Dylan (2 page)

He lifts a meaty fist as if to retaliate,
but his eyes go wide when he finally recognizes me. Being a member
of Fianna Fáil does have its advantages. Especially when you’re at
a party hosted entirely by us.

I don’t even try to hide my cocky smirk as
the color drains from his face. “That’s right, fucker. If you take
that swing, you’ll be lucky if you wake up in the morning. It’s
really best if you just move along now.”

I keep my eyes on him as he staggers his way
backward through the crowd without even trying to defend himself
against me. The people around us ‘
boo’
in protest but
quickly turn their attention back to having a good time. When I can
no longer see the douche bag, I turn around expecting to be met
with gratitude, but this girl looks anything but grateful.

Her almost silver eyes are narrowed in
displeasure, and her pouty lips are pressed into a tight frown.
I’ve never wanted to fuck a smile onto a girl’s face before, but
the idea feels pretty tempting right now. Then she speaks, and I
know this girl is nothing like the other girls I fuck and toss
away. This girl won’t settle for being disposable. It’s a shame,
because I can’t see myself ever wanting more, and she’s fucking
sexy.

“I didn’t need you to step in. I had it
under control.” She says defiantly with her slender arms crossed
over a very impressive rack.

Standing this close to her, I can easily see
the contempt simmering in her endless silver eyes. The way her
black, long-sleeved t-shirt hugs the generous curves of her body
says she is clearly trying to hide. I desperately want to see what
her ass looks like in those tight, holey jeans, but I get the
feeling she will swing on me too if I ask her to turn around.

She has a slender face, and isn’t wearing
make-up as far as I can tell. This girl looks nothing like the
other women here, and yet, she has to be the most beautiful out of
all of them. She is naturally beautiful with the kind of full lips
and pert nose that women pay millions to get. It seems that the
longer I stare at her, the more annoyed she looks at me, and I can
feel the grin start to light up my face at her exasperation.

“I’m not fucking you just because you
decided to put your nose where it didn’t belong. I didn’t ask for
your help. I didn’t need it.” Her words are clipped and harsh and
in complete contradiction to her light, airy voice. I can sense
something more in her tone, something she isn’t saying, some deeper
emotion I’m not privy to, yet.

“I didn’t ask you to fuck me.” I keep my
eyes trained on her and my brows scrunched down in mock
frustration.

“Of course you didn’t. I didn’t give you a
chance to ask, and I won’t. So it’s really best if
you
move
along now too.” She mocks my words to the douche bag as she cocks
her hip to the side and holds my gaze.

“That’s the thanks I get for saving you? You
just assume I’m going to take advantage of you, and then you tell
me off?” I say quizzically, but she doesn’t respond. She just keeps
her eyes locked to mine in the most annoyed look I think she can
pull off.

I have this crazy urge to run my fingers
along the slender length of her jaw. The skin looks soft, and it
curves beautifully—almost artfully. As my eyes roam over all of her
soft, beautiful features, I can feel my jeans constrict with my
growing arousal. What is it about this bitchy little attitude of
hers that is turning me on so damn much? I want to bend her over my
knee and watch her ass tint pink under my palm.

I have to swallow back the desire that is
hammering through my veins before I can speak again. “Can I at
least get your name? Isn’t that kind of customary in these
situations?” I arch a brow with a grin playing on my lips.

She sighs, running a hand through her long,
dark locks. They shimmer under the flashes of light, and I want to
see if they feel as silky as they look right now. I shove my hands
into my pockets to resist the urge to touch her—an urge I have
never had to resist before. Most women, especially around here,
want me to touch them. Beg for it.

I watch as she blinks up at me, and for a
second I think I see something haunted pass through her eyes. She
opens her mouth to say something, but Trisha pushes through the
crowd and stumbles into her side on a drunken giggle. I tense,
wanting to grab Trisha and pull her away, but then she speaks, and
I realize they know each other. The confusion has to be very
clearly plastered on my face. This girl looks too pure to be
hanging around with a slut like Trisha.

“Raven!” Trisha drunkenly whines her name,
and the sound makes me want to cover my ears. It’s the high-pitched
squeal sound that all drunken girls seem to be fans of making.

