Not yet.
I grip his jaw and force his face to mine. “Great,” I say, “you can believe those goddamn lies, you can spread them, whatever—but we see you around our house, scaring our girls, we’ll do worse than call the cops.” I release him with this threat, letting his own imagination frighten him. “I’ve met shittier f**ks than you, so don’t think you’re something special.”
His chest collapses as he breathes heavily, shooting me a glare that can no way match mine. And then he spins his back on us and sprints down the road, stumbling for a second before he regains his speed.
He shouts back, “Go suck cock, you pussies!” And he waves his middle fingers at us.
Ryke lets out a frustrated groan. “I f**king hate these guys.”
“They’re just bored.” The neighborhood heard that “famous people” moved in down the block, and so these teenagers have been attracted to our house ever since. “We can’t call the cops,” I snap at him. “I hope you realize that.” For one, that guy in the hoodie could’ve been me at seventeen. And every time I was thrown in jail, it did nothing but piss me off even more. For another, it only gives them reason to retaliate against us. To return with more eggs, more paintballs, and maybe something worse down the road.
I’m smart enough now to recognize the pointlessness of this kind of feud and revenge.
Connor Cobalt taught me that.
My lips slowly rise.
Ryke groans again, puncturing my thoughts. “I wish there was an easy f**king solution to this.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Me too.” We start walking back down the dark street to our house. I try to loosen my tense shoulders by rotating them. “Maybe the girls shouldn’t come to the meeting tomorrow.” Remembering my father’s phone call this evening binds my muscles again. I rub the back of my neck, this familiar agitation festering. After tonight, I’d like to f**king cancel on our dad. “I just don’t want him to drop more shit on top of us, not while we’re dealing with this.”
“I don’t want Daisy there anyway.” He extends his arms, and I can see splatters of blue paint on his shoulder and chest with reddish welts. “Why the f**k is he dragging the girls into his issues to begin with? It should be just you and me.” He gestures from his lean body to mine.
“We don’t know what it’s about,” I remind Ryke. “All he said was that he wanted to talk to the four of us.” I lick my lips, my breath smoking the air. I try not to shiver in the cold, especially at the thought of how he left out Connor and Rose. Whatever our dad is up to—it only involves Ryke, Daisy, Lily and me. I’m hoping it’s not about the rumors in Celebrity Crush—that Lily might be pregnant with Ryke’s kid, not mine. I hate even entertaining those lies.
I try to let out another long breath, but I feel my face contort in an irritated scowl.
“With Jonathan, that could mean f**king anything,” Ryke retorts.
“Yeah, and take it from someone who’s been to these ‘impromptu meetings’—you have to be prepared for anything.” I remember the one where he basically forced my proposal with Lily, right in his office.
I refuse to believe this is worse than that. So maybe that’s why I’m not as freaked by it as Ryke. My brother revived his relationship with our dad—and this is what comes with it. I step into the lion’s den every single time I enter Jonathan Hale’s mansion, and I just f**king pray that I leave without a deep wound. I pray that I’m strong enough to withstand everything he throws at me. And for the first time, I believe that someone out there, some godforsaken thing or spirit or madman, is listening to a f**k up like me.
I slow my pace as soon as headlights point in our direction. I raise my hand to shield the fluorescence. Ryke grabs my bicep and guides me towards the curb so we’re not hit in the dark. I’m not surprised when the Escalade brakes beside us. The tinted window rolls down, revealing the driver.
Connor Cobalt, twenty-six, has one hand on the wheel, dressed in a white button-down. His wavy brown hair is perfectly styled like he just returned from a business meeting.
He didn’t, by the way. I know for a fact that he was in a third floor study with Rose, reading or thumbing through a dictionary—whatever they do in their spare time.
He can’t hide his blinding grin, the humor palpable in his gaze as he scrutinizes our lack of wardrobe in the cold winter. Then his deep blue eyes meet my amber ones.
“Soliciting again?” he banters with an arched brow. “How much for a blow job, darling?”
“As much as you’re worth,” I reply, opening the passenger door.
“How about you, Ryke?” Connor asks as my brother climbs into the backseat.
“I’m not for f**king sale,” Ryke says roughly, slamming his door shut.
I give Connor a look. “It’s been a long night. What were you—reading?”
“Coming, actually,” Connor says, putting the car into gear and driving back towards our house.
“Fucking fantastic,” Ryke groans. “While we were freezing our asses off, chasing these idiots, you were getting off.”
Connor doesn’t even try to restrain his grin. “I’m the all-around winner here. It shouldn’t be surprising to anyone by now.” Neither is his arrogance. I actually smile and point the blowers at my body, the heat expelling.
Connor’s eyes flit to the orange and blue splatters on my ribs and shoulder. Like Ryke, red welts lie beneath the paint. His grin fades. “I don’t see how chasing them while they still had paintball guns was effective.”
“It’s called intimidation,” I tell him.
“You mean stupidity.”
“Yeah? What’s the better option? Calling the police? We’re not doing that, Connor,” I remind him.
“I never said we should. The press would pick up the story, and it’d put more attention on everyone.” He pauses. “You both realize that they could’ve accidentally shot you in the eye?”
“Fucking worth it,” Ryke says, crossing his arms over his chest.
I add, “If you saw the girls, you would’ve wanted us to run after them, paintball guns or not.”
Connor trains his gaze back on the road. “I did see the girls.”
I frown as I scan his features. He’s closed up again, which makes me nervous. “Is Lily okay?” I clench my teeth in fear of the possibility that she may not be. My back stiff and my muscles tense. “Connor—”
“She’s fine.” He suddenly locks the car doors, and his eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, at my older brother in the backseat, who grows more distressed. If Lily’s okay then that means— “Please don’t jump out of the car,” Connor tells him. “I’ve never injured anyone while driving, and I’d like to keep my record clean.”
His nose flares. “What’s wrong with Daisy?”
“She had a small panic attack.”
Christ. I grimace, like knives slicing through my core, and it’s mostly from sensing my brother behind me. I rotate to look back at Ryke. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightened shut. I can tell he’s swallowing a scream and restraining himself from punching the back of the seat.
“At least she’s not pregnant,” I throw out there. A silver lining.