Jolie Blonde (Vigilare Book 3) (21 page)

“A pop quiz on the second week? A real Governor Lawrence, eh?” Lon associates her professor to the man often attributed for the genocide of early Acadians, as they learned in their freshman Louisiana History class.

“He’s so pompous,” she growls. “I have to ace that thing just to put him in his place.” She mashes her petite fist into her opposite palm.

The sharp, slapping sound perks Lon’s ears as her growing ambition causes the corners of his mouth to curve upward, both impressed and slightly intimidated with the thought of her ever-evolving metamorphosis into womanhood. Will she outgrow him?

“This is how it works, right?” Brianna questions his concern with her leaving. “I mean, just because we did it doesn’t mean that changes anything? I’m still me. You’re still you. We do our thing. And then, maybe, we do it again sometime?” She looks to him, her eyes wincing, a little embarrassed that she has to ask.

Lon chuckles endearingly, gripping her hand tighter in his as he stops along the grass, pulling her body to face his. “Of course we do it again. And yes…it changes…everything,” he counters. “The reason I didn’t want you to leave so early is because I don’t want to make you feel like a one-night stand. You know, ‘wham bam thank you ma’am,’ out the door you go.”

Her emerald greens press into a firm squint. “Just exactly how many ‘wham bam thank you ma’ams’ have you had?” She grows defensive, pulling her hand from his and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Not that many,” he quickly defends. “Alright. A few more than not that many.” The admission is accompanied by a shameful grimace. He pulls her torso tightly to his, his hands massaging the backs of her upper arms still crossed and antagonistic. “But last night changes everything, Brie. Nobody can touch me, in here,” he pats his hand over his heart, “the way you do. I don’t want anybody else. I never have, really.” He shrugs. “They were just filler, until I could have you.”

“Bit of a double standard, don’t you think?” Refusing to let him off easy, she maintains her stoic body language. “You were all detached and cranky last night until you found out I hadn’t been with anybody. But I’m just supposed to understand that you sowed your wild college oats all over campus?”

“It’s different for men than women. The waiting part. It’s in our biology not to.” He rolls his eyes at his own sexist statement, quickly wishing he could take it back, knowing it will do nothing for his cause.

“Ha!” Brianna crows. “Save it for someone who’s buying, Castille.” She pushes away from him only to return impulsively, her arms wound territorially around his shoulders, her lips heady and conquering his leave him breathless. “If you think for one minute that wasn’t in my
biology
before our little reunion last night, you’re crazy,” she exasperates, her lungs hungry for air. “I just figured you were worth the wait. Too bad you can’t say the same.”

Her point is quickly interrupted by a returning Johnny Vito, sobering up from a drunken post-party
sleep-over
of his own. Powering down his powder black Triumph Bonneville, he jumps off free of a helmet or protective covering, his bad boy hair and appearance indubitably foster his every move.

“Mornin’
lovebirds,”
Johnny chimes, his voice and body language insolent at the scene before him. Even though he knows Brianna favors Lon, the image of her there in his shag shirt is almost too much to bear. “Lost another shirt, Castille?” Johnny challenges before turning his attention to Brianna in passing, “He keeps a dresser full of ’em.” He winks. “Don’t worry though, you’re the first non-sorority girl he’s fucked. Something to be real proud of.” He continues, patronizing, headed for the front steps.

His momentum is stalled by Lon’s hand firmly grasping the back of his shirt into a ball just before his foot hits the first step.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, bro?” Lon growls, spinning Johnny around.

As Johnny comes face to face with Lon, he releases one cocked fist followed by another. Lon’s reflexes kick in as he ducks and counters the aggression. The sound of their fists finally connecting with one another’s cheekbones causes Brianna to clamp her palms over her ears, her eyes wincing.

“Stop it!” she yells.

Lon turns back in her direction at the sound of her shrill voice, his attention taken off Johnny. Capitalizing on the opportunity, a wiry Johnny rushes Lon, his arms wrapping around his thickly-muscled waist. Further pushing his shoulder into his abdomen, Johnny takes the fight to the ground, a regular grappling match.

The two boys evolving into men, having spent the last year of high school together living at the Castilles’ and testing their testicular fortitude at every turn, used to engage in such activity for sport with less force and aggression. Now they fight for real, no holds barred. Fists, elbows, knees, whatever they can deploy, are thrown and jabbed into each other’s bodies as they topple end over end attempting to establish dominance.

