Bad Son Read online

  But she’s clearly not in class now, unless I’m hallucinating, and after thinking about her so much over the past weeks, it’s a real possibility.

  She hasn’t noticed me yet. She has her cell phone glued to her ear and she’s pacing up and down, a frown tightening her delicate features, not talking.

  Listening.

  Today her long hair is in two braids that swing every time she turns, and her lips are a glossy pink. Silver hoops glint in her ears. She’s wearing one of those short plaited skirts she seems to like, with knee-high black socks and low army boots.

  I’ve seen plenty of pretty girls in my life. From conservative goody-two-shoes to punks with shaved heads, black lipstick and more piercings on their bodies than I could count, I’ve seen it all, but no girl has ever gotten me so hot and hard like this one—or so intrigued.

  “Wait... wait!” she suddenly yells into the phone, scaring the living shit out of me, so that I fumble with my smokes and drop them.

  Fuck. Slowly I bend down to pick them up, my bad knee creaking and shooting shards of pain up my leg.

  “No, Merc,” she saying now, gesturing wildly as she paces back and forth, “no. It’ll be okay, I promise, okay. I promise!”

  Promise.

  That word reels me in closer. Connor always talked about promises and how important they are, how your honor depends on keeping them, how careful you got to be before promising anything. How ready to sacrifice anything to fulfill them.

  Honor, and family, and the law. Those were his guiding principles, instilled in me the few years I spent with him.

  Anyway, what’s all this about? And who the hell is this Merc? His name rings a bell. She’s mentioned it before. It’s clearly someone important to her.

  Just then, the image of her walking down the street with a tall blond guy flashes through my memory, and I clench my pack of smokes in my hand, crushing it.

  “No, Merc. Listen to me.” She has stopped pacing, giving me her profile. She’s biting her lip. She does that a lot. “I’m coming over.”

  Over where? To the guy’s house?

  The hell. My fists curl tighter. I barely notice when my crushed pack of cigarette falls back to the ground.

  The moment she starts moving, I’m after her. I need to know who this Merc is, how I can compete with him for Gigi.

  It’s not until she climbs into the bus, the same bus we take after school every day, that I realize I have no reason to check out the competition.

  I stop in my tracks and watch as she takes her seat and the bus rolls away.

  What the fuck, Jarett. Are you out of your goddamn mind?

  A girl like Gigi may talk to me and walk with me, but she’d never go out with me. She’s smart, and I’m bad news. She has to know it.

  And I have to remember it.

  ***

  “Trust me,” Mr. Lowe says, his deep-set eyes kind. “You’ll like this, Jarett.”

  Yeah, about that. I really fucking doubt it.

  And I don’t trust kind eyes. They tend to get you into trouble.

  He’s working on the engine of an old Impala in the garage, where he usually likes to tinker around. Sebastian is already there, lounging against the car, toying with a screwdriver.

  “Seb pretends he doesn’t want to be here, but ignore him,” Mr. Lowe says, waving a dismissive hand at his son. “That’s just his style. Come here, take a look at the engine.”

  “Yeah, come in, why don’t you?” Sebastian’s gaze is hard like flint, but he shoots me an indulgent smile, like you’d do to an annoying kid. “Do come and take a look. What would we do without you, Fen?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I say automatically, although I don’t mind the nickname.

  “Jarett Fenris,” he says, using Connor’s family name, the only one that really belongs to me right now. Drawing out the syllables. Mocking me. “Fen.”

  “Stop this,” Mr. Lowe tells him, but without real anger.

  Sebastian’s hostility actually makes me feel better, so much so that I approach the car. I can trust that—the annoyance, the anger. You can’t fake those emotions.

  Maybe Sebastian does like working on cars, somewhere deep inside his black little soul, but he sure as hell doesn’t like having me here.

  Knowing this, at least I’m on firm ground.

  “Hold this.” A wrench is placed into my hand. “You okay there?”

  “Yes, Mr. Lowe.”

