THE SACRIFICE: Secret Society Romance (4Horsemen Series Book 3) Read online

  I was going to keep going until I felt numb. If I could find a way to make that same numbness last centuries, then maybe I could recover.

  Bunny was my day and night.

  Bunny was the one glimmer of hope in this fucking town.

  Bunny was the girl I was supposed to be forever grateful for because she taught me how to love for whoever I was supposed to marry later on.

  Now Bunny was just an illusion I let myself get distracted by.

  I heard heels behind me, but I made no moves to look. I was too busy numbing myself.

  “Krosby?” I knew that angelic voice anywhere… Bunny.

  “It’s Khaos now. You lost the privilege to call me by my birth name.”

  Standing right next me now, I could feel her nervousness, “I’m really sorry. I had no choice. He was blackmailing me.”

  Excuses are for people uncomfortable with the dark parts of them that make bad decisions.

  I was drunk off my ass by the time she showed up on the rooftop, spewing all my cluttered words in a drunk haze. “Sounds really awful. Almost as awful as being humiliated in the middle of a damn prom.”

  Standing up I felt the rocks under my heels slip forward and her gasp sending another thrill down my spine feeding the adrenaline I wanted to feel full force again. Stumbling along the edge I thought I would slip right off- talk about numbing yourself. There wouldn’t be anything of me left to numb from this height.

  “You can’t say you didn’t deserve it. Your ego could use a blow.”

  “Excuse me? I’m a fucking God. I don’t need a blow to the ego to tell me I’m human. I’m fucking untouchable.” She wasn’t just making excuses, now she was justifying what just happened to me.

  I didn’t even realize my hand latched onto her arm when my words came out with too much bite for a pacifist. Genevieve struggled to get out of my grip in such a dramatic way that made it seem like I was physically hurting her instead of just shouting.

  “Aw, you’re really upset, aren’t you? Did you think I really fell in love with you in a few months? Did you picture our lives together, college, marriage, kids? You’re a billboard for getting fucked over and I just proved it.”

  My hand dragged her with my unsteady legs, and she fought every inch of movement with a firm stance while the shrooms were kicking my ass. I was hitting a kind of high that felt like a dream and a nightmare fucking. I was just the camera man watching how they tangle, the push and pull between the contrasting sides of sleep, waiting for the climax to knock me out.

  “Shut up. You’re just being a bitch who will peak in high school,” my voice growled before downing another nip. One last step until I hit obliterated.

  “No one is ever going to love you for you. How does it feel knowing I fucked you up for life? You’ll never know who's using you or who genuinely loves you all because of me.” Her words were set to kill, not stun, and I felt every electrically charged word run through my body.

  Grounding myself against the small rocks I looked up at her for the first time since she started speaking, making eye contact with my lip tugged up on my side. All that was missing was me foaming at the mouth as I shoved her the exact amount I meant to.

  “Fucking bitch,” I mumbled to myself thinking she fell onto the rocks and maybe cut her palm or ruined her dress when I walked away slamming the roof door behind me.

  It wasn’t until the next day when I woke up shirtless still in my dress pants that the sinking feeling inside my chest made me realize that something was wrong. I trucked downstairs to grab a pop- tart from the kitchen and as I crossed the threshold walking by the other horsemen, their whispering faded out.

  Grimm, the Clave’s honor role of one, spoke first with a grimace that was painful to look at. “Genevieve died last night. Fell off the roof of the school. Know anything about that?”

  I was unwrapping a Pop-Tart to throw in the toaster when my world stopped. I knew the feeling of her betrayal wasn’t going to up and leave but now it was ten times worse with the news of her death.

  No resolution.

  No more talking.

  No apologizing.

  Just her insults to keep the memories company.

  “Last I remember she was on the roof insulting me. Everything else is black. Shroom life.” It wasn’t the time for jokes, but I couldn’t stop being who I was. That wouldn’t be good for anyone and it wasn’t going to numb anything.

  My velvet hands knew better than to get in too deep after that one unfortunate event. Too deep means that shit will get messy and messy always meant you were responsible for erasing the problem.

  Now I know the importance of a NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement) and not letting my emotions dictate my attachments. Instead, I’m attached to things like boobs, skateboards, and taco night - not people.

  People are better in abstract but that doesn’t mean they deserve to be unseen by the world. That’s exactly what you’d get when crossing us four.

  Me included apparently.

  GRACE

  I learned that people will show you exactly who they are if you just listen. Is listening always easy? No. Sometimes the guy is a raging lunatic and all you wanna do is stab yourself in the ear to make it stop.

  I was a frequent flyer of Camp Vernon Kilpatrick, a camp in Malibu for minors and perpetual fuck ups. I was endearingly both, lucky me, but this time was different because I was one stay away from freedom.

  The corrupt justice system would pass the baton to someone else once you turn eighteen making you someone else’s problem taking you off their radar.

  That just meant I needed to get crafty with not getting caught.

  It was my first day in the heather gray two piece matching sweat suit they gave us, back with all the girls I grew up with and took vacations from just to end up back here. The camp was in Malibu, but it didn’t make it luxurious or even bearable - it just made us the neighborhood's charity case.

