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Fuck everyone.
2
MALIK
The bass rumbles through my chest as Levi passes me the joint. I pinch it between my fingers, bringing it to my lips and taking a pull until my lips burn. The burn travels to my chest, a cough roaring out of me so sharply that I sit up, leaning forward as my head turns hazy.
"Shit," I mumble, handing off the joint to Felix. My voice is raspy, my throat raw from the vicious cough tearing through my lungs.
"Told you. My cousin got this shit from Colorado," Levi screams over the music.
I lean back on my leather couch, staring at the smoke-filled room. The Smashing Pumpkins rip through the speakers, my foot tapping to the beat and my fingers fluttering against my jeans as I play the song in my head.
"Thea wants to meet down at the pier. She's there with the girls," Atticus says. I look over at him, watching his fingers fly over the keyboard on his phone.
Ah, Thea and the bitch crew. The girls at school that will slide their pleated skirts up and reveal their racy black panties if we so much as blink in their direction.
But fuck it, I guess. Why not? Nothing else to do on this Sunday night.
The screaming voices in the room come to a halt, my ears ringing from the dramatic change in volume. We all turn toward the stereo system on the wall, seeing my dad's tall form standing there, his dark suit pressed and shiny, even in the dark room. The scowl on his face is heavy, severe lines creasing his forehead, his nostrils flared in distaste.
"Malik, what did I tell you about smoking in here? It's going to stain the ceiling," he lashes out at me.
I shrug. "Paint over it."
I watch as his neck grows red, the color traveling up his cheeks and all the way to his hairline. "Malik," he warns.
I sit up, my hands pressing against the cool leather as I stare at him. I'm rarely in the mood for his shit. Most of the time, I’m able to avoid him, but for whatever reason he decided to come down to the basement this evening. Which means he wants to talk about something.
He looks around at my friends. "We have something to discuss."
I stare at him, waiting.
"Alone," he emphasizes.
I crack a smile, my teeth razor-sharp. The guys even let out a little chuckle, and I watch my dad's frown turn into a scowl.
"We're leaving, so get on with whatever the fuck you need to say." I stand up, bending over to grab my phone off the black coffee table. Much like everything else in this house. Black couches, black tables, black wall art, black rugs on top of black floors. The only thing that isn't black are the walls, and those are gray.
People who’ve never been to Castle Pointe might question why our house looks the way it does. They might question us as people. But those people don’t know Castle Pointe like we do. It’s a small town on the corner of Lake Superior. People want to stop here on their way up to Canada or on their way down to the city, but one step in here and they leave before their second foot can step over the border. It's always dreary, always a little cold, and the entire place stays cloaked in a layer of darkness.
That's how we live here in Castle Pointe. Constantly shrouded in a cold, eerie shadow. Like we're all haunted with the past and history of our town. Sometimes it seems like this small town is in a world of its own, completely separated from the rest of the world. We don't live like they do in other cities. I travel to Duluth on occasion, and it’s as if the world is living normally. The sun shines, the water of Superior looks brighter, the cliffs and rocks not as dark, sharp, and demanding.
Then you travel through the tall, green trees, along Superior, heading north along the edge of Minnesota. The trees grow denser, the sunlight dimming as the thickness of the woods grows, until the branches turn nearly black. The moment you pass the sign that saysWelcome to Castle Pointe, one that's engraved into a brick stone, weathered with age and the cool winds from the water, the world changes. It turns into a blackness, an almost unnatural world where you're taken back in time to abandoned cemeteries, and tall, old brick buildings that look like castles, half decayed, while also half magical.
There's something about this place, like it hangs on the thread of death, teetering on the ledge. One swift breeze from the coast of Superior, and you'll plummet into a pitch blackness. So thick and heavy that you'll never find your way out.
"I met someone, and I've invited her to come stay with us."
I look over at Felix, his black hair swept so low over his forehead I can barely see his eyes. But the darkness peers through, staring at me in shock.
I swing my eyes back to my father. "Now, why would you do that to her? Do you want her to hate you?"
Atticus laughs deep in his throat, and a smile cracks on my face.
My dad scowls at me once more, his eyes darkening to the color of his black suit. "Malik." I’m guessing by his tone this will be his final warning. It’s almost comical, though, because I could damage him tenfold—inside and out—and he could never lay a finger on me.
My dad is the largest real estate mogul in the upper Minnesota region. From the border of Canada down to Minneapolis, his name is everywhere. My father, Samuel Myers, Felix’s father, Oliver Port, Atticus’s father, Michael Berlin, and Levi’s father, Jack Sloan. They own their own real estate company—Pointe Real Estate Group. He might have the brains to earn millions, but he’ll never, ever be able to gain the upper hand over me. No matter how hard he tries.
