Wrath - 4 (4 page)

“Calm down, ladies,” he urged them, depositing the brunette back on the ground. He slung an arm around each of them, admiring the way his muscles bulged beneath his tight sleeves. The new weights were working already. “You know you love it.”

“Whatever.” The brunette giggled, shoving him. Once their bodies made contact, she didn’t pul away.

“Say what you want,” he al owed, “but I know you’re thril ed to have me back on the market.”

The redhead—or, more accurately, the
airhead
—stood on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I just don’t know why you stayed away for so long,” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

Good question.

“So what happened?” the brunette asked, tickling the back of his neck. He jerked away. “We thought you were reformed.”

“Player no more,” her friend chimed in. “Beauty tamed the beast. What gives?”

So what now, the truth?

Right.

Like he’d ever admit that he’d been the one rejected by a nonentity like Beth, or that losing her had cost him something more than his reputation. He knew that with a few easy words he could turn this around and make it into a win, trashing Beth’s rep and redeeming his own.

But he couldn’t do it.

He had no regrets, he insisted to himself. He’d just done what was needed to get what he wanted, same as always. Beth was a big girl who could make her own choices-and, if only briefly, she’d chosen him. “You can’t fool me,” she’d said once, kissing him on the cheek. “I know who you real y are.” He’d almost been sorry to prove her wrong.

“Come on, Kane,” the redhead pushed. “Dish us some dirt!”

But Kane just smiled mysteriously and tugged her toward him, wishing her hair was blond, her eyes blue and knowing. “What’s the difference what happened?” he asked. “I’m here now—and so are you, which means everyone wins. Right?”

The girls exchanged a glance, then shrugged.

“We’re happy if you’re happy,” the brunette concluded, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

Kane forced a grin. He certainly
looked
happy—and isn’t that what counts?

Harper didn’t have the nerve to face Adam. But she couldn’t stay away. She was too used to seeing him every day, tel ing him everything, depending on him. Now that he wasn’t speaking to her, the days were incomplete. Harper felt as if she’d lost a piece of herself that only came alive in his presence.

And she had no one to blame but herself.

She’d positioned herself in a smal alcove across from his locker, knowing he’d stop by on his way to basketbal practice. She just wanted to see him. And if she watched from afar, she wouldn’t have to face that accusing look in his eyes.

She just hadn’t counted on him spotting her.

“So what, you’re fol owing me now?” he growled, turning his back on her and throwing his stuff into the locker.

And there it was, that look in his eyes, as if she were stranger, someone he wished he’d never met. Harper had tried to bluff her way through her encounter with Miranda, pretend that she didn’t care about what happened between them—but when it came to Adam, she didn’t have the strength for that kind of lie.

“Ad, I know you don’t want to talk to me—”

“So why the hel are you here?” He slammed the locker shut, but kept his back to her. She took a smal step in his direction, then another.

Because I can’t stay away.

Because I need you.

Because you need me.

“Because I have to tel you I’m sorry.”

“Trust me,” Adam said gruffly. “You’ve said enough.”

No. She’d begged him to stay. She’d left him unanswered voice mails, written letter after letter, but she’d never stood across from him and apologized for what she’d done.

She’d never had the nerve. Harper Grace, who could say anything to anyone, had been too afraid to speak.

Was she sorry for what she’d done?

The elaborate plan had given her Adam, opening his eyes to the possibility of the two of them being more than friends. It had pried him away from his bland, blond girlfriend and made him realize that puppy love was no substitute for the real thing.

And when it al came crashing down, it had guaranteed that he would never trust her again.

“I
am
sorry,” she said, hoping to convince herself as much as him.

He kept his back to her, placing both hands flat against the wal of lockers. His shoulders rose and fel as he took several deep, slow breaths. Harper couldn’t tear her eyes from the fuzzy blond hair at the nape of his neck—she used to love to run her finger across it, making him shiver.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. She came closer, but even as she stood just behind him, close enough to touch, he didn’t turn. He must have known she was there, but he didn’t move away. “Adam.” She put her hand on his back, ran it lightly up toward his bare neck. It felt so good to touch him again. “Please …”

“Harper,
don’t,
” he said, a low current of anger running through his voice. His fingertips turned white as he pressed them against the wal . “Just walk away.” He slammed his right palm flat against the locker, and a sharp crack echoed through the empty hal . “Go. Please.”

Adam would never hurt her—but, suddenly, Harper was afraid. She put her hand down and watched his frozen form for a moment.

Then she walked away.

Harper didn’t lose. She got what she wanted, without exception. She didn’t give up, ever.

But maybe this time, she had no choice.

“And what are
you
wearing?” Kaia asked, trying to keep the phone from slipping through her wet fingers as she sank lower into the hot tub. “Oooh, sexy.” She’d cancel ed yet another rendezvous with Powel , but the man was insatiable—and so she’d given in to a little foreplay by phone. Thirty seconds in and she was already bored out of her mind; even that sexy British accent, describing where he would touch her and how, had lost its ability to thril .

Kaia stretched a long, bare leg up into the air, enjoying the bite of the cool wind against her skin. She closed her eyes, straining to pay attention, wishing she could just tune out Powel ’s prattling and enjoy the silence of twilight.

Though she would never admit it to her father—and he would never bother to ask—there was one thing she appreciated about this desert hel hole: sunsets. Spectacular splashes of pink and orange, a blazing bal of reddish yel ow sinking beneath the haze, lighting up the open sky. Best of al were the moments just after the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, and the sky gradual y darkened, pinks fading to purples and blues until the first stars broke through the dark fabric of the sky.

