Girl Lost (19 page)

I laugh, and he shakes his head, stepping toward me and nodding to the rowing machine. We settle into silence as we find our rhythm, the hum of the machine and the water providing a soundtrack for our workout.

It’s easy, to lose myself and my thoughts as I concentrate on matching his stroke, watching the dip of his oar and the bunch of his shoulders that clue me into the next motion. It takes just long enough that I can shove everything aside, and then the natural rhythm takes over and I fall into pattern with him, matching Micah’s stroke.

I wish we were on the open water, the machine a real boat. We’d be flying, the salty water spraying up every time his oar dipped into the ocean.

I close my eyes, and I can almost feel it—the wind and the water, the icy tease of it all and the way it feels like nothing else ever has.

“You deserve more than memories of another guy,” Micah says, jerking me out of my trance. My rhythms bobbles, and he raps a sharp command, cutting his stroke to accommodate me as I fall back in sync.

“Do you think it’s bad that I still remember?”

He sighs. “No. Yes? The memories keep you safe—you know what Grayson says. They protected you from the trauma, which is why the how and where of meeting the Boy is so hazy.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Do I still need to be protected from the trauma, though? Don’t you think I’ve processed it enough that I don’t need him anymore?”

“No. If that were true, you wouldn’t still think about him. You would remember everything. And you don’t—do you?”

This time, he breaks rhythms, his oars stilling as he glances over his shoulder at me. I shake my head.

I can’t remember the first time I saw the Boy. I never have been able to remember that.

“Peter is real, Gwen. And I think you need that more now than you need the Boy. Try to focus on that and leave the memories behind, or you’ll sabotage it.”

“Does that mean you do want me having sex?” I tease weakly. He shudders, and I laugh.

“Pick up the pace, sis,” he orders, and conversation is shelved. For now.

I fidget in my seat. James gives me a curious look over his roast beef sandwich. The meat is so red it looks bloody—it makes me a little sick to look at it.

“What’s up with you, Gwendolyn?” he says, his voice amused.

“Nothing. I’m anxious for class. We have a paper due,” I blurt, babbling.

Orchid, sitting too close to me, laughs. “You sure the paper is what has you so fidgety? Not Peter being in the class?”

James’ gaze narrows. “Is he back?”

“He didn’t go anywhere,” I say quickly. Even though we all know he did. James grunts his views on the matter, and I stifle my sigh.

“Let it go, Accrocher,” Orchid orders crisply. “The Peter makes her happy, and I like her happy.”

I slide a glance at Orchid, curious about her odd phrasing, but I don’t have time to question them. My gaze snags on a small cluster of AGZ brothers entering the caf.

“How long has that frat been on campus?” I ask, absently watching the way they prowl through the room. I wonder if anyone else notices them, the way they separate, strolling through the caf with casual deliberateness, their gazes darting and too predatory.

When they’re with Peter, it’s easy to dismiss them as nothing but his boys. But alone, they are almost terrifying in their banked violence.

“AGZ? It’s a new house. I think it opened this semester.”

Tank looks up, from across the room, meeting my gaze, and I shiver at the blank expression. From the corner of my eye, I see the others stutter, their gazes swinging to me.

I feel trapped, hunted—panic flares, and I jerk, coming to my feet so fast my chair skids a few feet. James is at my side too quickly, his blue eyes bright.

“What are you doing, Gwendolyn?” he murmurs.

“Getting out of here. I hate when they watch me.”

“They’ll follow.”

“They can’t touch me. Peter won’t let them,” I say, my voice tight with worry that something has changed those rules.

Rules are meant to be broken, after all.

“One of Peter’s friends already beat the shit out of you, sweetheart. Excuse me if I don’t take your boy’s word terribly seriously.”

I frown at him, and his gaze tightens, just enough to tell me I won’t win this one.

“Fine,” I huff.

He winks at Orchid, who gives him an inscrutable stare as he shoulders my bag. I lead the way out of the caf, and I can feel the AGZ brothers watching us as we go.

I hate that it feels like a retreat.

The Boy has left me for two weeks now, every afternoon. He jostles me awake in the morning. Not too early, except the one morning he insisted we scaled the side of the island to watch the sunrise—a riotous explosion of color on the lightening sky and a brilliant orb of light rising slowly from the sea. We wander the forest and pick fruit, laughing as sticky sweet juice rolls down our chins. We swim, in the river and the sandy cove he showed me. We explore the island—one of the Boy’s favorite games—and he shows me sun drenched meadows alight with butterflies, black caves that sparkle with crystal, muddy holes filled with frogs and a thousand other miracles I never imagined.

But in the afternoon, when we lie drowsy with heat and exhaustion, as I hover on the edge of sleep—he leaves. Every day.

I followed him today. Shimmied up a tree and perch here as he crouches on a rock and whistles, a shrill noise that echoes, off the trees and the rocks, resounding back and filling the space around us.

He’s quiet, waiting.

For what?

I see them before the Boy, the boys moving through the forest, calling back and forth in a strange language that tickles my memory, undulating cries—and three, who don’t speak, don’t move at all, as they converge on the Boy.

They move like a pack of hunting dogs, feral and loyal, and utterly aware of the others around him.

A blond boy is the first to arrive in the glade, landing on the far side of the clearing with a soft thump. His shriek fills the air, and I gasp as he charges across the grass, toward the Boy’s unprotected back.

