Where Souls Spoil (83 page)

“You’re not funny,” I snap. “He’s such an ass.”

With an amused chuckle, he pulls me into his side and throws an arm around my neck. Our steps falter slightly as he bends down and places a kiss on top of my head. I give him a weak slap to his stomach but can’t help the budding smile that threatens to overtake my face and the blush that shows my excitement.

“
What?
” I mouth to Holly while looking her way. She points at the other end of the bushes where Dad is standing, his back resting against a tree. His arms are crossed, and he’s shaking his head. The fact that he’s not happy doesn’t tell me anything, because for the most part, he’s always unhappy. I narrow my eyes at him and shake my head. He’s been worse this time because it’s Jeremy. No doubt.

What an asshole.

Jeremy places his hand on my lower back and leads me toward my father. My nerves shoot to the roof, and I start to panic. I knew he would see Dad by the bushes, but I didn’t think he would approach him.

We’re barely five or six feet away when Jeremy says, “Sir.”

“Prospect,” Dad says. Holly slides up beside him and jabs him in the ribs. He doesn’t budge or even acknowledge her arrival. His eyes are hard as they fixate on Jeremy’s arm around my neck. I’m mildly uncomfortable with the attention until Jeremy clears his throat.

Dad folds his arms across his chest. “You remember the rules?”

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy says. “Gave you my word.”

“Dad,” I hiss. He doesn’t even look my way. Holly gives me a sympathetic pout and shakes her head.

“Where we going next?” Dad asks, his eyes still on Jeremy’s arm around my neck.

“Hell,” I shout in annoyance. “We’re all going to hell!”

“Chey, it’s cool.” Jeremy tightens his grip around my neck and places another soft kiss to my hairline. His voice is quiet and soft when he says, “Your dad just wants to make sure I’m doing right by you.”

Dad straightens and nods his chin at Jeremy as if he’s pleased with him. But Holly and I both know what total bullshit this is. Jeremy’s kissing Dad’s ass, plain and simple. It just so happens Dad enjoys a good ass-kissing every now and then, so he’s not calling him on it.

“Well, we better get going. Once traffic picks up, it gets harder to follow you two in the truck,” Dad says, claps his hands together, and smiles deviously.

Holly’s face turns beet red, and she looks away in obvious disbelief that Dad’s actually acting like this. She never did believe me when I told her that he’s batshit crazy. Well, she’s stuck with him now.

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy says. He’s starting to sound like a fucking robot. It’s making me want to give him a titty twister or something just to see some emotion from him. I duck out from beneath his arm, grab his hand, and give him a tug toward his bike. He follows silently. After he straps on his helmet and climbs on the bike, I get on behind him and try to ignore that Dad and Holly are behind us watching our every move.

WHEN MY AND
Jeremy’s date comes to an end, it’s not nearly as romantic as I had been expecting it to be. I got a text from Daniel halfway through our date, which I ignored but Jeremy caught notice of. It took a good five minutes for the scowl to leave his face after that. I didn’t even see what it said before I clicked the screen off. And despite Dad and Holly’s following us, I didn’t think he would be so cruel as to watch our every move while Jeremy tells me goodnight on the front porch. I don’t even get a chance to ask him why he was adamant that I not wear lipstick.

I lean in for a quick kiss but find that Dad’s already clearing his throat and telling Jeremy if he doesn’t get going, then he won’t have feet to move with. As Jeremy leaves and Dad starts commenting on how well the night went, I decide it’s for the best to just head upstairs and plot my escape from this loony bin. If I stay down here with my father, he and I are going to have a huge fight, and nobody, especially Holly, is ready for that.

I’m up in my room less than a minute when my phone chimes from my back pocket. The overhead fixture above casts a warm glow of light around my room, illuminating the hot pink and black tones that have been used to decorate my personal space. Shutting the door behind me, I pull my phone out and smile at the message on the screen from Jeremy.

U SHOULD HAVE KISSED ME.

With a deep, happy sigh, I shuffle to my bed and plop down. My fingers work swiftly over the touch screen. IF U WERE HERE I WOULD.

I have barely sent the message by the time I hear the quiet
clink, clink, clink
of small rocks hitting my bedroom window. My phone chimes again.

OPEN WINDOW.

I can’t stop the blush that comes to my skin from just the suggestion that Jeremy might be outside. I shuffle to the closed window and peek down at the grass below, surprised that Jeremy made it past the security alarm. Dad has the entire property pretty well alarmed, especially these days. But I suppose that’s the benefit of dating a prospect—he knows where the alarms are and how to avoid them.

Anticipation builds in my gut as I drag up the aging wooden window casing, clearing a path for Jeremy’s entrance. I look down alongside the house and realize one of Dad’s ladders is already propped up.

