When I was twelve and got my period for the first time, I needed a pad. Karen told me to use toilet paper and ignored me.

I did my best, but it didn’t do shit. I still bled through my panties and ruined my pants. The guys found me crying. I was so embarrassed when they finally got the truth out of me.

But instead of laughing or making me feel bad about it, they waited until Charles wasn’t looking and snatched a twenty from his wallet.

These fourteen-year-old boys went to the store and came back with a pack of pads, candy, and pop. I cried like a baby because, God, they were so sweet. And when I had cramps, they cuddled me until I fell asleep.

I think that was the first of a million times I’ve fallen in love with them.

They will never know how I feel about them. It would ruin everything. Because the reality is, they see me as a little sister, a best friend, nothing more.

They won’t find out their designations for another year, but none of us are stupid. The signs are there. They’re only seventeen but they’re already six-feet-tall, muscled, and just their overall presence screams future alphas. They’re going to want and need an omega. I can’t be that for them.

Both of my parents were betas, who were the only children of a pair of beta parents. My mom and dad died of an overdose when I was seven, and both sets of my grandparents died way before that.

All in all, I come from a long line of betas, and that's what I know, deep in my bones, I’ll present as too. There’s not an ounce of omega instinct in me. Other than the fact that I enjoy cuddling with them and love sugar.

That’s it. I’m loud and out there. I curse like a sailor, and I can hold my own in a fight. I’ve been called one of the boys on more than one occasion.

As we head out of the school and into the parking lot, I’m quickly reminded of the fact that I’m their sister. Foster sister, at least.

There’s a group of girls waiting by the picnic tables. They all look our way, eyes eating up every inch of the guys.

Jealousy thrums through my veins. I hate them all, and they hate me. Because I’m the only thing that's standing between them and snagging one of the guys as their boyfriends.

The guys prefer me over any of them. A fact I can’t help but be smug about.

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