Page 27 of Her Wicked Knights
I don’t bother to ask what it is or where he’s taking me. We’re at Audrey’s aunt’s house on the vineyard, so I doubt Rev has a personal stash here. But if it gets me away from them, I’ll follow him anywhere. And I do, through the throng of teenagers on the precipice of adulthood, desperate to get their last chance at freedom before our senior year turns serious.
When he leads me out to the beach, I’m immediately relieved to be away from the noise, the smell of weed and beer, the chaos. I take a breath, letting the cool air wafting off of the water ease the tension in my spine. I notice him watching me out of the corner of his eye, thoughtful, but when I lift a brow with the unasked question, he shakes his head and steps in front of me, hitting my shoulder on the way just hard enough to know it was intentional.
“Mark,” Rev calls, nodding at a senior I recognize from the football team. It’s probably why Colton is sitting next to him with his back pressed against the Adirondack chair and his chin tilted up like he’s bored. A red plastic cup balances on the arm rest, his fingers not even wrapped around it to hold it in place. I know him well enough to know he’s got to be teetering on the edge of drunk. He handles it well, considering he’s been drinking since he was thirteen and his dad died.
Mark Holland stands up, flashing a grin at Rev as he pulls him in for one of those weird half-hug things guys do when they’re trying to act too manly for a real hug. I shove my hands in my pockets, making it clear I won’t be touching him, and nod my greeting as his eyes take me in. “You dressed as a computer hacker?” He teases.
I’m not the only person here who didn’t come in costume. The baseball cap is my usual attire, a way of ignoring my crazy hair, and the hoodie is just because it’s October on the coast. And I’d rather be here in my birthday suit than wearing my footballuniform as a ‘costume’. Not that Ihavea football uniform… that’s not my thing.
“Something like that,” I tell him drily, noticing Colton’s smirk. As much as he seems to dislike Mark, he still entertains his company. I don’t get it.
“We need something a little more than lager.” Rev explains, dropping into the empty chair across from Mark, right in the middle of two of his cronies. I recognize them as well—it’s hard not to recognize people who seem to think the world belonged to them. Carson Something and Nick Whatever. I don’t care to remember anything else about them.
“You’ve come to the right group.” Mark winks. “Pick your poison.” He gestures to an old gym bag on the ground. “I’ve got Mary Jane, Molly, and Peyote. I don’t fuck with Crystal… the bitch doesn’t let go once she gets her hooks in you. And if you don’t want one of the ladies,” His eyes traipse over me slowly, “I’ve got Jack, Jim, Jose…”
His innuendo isn’t hard to miss. Axel was a known ladies’ man, and I’ve never been seen so much as kissing a girl. They think I’m not into girls, which is as true as it is false.
I’m not into girls, because I’m intoonegirl.
And it’s so pathetic, I’d rather them just think what they want about my sexuality. I’m not opposed to being with a man, as long as I actually feel something for him. Meaningless sex isn’t my thing, though I know Colton’s standards aren’t the same.
I laugh with him, not letting him see that I’m actually mildly impressed by the fact that he alphabetized his selections. I bend down, grabbing the neck of one of the bottles and holding it up to the firelight to inspect the label. Tequila. I guess it will have to do.
Colton laughs when I uncap the bottle and tip it against my lips, but his laughter stops by the time I pull it away and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. The liquor has lit a pathto my stomach, and I suspect in a matter of moments, it will be warming my veins as well. He didn’t expect me to take such a large swig right off the bat, and now that I have, I can feel their eyes on me as I let the bottle hang at my side. I drop into the last empty chair and watch the fire before me, leaving Rev to perch on the edge of my seat as he looks among everyone.
“Thirsty, Tripp?” Colton asks. I can feel his eyes on me. I know he’s prying. He can tell something is up, and if he just walks back into that kitchen, I’m sure he’d be able to put two and two together. I’m not known for being dramatic, usually I am happy in my little bubble. But I’m always so influenced when it comes to her.
“Just trying to numb the pain,” I shrug honestly. “You know all about that, don’t you?”
Colton laughs, Mark’s friends snigger, and he rubs his palms together, eager for a fight. He won’t get one. “I can help with that.”
I turn to face the newcomer, expecting some half-dressed girl in a slutty bunny costume to come sauntering forward. Instead, I’m facing a man who I’d imagine looks like the devil in disguise. He’s got high cheekbones and slanted brows that make his blue eyes look cold and calculating and I decide right away that I don’t enjoy the feel of them on me. “All you have to do is send the pain somewhere else.” He smirks a little, stopping right in front of me. It’s hard to tell without rising, but I’d guess he’s probably a good couple inches shorter than me—most people are. I also get the sense he’s trying to size me up.
“What do you think I’m doing?” I roll my eyes, taking another swig of the tequila, the taste less jarring this time. Rev chuckles, watching the exchange with unveiled interest.
“If you give yourself a physical stimuli to focus on, I guarantee you’ll forget all about whatever is going on in that pretty little head.”
I stare at the stranger, trying to get a read on him. I don’t know who this guy is, where he came from, or what he’s doing here.
I can’t tell if he’s flirting with me or fucking with me… until a peal of laughter erupts from his chest and he steps back toward the bonfire in the center of the ring we’ve made with our chairs.
Laughter joins his, but it doesn’t come from Rev or Colton, both of whom watch him with mild curiosity.
“Pleasure works, too.” He offers, slowly appraising me. He winks before turning away and wrapping an arm around Mark’s neck and ruffling his hair obnoxiously, as if he wasn’t just borderline flirting with me.
“Come on, man.” Mark grumbles, running a hand through his hair to try and ruffle it back to the appropriate level of ‘douche bag who doesn’t give a fuck’. He swats out at the newcomer, who dodges him easily and plops down on the sand with an arm slung over his knees and a lazy grin. “So what pain are you trying to ignore, anyway?”
“The whole point of ignoring it is to not talk about it.” Colton says tersely.
Like me, he’s all too happy to continue to ignore the fact that we’re in the same miserable boat. He disappeared from the party pretty much as soon as he got there. In fact, I’m not sure if he even said hello to Marley at all or if he just came out here to sulk in peace.
“Sore subject?” Nick or Carson, I don’t know which, laughs.
“They’re in love with the same girl.” Mark says, grinning conspiratorially.
“Fuck off, Holland.” Colton growls, his voice a warning as he squeezes his beer bottle tightly enough that his knuckles glow white in the firelight.
Mark raises his hands in surrender, but the new kid looks like a dog who just got hold of a bone.
