Vendetta (Blood for Blood #1)(16)

“You better be,” someone interrupted.

Millie’s brother, Alex, was stalking toward us, his grin revealing nearly all of his perfectly square teeth. He was accompanied by two of his friends — the first I recognized as Robbie Stenson, a stockier, way less attractive version of a Ken doll, who came complete with floppy brown hair and overly groomed eyebrows. He didn’t walk so much as lope around, kind of like a stylish troll. The other boy I had seen once or twice at Millie’s house playing video games, but he never seemed to say much. He had bright red hair, gangly limbs, and a forehead that was shinier than the rest of him.

Millie bounced to her feet. “It’s about time you showed up. We have a tournament to win.”

“Soph, you know Stenny and Foxy, right?” Alex indicated behind him.

Ah, boys and their stupid nicknames. “Yeah, hi.” I waved.

Robbie Stenson gave me a too-cool-for-this-introduction head nod so subtle I barely registered it, while “Foxy” threw a fluorescent yellow vest at me. I fumbled it and had to bend down to pick it up. They were obviously less than thrilled about having me on their team.

Millie caught her vest on reflex and then dropped it like it was on fire. “No way. I’m not wearing this. It reeks of sweat.”

“Are you serious?” Alex’s voice was already weary with sibling-related fatigue.

Millie curled her lip in disgust. “I’d literally rather die.” I suppressed my smile. Their British accents made even the most banal exchanges sound way more Masterpiece Theatre than they had any right to be.

Robbie, Foxy, and I put our vests on without protest; mine fell to my knees and halfway down my arms, engulfing everything but my luminous kicks. Eventually, and after some not-so-subtle peer pressure on my part, Millie wriggled into hers.

“You’re such a tyrant,” she muttered under her breath.

“At least your legs still look good,” I tried to reassure her. But we couldn’t hide from the ugly truth. We were both swimming in oversized fluorescence.

“We’re up on court one first,” Alex started, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Our team name is the Sharpshooters.”

Millie and I grimaced. “That’s the worst name ever,” we chorused.

“Why don’t you come up with something better, then?” Alex challenged.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Millie started hopping up and down. “What about Victorious Secret?”

Alex’s face fell, and Foxy let out a groan.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Robbie cut in.

“How about the Human Highlighters?” I suggested, gesturing at our hideously luminous vests.

“Fine.” Alex threw his hands up in surrender, and Robbie and Foxy nodded their reluctant consent. “We’ll change it.”

Millie cupped her hands around her mouth and made her voice sound crackly. “That’s one small step for Sophie, one giant leap for Alex’s sense of humor.”

Robbie sprinted off to reregister our name, leaving us with Foxy and Alex, who was already taking the whole situation a million times more seriously than we were.

“I’ve done a little recon,” he said, conveying his info like a Navy SEAL. “A lot of the other players are younger than us this year, which gives us the advantage …”

Millie punched me in the arm and my attention fell away from her brother. “What?”

“Now you’re literally going to die.” Her eyes had grown to the size of saucers, and I swiveled to follow her gaze. “That’s them, right? The Priestly brothers?”

She wasn’t fully wrong about the dying thing. My heart definitely slowed down for at least a couple of beats. Across the far court, the Priestly brothers were coming toward us; there were four of them this time, their connection to each other made plain by their olive skin and dark hair.

“I never thought I’d actually find basketball shorts attractive on a guy” was all I could manage.

“I was just thinking that,” said Millie.

What the hell are they even doing here? I wondered. Most of us had come for tradition’s sake — it was a pleasant enough way to kill time, a last resort on a sunny day for a bunch of kids who had nothing better to do. But these boys weren’t like the rest of Cedar Hill. I would have thought them above the idea of attending some Podunk neighborhood basketball tournament.

Luca was walking next to Nic, his face stern, and a new brother flanked them on either side. They probably could have nailed a five-legged race if they’d wanted to.

By the way the brothers seemed to zero in on Luca as he spoke, I assumed he was the eldest, though the others, the two I had yet to meet and who were remarkably similar to each other in appearance, could not have been that far behind — maybe eighteen or nineteen years old. They were shorter and more filled out, though they shared the same square jaws and strong cheekbones. I guessed Nic was the youngest of the four, though not by much.

“Holy handsomeness!” Millie was practically salivating. “Four Italian stallions carved from my dreams. Which one is Nic?”

My eyes hadn’t left him. “The one with the dark hair.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“Second from the right.”

“Wow. And Luca?”

“Second from the left.”