I let my gaze run over Raven’s body again,
and I am thankful to have at least her name now.
Raven
.
I let it roll around in my head as I study her and decide that it
fits her. She is all dark hair, and light eyes. She appears strong,
but I can sense some kind of hidden vulnerability and I get the
feeling it isn’t something she shares with anyone.

I turn my head away to watch as Ethan walks
out from the crowd that seems to part around him. He slips his arms
around Trisha’s waist, and pulls her back against him. I let my
gaze roam over the couple and smirk.

As usual when they are together, their
clothes are disheveled, and Trisha’s blonde hair sporting the just
fucked look. It really is not hard to figure out what they have
been up to. I snicker, and Ethan’s gaze snaps to mine as a smile
curls his lips.

“Thanks for keeping her company, D. I wasn’t
sure anyone would pay attention to her in that frumpy outfit. You
really have to let me pick out your clothes next time, Raven.”
Trisha slurs in a shaky voice.

“I never mind keeping a beautiful woman
company. Besides, I think she looks great.” I really do. She isn’t
dressed in a tiny skirt and heels, but she still has my pulse
hammering and my palms sweating. My cock hardening.

Trisha laughs, loudly. “I bet you do, D! She
has a vagina and she’s not ugly. Aren’t those your only
requirements?”

Ethan chuckles with her, kissing her softly
on the neck. Normally, I would make a joke here, or laugh along,
but for some reason I want to impress this girl. I look back at
Raven to see her looking at me with her eyes slanted in disgust.
Well,
fuck
. I really have ruined this. Trisha pushes
playfully away from Ethan and reaches out to lock arms with Raven.
It’s another drunken girl move.

“Come on, Raven. I need to get you
home.”

Raven seems to flinch slightly, and I have
to wonder if it was my imagination. No, it has to be my
imagination. Why would going home make her upset? She hangs with
Trisha so she has to be loaded. Plus, she probably can’t wait to
get away from me.

“Should you be driving, Trish? You look
pretty sloshed right now.” I really don’t like the idea of Raven
getting in the car with Trisha in this state, but I also might be
hoping to give them a ride.

Trisha laughs drunkenly again. “I already
called a cab, D. Thanks for worrying though.” She winks at me, and
I roll my eyes as Ethan punches my shoulder jokingly. I think.

The girl, Mandy/Mindy—oh shit, it’s
Megan—chooses this moment to wrap her arms around my waist from
behind me, her fingertips slipping into the waistband at the front
of my jeans. As her tits press against my back, I breathe in the
scent of her expensive perfume, and my eyes shoot to Raven. Her
eyes have somehow narrowed even further, her lips are sneered in
disgust, and her stormy gaze locked to the spot where Megan’s hand
is.

“Are you guys coming to the fight next
week?” I find myself asking somewhat desperately. I really want
another chance to see Raven, to talk to her.

Trisha laughs again as she starts tugging
Raven away from us. She doesn’t answer my question, and I know
that’s because of Ethan. She likes to play this cat and mouse game
with him, and he lets her. One second they are fucking like bunnies
and the next she is grinding all over some prick. I really don’t
know why he puts up with it.

“You ready to have a good time?” The quiet
voice behind me breaks into my thoughts, and I grasp the hands on
my jeans, undecided on whether I should take her up on her
offer.

Seriously, Dylan?
I shake my head. Of
course, I’m going to take her up on her offer. One conversation
with a feisty angel isn’t enough to stop me from fucking this girl.
Besides, I am hornier now then I was when I got here. I might as
well put this hard-on to use. I grin on a lifted brow and turn
around to face her.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Chapter Two

Raven

The cab driver stops just outside of the
apartment complex, and I squeeze my hands into fists so tight I can
feel my nails bite sharply into my skin. My heart is hammering
against my chest, but I suck in a deep breath and school my
expression as Trisha pulls me in for a drunken hug. She reeks of
sex and booze, and I wonder if Uncle Jim will notice when she gets
home.

“You have to come out with me next weekend!”
She slurs next to me before pulling away, and leaning her head
heavily against the window.

I glance up at the cab driver who is staring
at us through the review mirror with an irritated scowl on his
aging face.