  He chuckles, looking up from the engine. “We talked about that. If you won’t call me dad, then Bruce will do for now.”

  “Bruce,” I whisper, swallowing hard and clutching the wrench in my hand, because no way am I calling this guy dad, not when Connor died just a few years ago, when this peaceful time won’t last, and certainly not when his son is staring at me like he wants to murder me.

  “Know what? I think you two can fix this engine just fine,” Sebastian says right on cue, as he usually does when Mr. Lowe invites me to take part in some family tradition such as this one, and throws the screwdriver over his shoulder. “Catch you later, Dad.”

  Yeah, I knew the good times wouldn’t last—and they were good, despite Sebastian’s little tantrums. Much better than most other times in my life. But I had a gut feeling, born from experience. It said, good times don’t ever last, Jarett.

  And I was right.

  ***

  “Hey,” a girl’s voice says from behind me.

  Then comes a loud crash, scaring the fuck out of me, and I drop the rake I’d been using to gather the leaves in the garden, taking a step back.

  “Fuck.” I spin around, my heart slamming about in my chest, and find Gigi right outside the fence giving me an apologetic smile. “What the fuck?”

  “Um, sorry?” She shrugs, her eyes wide. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I shake my head, struggling to gather my wits. It shouldn’t be so hard, dammit. My ears are buzzing. “What the hell was that noise?”

  “Oh. I dropped my backpack and it landed on some empty bottles. And other trash.” She looks down and makes a face. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “How...” I rub my face with both hands. “How did you miss a heap of trash and dropped your bag on it?”

  She laughs, a bright, sweet sound. “I was looking at you. I mean...” Her eyes widen again, and her cheeks go red. “Looking for you. Not at you. That’s just...”

  The frantic hammering of my heart eases as I stare at her and the meaning of her words seeps in.

  “You were looking at me,” I say.

  “No, see, that’s the thing. I wasn’t, I was passing by and I just...” She waves her hands back and forth, her face reddening more.

  “Ah-huh.” I lift the hem of my T-shirt the wipe the sweat off my face, and her gaze dips to my abs.

  She likes what she sees. There’s no denying the pleasure of knowing that. Even if that’s all there is to it, and I know nothing could ever happen between us.

  A girl like her with a guy like me... Yeah, no fucking way. So what harm is there in looking, right?

  I give her a once-over in my turn, grinning when the blush moves down her pale throat. “Nice.”

  “You’re, um. Raking. Leaves.” She swallows, tucks a loose strand behind her ear. “So.”

  I arch a brow at her.

  “Working in the garden,” she forges on. “Helping out. Which makes sense. That you’d be good at physical stuff. Like, um. You look like you do sports.”

  Heh. She’s still checking me out? Sweet.

  “Okay, so...” She’s so flustered. Damn cute. Hot. Jesus, I could eat his girl up. I bet she’s sweeter than candies.

  Then I remember that guy she’s so hung up on, and my mood sours.

  I pick the rake up and lean on it. “I’m not done here.”

  Not that I want her gone. Not really, despite the flare of anger and the tightening of my pants and the confusion of wanting a girl I can’t have.

  But like every time, her presence calms the
tempest in me. I breathe easier when she’s around. The day seems brighter, warmer.

  It’s a fucking mystery.

  So when she shrugs and leans away to grab her backpack from the heap of trash she dropped it on, I give up on all pretense and walk over to the fence.

  “Wait.” Dammit, how do I get her to stay? After my silences and the flirting, I dunno what to say to her. “Wanna... come in?”

  Into the garden. Not the house. But it hits me then that I’ve never invited anyone past the garden gate.

  Which makes sense. It’s not my home. I’ve no right to invite anyone in.

  But before I second guess myself any more, she smiles and passes me her backpack over the fence.

  “Sure! Thanks.” Then she pulls herself over the fence, and I think too late to help her.

  I think too late that she’d choose not to use the gate.

  Crazy girl. I grab her arm and haul her over, letting her backpack and the rake fall, and by the time she’s over and inside the garden, I’m snickering.

