Beyond Vengeance: Pacific Prep #3 Page 6

  His pupils seem to dilate, a dirty smirk flitting along his lips as similar dirty thoughts likely dance through his head.

  His father chuckles, clapping his son on the shoulder, not noticing the dark scowl Beck fires his way.

  “She’s a pretty piece, isn’t she?” he expresses to Beck, like I’m some sort of fucking possession and not a human being standing right here listening to him. Completely unaware of the ticking of my jaw or the clenching of Beck’s fists, the arrogant dickwad continues talking. “Beck here only recently came into the fold himself. I didn’t even know I had another son until last year.” The idiot chuckles, lying through his teeth. “But he’s been a great addition to our family and has been instrumental in increasing the efficiency of our business.”

  My eyebrows rise in a silent question as I sear Beck with my probing gaze. What the fuck does his father mean by that?

  “Is that so?” I can’t tear my eyes away from Beck as his lips pinch, and his father rattles on, oblivious to the silent conversation going on between us.

  “Oh, yes. He’s been very helpful, but my apologies. It’s rude to talk business at a party.” He laughs.

  I give him a tight smile.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I should be finding my parents,” I tell him politely—look at me acting like a fucking Davenport—not waiting for an answer before taking off, storming out of the hall as questions swirl around my head.

  I fucking knew Beck was keeping secrets!

  Knowing what I do about our parents' company, whatever they have Beck doing is bad. Seriously. Fucking. Bad. The fact his dad singled him out, instead of saying he and West have been helping, only confirms my suspicions that Beck has been more involved than the other guys.

  Storming outside, I can hear Beck’s heavy footsteps smacking against the ground as he chases after me. When he catches up to me, his large palm wraps around my forearm, and he uses his tight grip on my arm to drag me toward his parked car, his free hand yanking open the passenger door with more force than necessary.

  “Get in,” he snarls between gritted teeth, pushing me forward and giving me no choice. Doesn’t he know I want fucking answers from him, he doesn’t need to drag me. Stupid fucking testosterone-fueled male.

  My ass has barely hit the nylon seat before he slams my door shut, storming around to the driver’s side and climbing in. His car is nothing like Hawk’s. It’s old and rusted, the dash scored and seats worn, with the odd tear here and there. The engine sputters for a second before starting, and Beck takes off, the two of us sitting in silence for a while as we drive to god knows where. All I know is that it’s not back toward school.

  “What do they have you doing?” I demand when I can no longer keep my questions to myself, eyeing him out of the corner of my eye.

  The hand he has on the steering wheel tightens, while he irritably runs his other one over the coarse hairs of his short stubble. His jaw is clenched and the stubborn asshole shakes his head, refusing to answer me.

  “Fine,” I snap, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation. “How about I guess, and you just let me know when I get it right.”

  There’s only one reason I can think of why his dad sought him out and dragged him into all this bullshit, and the thought makes my blood boil, my vision blurring red as the urge to demand Beck turn this car around so I can go back and slice his father open from sternum-to-groin rides me hard.

  I sigh, yet again knowing I’m going to have to give up more of myself by talking about this. Talking about Lawrence was one thing. What he did…that was something that was done to me. Other than making me look like a victim—something I seriously hate thinking of myself as—it was unlikely to negatively affect how Beck, or anyone else, would look at me. But this…this is who I am. Once Beck knows this, it will change everything. He’ll never look at me the same, and who could blame him?

  I can’t look at him, keeping my gaze fixed firmly forward on the inky blackness out the window. It somehow seems fitting that we’re shrouded in darkness as, for the first time, I spill my secrets. Akin to splitting open my skin and showing him how black my blood runs, he’s about to glimpse how demoralized I really am.

  “They have you psychoanalyzing the kids, right? Helping to pick recruits and turn them into mindless soldiers.” My voice is hollow, my heart cracking as I accept how deep Beck has been dragged into all of this. There’s a tightness in my chest as I think about what fresh hell the new kids these sickos find have to go through. Isn’t what they’re doing bad enough? They need to find new and inventive ways to strip the soul from these innocent children too?