“You two, stop it, right now!” Brianna continues to protest. She moves around their entwined bodies frantically, awaiting the opportunity to safely intervene. Wishing she had a gun to shoot off in the air to get their attention, she realizes probably not even that would stop them. “What is wrong with you two? You’re friends. Stop this!” she says as someone’s blood splashes onto the fabric of her jeans. A tangled mess they are, she would be remiss to identify from whom it came.

“I am so sick of you getting everything you want,” Johnny grits out between jabs and deflections as he takes the upper hand, the on-top position. “Fucking
Golden Boy,”
he seethes, distraught at Lon’s popularity and academic excellence.

“Watch your mouth,” Lon chokes out between maneuvers, cognizant that Brianna is within earshot, his mother would be appalled at the cursing. Finally releasing his power full-throttle, Lon is done playing around as he throws Johnny over onto his back, coming up on top of him, his knees pressed painfully into Johnny’s armpits, locking him into submission. “And anytime you think you have what it takes to take what I got, go ahead and try me,” he continues through a painfully clenched jaw.

“No!” Brianna cries, finally seizing her opportunity to jump in behind Lon. Her hands cling to his arm, an arm that engages a cocked fist waiting to release into Johnny’s face. “Lon, please.” Her voice breaks, tears erupting at the image of the two of them.

Their clothes are torn and grass-stained, their faces bruised and bleeding. The look of rage and shame in Johnny’s expression as he lies there, once again defeated by Lon, reminds her of the same look he had on his face in his abusive father’s yard the day she returned his bike over three years ago.

Brianna’s touch smothers Lon’s resilience. He shakes his head, getting up off Johnny. His chin grazing against the shoulder of his sullied t-shirt, he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. His chest heaves up and down as he forces air in through his nose and out through pursed lips. Pacing the ground, the haste of the moment dissipates as reality sets in. Aware of what he has done, Lon grows ashamed of his own actions and equally remorseful of what his mother would think of the two
friends
carrying on as such.

“Johnny,” Brianna emits apologetically, kneeling beside him. Her hands tending his marred flesh, she considers that his ego has probably taken a worse beating.

Lon’s shame lightens as he watches her there, more concerned with Johnny’s welfare than his. He bites down on his lip quelling the urge to protest, quickly relieving the pressure, realizing that particular area is already cut open as his taste buds give way to the metallic zing of his own blood.

“Are you okay? Let me help you,” Brianna offers to a restless Johnny as he repositions himself, coming up onto his knees to get up off the ground.

“I don’t need your pity.” He shoots her a glance, a mixture of embarrassment and abhorrence, jerking his arm away from her and helping himself to a standing position.

“Look man, I’m sorry,” Lon forces an apology, “but you can’t say stuff like that. Not to her.”
You’re the first non-sorority girl he’s fucked. Something to be real proud of.
Johnny’s sentiments replay themselves in Lon’s ears. Growing agitated yet again at the premise, he spits blood from his mouth onto the ground, a show of his disgust at Johnny’s disrespectful behavior.

“I didn’t realize she was any different from the others,” Johnny lies, another dig at Lon further attempting to turn Brianna off of him. Unwilling to be upstaged by his frat brother’s ultra-masculine conduct, he too spits collected blood from his mouth, the red viscous spat landing directly on top of Lon’s.

Brianna’s eyes can’t help but follow the trail of blood-tinged saliva, such barbaric displays of virility completely foreign to her. As Johnny’s blood makes contact with Lon’s, she wonders if her eyes deceive. Momentarily, there in the dirt, a fluorescent emerald green glow zaps through the crimson colored glob of liquid.

“Did you see that?” she exclaims at a whisper. Her eyes dart back and forth between Lon and Johnny and their commingling blood, now devoid of any kind of glow.

“What?” Johnny and Lon inquire in unison, obviously unaware of anything to see.

She takes two long strides further inspecting the ground. Mashing the tip of her shoe through the crimson glob as if she can stir up the same effect, she finally retreats, unsuccessful. “Nothing,” she dismisses, her mind reeling with the thought.