  Walking up to Gabriella and Deja I gave them a lopsided grin, “Guess who’s back, bitches?” Welcoming me back in the way girls did who looked hard and purposely tried to not give a fuck: by looking unimpressed.

  Looking around the rec area I noticed at least half the girls I was used to being locked up with, girls who had no hope of getting out, were missing. “Where is everyone?”

  Deja’s head fell to one side giving me a stare like I didn’t have any right to information because I spent 2 months on the outside and she didn’t. “There’s some new tealeaf in town recruiting the girls. None of them have shown back up.”

  Tealeaf was a street word for thief because when you're done sipping tea all that’s left is tea leaves stuck to the bottom, sticky as their fingers.

  “Who is it?” I asked, still digesting this information I was being given within minutes of being processed back in.

  “Dove. Ironic, huh? Least peaceful motherfucker I’ve ever seen coming in here with his tattoos and expensive suits pretending to fill their heads with the idea that he’s gonna get them back on their feet. Get them paid.”

  Gabriella fell into her, shoulders bumping, “Don’t be jealous because he didn’t pick you, bitch.”

  I laughed as Deja tried to deny it and got used to an emptier sense of juvie. Maybe it would be less drama if there’s less girls.

  People who’ve been in prison long enough understand being in is much easier than starting over in the world. The world doesn’t want us with our criminal records, no work history, and preference for paper.

  They were setting us up for failure and with a shove out the door it wasn’t their problem.

  After this stint, with good behavior and no strikes, I would be out in one year.

  Twelve months at home before being kicked to the curb.

  All the girls were amped up for visiting hours that rolled around every Wednesday. I never bothered stopping what I was doing because I didn’t have anyone visiting me.

  Wards of the state were lucky to have foster parents who gave a fuck that yo
u were even in here so when our counselor called my name, I was shocked.

  “Who is it?” I still had my scowl right on my face.

  She touched my shoulder, “He’s helped a lot of people, Grace. He’s a huge donor to the program and he wants to mentor you.”

  I knew who she was talking about immediately, the gangster promising the world for the tiniest sins.

  I could throw a rock and hit twelve. He wasn’t special.

  With not much else to do, I decided to go to the visiting room and pick a corner table that a new girl preoccupied before I tilted my head for her to beat it. She listened because the rumors of my bullshit meter being low were true.

  Take no shit, show no mercy.

  Waiting at the table, a beautiful man stalked towards me. He had a dark tan, a watch worth more than a car, a sharp suit, and dark hair pushed back in a way that made him look expensive. The first thing I learned about having sticky fingers is that you can look expensive without being worth a dime.

  “Let’s get this over with. I’ve heard you’ve been making the rounds… well not interested. Never will be.”

  He snorted turning his head to the side, “You think you have a choice? Still some fight in there. I like that.”

  Hearing the accent, I tried to place it, but it truly didn’t matter.

  “Whatever you’re into - I’m good. I have my own problems.”

  His fingers laced together on the tabletop when he spoke again, still arguing, “You’ll have no more problems. You’ll have money, a place to stay, a job, pretty clothes, and freedom.”

  He had me at the word freedom. The rest were bullshit false promises, but that word still bounced around my head.

  “At what price? I’m not fucking you,” crossing my arms I leaned back casually. I was standing my ground and drawing lines in the sand even though people like Dove didn’t respect boundaries at all.

  “I want to use your abilities to benefit me,” waving his fingers in the air I understood exactly what he meant. My ability to break in, steal and not get caught - most of the time.

  “What am I lifting?” Still remaining hard and tense I blazed my eyes into his, the olive with flecks of azure that made them look like if you look at a forest from above, a bird’s eye view from a plane, all the shades of green overlap.

  “Whatever I want you to. Now let’s get you out of this hell hole, shall we?”

  Every time I was free it escaped me.

  Every time I saw the light it was snuffed out.

  Every time I paid the price I never learned.

  Freedom was better in the abstract

  GRACE

  Looking down at the wing tattooed on the inside of my wrist, I made my way up the long driveway. It was a dramatic incline on a skateboard to where I had been made to believe I lived… for now.

  Nothing in Dove’s life was permanent.

  Not even me.

  You were kept as long as you proved useful. Once you stopped being useful to him you were cut loose from his payroll and protection.

  Hamilton was standing outside pacing and completing his perimeter check the way he always did every hour. Never missing one. This was a house full of thieves- he should adapt to the unconventional knowing how much we bank on people’s routines like pee breaks, vacations, anytime they come and go so we can do our job.

  His patterns and routines were exactly how I knew when to sneak out every morning.

  Freedom wasn’t so free after all.

  Hamilton had this laugh that came from his gut, “What’s cookin’, trouble? Dove wants to see you.” That smooth tone to his voice was unwavering even if I was in trouble. He never wanted me to see it coming and most of the time I didn’t.

  Kicking my board up, I headed inside pushing by the big man meant to keep us safe when really, he was the one locking the cage.

