Punk 57 (39 page)

What the fuck?

I watch as he dives in, licking a long stroke up the inside of her thigh, as she breaks into laughter and everyone cheers.

The asshole has his back to the camera, tips back a shot as the crowd eggs him on, and Ryen laughs, sticking a lemon wedge in her mouth and inviting him in to suck it from her.

The music is blaring, and Ryen wraps her arms around him, their mouths touching before she breaks away and starts shaking her body to the music.

“Son of a bitch.” I squeeze the phone in my hand, scrolling the comments to see the party is at Trey’s house. She’s at his house?

And people are sharing this video of some guy licking her, too.

“What’s up?” Dane asks.

I grab my keys off the table and stuff the cell in my pocket. How the fuck is she at a party at that asshole’s house, and who the hell is she screwing off with?

“Let’s go,” I bark at the guys.

“Where?”

“I’ll explain in the truck.”

I head through the pool hall, hearing them put their instruments down and run after me. Once outside, I hop in the cab. Dane climbs in the passenger side, and Lotus and Malcolm jump in the bed behind us.

Firing up the engine, I speed away from Sticks and hop onto the highway. I lay on the gas, determined to make the thirty-mile drive in ten minutes. Is she actually drinking at his house? She has to know how stupid that is.

She wants to party? Fine. She wants some space? Okay. But going anywhere near that asshole or being entertainment for some horny little shit who wants to touch her is pushing me too far. Ryen doesn’t do fucking body shots. She’s trying to piss me off, and it’s working.

And I think of Annie and what she did to herself, because she wasn’t thinking straight, either.

By the time we make it to Trey Burrowes’ house, I’m more worked up than I’ve ever been, but I know if I go in there half-cocked, she’ll just fight back, and I’ll walk out of there without her.

We climb out of the truck, and I can feel the vibrations of the music out to the street. “
Bad Girlfriend”
plays, and I glance around, seeing the houses all a good distance away from each other, but some of them have to be able to hear this noise. I’m tempted to call the cops myself, if they haven’t been called already, just to break it up and send Ryen home. But no. I’ll let her choose.

As we walk into the house, a group of girls runs past us to the stairs, laughing and falling into the wall as they stumble up the steps.

“Nice,” Lotus laughs, making like he’s going to follow them.

But I grab his black ponytail and pull him back. We’re not here for that.

“Hey, man.” J.D. comes up, shaking my hand. “I’m glad you’re here. You going to set off some fireworks?”

I laugh to myself, knowing he knows I would rather swallow needles than be in this house. “I wasn’t planning on it. Have you seen Ryen?”

He shakes his head. “Not in the last fifteen minutes.” And then he narrows his eyes on me. “You going to tell me what’s going on between you two?”

“No.”

He snorts. “Okay.” And then he moves around me toward the family room. “I’ll be close. If you need me.”

I nod and look back at the party, scanning the crowd as we step down into the living room.

“Well, well, well,” Trey says, stepping through the crowd and approaching me. “What the fuck do we have here?”

He’s flanked by a couple of his friends, and I steel my spine, keeping my expression hard as I stare at him.

“You want trouble?” he says. “We can give you trouble.”

I feel my bandmates inch in closer, and Trey’s eyes flash to them as if finally realizing I’m not alone.

“Not in my parents’ house, though,” he clarifies, suddenly nervous.

Enough.
“Where’s Ryen?” I demand.

He laughs. “Have you checked in one of the rooms upstairs? Little cock tease had some liquor tonight, so she might finally be giving up that pussy. I can’t wait for my turn.”

I lunge out and grab him by the collar of his T-shirt, both of our crews moving in.

But I catch sight of something to my left, and I look down, seeing a cuff wrapped around Trey’s wrist.

And on the cuff, secured by two straps, is an antique Jaeger-LeCoultre timepiece.

My heart pounds in my ears. “Where the hell did you get that watch?”

His eyebrows dig in, and I shake him, feeling a thick swell of bile rise in my throat. He didn’t get it from her. She wouldn’t have given it to him.
No.

“Misha!” someone calls. But I ignore them.

All I see is Trey.

“Misha?” someone murmurs. “Who’s Misha?”

The music is still going, but I stare at him, feeling more people start to crowd around us.

I push him away, releasing him as I tighten my fists. She gave it to
him
?

“Leave,” Ryen orders, appearing at my side.

I jerk my eyes to her and stare down, hovering. “Don’t talk and don’t move,” I bite out, taking in her tits, plain as day in her bikini top and off-the-shoulder shirt that hangs on her like a shredded piece of fucking Kleenex. “You’re all over Facebook, shaking your ass and doing body shots. I’m not happy.”

Her eyes go wide, shock and anger flaring. “Excuse me?” she yells as a couple of girls giggle.

But I turn back around, advancing on Trey. “Where the fuck did you get that watch?”

“What’s your problem?” he snarls. “Go fuck yourself!”

I rear back and punch him across the face, knocking him to the ground. The whole place erupts as his friends and my friends go for each other and partygoers scream and jump out of the way. I dive down and dig my keys out of my pocket, unsheathing the knife on my key chain and leaning over Trey. Everyone above me goes crazy, and I grab Trey’s wrist as he winces from the pain in his face.

