Unwanted Sacrifices (Russkaya Mafiya Book 3) (24 page)

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(Truths #1)

©2015 Anne Mercier

CHAPTER ONE

Myah

Dick
. I’m thoroughly disgusted.
Prick
. A wave of revulsion runs through me as Lisa and I pass by Jason DeMarco in the hallway.
Asshole
.

“I just don’t understand how some people think they have the right to touch people or things without permission.”

Lisa shakes her head and mutters, “Motherfucking douche bag,” as we walk past my nightmare in the form of a 17-year-old linebacker for our high school, Lake Point Academy South.

Now I’m going to stop right here for a minute and let you know that Lisa is full-blooded Italian with the stereotypical Italian temper and she’s got a super filthy mouth. You can take the girl out of the Bronx, but you can’t take the Bronx out of the girl. Seriously, she curses more than Alec Baldwin on a crack-induced temper tantrum.

Thing is, that’s all offset by the fact she’s gorgeous. I mean supermodel gorgeous at the age of seventeen. She’s five-eleven, blonde hair, blue eyes, 36-24-36, and I swear her legs go up to my chest. Jealous? A little. Envious?  TONS.

“You remember my Uncle Leo?” she asks.

“The scary one that lives in Brooklyn?”

“Yeah.”

I nod. Oh yeah, I remember her Uncle Leo. He’s gigantic, like six-three, two hundred fifty pounds of intimidation. I nearly peed my pants (literally) when I met him for the first time. There was just so much of him and his scowl could send the bravest of men crying in the corner—I shit you not. Those frighteningly piercing eyes, Robert DeNiro scowl, and nose that had obviously been broken more than once had a shudder running through me every single time I looked at him. He reminded me of an Italian version of a very pissed off Brock Lesner. Yeah, no thanks. He thought my reaction of wanting to run away from him as fast as I could was funny, yet he tried to reassure me that through Lisa I was part of the “family” so, as her best friend, I was safe.

“Well, he’s got connections if you know what I’m saying.”

“Uh, ‘family’ connections?” I wonder, not for the first time, if he’s mob or mafia or whatever they call it now.

Lisa nods. “He has friends… associates who can make accidents happen.”

My eyes widen. I mean this shouldn’t come as a shock. I kinda figured out what “family” meant, but still having their services offered is pretty effing terrifying. I have no idea what to say so I just remain quiet and bug-eyed.

“That motherfucker over there could have a really, really bad accident. Leo knows people who would be on the next flight out to take care of his bitch ass.”

It’s a tempting proposition. I tilt my head to the side as I ponder Lisa’s offer for a moment. Her eyes widen and she grins when she sees me seriously considering it. The bastard truly deserves it but…

“That might be taking things a little too far.”

Lisa grabs my arm gently and angles her head down the hall. “Hottie central.”

I look down the hall and see a group of gorgeous maleness. Lucas Matthews, Lisa’s sexy boyfriend; Marcus Stewart aka Stewie; Jackson Brandt; and the one and only Kyle Cooper aka Coop.

“Damn. Right there are four tall, muscular, extremely attractive and sexy male specimens.”

“Wipe the drool, Myah.”

“Why? I’m proud of this drool. I’m gonna let it drip off my chin.”

“Gross.”

“Yep. Kyle Cooper is worth every drop of drool.”

“I agree, Coop is hot, but that’s sick. You’re aware of that, right?”

“Yep. Ask me if I care.”

“Do you care?”

“Nope.”

She lets out an unladylike snort.

I smirk. “We better head inside.”

Lisa stops me once more just outside the classroom and looks me in the eye. “Let me know if you change your mind. All it takes is one phone call.”

I nod. Scary shit right there. Just saying.

We walk into the last class of the day.

So far the first day of the second semester of my Junior year of at Lake Point Academy South is going pretty well, yet I can’t help but wish it was my Senior year instead. I need to get the hell away from my Mother before she drives me completely insane.

Mommy dearest, I think with a snort as I sit in Ms. Pritchard’s Creative Writing class and turn to look out the window. The snow has really started to come down. Large flakes are blowing harshly in the wind, and when it stops, they spiral gloriously to the ground. My Dad used to tell me a story my grandma (his mom) told him when he was little. She’d said that when it snowed like this, the angels were having pillow fights and those were the feathers from a torn pillow floating listlessly to the earth. The memory brings a tear to my eye. My dad died last summer and I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. He was my savior, my best friend, my protector and I miss him every minute of every single day.

Circle of life and all that BS is what people keep saying but the gist of it is: Everything and everyone dies. Some days I wish I would. It would be a lot easier than fighting the never-ending battle of my miserable life. I sigh inwardly.

I guess my life isn’t so bad on the outside looking in. I mean, I’m not a social outcast but I’m not the most popular kid either. I’ve got more acquaintances than friends, and they keep a safe distance. Who can really blame them—as screwed up as I am? It’s not that I haven’t tried to fake normal, but a person can only pretend so much before the truth surfaces.

Meh. I blink and shake off the heavy thoughts ruining the beauty of the storm outside when the final bell rings. I pick up my pen as the last of the stragglers come in. I’m usually one of the stragglers but not to this class. I love to write and I actually love this class—not that I’d ever admit that out loud to anyone. It’s my secret. I’ve shared some poetry with a couple people I trust but the rest is mine.

The final bell rings and Lisa looks at me and mouths “No Hottie God?”

I shrug, but to tell you the truth I’m a bit surprised myself… and if I’m being honest, I’m a bit disappointed.

“First time in a year and a half,” Lisa whispers.

I nod solemnly and her eyebrows go up.