I cast a look at Jeremy and shake my head ruefully. He planned this. And I couldn’t be happier. I place my index finger to my lips and make a shushing sound, hoping he gets the gist of it. And he does, because when he climbs up the ladder, it’s in near silence.

At the top of the ladder, he smiles widely, his blue eyes gleaming in the artificial light. I take a step back and gesture with my hand to welcome him in. Part of me can’t believe I’m actually inviting a date into my room. This has never happened before. Not that I never wanted it to happen, but with how overbearing my dad is, no other boy has had the balls to do something like this.

“You planned this,” I whisper accusingly.

He shrugs his shoulders, tilts his head downward, and crooks his index finger for me to come closer. His feet are placed shoulder width apart, and he stands with such confidence that I can barely believe he’s only eighteen.

As if I have no choice, my feet carry me forward until I’m practically pressed up against his muscular frame. We’re so close. We’ve never been this close before. My hands find their way to the still-fresh leather that hangs off his shoulders. When I look up and catch the devious smile on his lips, I instinctively press myself into him. His face moves closer to mine, slowly and purposefully. My chest constricts, and it’s difficult to breathe. I reach up, even going so far as to stretch on my tiptoes, and lightly drag my desperate lips against his.

As if reading my mind, he whispers, “This is why I didn’t want you to wear lipstick.”

He takes over then, slamming his lips to mine. My hands reach out and wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to me, so desperate for more. I peek my tongue out and drag it along his lip. Eagerly, he opens his mouth to me, and our kiss moves from sweet to sinful. Kissing Jeremy is everything I thought it would be and more. I’ve waited for this for so long that actually having it makes me feel as though I’m about to combust.

His hand reaches out and cups my ass. With a firm grip on my pliant flesh, he pulls me hard against him and bucks his hips. I’m not prepared for it, and I stumble backward. Jeremy stabilizes me, pulls in closer, and resumes his handsy and deliciously sexy ways. My body yearns for his touch and attention, but in the back of my head, something doesn’t feel right. He’s being too aggressive. Still, he walks me backward until my knees hit the edge of my bed, and I’m forced to bend at the knee and sit down. Bending down and parting my legs with his knee, he covers his body with mine, leaving me little choice but to lie back and allow his heavy frame to cover me. His leg further parts mine as he rocks himself into my core.

His lips command my heart, and his body commands my attention, but it’s all too much too soon. We’ve only been on one date, and it wasn’t like we got any time alone. This doesn’t feel like the start of a relationship. It feels like a hookup, and I don’t like that so much.

My hands press into his chest as I try to force him off of me. He’s insistent in his attempts, but so am I. With every ounce of strength I can muster, I push him off me and take his surprise as an opportunity to slip away and scramble off my bed.

“What is your problem?” he asks quietly but with as much malice as if he had screamed it.

“No, what is
your
problem?”

I was the one being mauled, not him.

“You let me in your bedroom. What did you think was going to happen?”

I’m left speechless. I don’t know the code for making out with guys in your bedroom, so I’m caught off guard by the suggestion that I’ve done something wrong. Jeremy’s hard stare redirects to the window. His feet follow, and before I know it, he’s out the window and staring at me in annoyance. He opens his mouth, but I have no desire to hear anything from him right now. I should have believed the rumors that float around school about how he’s only ever interested in one thing.

“Don’t open your mouth,” I warn him, “or I will push this ladder to the ground and then scream for my dad.”

CHAPTER 9

December

16 months to Mancuso’s downfall

“Behave yourself,” Holly
says as she stands in the middle of the open front door. Dad’s on the other side slowly making his way to the edge of the porch and toward his awaiting bike. He smiles softly—as softly as Dad can, anyway—and gives her a wink. “I’m not kidding.”

On my left, Tracie huffs quietly. Her arms are folded over her chest, and her brows are knit together. I let out a heavy sigh, and my body slinks into the wall beside me that separates the kitchen from the family room.

“Define that,” Dad says and steps closer to Holly. He places his hands on her hips and pulls her flush against him. They’re so in their own world that neither of them sees Tracie and me watching their exchange.

“God, I hope he doesn’t screw this up,” I whisper-shout. Dad normally asks Holly to come with him to the clubhouse parties, but he didn’t this time. It’s put me on edge just waiting for him to ask her to go. She always says no, but that’s not the point. If he’s always asked before, he should ask now.

Tracie’s brown hair is pulled up in a messy bun, just like mine, and her face is makeup free, also just like mine. Sometimes, when we do our hair similarly or wear our makeup a certain way, I swear we look so much alike we could be sisters. Hell, if Tracie had been born in town, with the way Dad used to get around, I wouldn’t have put it out of the realm of possibility. But Tracie wasn’t born here. Her fancy-pants douchebag father lives somewhere south of San Francisco with his new wife and new kids. Tracie’s mom is kind of loose, so they had a paternity test done. Wishful thinking. I guess I’m just sick of being Sterling Grady’s sole focus for torture.