“Of course I will.”
Anything to get away
from this hell
, I add mentally.

Trisha’s smile grows, and not for the first
time, I envy her ability to live so carelessly. Trisha is beyond
gorgeous with long, curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I think
even the most beautiful model would be jealous of her thin frame
and lengthy legs.

Trisha looks like a taller, prettier version
of the girl that had wrapped herself around the guy at the party.
I’m not really sure who he is, but Trisha called him D. I assume
that stands for something, but I’ll have to wait and ask her when
she is more clear-headed.

I push open the door, exit the cab, and am
met with the chilly ocean air as it washes over me. I breathe in
the salty scent, letting it fill me with a sense of peace I know
won’t last long. That smell and Harper are the only good things
about this shit hole I call home. I’m pretty sure that if freedom
had a smell, it would be the scent of salty, ocean air at night.
Unfortunately, the sense of peace ends as soon as I step inside and
close the creaking door behind me.

I pray no one will hear the noise, and
shivers dance over my skin as I swallow thickly in trepidation. I
am equally relieved and disgusted when I hear Moms bed banging
loudly against the wall amidst loud moans and grunts. At least
Harper is safely tucked away at the sitter’s house for tonight.

My shoulders relax as my eyes move around
the messy living room and into the kitchen. Trash liters every
available surface in the kitchen, a crack pipe and lighter are
clearly visible on the tiny dining room table, and moldy dishes
fill the sink. I have the desperate desire to clean everything up,
but I rush to my room instead, closing the door quietly behind me.
I don’t want to be out there. I don’t want him—

No, I shake my head to rid it of those
thoughts, swallow back the bile in my throat, and flick the lock on
my bedroom door. I hate that it’s so flimsy, and I swear that in
two weeks when I turn eighteen, I will find a place with massive
locks on the doors. The only reason I haven’t left on my own is
Harper. I can’t tell Uncle Jim about what has happened to me. He’d
never forgive himself, and I can’t live on the streets with a two
year old. I need to save some money, and leave when I have
somewhere safe for us to go.

I quickly change into baggy sweatpants and a
t-shirt, rolling my pants so they fit around my thin hips. They are
all I have left that belonged to my dad. Mom threw everything away
after he died except the few items I managed to keep hidden. I have
to remember to change quickly in the morning before she catches me
wearing them. Last time she used scissors to cut them from my
body.

Mom can’t stand to have any reminders of my
father, but I miss Daddy so fiercely that my chest still aches at
the thought of him. I was six when he died. I hadn’t understood at
the time that he wasn’t coming back, and for a while I still asked
Mom about him. Right up until she screamed at me, and locked me in
my room without dinner. She blamed me. Dad had stopped to buy me a
candy bar after work, and was shot during a gas station robbery. My
mother has been on a downward spiral ever since.

I climb into bed slipping carefully between
the sheets and threadbare quilt. I pull out the MP3 player Trisha
gave me on my birthday last year and pop the buds into my ears. I
have to hide it under my mattress so that Mom won’t find it and
sell it to support her habit. Next, I take out the tattered
notebook and pencil that I keep there with it. The music helps
drown out the sounds coming from the next room, and I crank up the
volume as loud as I can stand it and flip open my notebook to the
next empty page.

I have always found solace in music, losing
myself in the words, escaping. I start scribbling in the notebook,
jotting down my thoughts and feelings, my fears. No one knows that
I do this, and I prefer it that way. As much as I love writing
music and creating lyrics, it’s all so personal. I don’t think I
will ever share it with anyone. It’s my own world of beauty that
can’t be penetrated by the demon that invades my life on a daily
basis. I let the beautifully melody lull me into a restless
sleep.

***

I jump awake with my heart pounding
thunderously in my chest, sweat coating my skin, and my t-shirt
sticking uncomfortably to my chest and back. My hair, matted in
rivulets along my shoulders, is a tangled mess. I reach up to wipe
the drool from the corner of my lips and grimace as reality begins
to tug me from my dream. My body is tingling in a way I don’t
recognize, and I have no doubt that it’s because of the complete
inappropriateness of my nighttime fantasy. My stomach clenches and
coils as I try to hold back the vomit sitting at the back of my
throat.