Ms. Pritchard calls attention, pulling me from my thoughts as she starts babbling on about nouns, pronouns, and all that happy horseshit. Truthfully, I don’t care about that crap and I can’t tell you what a pronoun is to save my life. I just enjoy stringing sentences together and telling the stories that create themselves in my mind.

I tap my pen on my notebook in boredom when Lisa, next to me, sends me a glare. I smile apologetically then bring the pen to my mouth and begin to chew on the cap.

Lisa Renzi’s been my best friend since the third grade. We met when she moved from two towns over. She wore glasses so all the kids picked on her, calling her four-eyes. I thought she was pretty, even with the glasses. They suited her. So I walked right up to her in the middle of the bullying at recess, took her hand and walked to the jungle gym where we hung upside down like monkeys and became instant friends. She knows all my secrets and I know all of hers. She’s one of the few people in the world I know I can trust—I can trust her to be honest and to keep my secrets, even the really bad ones.

While Lisa’s supermodel beautiful, I on the other hand am five feet nothing. I admit to having pretty awesome long light brown, naturally curly hair and that along with my blue-green eyes are my best features. The rest of my face isn’t anything spectacular. My body is a bit too curvy for my liking. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not fat—far from it. I’ve just got more hip and boob proportion than I’m comfortable with.

There’s a knock at the door and that’s when he walks in. Oh my God. What’s he doing here? I thought…

Lisa looks over and smirks. I watch resigned to the fact that there is no escaping all that is his hotness.

“Mr. Cooper,” Ms. Pritchard starts, flustered and blushing, “to what do we owe the pleasure?”

I roll my eyes. Even the teachers fawn over him. Mr. Popular. Mr. Quarterback. Mr. Basketball. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Yummy. Who can blame her, really? He’s six feet tall with unruly brown hair that sticks up in disarray giving him that just jumped out of bed look—or been thoroughly kissed and the girl (preferably me) ran her fingers rapturously through his hair. Yeah, oh yeah. A girl can dream.

His eyes… eyes the color of milk chocolate surrounded by long thick eyelashes I’d kill to have, his lips full and lush, and his body firm and muscular. In other words: sex on a stick and every female that comes within ten feet of him wants to take a lick…or a bite.

Lisa leans across the aisle and whispers, “And the Hottie God has arrived.”

I roll my eyes again.

“Every class for three semesters?” she asks.

I nod and she smirks.

“Luca told me today that Kyle dumped Macyn in the middle of his party the other night. He just looked at her when she started hanging all over him and told her to take a hike.”

I raise my eyebrows and my eyes widen. “No shit?”

“No shit.” she whispers.

“That had to be humiliating.” I bite my bottom lip trying to stifle my grin.
Awww, poor, poor Macyn.

Lisa smirks, knowing exactly what I’m thinking. “It was time. That skank was with him entirely too long if you ask me.”

“It was barely a week.”

“Too long,” Lisa says with a pointed look.

Aaron Weber, who’s sitting in front of me, adds, “I heard she cheated with DeMarco.”

“Ewww,” Lisa and I say at the same time.

“What the… why?” I ask aloud.

“No shit,” Lisa adds.

“Chicks,” Aaron says with a shrug and turns around.

I lean forward a bit and whisper to Aaron, “Because you’ve recently gone through an ugly breakup, Weber, I’m not going to cuff you on the back of your head for that incredibly sexist comment. Any other time and you’d be feeling the pain.”

He responds with a sheepish grin. “For someone so small, you’re really fucking scary, Wilks.”

“Don’t forget it either.” Like my wimpy self could even hurt anyone. I snort inwardly. What they don’t know won’t hurt them.

Lisa points at me and mouths,
your turn with the Hottie God
.

I wish. I just shake my head and give her a helpless look. She’s the only one who knows my secret.

So, okay, I have a crush on Kyle Cooper. He’s hot, he’s sexy, he’s one of the sweetest guys I’ve ever met—and I’m too shy to let him in on the fact that my heart ping pongs around inside my chest whenever he’s around.

I’ve known him all my life but he’s always been untouchable. We’re friends, but not close friends and we’re never alone together unless it has to do with family obligations, and I never really thought we would be—until ninth grade.

He’d been assigned as my Biology lab partner. He sensed my desperation when we were faced with the “dissection” portion of class. He recognized it without having to even tell him. It’d probably been written all over my face, but in any event, he took pity on me and that was the one and only time I would never bristle when someone pitied me.

He took over, soothing me with his voice while he cut open the nauseating, formaldehyde-drenched insects and frog. Gawd, it’d been disgusting, but disgusting took on a whole new level when we got to the earthworm.

A long, filthy worm. I shudder in remembrance. Apparently I turned a bit greener than I had with any of the other “victims.”  Kyle just rubbed my back and told me it’d be all right. I’m not usually such a sissy. I mean, when I used to go fishing with my parents, I put my own worm on the hook, so I don’t know what prompted that reaction.

Maybe it was because I had to inspect the guts of this worm. Maybe it was the smell. Jesus, did that thing smell—like smelly feet combined with ass. I don’t know. All I do know is I’m glad that Kyle Cooper had been my partner because not every guy would’ve let me get by without doing some of the cutting.

Then one day he produced a small jar of Vicks, opened it, put a little on his finger, and rubbed it underneath my nose.

“That should help with the smell,” he said as he closed the jar and returned it to his backpack.

That’s when my heart started beating for him. He wasn’t like the rest of them—the rich, preppy jocks. He was kind, caring and sweet.

“I switched a class, so you get me for the rest of the semester.” He gives Ms. Pritchard his best smile and I swear I hear every female in the class sigh. I’m not immune, I feel it as much as the next girl. I just don’t want him to know. What would be the point?