Page 4 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

Atley was hiding from himself, both in the smoke of his weed and the fog of his pills. With substances, Atley could drown out the intrusive thoughts invading his mind, never giving him peace. His parents refused to allow him to attend therapy, because the Dodge children were Perfect, with a capital P. So, it fell on Atley to fix himself, and amid finding his cure, he was slowly dying in the ruin of his mind.

Hand snaking out, Atley grasped the front of my sweatshirt, dragging me down into his lap. I laughed as he did it, soaking up the attention as my back rested against the curve of his arm, both of my legs draped over his so I sat against him sideways. His nose nuzzled my neck, and I heard him sniff as it traced from my shoulder up to my ear.

“Little saint, you don’t smell so innocent today,” his deep voice grumbled. “You smell more like a sinner. What have you been up to?” A dark smile laced his words. He nipped my ear, and I laughed, slapping his chest with my hand.

“Stop teasing her, Dodge,” came Camber’s voice from my right. “Don’t act like you weren’t dipping your dick into the samplings at the hotel this morning.” I turned my head to take Camber in. His voice was monotone, surprisingly deeper than Atley’s. Even though Camber lacked his height, he made up for it with genius.

Camber was the brilliant one of the group.

Yeah, he went along with the shenanigans of the other two, but he always had an air of superiority about him, like he thought the actions were juvenile. On paper, Camber was the good one. He had a smile for strangers and offered a helping hand to those in need, but under that carefully crafted smile wasthe shadowed edge of darkness. You could see it peeking out from time to time if you paid attention.

That darkness was staring at me now as he looked down his nose at me, cave-dark eyes gleaming behind his glasses. His dirty blond hair was juxtaposed with the rest of him—it was artfully messy, tufts sticking up here and there. His outfit was neatly pressed, right down to the slacks he wore. Camber was always impeccably dressed. In all the years I’d known him, I’d rarely seen him in jeans and only in sleep pants once, when a girl at a party had spilled red wine on his pants and I’d offered to wash them for him.

Atley harrumphed behind me. “Maybe you’d lose that stick up your ass if you’d ‘dip your dick’ a little more, asshole.”

Not even deigning to roll his eyes, Camber’s steady, intense gaze never left mine. It was like a game of chicken—who would look away first lost. His head tilted back, eyes narrowing, and it took everything in me not to wilt under his forceful stare, even as my body heated. I shifted in Atley’s lap, and his huge hand palmed my hip, taking up my whole side as his fingers spanned from hip to rib. A sly grin ate away at the smile previously resting on my face, and I felt the cunning curve of it as it slid into place. I enjoyed the power of this grin; it was one I wore when I was MorgueDoll, fully in control of my audience as they panted for me.

And Camber still didn’t flinch.

If anything, the hardness of his features settled deeper, knife sharp as he waited for me to stand down from our staring contest. His head titled to the side, animal-like, and his mouth parted, that full bottom lip in a pout. He stroked it with a finger, and that damned finger was what did me in. I glanced at it for a split second, and it cost me.

His face never changed—no smile, no outward display of pleasure at my loss—but deep satisfaction showed in thefathomless depths of his eyes as I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.

Pulled from the sway of Camber’s stare, Atley’s voice filtered back in, and I realized he was having a conversation with Chamberlain, the last member of this motley crew. Canting my head just so, I peeked at my brother from the corner of my eyes.

Chamberlain was the epitome of the perfect St. Claire heir.

His face was charming, beautiful, with a classic Roman nose and patrician features enviable to those who went under the knife to perfect their facial structures. Tousled brown hair, deep navy eyes, sun-kissed skin, and an accent that came with wealth and good breeding—everything that made up Chamberlain suggested gallantry and control.

Underneath that perfect shell lay the true Chamberlain, though, the one living beneath the ideal that came with being a St. Claire. When he glided into a suit, he was charming and slippery, able to coerce the stodgiest of businessmen into deals as he persuaded their wives to open his zipper under the table. This form of Chamberlain’s was a porcelain doll, and, like all dolls, he was carved by the hands that crafted him—and his creators were cruel. He played his role of dutiful son perfectly, even if the job destroyed him.

Out of the suit, he was passionate, unsettled; dark tattoos lined almost every inch of him, as he craved to have the armor of his skin match the nightmares in his mind. This version glowered at the world with an aching desperation, his eyes radiating such fevered intensity that he reminded me of a starving animal. Feral. Unpredictable. Deadly.

Chamberlain was staring back at me even as his conversation with Atley continued. I sucked in a breath, biting my lip as my body stiffened. Atley’s hand clenched tighter against my waist, seemingly without notice, but Chamberlain’s eyes flickered tothe thick, tanned fingers touching the bare skin above his old joggers before flicking back to hold my gaze.

I wondered what he remembered, wondered if he ever thought ofit,of me. Ever missed it, like I did.

I squirmed in Atley’s lap, unsettled.

Atley’s head dipped down, and I smelled the sun on his skin as he whispered in my ear, “Be still, little girl. I’m not as pure as those two when it comes to you.” I knew he meant Camber and Chamberlain, who always kept me at arm’s length while Atley tugged me close. “Wriggle much more, and you’ll find yourself writhing on my dick.” He nipped my neck with the last of his words, and I gasped, shoving at his chest, though not hard enough to move him. Atley just gave a dark chuckle.

“How was your summer, sister?” Chamberlain’s voice was smoke and bourbon, dark. Honeyed. So thick, I could almost taste the vowels he spoke in the air. I was desperate for any part of him, even just five measly words.

Turning to face him, I braced myself before meeting his endlessly green eyes again. I could just see the curl of black ink sneaking around his collarbone peeking through the collar of his shirt. “Decent. Mom wanted to go to Paris again, so we went for a few weeks. Dad stayed behind, as usual. Work stuff. Other than that, I was with Sawyer most of the time.”

“Ooh, yeah, that hot little friend of yours. I miss seeing her around. Gotta say, I love watching her go more than anything, though,” Atley said, and even Camber huffed out a small chuckle.

“Pig,” I groused, but I was smiling. Sawyer had a great ass, and everyone knew it.

“You know it, baby,” the pig in question agreed, taking the insult in stride. I had no doubt he’d been called worse, because these three? They had a reputation for staying a night and never visiting again.

I think every girl in school hoped they’d have the magic snatch to reel them in for keeps, but it never worked. It didn’t stop them from trying and subsequently getting their hearts broken, though, even knowing the boys’ reputation.

I think that was part of the reason I was addicted to being in their presence. It was almost like a high. I got to spend time with them, got to see them in ways no one else did because of my connection to Chamberlain. I’d seen them at the lowest points in life, been there to help console them when family members passed or when bad shit inevitability went down with their parents. As much as they had taught me to be happy, they had also taught me the importance of connection. And the four of us? We had a tight connection.

Even if it felt like it had frayed some during their long absence.

Laying my head against Atley’s chest, I listened to the heavy, steady thumping of his heart under my ear and soaked up the warmth of his skin. Before I knew it, I was drifting off to sleep in the early afternoon sun, comforted by the presence of my boys and Atley’s hand stroking my hair.

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