“Get off me!” He tries to yank his arm away from me.

But I slide the dull knife between the watch strap and his wrist and pull hard, slicing it off his arm.

“Misha!” I hear Ryen call, and I stand up as everyone stumbles around me.

“Everyone stop now!” a deep male voice bellows from behind. “Turn off the music!”

I look behind me, seeing two cops in black uniforms enter the house, one of them holding his hands around his mouth and shouting.

Shit.
I guess someone did report the noise. The whole crowd scurries, running out the sliding glass doors or into the kitchen, where there’s probably a back door.

I shove the watch and key chain at Dane. “Take my truck. Get the guys and go!”

He grabs the stuff from me and alerts Lotus and Malcolm as the two cops busy themselves, trying to stop kids from leaving. My friends dive out the back and disappear, while I stand still, looking over and seeing Ryen, surprised she’s still here.

Her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are steady on me. She doesn’t look drunk.

Why did I let Trey bait me like that? Ryen wouldn’t do something as reckless as get wasted and follow someone upstairs. I was just looking for a reason to hit him.

And then I look at the guy standing behind her and notice that it’s Ten. It takes a moment, but I finally make the connection. Blond hair, blue shirt… He’s the guy from the video.

Dammit
. So I charged over here to beat up a guy who’s probably more attracted to me than Ryen. Great.

“Hey!” Trey shouts, standing up. “He stole my watch!”

I stay rooted in place, but I take out my phone and shoot a text to Dane that I’ll probably be arrested. He’ll know what to do.

The music cuts off, and a cop comes around, standing between Trey and me.

“What are you doing here, son?” he asks me.

“Just partying.”

“He has my watch,” Trey grits out.

But I just shrug. “Search me. I don’t have anything.”

Trey comes in close, invading my space and glaring at me, but the cop pushes him back. “You’re in enough trouble,” he tells him. “Stand back.”

But Trey is a wall. He doesn’t come closer, but he stays rooted.

“He wasn’t invited, he started a fight, and he stole my watch,” he says again.

My lips lift in a small smile.

The cop looks to me. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where do you live?”

“I forget,” I answer, still staring at Trey.

I hear the cop breathing hard, turning angry. I don’t want to be difficult, but Dickwad can’t know who I am. I don’t want Misha Lare on the radar in this town. Not yet.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he orders.

I do as I’m told, and he moves around to put handcuffs on me.

“Wait, no!” Ryen argues.

But I look at her, softening my expression. “It’s fine. Don’t say anything.”

Don’t tell them who I am.

“Alright, I’m taking this one in,” the officer tells the other cop who’s busy on his walkie talkie. “Clear this out, and call Mr. and Mrs. Burrowes.”

The other officer nods and gets back on his radio.

The cop leads me out of the house, and I look at Ryen. There’s a million things I want to say.

I’m done here. I’m going home.

I’ll be anything you want, even gone if that’s what you need.

I love you.

But I just shoot my eyes up to Ten and tell him, “Make sure she gets home safe.”

An hour later I’m sitting in the police station, no longer handcuffed. I lean back in one of the chairs against the wall, my legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, and my arms folded over my chest. A female cop is talking on the phone behind the counter, and I tap my finger under my arm, playing the tune we were working on at Sticks tonight in my head.

At least I got the watch back. I got both of what I came here for, so I should be happy.

Unfortunately, though, those things that seemed so important three weeks ago seem kind of trivial now.

“Why did he have your watch?” I hear someone ask.

I jerk, startled, and look up. Ryen leans on the corner next to my chair, probably having just come down the hallway from the entrance.

“That was the watch you were looking for, right?” she presses.

“How did you get here?” I sit up. “You didn’t drive, did you?”

“I’m sober,” she answers. “Now answer the question. What are you doing? What’s going on?”

I face forward again, leaning back in my chair.

I know I need to stop dodging, and I have no reason not to tell her, but where do I start? I want her to understand, but I also want to know if we can make it back to where we were in our letters and to where we were when I was Masen. I want to get there without her pity.

“You want me to trust you,” she points out, “but you’re still keeping things from me.”

I turn to her, opening my mouth to speak, but just then, three guys come down the hallway and enter the station, stopping when they see me.

I move to stand up, but my cousin pushes me back down.

“I’m sorry, man,” I rush out, hating that he had to come all the way down here.

But Will just smiles at me. “Getting arrested is a Thunder Bay boy’s rite of passage,” he jokes, beaming with pride.

I roll my eyes. Will’s two friends, Michael Crist and Kai Mori, stand behind him, looking amused.

I guess they would know. A few years ago, they reigned over my hometown when they were high school basketball heroes, and they haven’t left the limelight since. Simply exchanging notoriety for infamy.

Will crosses his arms over his chest, giving me a condescending look. “You should’ve been able to get out of this yourself, you know?” he chastises. “Watch and learn.”

He turns around, all three of them heading to the counter, no doubt with their best smiles on their faces.

Ryen shifts to my left, but we both remain quiet.

“Hi, I’m William Grayson, III,” Will says to the female cop. “Officer Webber, is it?” She darts her eyes between him and the other two, looking on guard.