  Another moment of silence, this one fraught with tension, the weight of our topic of conversation suffocating.

  Beck pulls over onto the hard shoulder, slowing the car to a stop, and the two of us stare silently out the windshield, seeing nothing in the darkness. We’re in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by woodland and fields.

  Eventually he turns to look at me, taking a second to let his eyes roam over what he can see of my face before he asks, “How do you know about that?” His deflated, pained tone makes me suspect he already has an idea of the answer and, as I turn to meet his gaze, I can see the pleading in his eyes, begging me to refute it.

  Dropping the last of my barriers so he can see into every dark crevice I keep carefully hidden, I stare back at him, showing him every little bit of my suffering. I show him every strip of humanity they took from me every time they tore my skin open and tried to break me. I let him see how much every death affected me, even if I was killing people just as corrupt and devious as our parents. I let him see how much it killed me to stand back and watch while they punished and tortured other children, some of whom were no older than five or six.

  When he’s seen all he can bear to see, he tears his gaze from mine, staring unseeingly out the windshield as he shakes his head in denial, his nostrils flaring.

  “Don’t,” he pleads.

  But I’ve come this far.

  I have to say it.

  “Because I was one of those kids.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but in the silent car, the words are akin to a gunshot, confirming his worst fears.

  Chapter 5

  Because I was one of those kids.

  Those words echo around in my brain, giving me a headache that beats a steady drum against my skull.

  I have so many questions.

  How did she end up there? Why? How did I not notice or put it together?

  As soon as she uttered the words, everything suddenly made so much sense. The scars, her closed-off behavior, her insane fighting skills, and how she so easily killed that mercenary. After the blitz attack at Christmas, I know how well trained they are. They’re fucking machines. The five of us were struggling to fight off two of them, so I don’t much like my odds in a one-on-one battle.

  Yet I thought she got fucking lucky getting the better of one of them? I snort just thinking about it. There was nothing lucky about it.

  The truth of her words sits heavy in the air between us, strangling any sort of conversation. I don’t even know what the fuck to say to that. I’m professionally fucking trained to deal with people who have been through fucked up shit, but this is next level. It’s not like there was a class that taught me the appropriate way to respond when the girl I’m falling in love with tells me she’s a trained mercenary.

  Thankfully, I’m saved from having to think of a reply when Hadley continues. Focusing on her, her eyes are cloudy and her face withdrawn as her memories hold her hostage.

  “Lawrence didn’t want me to learn to fight like the other kids, but the guys in charge of us didn’t share his opinions. When he wasn’t around, I was thrown in the ring and treated to the same grueling training as everyone else. They would work us until our legs couldn’t hold us up and we were puking our guts out. Anyone who couldn’t hack it was made an example of.”

  Her expression darkens and there’s so much sorrow in her eyes, I don’t know
how she doesn’t drown in it.

  “They were never short of cruel and inventive ways to torture us. Beatings, food and sleep deprivation, preying on our fears.”

  She shudders, withdrawing further into herself. I want to reach across the short distance between us and drag her into my lap, but I sense she wouldn’t respond well to that. It’s clear she was seriously deprived of gentle touch growing up, and wherever she is in her memories right now, I fear any physical contact would only trigger her further.

  “Normal fears any kid would have. They would lock me in the dark, alone, for what felt like days. I hated it.” Her voice breaks and tears start to leak out of her eyes. “It was their punishment of choice, especially when we were getting close to another visit from Lawrence. He didn’t like when they touched me, although he always agreed with their measures to keep me in line in his absence, so long as the scars didn’t show.” She snarls out the last sentence, anger burning away the despair in her eyes as her hands form tight fists.

  “After Meena died, I stopped fighting. I was never getting out of there, so what was the point? I became what all of them wanted. A soldier. A fighter. A doll.” A caustic, unhinged laugh breaks free, and she shakes her head. “The funny thing is I became an asset to them. One of the best fighters they had. Instead of putting all my energy into fighting them, I became one of them. But I couldn’t switch off my humanity the same way the others did.

