Page 3 of Dare To Break

“I finally managed to convince Eli to come in and meet his new stepsister.” Elliot reappears with a boy in tow.

He’s not the preppy jock with the perfect white teeth I’ve been imagining. I’m sure his teeth are perfect; I can’t tell because his mouth is set in a thin line. His hair is raven-black, thick, and wild. Inky strands flop down over his forehead, and around his ears. It’s not long but not short, either. He has a pair of earbuds in his ears and whatever he’s listening to is loud enough to block out the sounds of the world around him. A tight black t-shirt hugs his chest, and his jeans are ripped at the knees. There’s a dark gray, metallic-looking padlock on a chunky chain around his neck, and lip, nose, and eyebrow piercings complete his appearance.

Sharp green eyes clash with mine, and for one brief second, it’s as though I’ve been sucked into the depths of a menacing storm. Cold prickles over my skin in reaction, and in that moment, I know in my heart that Eli Travers and I are not going to be friends.

Chapter 2

Eli

My dad is a gullible fucking idiot.

“Eli, please take out the headphones while I’m talking to you.”

I blow out a breath and pop an earbud out of my right ear, but I don’t switch off the music. The tinny sound of thumping drums and screeching guitars is audible in the car’s interior.

“Come inside and meet your new stepsister.”

Fuck’s sake.

None of my annoyance shows on my face. In fact, a quick look at my reflection in the car’s window tells me that nothing at all shows. I’ve practiced wearing a blank expression for so long now that it’s second nature. I have to really concentrate in order to show any emotion. A survival technique I’ve perfected over the years.

“No, thanks. I’ll stay here.” I push the earbud back into place. I have absolutely no interest in meeting the daughter my father’s new wife has described as ‘super-studious and eager to be a part of the family.’ Eager to get her dirty fucking fingers on my dad’s money, more like.

“Eli.” He grasps my arm.

My eyes drop to look at the fingers gripping me, then rise slowly to meet those of my father. He lets go without me having to say a word. I fight against the urge to ask if he’s scared of me.

“Please, son. I know the last few years have been difficult, but this is our second chance at being a family. At happiness. Could you give it a try? Elena is working hard to be your friend.”

“I don’t need a friend or a new family.”

He sighs, and the hang-dog expression on his face makes my jaw clench. It’s a technique he’s been using since he brought his new wife home two days ago. It’s how he tries to get me to comply with what he wants.

I unclip the seatbelt. He might annoy the shit out of me but he’s still my dad, and since Mom died and he spent the six months following her death fucking up, he’s tried everything to breach the distance between us. Everything, that is, apart from the one thing that would work.

For four years, all I’ve wanted is a slice of his attention, to spend time as father and son. Instead, he threw money at me, and now he thinks buying a new mom is the way to my heart.

Fucking idiot.

“Fine.”

He steps back so I can climb out of the car. The house ahead is small and neat ... And could fit into the entrance hall of our house in the Hamptons. God knows what trash I’m about to find inside. Not that my dad can see through the lies the bleached-blonde Barbie doll is spinning. He’s so fucking desperate to be happy, to fill the void left by my mom and bring us together, that he’ll clutch at anything. It’s pathetic really. Especially when all he needs to do is fucking talk to me.

But the plastic bimbo my father brought home and introduced as my new stepmom and her just-as-fake daughter won’t be staying long. I’ll make sure of that.

“They’re waiting inside.” My dad’s words are accompanied by a wide excited smile.

I manage not to roll my eyes and follow him along the path to the front door, turning up the music in my ears on the way. I have no interest in what the new stepmom or her daughter has to say.

‘Paranoid’ by Palaye Royale is loud in my ears as I step inside. My lips curl up at the floral wallpaper covering the walls. Cheap landscape paintings in garish gold frames are placed at intervals, and there’s a tacky ‘No Place Like Home’ sign above the door which leads into the kitchen.

Elena winds her hand around my dad’s arm the second he steps inside. The move is clearly territorial.

Interesting. Does she feel threatened by her daughter or me? Can I use that?

His lips move as he says something I can’t hear above my music. He glances at me and then waves his hand, indicating I enter the room and move ahead of him. I skirt around him and find myself in the tiniest kitchen in existence.

First impression is that there’s been some kind of explosion or maybe a robbery. It’s a fucking mess. White powder covers one surface. I wonder briefly if it’s heroin or cocaine. Is stepsister dearest a dealer? That would answer so many questions. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking though, because there’s the smell of cinnamon in the air. A smell that twists my stomach and reminds me of happier days. Cinnamon cookies—my dad’s favorite treat and one my mom used to bake for him at least once a week. A tray of the sweet treats is balanced on top of the stove.

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