  We stumble on the grass together, trying to catch our balance. I plant my feet wide and steady her, and the feel of her sweet curvy body pressed to mine sends a heady wave of need straight to my balls. I’m getting hard so fast I’m lightheaded.

  Whoa. Down, boy.

  I could kiss her. I could throw her down on the grass and lie on top of her, between her legs. I could touch her, pleasure her. Sink inside her.

  She’s still laughing, though, and it’s the best sound in the world, even if it brings me down to earth with a thud.

  “Okay.” She wipes at her eyes. “I’m inside your garden. Now what?”

  What is she doing?

  What am I doing? I’m grinning and have no fucking clue why. “I need to rake the leaves.”

  “Okay, gimme that.” She gestures imperiously at the rake, all sign of embarrassment and flustered nervousness gone. “I’ve got this.”

  I narrow my eyes at her, confused. “You wanna rake the leaves.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

  I swear, this girl makes no sense. “I’m supposed to do it.”

  “So we do it together.”

  “Why?”

  And how the fuck can we rake the leaves together? There’s only one rake, and in any case...

  “That’s what friends do,” she says, cutting through my thoughts. “They do stuff together. Trust me.”

  Do I trust her?

  God help me, I think I do.

  And it’s not as if I’d know what friends do. Never really had any.

  She grabs the rake and I stare at her, her curves, her mouth, her tits, her eyes, her heart-shaped ass when she bends over.

  Hell, I’m so damn horny. I want her so damn much. I never thought it was possible to want someone you like, to burn with want for someone who claims to be your friend.

  I let my long T-shirt cover the tent in my pants and hope she doesn’t notice. Then I wonder what she’d do if she did notice.

  She was looking at me earlier. Would she let me touch her, kiss her? It’s so hard to ignore when she’s right here, in my face, so pretty and getting sweaty as she rakes the dry leaves.

  So damn hard...

  Finally I can’t take it anymore and I grab the rake, stopping her. “Enough.”

  She eyes me as I take over. At least by keeping my hands busy I won’t be tempted to reach for her, run my palms over the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, over the swell of her ass. “You could have let me do this.”

  Yeah, no way. I keep raking, sweat running down my back, sticking the cotton to my shoulder blades.

  “Okay, then tell me something about you.” She leans against the fence, and from the corner of my eye I stare at her legs.

  Dammit.

  “Like...” She crosses her legs at the ankle as she leans back and I tear my gaze away. “How do you eat your fries?”

  I snort. I can’t help it. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah! I like mine with blue cheese dip, or ketchup. You?”

  Is she for real?

  “Ranch dressing.” I go back to raking. She’s just fucking with me, I know it. Who cares about shit like this?

  “Merc likes his with Chocolate frosty. Dips them in it. I swear...” She sighs fondly. “He’s something.”

  A jolt of shock goes through me at the mention of the guy’s name, when the thought of kissing her is still burning in my mind. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. He eats them with Nutella, too. Can you believe it?”

  “Jesus Christ, who the hell cares?” I throw the rake down to the grass and start toward the house, and I swear my bones are vibrating with rage. “Why don’t you go back to Merc, whoever that fucking loser is?”

  “Jarett!”

  I don’t turn around, though I hear her footsteps following me. She touches my arm, and I spin around. “What?”

  “Merc is my brother.”

  My breath goes out, and with it my rage. I sag, searching her face for clues. She doesn’t look like she’s shitting me.

  Jeez. The guy she was talking to on the phone, probably also the guy she was walking with down the street? That’s her brother?

  “Come on,” she says softly, taking my hand, smiling. “We’re not finished yet.”

  She’s right. We’re not.

  Whatever it is we’re doing.

  Chapter Four

  Gigi

  “How’s your brother doing?” Mom asks as I come out of Merc’s room, closing the door behind me.

  “Mom, we live in the same house. Ask him.”

  “Oh, you know how he is. He won’t let me coddle him, and pretends he’s fine. God, sometimes I wish he went back to being a toddler. Back then it was easier to tell what he needed.”