  Dove’s place was flashy, sleek, and extravagant - the exact way he wanted to be perceived. He was a tealeaf trying to be the kind of crook people feared. No one feared thieves and he was slowly learning that since he started expanding into other areas that offered more respect.

  Everyone bought into that illusion except me. I saw through the stuff, the money, the robotic kind of sex we had down to who he really is - a fraud.

  Takes one to know one.

  I was a fraud in so many ways.

  I pretended to be his.

  I pretended the scars and bruises were from surfing or boarding instead of him.

  I pretended to not be a thief.

  I pretended I was free.

  Dropping my board, I yanked the hair tie out of my hair and tried to shake out the sand still stuck to my scalp. Dove hated it when I wore my hair up. He hated pretty much everything about me, yet we had been together since he picked me up from juvie and realized I’m not like the rest.

  I have sticky fingers without the liability. I never get caught and when I do, I don’t rat.

  He respected that enough to keep me around longer than I wanted to be kept.

  Pushing the door open to his office that overlooked the pool and Hollywood Hills I ignored the tantrum he was having like I always did. Kicking my beat-up vans onto the edge of his desk, I patiently waited for him to be done throwing things, yelling in his native tongue while basically foaming at the mouth.

  It took him a minute to take the blinders off when he noticed me sitting there, “You’re supposed to be my eyes on the streets.”

  “I came in after the speech… what’s the problem now?”

  Now being the operative word here. There was always some kind of end of the world problem.

  Slamming his hands down on his desk he was chomping at the bit hoping his anger would electrify my calm demeanor. “Someone is selling to all my clients, Little Bird. Giving them free tastes so they don’t have to pay.”

  “Okay… who is it?” I liked facts especially when surrounded by the best frauds in town.

  I could see my calmness grating into him like claws while he held onto the anger.

  After a long pause he stood up looking at me with his eyes less black now. “How would I know that? That’s your job and one you’re clearly failing at.”

  “I can’t keep tabs on every dealer in LA. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Dove had a way or moving like water, smooth until he wasn’t. Swallowing, I shifted trying to keep natural as he came closer, standing behind me.

  His hand snaked down my shoulder and his voice got this sickly kind of sweet that was his tell for what was coming next.

  His hand wrapped around my throat loosely at first until he got a better grip, speaking above me, “That’s exactly what I pay you for and I don’t pay for the attitude.”

  My ability to breath broke against his grip when I took an inhale from my nose trying to relax even though my body never got the hint.

  I always tensed, always panicked, and always fought even when I practiced the art of taking it.

  If I just stayed loose maybe it wouldn’t hurt this time. Maybe if I held my breath I would turn off the connection between my body and mind.

  Finally letting go, I gasped for air and my hand immediately reached for the same spot his hand was choking to death like my touch would confirm it was real after experiencing it. Enough proof it happened without the bruises.

  You always read that it gets easier, you start blacking it out or creating false realities in your mind to cover up the pain. I’d like to meet those people because Dove has always had a wicked streak and my skin wasn’t getting any tougher.

  Hunched over in the chair I was still coughing on oxygen when he picked up his drink, looking out the window. “You know I like your hair down, Little Bird. You can go.” He always followed his strikes with compliments like some fucked up band aid.

  That barely counted, it was a statement related to himself.

  Standing up, I snapped the rubber band against my wrist right next to the single wing. The same wing he branded all his girls with. If I popped the band hard
enough sometimes it would cover up the sting he left.

  Angry with myself every time I was in this position knowing I couldn’t leave like I should, I stormed out of the front door with my board in tow.

  I knew I needed to leave him, professionally and personally, but when you’re inducted into a gang there is no out. This wing on my wrist was the only piece of freedom I would have in my life.

  I was a flightless bird with one wing.

  I headed straight for the Belvedere skate park in East Los Angeles - where it was easy to get information and score if that’s what you were after.

  Most of the people there weren’t even there to skate but to score like a bunch of posers.

  I pushed off my back foot and stood on my board letting the wind blow my hair falling out of my beanie. I was wearing boyfriend jeans, yellow high socks, low cut vans, a flannel around my waist and a baggy shirt tucked into my jeans looking like a boy with no curves at all.

  Knowing everyone, I scanned the concrete trying to find Ears who was the bowl’s smart ass with his ears always to the ground, hence the nickname.

  Jumping my board a few stairs I landed on the grip side in a low position making sure I stayed upright. Landing bolts, I celebrated but only in my head. Taking another glance, I found Ears sitting on a bench with a small crowd surrounding him.

  He wasn’t only a know-it-all, but he had the gnarliest tracks. He provided the music everywhere he went and this was his favorite location.

  Stopping in front of him I stepped on the tail of my board making it jump up, halting the breaks. “We need to talk,” was all I said before he shooed away the crowd clamoring around.

  Plopping down on the bench next to him with the board under my Vans I ground my elbows into my thighs. “There’s a new seller in town? Damn, Ears, we had an agreement.”

  Nothing on paper or in stone.

  I would supply him with pot and he would unload it for me so I wouldn’t have to. Just because Dove was taking on new expansions didn’t mean I had to be employee of the month.

  Sticky fingers? Breaking and entering? Sure.