  “Every death stuck with me—even if it was deserved. We were hired by bad people to torture and kill other bad people.” Sighing, she shakes her head again. “I didn’t want to. Every time I did, I could feel a part of myself revolting, screaming at me to stop. But I was too far gone. Too lost inside myself to do anything but blindly follow their commands.”

  She lapses into silence and when it doesn’t look like she’s going to tell me any more, I ask softly, “What happened?”

  Lifting her gaze, she looks at me through watery eyes. “Cam did. Lawrence had been talking more and more about me coming to live with him. I’d shut down years ago. I was a mere shell of myself, but I knew whatever he had planned for my future would destroy the last flicker of who I am. I…I would have done anything to avoid that.”

  I don’t like the way she’s talking, and it only makes me more furious at Lawrence for the pain he’s inflicted. As though stealing her from her home—because there’s no way he wasn’t involved—and hiding her in his own company, away from the rest of society, guaranteeing she was isolated and alone wasn’t enough, he had to destroy any hope she could have for a future by ensuring she would forever remain chained to him.

  I can feel my blood boiling as it pounds through my veins, demanding vengeance. Every single one of those sick fucks is going to pay for what Hadley has had to endure. I’ll rip their fucking heads off myself.

  As the adrenaline pumps through my body, anger swelling like a tsunami within me, I throw open the car door, barely getting my seatbelt unclipped before I launch myself from the vehicle. The cool night air does nothing to calm the raging fire as I storm away from the car, wishing the darkness would just suck me up and expunge my brain of the last fifteen minutes. It was bad enough knowing what Lawrence had put her through, but this…I don’t even know how to deal with this.

  I faintly register the car door opening somewhere behind me and before I’ve given more than a passing thought to the action, I’m striding back toward the car. Hadley is perched on the hood, looking like some sort of angel of darkness in her long dark gown, standing out in such contrast against her alabaster skin as she watches me approach, her face unreadable.

  I open my mouth to say something—what I was going to say, I haven’t the faintest clue—but Hadley beats me to it.

  She looks up at me with vulnerability shimmering in her eyes. Nonetheless, she juts out her chin, righting her armor, and preparing for battle. Although I have no idea what war she thinks she has with me.

  “If this changes things between us, I understand.”

  Her words grind me to a halt as I stare at her in confusion. When I don’t say anything, she swallows—the only tell showing she’s nervous—and continues speaking.

  “I’d get it if, you know, you didn’t want to be together now. Knowing what you know. It’s, uh, a lot to take in, and, well, you didn’t know what you were signing on for when we agreed to give this dating thing a try. So, yeah, I, uh, would understand…I guess.”

  She’s rambling, and it would be cute—laughable, really—if it wasn’t for the heaviness of her honesty sitting like a lead balloon in the air between us. Unable to go another second without feeling her in my arms, I reach out, wrap my hand around her wrist and tug her toward me.

  I sink my other hand into her soft, luscious curls, crushing my lips against hers and swallowing her gasp of surprise as I drown in the taste of her.

  She thinks this could change things between us? She’s so fucking wrong. It only makes me want her more. Not only is her strength awe inspiring, but I want to be the one to show her what love is. I want to be the one to hold her when she has a nightmare, to bring a smile to her face on rainy days, to bask in the light that is Hadley Parker when she laughs. But most importantly, I want to be at her side when she gets the justice she deserves. I’ll storm into battle with her, bleed every fucker out, and when we’re done, we’ll burn that motherfucking compound to the ground.

  Her small hands fist my shirt, pulling me impossibly closer as our tongues clash like weapons, our kiss ferocious and hungry. I could never get enough of this. Of her.

