Punk 57(84)

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 f*ck 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 *. 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 f*cking 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 f*ck did you get that watch?”

“What’s your problem?” he snarls. “Go f*ck 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.