  “He’ll be fine.” I give her a reassuring smile.

  “Does he still have a fever? I’ll take—”

  “Mom, he’s fine.”

  Merc isn’t fine, but it’s not a physical sickness that’s tormenting him on most days, and even now... Even now, he’s exhausted because he can’t rest in his sleep, troubled by nightmares and memories.

  Mom can never know. Octavia, our older sister, either. Merc made me swear when we were kids that I’d never tell a living soul.

  And I’d sworn. Cross my heart and hope to die. I kept my promise, even if I’m not sure anymore it makes any sense.

  However, I made him swear he’d keep my own secret, too, and he did. A pact, though he’s getting the light end of the deal. God, I don’t want to think about it. What happened to him... If it really happened... if his little kid’s mind didn’t misconstruct something he saw...

  In any case, I still think he should talk to someone about it, a professional, someone who can help him. You see, just by looking at my little brother, you can’t tell that he rarely sleeps at night. He’s full of positive energy, a bright person, and a total heartthrob. Behind those clear blue eyes, though, there’s this heavy shadow.

  I want to take it from him, but he won’t let me.

  And now I’m drawn to Jarett, another boy whose pretty eyes seem to hide a wall of pain, only...it’s different.

  Of course it’s different. Merc is my younger brother.

  Jarett is definitely not my brother. And he’s so hot...

  “Gigi. Are you listening to me?” Mom has her hands on her hips and she’s glaring daggers at me. “I said, is he asleep? Or shall I take him some soup? He hasn’t eaten all day.”

  “Soup. Take him some soup,” I say and skip down the stairs and out of the house.

  I didn’t see Jarett at the school today, or even afterward, in the bus. I walked home alone. I wonder if he also caught the bug that brought Merc down.

  That’s a good excuse to go look for him, right?

  ***

  But Jarett doesn’t look sick. At all. He’s standing in the Lowes’ garden, beside a lawn mower, bare-chested in the dipping sun, and whoa...

  This boy is ridiculously ripped. Fro
m his broad shoulders to his defined pecs and chiseled abs, he’s like a work of art. A classical statue of a man, tanned and shifting and very much alive. He shoves dark hair from his eyes and turns, spotting me.

  He grins.

  Be still my heart.

  He gives me a long look, that grin melting away all rational thought, then grabs the lawn mower and starts it up again.

  I know by now he doesn’t talk much, but hey, he seemed glad to see me, so I enter the garden—using the gate this time—and stand to the side, watching on as he cuts the grass.

  Makes me wonder why I never see the family’s other son, Sebastian, work in the garden. He has other chores? Or he’s just a lazy ass? I know he’s older than Jarett, because Sydney told me, and that he works someplace on the other side of town. Maybe that’s why I never see him around?

  Not that I mind. I never liked that guy much.

  Whereas his brother...

  “So you were adopted?” I shout above the noise of the mower, and... nice move, Gigi. Great way to start a conversation. He probably hates talking about it.

  What’s worse is that I seem to be right. He glances at me, his jaw clenching, and he goes on mowing, his back to me.

  Crap.

  I approach, but stay out of his way as he walks back and forth, in perfect straight lines, mowing the whole frigging lawn with military precision. I never thought Jarett was so neat and organized in anything he did.

  And it hits me how preconceptions shaped the way I see him: dark lines of tattoos on his arms, all those strong muscles, the glare he directs at the world make me think he’s messy, in his life and in his mind.

  What do I really know about him, after these past weeks of walking with him, and talking with him?

  Nothing, really.

  Except that he likes eating his fries with ranch dressing. And that he got jealous of Merc. At least I think he did.

  Anyway, that last bit is what gives me the courage not to flee, but to stick around until he’s done with his task. I wait until he turns off the machine and goes to grab his T-shirt from a bench by the house, disappointed when he pulls it on, hiding his tattoos.

  Now he’s looking at me, at last, and I’m not missing my chance to fix this.