Whatever It Takes (Bad Reputation Duet #1)(17)

You know, I met him—Loren.

He caught me after I shot paintballs at his house windows, and my friends—they just left me there, racing off with their own paintball guns, thinking he’d turn me into the police. Being loyal, I wouldn’t have ratted them out.

But that night, Loren Hale let me go.

I don’t get it.

I don’t understand why he didn’t turn me in. He seems like an ass. He’s always glaring in tabloid photographs, not more than his half-brother, but still. He looks like a fucking dick—and he let me go.

I don’t know why I do it now, but I reach into my backpack and grab a canister of metallic spray paint. With my heart banging into my ribcage, violently saying no with each beat, I spray the side of his mailbox. My nose flares, knowing it’s bad.

Knowing I should stop.

But I don’t.

The paint wets my fingers as I hold down the nozzle tighter, and on one side I write the word Cock and on the other, I write Sucker.

Maybe I should’ve just written help instead.





6 BACK THEN – September


Philadelphia, Pennsylvania





GARRISON ABBEY

Age 17





Superheroes & Scones is packed.

Slouched in a red vinyl booth, I listen to Nathan prattle off reasons why he can’t stand this place—how it looks like Captain America took a shit on the walls, a red and blue and gray scheme. It’s a dumb complaint. We’re in a comic book store for Christ’s sake.

I take a swig from a bottle wrapped tightly in a brown bag. Shit. Sharp vodka slides down my throat, inexpensive and probably a cousin of rubbing alcohol.

This is the best I could steal from the liquor cabinet. My parents only stock shitty vodka, and they’d notice if I took their prized Scotch and bourbon.

“Hey.” Nathan waves a hand at my face, sitting next to me. “You here?”

I flip him off and then chug again, leaning against the window. Our friends John and Kyle are seated on the opposite side. Their faces begin to blur, which means today is better than yesterday.

I’m about to put the bottle back to my lips when noses suddenly press against the window, and girls scream bloody-murder outside.

“Christ,” I curse before following their gazes across the store. Everyone here seems to freeze, comic books half open but eyes elsewhere. With their slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions, you’d think an A-list movie star just made an appearance.

I’m not surprised by what I see.

Loren Hale and his half-brother, Ryke Meadows, just entered the main storeroom from the employees’ only door. Nathan, John, and Kyle purposefully escalate their voices and mess with the sugar packets, tearing them open and spilling white granules all over the table.

I can’t focus my gaze enough to make out Loren and Ryke’s features. But I’ve read enough descriptions on Tumblr from obsessed girls (and probably guys, to be honest) to have their faces forever imprinted in my fucking head.

Loren Hale is all sharp-edged, his jawline like ice and his amber eyes daggered and so scary. He will murder you with them. He wears a lot of red Vans and V-neck shirts. He’s so cool. His hair is shorter on the sides and longer on the top (guys take notes!)

How about no.

Ryke Meadows is all hard-edged, his scruffy jawline like stone and his brown eyes narrowed and so broody. He’s an animal. Beware. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a werewolf in another life.

Tumblr girls are so weird.

And yeah, I read all of those in my free time. Internet culture is more entertaining than real life. Like right now, I immediately turn my head away from Loren. Because of what’s in his arms.

A baby—his baby. The thing can’t be more than two months old, and he’s crying hysterically at all the noise and attention.

I glance back, only once, to see Lily Calloway taking her son out of Loren’s arms. But he’s too busy to really notice. He’s glaring at Nathan, at me, and my friends, the table littered with sugar packets, their voices causing more havoc.

His amber eyes daggered.

He will murder you with them.

Part of me wants to glare back—to prove that he’s not murdering me with anything. But my neck grows hot, my stomach unsettled, and I focus on my vodka instead.

Another swig, I think before taking one.

I can’t even remember the last prank we did on Loren’s house. We’ve done so many, even in the past month. Even when they had a fucking newborn in there—stop.

Drink.

I do.

Not long after, I feel Nathan press closer to my side. Loren squeezes into my end of the booth while his brother squeezes into the other.

Tumblr is right, I think. Despite both brothers having lean muscles, runner’s builds, Ryke Meadows acts like the aggressive brute, his elbows on the table, the strong-hand that could literally drag any of us out of here if Loren Hale said so.

It always seems like Loren calls the shots though. He’s the talker—his features murderous and cold.

“Hey there,” Loren says with this irritated half-smile. It’s iconic, his dry smile that says you’re a piece of shit and you know it. I can’t even replicate it. I don’t think anyone can.

I hold his gaze this time. And I take the largest swig from my paper-bagged bottle. I’m not scared of you, I want to retort. I want him to feel it.