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“Yeah, I was. And then you left.”
“You’re not mine,” I snap, pushing her away. She stumbles but doesn’t fall. Shame. She’s always thought there was more to us than I ever let on, but she was a way to pass the time, nothing more. “Lay off the hard shit, or find your way back to the Heights.” She’s taken things too far one to many times, and the last thing I need is to find her OD’d in the pool.
“You need a drink and to lighten up,” she complains. “Find me later when you need some action.” She winks, but it’s not appealing in the slightest. Her lifeless blonde hair is doing nothing for me right now. I’ve got my sights set on a certain brunette.
Music booms as more people flood into my uncle’s house, and, after a few moments, I join them.
Falling down onto the opposite end of the sofa to where Conner has some girl grinding on his lap, I lift my bottle to my lips before pulling out another blunt.
Now this is a much better way to use this house.
Something smashes out in the hallway, but like fuck if I care enough to go and check it out.
“Donny is really missing you, man,” JJ says, dropping down beside me and thankfully cutting off the view of my brother’s tongue delving into that hussy’s mouth.
“So I’ve heard,” I mutter, thinking of the messages I’ve had from my boss asking when I’m going to come and do another run for him.
I fucking need to. I’m skint, and like hell am I going to use a cent of the money James has given us.
I was building up a nice little nest egg for the future until a fucking ghost from my past turned up and used my one and only weakness against me.
“Give me what I want, or I’ll go about it another way.” Even the memory of his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
Our father. Cunt of the century, and a man we all thought was fucking dead. Turns out he was just lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to ruin my life.
“I’ll be back,” I promise JJ. “Just got some shit to deal with here first.”
“What the fuck kind of shit could you need to worry about here?” He looks around at our lavish surroundings as the sound of something else breaking fills the room “Well, maybe aside from that.”
“Fuck that. I don’t give a shit about this place. It’s the motherfucker who owns it that needs my attention.”
JJ’s brows furrow. He’s probably thinking the same as everyone else in Sterling Bay: James Jagger is an upstanding citizen of the community and a prestigious businessman. If any of that means liar and master manipulator then yeah, that’s good ol’ Uncle James all right.
He’s covered his tracks well, I’ll give him that. But he seems to have forgotten one thing.
Me.
And I’m out for his motherfucking blood.
I’m not entirely sure how it happens, aside from the fact that Conner is involved, but sometime after midnight, the house begins to empty as everyone stumbles their way across James’ perfectly landscaped yard and towards the beach beyond.
Flowers get trampled, and bottles and half-smoked cigarettes and blunts get thrown every which way as we descend. No one gives a shit, and I fucking love it. I’m already pumped to see his face when he gets back to this disaster. I only wish I could be a fly on the wall when he gets the inevitable phone call about the out-of-control party in his beloved mansion.
The last thing I’m expecting when we eventually get down to the shore is to find another party in full flow. Only this one is a little different.
They’re drinking out of solo cups instead of bottles of liquor and, as far as I can see—or smell—there’s nothing illegal going on. It’s just a group of kids hanging out around a bonfire like a bunch of fucking boy scouts. Oh, and one more thing… they look preppy as fuck.
All heads turn our way as we come to a stop before them. Some guy wearing a blue and white Seahawks team jacket stands. I know his type immediately: privileged jock asshole. The one who thinks he’s hard. The one who thinks he can defend his school’s honor or some shit.
He’s got perfectly slicked-back blond hair and blue eyes. He’s such a fucking cliche it actually hurts my eyes to look at him.
“What the fuck do you want?”
I step forward, not because I don’t think anyone else will, but because it’s high time I made my mark. I’ve been to—or crashed—plenty of Bay parties over the years, but I’m fairly sure I’d remember this preppy fucker if I’d seen him before.
“For you to get out of my fucking face,” I taunt, closing the space between us.
Hunger for the imminent fight filters from behind me, whereas when I look over the douche’s shoulder, all I see are terrified wide eyes.