Holly places her hands on Dad’s chest and pushes him back just slightly. “I love you in ways I can’t explain, but if you have to ask me to define cheating, then whatever you’re thinking is okay for you to do isn’t. Got it?”

“It was just a question, babe,” Dad says. “Parties like this can get wild. Bitches walk around naked, they jump into laps. Tits gets shoved in faces. Shit happens. I’m not looking for an out. I’m just asking what’s going to get me into trouble.”

“That’s it,” Holly says in a loud voice. She throws her hands in the air, turns around, and heads for the staircase that leads to her and Dad’s bedroom.

“What the hell?” Dad snaps as he follows her with one grouchy as hell look on his face. I’d never shoot my own father, but suddenly the handgun that’s tucked into the back of my jeans feels heavier, like its presence is more obvious and uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“You want to know what’s going to get you in trouble? Leaving this house without me is going to get you in trouble. Give me five minutes, baby. I’ll be ready!” Holly’s voice trails as she descends to the lower level.

Dad stops at the top of the staircase, peering down, and muttering to himself. “Fuck!” He kicks at the topmost spindle, which makes a cracking sound but remains intact. As his body pivots around, he finds us watching him. I can’t help the smile that takes over my face. He’s so damn pissy over Holly inviting herself to a club party—something I didn’t think she was even allowed to do—that he can barely breathe. His face is beet red, and his hands are clenched at his sides. “You could have decided to come earlier, ya know!” he shouts down the stairs. His eyes slide over to me. “What are you two looking at?”

Tracie’s eyes slide from side to side as she focuses elsewhere. I think I would, too, if I were her. But this is my dad, and if he thinks snapping at me can scare me, he’s so freaking wrong. It’d be like he doesn’t even know me.

“You’re in love,” I say. It doesn’t come out as teasing as I intend for it to. Instead, I sound almost surprised and amazed.

“What tipped you off?” he says with more snark than Tracie and I combined. Yeah, I’d never shoot him, but it’s a tempting thought.

“I’m perceptive,” I say, “like my dad.”

Slowly, his breathing regulates, and he grunts in irritation. Thank God. I hate to fight with him over such little shit. We get into it enough over everything else—attitudes, messy rooms, disrespect. Everything.

“You did good,” I say with a nod. “Letting her go. The old Dad wouldn’t have let her. You’d have just dealt with the breakup like you didn’t care.”

“Since when do you give me relationship advice?” Okay, so maybe he’s not changed that much. He’s still bitchy when he feels like he’s being judged.

“Just because you never brought women home doesn’t mean I didn’t notice every time you had to change your phone number.” My comment goes too far. The redness in his face comes back in a flash, and he’s breathing heavy again. I decide to change tactics because this isn’t working out the way I wanted it to. I was trying to be nice. Over the years, he’s alternated between regular hookups like he had with Elle and random chicks at the clubhouse—and the Lost Girls, of course—and when one of his regulars would get too attached and wouldn’t get the hint that he was done with her, he’d change his number. The only woman he never had to change his number with was Elle, which is why I thought something might become more permanent between the two of them.

“I love her, Dad,” I say gently. I wouldn’t dare warn him not to break her heart, because no matter how much shit he lets me get away with, that’s one thing he doesn’t take lightly. Not even
I
can threaten him and get away with it, which is why it’s a damn good thing he can’t read my mind. Like a bipolar grizzly bear, he calms down again. It’s a solid minute before he nods his head once and then leaves the room for the garage.

“Is he really that mad?” Tracie asks when he’s out of earshot.

“Nah,” I say. “He’s not used to having to check in with a woman. Grandma says he doesn’t like the loss of independence even if he’s happy with Holly. He’s probably going to enjoy himself more with Holly there. He won’t be wondering if he’s going to get busted for looking at some naked woman if it gets back to her.”

“Makes sense,” Tracie says.

We head into the kitchen, where we heat up some hot cocoa, and then to the kitchen table. I place my gun on the table, and we sit down. It’s early yet—we have another hour or so before the clock rings us into the new year. I try to block out what happens at club parties, not just because my dad will be in attendance, but also because someone new is going to be there this time—Jeremy. Even worse, it’s not just a New Year’s party at the clubhouse—which always gets really crazy anyway—it’s also for Jeremy’s eighteenth birthday. They’re bound to do something special for him.