The sound of a police siren blares from the cross street, quickly shutting down as the cruiser pulls up to the frat house, the light bar still flashing a combination of red and blue. Two officers hop out and with direct intent make their way toward Johnny and Lon in the front yard.

“You smell
bacon,
Castille?” Johnny smirks, returning to his casual, smart aleck self in the presence of authority.

“Shh,” Lon hushes him, his attention turning to the officers. “It was just a friendly scuffle. Got a little out of hand. Neither one of us is going to press charges.” He assumes the cops have paid them a visit on behalf of a nosy neighbor’s report of their tussle.

The lead officer shrugs. “We don’t care what you do to each other. We’re here for Alonzo Castille Jr.,” he informs.

“Why?” Brianna assesses, defensively, going to Lon’s side.

“I take it you’re Alonzo,” the officer deduces, given Brianna’s protective stance beside him. “You’ll have to come with us. Willingly…or not.” He rests his hand on his gun belt, his partner deploying a pair of handcuffs.

“Why?” Brianna repeats. “He didn’t do anything. I did,” she offers prematurely.

Lon eyes her skeptically at her eagerness to confess, to what he has no idea. Returning his attention to the officers, “I’ll go,
willingly,”
he bites, “if you’ll tell me what all of this is about.”

“We’ve got orders from the Sheriff’s Department to transfer you to Orleans Parish Jail…” the officer begins.

“New Orleans?” Lon interrupts. “But I’ve been here in Baton Rouge all weekend,” he defends any ill will he may be accused of in New Orleans.

“They said you blew up some laboratory down there. Just this morning. A Dr. Shaw of E-T-N-A reported it,” the officer takes care in sounding out the unfamiliar abbreviation.

“He was in bed with me this morning. And all of last night.” Brianna asserts an alibi, her hands tugging on Lon’s oversized shag shirt and running themselves through her bedhead hair as evidence.

“Didn’t say he was there. Said he was responsible, that’s all,” the officer counters.

“He didn’t do it. I did. Take me. Please.” Brianna walks toward the officers, her wrists pressed together in front of her body.

“Thought you said you were with him last night and this morning?” the officer reminds, scanning her face, attempting to identify a lie.

“I was. Didn’t say I was there. Said I was responsible,” she throws the officer’s words back at him with attitude. “I hired the guy who blew up the laboratory. It’s out off of County Road 1621. ETNA Laboratories,” she corrects his previous abbreviation, pronouncing it as one word, appropriately. “How would I know that, if I didn’t do it?”

The lead officer looks to his partner as the two consider her confession.

“Brie, hush,” Lon says, walking up beside her and interjecting his own wrists pressed together. “Check my wallet. In my back pocket. I’m Alonzo Castille Jr. Looks like you got your guy.”

“Who’d you hire? To blow up the laboratory?” The officer ignores Lon, now questioning Brianna.

“I can’t tell you that. I don’t even know who it was. It was some…anonymous…set up dealio,” she fishes for an explanation, her face contorting with her rapid thought.

“It was me. I’m the guy she hired,” Johnny speaks up, still standing to the back of Lon and Brianna.

“What?” Lon whips his head around in Johnny’s direction, the first believable confession of the morning.

“You don’t seem very
anonymous
to me,” the officer challenges his presence in proximity to Brianna.

“No. This is not the guy I hired,” she interjects, throwing a scolding glance at Johnny.

“Whatever,” the officer says. “We came here for Alonzo Castille Jr. Guess we’ll take our chances with him.” He motions to his partner to handcuff Lon.

“First thing this morning, the overhead sprinkler system goes off. Sounds the fire alarm. Any occupants run from the building. Thereafter, kaboom!” Johnny slaps his hands together for emphasis as he explains just exactly how it all went down at the laboratory. “Sound about right,
bacon?”
He adds the derogatory handle in reference to the officer, knowing it will up the chances that they take him into custody.

Lon and Brianna look to him. Lon is nearly convinced, what with Johnny’s details. Brianna wonders how he could possibly know how it all went down. He wasn’t even there.

“Sounds right on from all reports,
boy,”
the officer barks, eyeing Johnny sternly, the swine comment quickly ribbing his pride. “What’s your name?” The officer steps to him, so close that the brim of his hat nearly touches Johnny’s forehead.