  Pulling back just enough to break the kiss, but so I can still feel her breathless pants against my lips, I stare into her turbulent gray-blue eyes. They’re chaotic, churning with so much emotion, and her pupils are dilated as she stares back at me. For the first time, I’m seeing all of her—every little part. She’s got nothing left to hide. For me, she has peeled back all the layers she usually keeps carefully wrapped up, revealing all the grim parts of herself that she never lets anyone see.

  I look deep into her eyes, feeling as though I’m seeing into her very soul. “I love you. There’s nothing you could say or do to make me change my mind.”

  Her eyes widen in surprise, her features softening even though she looks unsure, like she doesn't believe what I’m saying. I get the impression she’s never heard those three words before, and why would she? She didn’t have anyone to tell her, to show her what love is.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she tightens her hold on my shirt, yanking me toward her, her lips closing over mine. Her kiss is scorching and my body comes alive, acknowledging her touch. It’s heated and desperate, but it’s also a promise. As my tongue slides over hers, I can taste everything she feels but doesn’t know how to put into words.

  “I’m not sure I know what love is,” she whispers softly, making my heart ache for her. “I’ve never experienced it before. I don’t know what it feels like…but if there was ever someone I thought I could fall in love with, it would be you.”

  Cupping her cheeks in my hands, I kiss her harshly, taking as much from this moment as I can and burning it into my memory. Our time is running out. We’ll have to head back to campus soon, and the second I tell her so, she’ll re-erect her walls. I want to remember every second of this moment, when I had all of her.

  Eventually ending the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers, committing to memory how fiercely beautiful she looks in this moment, before I murmur, “We should probably get back to campus.”

  Agreeing, the two of us head back to the car. As I open the door, I can hear my phone vibrating in its holder in the center console, and it goes off again as I start the engine. Sighing, I already suspect who is blowing up my phone as I lift it out. Yup, as expected, it’s Hawk, wondering where we are. I fire off a quick reply, letting him know I’m taking Hadley back to campus. As soon as it's sent, a notification pops up saying it’s been read, and dots appear at the bottom of the screen. Great. He has more to say already.

&
nbsp; Hawk: Drop her off at her door and meet us at our apartment.

  Such a demanding asshole. I can understand why he grates on Hadley’s nerves. She would deny it if asked, but as much as his bossy attitude annoys her, I think she secretly likes the fact that he cares enough to boss her around.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. The guys are just checking in, wondering where you disappeared off to.”

  Ignoring Hawk’s demand, I throw my phone back in its holder as Hadley rolls her eyes. Starting the engine, I laugh, and the two of us head back to campus.

  We’re halfway down the road when she speaks up, “You never answered my question.” Her detached tone tells me she’s carefully tucked her heart away again and re-erected her walls, just like I knew she would.

  I let out a long exhale. I’d been hoping to avoid talking about it, but I should have known she wouldn’t let it slide.

  “They have me going through profiles and telling them which kids I think could be molded into what they want, and which ones won’t hack it.”

  I glance briefly at Hadley out of the corner of my eye, finding her jaw clenched tightly. Her leg bounces in irritation.

  “How do you even know that?” she asks, a curious ring to her voice.

  “I don’t really. For some of the older kids, I can look at their history. If they have been brought in by the police for fighting or assault or anything like that, but for the most part, it's just looking at how shitty their upbringing has been and trying to work out if that’s enough to help them survive what our parents are going to do to them.”

  The way I say it, with no emotion in my voice, makes it sound so clinical. Over the last few months, I’ve managed to remove myself from the reality of what I’m doing. I’ve learned to set aside the wrongness of what’s being asked of me when my father hands me those profiles every week and tells me to pick the best ones. The first few times, the guilt nearly ate me alive. I barely ate or slept for weeks. I had to learn to live with the fucked up decisions I was being forced to make. It wasn’t only my life that relied on it but West’s too. He might not trust me—hell, he doesn’t even know me—but where I come from, family matters. Whether it's the family you’re born into or the one you make for yourself, it means something. A fuckton more than whatever ‘family’ means to the rich assholes here; they don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves.