Logan
Tenth grade
“Loser. You are such a loser.”
I blink up at the girl who’s just insulted me. There’s no such thing as a homecoming queen in poor, rundown Oakley, but if there were, Lia would pretty much fit the bill.
Not that she really looks the part of the all-American princess with her red curls and freckles. But she more than makes up for it with the snobby air that’s become a permanent fixture on her face.
She never quite lost her slight accent, the weird mix of Italian and Irish that I go to sleep at night dreaming of. I find it cute even when she’s using it to hurl harsh insults at me. Something she’s definitely made a habit of doing over the years.
But usually, she’s more discreet about it. I guess she’s scared of Damien, like the rest of the school is, but she knows she can say just about anything to me and get away with it. As long as Damien isn’t in hearing range.
I’ve found out a lot about Lia over the years.
Like the fact that she’s a first generation immigrant, that her dad works for the Moretti family, and her mom stayed in Ireland when she and her dad moved to America the summer before first grade.
I thought I knew everything about her. I’ve certainly stalked her long enough to imagine that I did.
And I thought I stood a chance. I must have imagined that too.
After all, she sure has made it clear over the years that she hates me.
But I always figured it was pride making her act that way.
I probably shouldn’t have smacked her butt back in middle school, but the honest truth is I don’t regret it.
In fact, I think about it just as much as I think about her accent, and the cute little insults that have never really hurt me. Until today.
Because the fact that she’s insulting me after I invited her to a high school dance in the neighboring wealthy town of Astley, means she really does hate my guts.
Scoring those invites was hard, and any Oakley girl would be nuts for refusing one of them. Nuts, or angry as hell.
“Get lost, loser.”
Lia’s two girlfriends, one on each side of her like two braindead bodyguards, snicker. My eyes flash at them dangerously, and the two girls quickly grow sober again. I’m glad I have an effect on someone.
But when I turn my eyes back at Lia, they’ve gone back to being neutral. I just can’t find it in me to be angry at her.
She’s perfect. Even when she insults me.
“I said, get lost.”
“And how do you propose I do that?” I ask quietly, but with the usual sarcastic edge that I can’t seem to quell, even now. Or maybe I’m using it as a shield, so she doesn’t see how much she’s hurting me.
“Get your ass up from that chair, and walk away.”
Once more my eyes grow dark, but I direct them only at her friends, who inch backwards, now visibly nervous. Lia, though, just keeps blowing bubbles with her gum. I wish I could take that gum away from her and taste it. And then taste her.
She’s oblivious to the look in my eyes that’s freaking out her friends. Too fucking oblivious. I would never hurt her. But Oakley is a dangerous town, and one of these days, she’s going to get into trouble. The kind two twenty-dollar bills won’t be able to save her from.
I clench my jaw, turning back toward the cafeteria table, my eyes fixing themselves on the sad pack of chips I grabbed at the corner deli before school this morning.
“I said scram,” insists Lia, her beautiful, high-pitched voice with its cruel edge making my chest tight.
“I always sit here,” I say calmly.
“Well, not anymore. You’re in my line of sight. And I don’t want to look at the loser who thought he stood a chance with me any more than is absolutely necessary.”
Fuck. If I thought my chest was tight before, it’s nothing to how it feels now.
I wish I could get the hell out of here.
It’s not pride, or anger, that keeps me glued to my seat. It’s Damien. I know he would figure out what happened if I left.
I’ve spent way too much time and effort trying to conceal from him the way Lia treats me.
My loyalty to him is nothing compared to how protective he is of me.
Anyone so much as side-eyes me, and Damien makes him wish he’d never been born.
I have no doubt he’d destroy Lia without so much as batting an eye. And I’d be helpless to stop him.
No one stops Damien Wells.
“I’m going to count to three,” starts Lia in her high-pitched voice. She takes a step toward me, putting a hand on my shoulder and lightly shoving it backward.
I guess she remembers my reaction the last time she really shoved me, because she hasn’t tried it since. But no matter how light this shove is, it still riles me up. And I don’t want to lose my cool with her.
So, fisting one hand at my side, I grab the bag of chips with the other. Every muscle in my arms is straining with the effort of not… reaching over and strangling her.
But I really don’t want to hurt her.
Well, okay, that’s not exactly true.
I may have rubbed one out while dreaming of punishing the tits that look just about ready to spill out of her top every time she leans down to insult me. Or pictured the way she would look lying across my knee while I absolutely pulverise her ass.
It feels like her body is taunting me every day of my life, reminding me of what I can’t have. And goddammit, I’d like to give her a real reason to hate me.
But what I really want right now, more than anything else, is to feel her powerless in my arms, to touch the life force throbbing in her neck, to see those blue-green eyes flutter closed, her slim body sagging backward into my arms, my hand sliding up her thigh toward her…
Pervert.
I stand up so abruptly the metal chair clatters to the ground, and for the first time, she looks a little unsettled. Guess I didn’t manage to hide my expression this time.
Well, at least she’s not as oblivious as I thought.
_
“Chuck that bag of chips, man,” Damien’s voice resonates in my ear. “You’re in the Oakley Crew. Let’s fucking go!”
“The Oakley Crew?” I roll my eyes. “Is that the new name this week?”
“Well, it beats what we were calling ourselves last week—the Oakley Ogres,” snorts Everest, running a hand through his blond hair.
Everest Grant has always been out of place in this town. It’s a good thing he’s under our wing, otherwise I’m pretty sure the idiot would have been murdered and left somewhere in a ditch by now.
“Well, now I’m really fucking hungry,” I grumble as I watch Damien toss my lunch into the overflowing trash bin. “I hope you have a plan.”
“I always have a plan,” says Damien grandly.
I exchange a smirk with Everest. Damien’s plans usually consist of him doing a whole lot of talking and not much else.
But I have to give it to him, he’s a very good talker.
Just a few minutes of being in his presence, and I grow as enthusiastic as him about the prospect of getting out of this shitty dump.
Though the minute I’m by myself again, the rose-tinted glasses come right off.
No one ever leaves Oakley.
Right now, though, I’m not thinking of that as I follow him out of school with Everest. We head to a dirty street a few blocks away, and the only bar in town.
“Are you insane?” I hiss at Damien, trying to prevent him from sauntering in. To no avail. “That’s off-limits! That’s the Moretti family headquarters!”
If I know anything, it’s that you do not fuck with the Morettis. The mafia has a stronghold on all of Oakley. On much of the state too. But Damien doesn’t look scared as he walks in.
Everest hangs back nervously.
“I’ll wait for you here,” he mutters.
Coward. If anything could make me decide to follow Damien inside, it’s Everest’s fearful reaction.
Breathing in and out slowly to calm my nerves, I hurry to catch up with Damien.
He doesn’t even look back at me. As always, he does what he wants, without the least hesitation, and without the least speck of doubt that I’ll follow.
I always follow him.
“So your plan is to fucking order food in a mafia-controlled bar?” I growl in his ear.
“Not planning on ordering food.”
“Damien! You threw out my chips!”
“No one in the Oakley Crew eats chips,” he snorts. “Disgusting.”
“I’m fucking hungry,” I snap. “This is your plan? I thought we were going to eat!”
“We are going to eat. We’re going to eat power.”
Despite my underlying anxiety, I can’t repress an eye roll as he sits down at a high table in one corner of the rundown place. I take the chair beside him, because he’s against the wall, and if I die, it’s not going to be with a fucking shot to the back of the head.
“I bet you don’t even have money anyway.”
“I don’t need money,” he insists. “Power comes first. Money after.”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
Another eye roll, which I end just in time to notice a guy a few years older than us walking in as coolly as Damien just did.
Only this guy looks a lot more the part of a gangster, or at least, of a minion slowly working his way up the mafia ladder. He’s wearing a distressed leather jacket, dirty jeans and boots, and he drags his eyes appraisingly over me.
One glance at him, and I know he doesn’t pose a threat. So I flip him off, then turn to Damien, who’s watching him with his usual poker-face expression.
“This is the guy you wanted to bring in?” says the leather jacket guy as he sits down opposite us, his eyes throwing daggers at me.
“This is the guy you threw away my chips for?” I question Damien.
Damien merely leans back.
“Vale, this is my friend Logan. And where I go, he goes.”
The guy he’s called Vale smirks. “I just didn’t realize you were bringing your side bitch into the gang.”
I snort. “What gang? You trying to tell me you’re in a gang?”
Vale glares at me, then at Damien, whose features are just as relaxed as ever.
“Sure,” confirms the latter. “The Oakley Crew.”
“The… what?” Vale blinks stupidly. “You’re not calling the shots, man. I am.”
“Uh huh. Sure.”
“Sure?” He stares at Damien, and I can tell he’s trying to figure out the meaning behind the vague answer.
I know what it means. It means there’s no way Damien will ever not call the shots.
That’s just what he does—he calls them. And I enforce them.
At last, Vale shrugs and switches subjects.
“Well, it’s like this. I’ll give you some shit to do.
Menial tasks. Nothing very important.” He looks down his nose at us.
“I’ll make it worth your time. And maybe, if you’re good boys, you’ll get a little more responsibility after a while. Maybe graduate to toilet scrubbing.”
“Are you fucking serious?” I snap angrily. “Tell me this idiot isn’t your plan, Damien. You know I’d follow you to the ends of Earth, but I will not follow you into a fucking toilet!”
Damien chuckles. “Don’t mind my friend, Vale. He’s hungry. I’d love nothing better than to scrub any toilets you may have in mind.”
I open my mouth to lash out, but before I can, Damien waves to someone who’s just walked in. “Carmelo! Ehi!”
Vale’s face goes straight back to purple as a heavyset guy with stubble pricking his chin walks over.
“Ehi, fratello!” he greets him. “What’re you doing here?”
“Decided to try the famous Oakley fries,” answers Damien smoothly. “Vale,” he adds, “go and order us a plate, huh?”
“Pretty sure they’re fried in dirty dishwasher water,” chuckles the guy he’s called Carmelo. “But if ya want to risk the explosive diarrhea, go right ahead.”
“My buddy Logan is starving,” says Damien, clapping me on the back. “I have a feeling he’ll risk anything at this point. And I don’t want him to bite my head off later. You do not want to cross this guy. Logan, this is Carmelo. Carmelo Moretti.”
He thumps me on the back again as Carmelo’s beady eyes land on me. “Ehi, Logan. Well, Vale?” he barks at the other guy. “What are you standing around for? Get those fries, stronzo!”
I do my best to conceal my look of utter amazement as I glance back at Damien. Carmelo Moretti? Isn’t that the don’s son?
How the hell did Damien make this happen?
I’ve accepted a long time ago that if anyone can do anything, it’s Damien Wells. But still, he just never ceases to surprise me.
Soon Vale is back, slamming down a plate of fries, though he’s clearly too much in awe of Carmelo Moretti to say a word.
But no amount of surprise or iffy hygiene can prevent me from inhaling the plate of fries. I really am starving.
Damien may not eat much, but I need my sustenance.
And I’m definitely not getting it at home.
My latest foster parents decided the day I moved in that I was old enough to fend for myself, and I could only look to them for a bed.
Their permanently-locked fridge door means that any dollar I scrounge up goes straight toward buying myself food.
The forty dollars I once spent to get Lia out of trouble feel like a distant, unreal memory.
I haven’t seen that kind of money in what feels like forever.
But I haven’t once regretted spending it on her.
At last, I feel satiated, though I’m already wondering where my next meal will come from. It’s moments like these when I realize just how much I depend on Damien. I don’t doubt for a second that my next meal will come, and it will be thanks to him.
“C’mon,” he says, putting a protective hand on my shoulder. “Oh, and Vale, we’re around, so whenever you want to give us a toilet to scrub—”
The latter glowers at him, while Carmelo Moretti raises a surprised, slightly amused eyebrow.
I heave a sigh of relief once we’ve left the building and joined Everest on the sidewalk across from the bar.
“What the fuck was that?” I hiss as we begin the walk back to school. “How the fuck did you meet Carmelo Moretti? What the hell is going on?”
Damien shrugs. “How were the fries?”
I glare at him. “Don’t switch subjects. When did you even have time to get cozy with the mafia? We’re together all the time.”
“Not at night.”
“Don’t you ever sleep? Don’t you have any mortal needs at all?”
Damien merely chuckles.
“I’m not done talking!” I say in exasperation. “Sometimes I wonder if I even know the first thing about you. Come on, Damien, talk to me. Honestly, you have some explaining to do.”
At last, Damien stops walking and faces me. His eyes are harsh.
“No,” he says in a quiet voice. “You have some explaining to do, Logan. I heard what happened with Lia Cabello.”
Fuck.