“What? Oh yes, it feels good. Great,” she said quickly, trying to sound enthused (though not trying too hard). “And if you just moved your hands down, and then I—” She sighed.

“You know what? I’m just not feeling it.”

Powel grumbled, but Kaia was done with him for the night. And final y, after she’d agreed to model her new Malizia bikini for him in person sometime soon, he let her go.

She hung up the phone, but before laying it down on the deck, had a better idea. She dialed Reed’s number and held her breath, surprised by how much she suddenly wanted him to answer.

But the phone rang and rang, and eventual y Kaia gave up. She slid down farther and farther into the water, until only the tip of her nose and her dark eyes hovered above it.

Kaia never let herself depend on anyone, and so she wouldn’t let it bother her that Reed was unavailable. Stil she couldn’t help wondering where he was …and whether he was thinking of her.

Adam blew off practice.

He had to.

Once, basketbal had been an escape, a way to get out of his own head and relax into the rhythm of running, leaping, throwing, pushing himself to the limit. It had been a refuge.

And then Kane joined the team.

These days, Adam didn’t have the energy to sink many shots or work on his passing. Every ounce of strength was devoted to resisting the temptation to bash in Kane’s smug face, and pay him back for ruining Adam’s life.

Only, after the encounter with Harper, Adam didn’t have much strength left.

So he ditched practice, seeking a new refuge from the ijiess he’d made of his life. He needed to turn off his brain, and the 8 Bal , a dank pool hal at the edge of town, was fhe perfect place to do it.

It was dark, even during the day—black boards over the windows ensured that no afternoon light would slip in and disturb the handful of surly regulars. It was a place to hide.

And, with five-dol ar pitchers, a place to forget.

He’d come here with Harper once, and she’d put on a disgusting show, throwing herself at the sleazy goth bartender. Maybe it should have been a sign. But Adam had ignored the warning, and instead dumped a pitcher of beer on the bartender’s head in a jealous rage.The bartender had vowed to make him sorry if he ever returned—and so, since then, Adam had known to stay away.

But Adam was tired of doing what was good for him—things managed to blow up in his face, anyway. So why bother?

“Can I get a Sam Adams?” he asked the bartender. It was the same guy. Good.

“Don’t I know you?” the loser asked, pushing his greasy hair out of his eyes to get a better look.

“Is that supposed to be a pickup line?” Adam asked sarcastical y. “Because trust me, I’m not interested.”

“You’re the asshole,” the bartender exclaimed. As if, in a place like this, that was a distinguishing characteristic.

“Who are you cal ing an asshole?” Adam stood up and gripped the edge of the bar. Al the emotion that had been simmering within him final y rose to the surface—and in a moment, he knew, he could give it permission to explode.

“I thought I told you never to come back here,” the scrawny weasel complained. He turned away. “I’m not serving you. Get out.”

“Or what?” Adam growled.

“Or I’l cal the cops on your underage ass. In fact, maybe I’l do it, anyway, just for fun.”

Adam flexed his muscles.

Made a fist.

Pul ed back, and—

Stopped.

If he let himself lose control, he might never get it back again.

So instead of smashing in the bartender’s face, he grabbed a glass from the bar and threw it, hard as he could, to the ground.

“What the hel are you doing?” the bartender cried, as glass sprayed across the floor.

“I have no fucking idea,” Adam said honestly, and walked out. There were plenty of other bars in town, plenty of cheap drinks. Plenty of ways to forget.

And that was exactly what he needed.

If it was too dangerous to let himself react, then—at least for one night—he could let himself drown.

She was like a statue in the moonlight, pale, graceful, glowing in the night. He sucked in a sharp breath, forcing his body to stay calm. He couldn’t afford to give himself away.

She was so close—and it was so hard not to reveal himself, and take possession of her. As was his right.

He’d been with her before; he would be again. But nothing was more delicious than watching from a distance, knowing that she belonged to him.

She climbed out of the hot tub, and he held his breath. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Her perfect, glistening body, slicing through the air, every step precise, premeditated. As she toweled herself off, shivering, she suddenly froze, staring out into the darkness.

He froze, too, and it felt as if their eyes had locked. Had she sensed his invisible presence? His heart slammed in his chest, and his fingers tightened against the fence post he’d crouched behind. Moments like this—the threat of being caught, the chil of a near miss—made the game worth playing.

But he’d learned wel how to minimize the risks, and knew she would never catch on. Nothing was sweeter than facing her day in and day out, knowing that she could never imagine what lay behind his mask.

She liked to think she didn’t trust anyone, but she trusted him. She underestimated him, and he al owed it.

For now.

They’d decided to go old school.

E-mail would have been more efficient, and a Web site might have been snazzier, but after serious consideration, Beth and Miranda had decided that neither had the technical prowess to put something like that together undetected. And plausible deniability was key.

E-mails could be traced. Circuits always led back to their source. But paper was untraceable—and as editor in chief of the school paper, Beth had access to al the printing equipment she needed.

She pul ed the stack of flyers out of the printer as Miranda ejected their disk and wiped their work from the computer’s memory.

“Behold,” said Beth, holding up the crimson sheet crammed with dirty little secrets. “Our masterpiece.”

Miranda grabbed a copy and quickly scanned the elegantly designed layout.

“Unbelievable, isn’t it, that they were able to accomplish so much in their short, sordid lives?”

“I’m not sure
‘accomplish’
is the right word,” Beth said, reading out a few of her favorites. “
‘HG used to steal money from the collection plate. AM is impotent. KG is afraid of
the dark.’
I’m not sure what it is they’ve accomplished.”