Another slams into the blond, wrestling him to the ground. My Boy turns, his eyes amused as he watches. Then the rest of the pack arrives, and it devolves into a melee of violence, limbs and arms tangling and fists flying.

And the Boy stands a little apart, watching with curiously blank eyes for a few endless minutes. Until a boy screams, the noise laced with pain and making my hair stand on end, and I jerk in my tree. Then he shifts, and like magic, the fight stops.

“Where are Pebbles and Clank?” he asks, taking a few steps to crouch by the injured boy. His arm is hanging at an angle, an agonized expression on his face.

“We attacked the harbor last night.”

The Boy sighs, and grabs the blond’s shoulder. “Brace yourself,” he says shortly. The boy whimpers, and then there’s a sharp snap and a scream. I hear the sound of retching, and then the Boy shifts to his feet. He looks at the one who told him of the attack.

“Try to keep them alive, Marbles. I don’t want to leave the island anytime soon.”

“They want to know when you’ll be back.”

The Boy’s expression shutters, closing. “When I decide to return. Until then, no more raids. Leave the harbor alone.”

He turns without waiting for a response, leaving the bleeding pack of boys behind. Leaving me.

For a long time, I stay there, watching them. Finally, I creep away, back to the Boy.

James was right. I spend the next week retreating every time I see the AGZ boys—and overly aware of their presence almost everywhere I go. The only time I get any respite is when I’m in my classes or hidden in my dorm. Peter has pulled back again—he texts and calls me every night, but he’s avoiding me on campus.

“I don’t like you being alone on campus,” James says. He glances at Orchid. “Either of you.”

“Why?”

“Because AGZ are unpredictable. I know Peter is supposed to control them, but he’s been gone more than he’s on campus—when is the last time you saw him in class?”

I hesitate. I haven’t seen him in weeks. Something I’ve dismissed. “Why?” I say. I stop, and James catches me, pulling me along.

“He’s been with Belle, according to what I’m hearing.”

Off campus. Away from the AGZ boys who look to him for leadership.

Nothing about this makes sense. “What is she to him? Who the hell is she?” I snap, finally losing my temper. “It’s been over a month. Why the fuck is she still here?”

“I don’t know, Gwen. Those are questions you have to ask Peter, not me,” James says. A duo of AGZ brothers walks by, their presence crowding us off the walkway.

And it infuriates me. I catch one, jerking him on the arm. The boy hisses, yanking away from me.

“I want Peter,” I snap. “I want him now, or you can tell him to get the fuck out of my life.”

The boy’s eyes go wide, and I step closer. “Tell him I said that.”

“They can’t talk to you, Gwen. Why do you keep pushing this?”

I release the frat brother, and glare at Tank. And Belle, standing next to him, a smirk on her lips.

She’s changed since I saw her last. Thinned considerably, when she can’t afford to lose weight. Her white-blonde hair isn’t as lustrous—it hangs limp and dull around her ears. Dark circles frame her laughing eyes.

That, though, remains the same. She’s got a maniacal gleam in her eyes that disturbs me. But I’m done being scared of this little bitch.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Belle. I don’t even know why you’re here,” I spit. “He doesn’t want you here.”

Her eyes widen, and I know what I’m doing is stupid and dangerous—but it doesn’t stop me as I strut up to her. Invade her space until Take falls back a step to give me a little room, his gaze wary. “He doesn’t want
you.
That’s why he snuck into my bedroom the other night—the night he was supposed to be with the boys? He was in my bed. Hold
that
thought close,” I whisper.

Belle is breathing too fast, her eyes wide and furious and hurt.

“Gwendolyn,” James says sharply. He pulls on my arm, and the AGZ brothers shift. They can’t touch me, won’t even speak to me—but seeing another man near me bothers them.

God, it’s like a fucking cult, and Peter is their screwed up leader.

I make a disgusted noise and turn to walk away.

James makes a low noise in his throat, an instant before something—Belle—slams into my midriff.

I hit the ground with her on top of me, and I have a moment to think,
seriously
and
what the fuck?
before she slaps me.

It’s different from her last attack. It’s uncoordinated and sloppy, an explosion of unfocused violence. She’s screaming, her words a shrill gibber that makes no sense.

“Tiny,
don’t!”
Tank yells, hauling her off me. Even wrapped in his arms, her feet kicking inches above the sidewalk, she’s furious, fighting to get free.

“She’s going to destroy him!” she screams. “You bitch, you’re killing all of us!”

“You know,” I say. “For a long time, I was pretty delusional. I was batshit crazy, if we’re being honest. But I was never as crazy as you. Even when I believed the impossible, I wasn’t as crazy as you.”

Tank flinches, and the fight seems to drain out of Belle. She goes pale in Tank’s arms, her teeth chattering together.

“You don’t mean that,” she murmurs, and Tank whispers something, softly, in her ear.

She nods. I stare at them, more confused than I am concerned, as he scoops her into his arms and glances around at the AGZ brothers. “Let’s go.”

James moves toward me as the guys follow Tank and Belle. He has a cut on his lip, and he spits blood on the ground, baring his teeth in a gruesome grimace. “I really hope Peter is amazing in bed, Gwendolyn. That’s the only thing that could possibly be worth all the shit they put you through.”

I smirk at him, and his eyebrows inch up, surprised. I laugh. “Why is everyone so damn startled that I have a sex life?”