Everybody’s going to be there, even Nic. She and the old ladies with small kids will be in the chapel where they can hang out in safety and without being surrounded by smoke and drugs and the Lost Girls. It’s too dangerous for the old ladies and the kids to stay home. Dad’s only letting me and Tracie stay home because he doesn’t trust me to behave at the clubhouse. The deal was that I keep my gun on me at all times and Holly and Grandma stay here with us. But I guess we’re down to Grandma now that Holly’s invited herself. Can’t say Dad doesn’t have reason not to want me there. No way in hell would I stay in the chapel. This house is like Fort Knox anyway. He’s not only got alarms on all the ground-level doors and windows, but he has a tracking service that tells him every time a door is opened or closed as well. He never checks that, though, so I guess it’s more of a deterrent to keep me where he wants me—not that it works so well. I live by Aunt Ruby’s motto—it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Just as we’re finishing off our cocoa, Dad and Holly walk into the room hand in hand. Holly’s wearing knee-high black boots with skinny jeans tucked into them and a sexy but modest flowing black blouse. She has large hoop earrings, and her hair is teased. She looks awesome for how quickly she got ready. Her makeup is mostly light, but her mascara is thick. She wears the look well.

“You look great,” Tracie says with a smile on her face.

“Thanks.” Holly flashes us each a big beautiful grin. “I don’t know what happened, but these clothes were already laid out when I went downstairs.”

“Right, then why did it take so damn long for you to get ready?” he asks. Dad
hates
to wait on anybody, especially women when they’re getting ready. “Longest damn five minutes I’ve ever seen.”

“Makeup, baby. I had to do my makeup.”

I suck air up through my nose so quickly that I snort and have to cover my mouth with my hand so as not to spit cocoa everywhere. She so didn’t happen to have her outfit lying around. Holly totally planned this, probably hoping Dad would ask her to go. Dad fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Either that, or he didn’t ask her on purpose to force her to invite herself so that she’d have to go. I wouldn’t put it past either of them to try to trick the other. While Tracie asks Holly about her boots, I get Dad’s attention and slyly mouth, “
Sucker
.”

Dad gives me a resigned smile as he slaps the kitchen table and says, “Come on, baby, or I’m going to take you on the table again.” Holly’s gasp of surprise is drowned out by the sound of my and Tracie’s chairs shoving back against the wooden floor as we scurry away from the defiled table.

Just when I had blocked that shit out, he has to bring it back up.

Asshole.

“Keep that gun on you, baby girl,” he says and points at me.

I nod and say, “Shoot first, ask questions later.”

“That’s my girl.” He gives me a proud grin and a wink that makes me feel like a little girl all over again.

They disappear out the front door, sneaking a chaste kiss on the way and laughing happily. When Dad thinks no one but Holly is looking, he smiles a lot. Even though it’s not
at
me as much as I’d like, it’s nice knowing he saves it for her. It makes it kind of special. Maybe he won’t destroy this relationship.

“Dude.” I elbow Tracie as I grab my gun and we walk up the stairs toward my room. “Dad left us alone. Totally unsupervised.”

Just as the words leave my mouth, my phone chimes. I shove the gun back into the waistband of my jeans and pull the phone from my front pocket. A message from Holly mocks me. DON’T FORGET GMA IS IN HER ROOM. GROUCHY SAYS YOU SNEAK OUT, YOU GO TO CONVENT. CONVENT=LAME=STAY HOME. BE GOOD.

My entire body turns to gelatin as I laugh heartily at the message. I love it when Holly calls him Grouchy. I bet anything Dad made her send me that message—he does that a lot—but I doubt he knows what she actually says in the messages. I show Tracie the message, which has her in stitches in a matter of moments, too. We give up on walking and park our butts on the stairs. I wince as my tailbone hits the barrel of the gun.

“Shit,” I shout and pull the gun out from underneath me and set it beside me. My tailbone throbs in pain, and I adjust my position on the stairs to lessen the discomfort. I could be missing my left ass cheek right about now if I weren’t so paranoid that I’d already checked the safety about twenty times since Dad made me get the damn thing out.

Tracie shushes me. “You’re going to wake up Lisa.”

“Grandma won’t wake up unless we throw a house party.” My fingers work quickly over the digital keyboard on my phone’s screen as I type out, DEFINE GOOD.

GROUCHY JR, she texts back with a sad looking emoticon at the end. I send back a heart emoticon and shove my phone in the pocket of my sweatpants.

“What are you thinking? All the good eighteen-and-up clubs are too far away, and you’re not even eighteen yet,” Tracie says. Ever since she turned eighteen, she’s been reminding me of all the things I can’t do. “Plus, you can’t go into a club packing.” She shifts her eyes to the gun between us. Tracie doesn’t know anything about the inner workings of the club, but she knows enough about the occasional danger that creeps up due to club-related problems. That doesn’t mean she’s comfortable having guns out in the open around her. She knows the score, though. It’s part of being connected, even loosely, to Forsaken.