Chapter 28 Mack
"Why're you looking off like that?" I ask JJ, narrowing my eyes when his gaze snaps back to me with a frown.
Really fucking suspect, if you ask me. He's always been a little in his own head and quiet. Maybe too quiet. He's like a devious little mouse with a knife in his hand and on the attack.
But right now? He's suspect as hell.
"No reason," he huffs, gazing toward the cemetery's opening and losing focus on me. Again.
Rude.
"Well, stop it. We've got a party to host and all that shit." I take a chug of my beer, peering around our annual party.
It's a celebration of us. Our frat. Our lifestyle.
So many of these suckers wish they could be us and live in our skin.
Wait. That's weird as fuck. But the truth.
They look at Hux, JJ, and me and see our lucrative lifestyle.
The cars. The mansion. The casinos we'll inherit one day.
Okay, Huxley will inherit one day. He's the only one Franco signed his name on the dotted line for, adopting him officially.
Me and JJ were just the spares. Bogus, if you ask me. We're equally as important in the grand scheme of things. Maybe JJ more than me. I'm just the muscle. JJ is the brains, and Hux is the leader.
So tonight, with booze running through the partygoers’ veins, they'll drop their names into a little jar and seal their fates.
Some of them, anyway. They'll be lucky if we choose them.
Only the ones who will enhance our organization get brought into the mix.
But first, they have to go through my favorite part.
Initiation tests, where we put them through tasks they need to succeed in, or they're out for good.
"You really want to bring more people into this?" JJ mutters, twisting his expression.
"Pfft," I sputter, waving a hand. "Why wouldn't I?" My shoulders square, and I lift my chin. "It's the greatest organization of all time."
Sarcasm drips from every word I spout. If it were up to me, I'd bolt in the opposite direction and never come back.
But my brothers are here, and I can't leave them to fend for themselves.
We're in this together. The Three Musketeers and all that jazz.
Besides, I kind of like them at my side and not against me.
JJ rolls his eyes. "Greatest of all time? So great, we have to make a run tomorrow even though we're here."
Obviously, my brother, JJ, didn’t understand the sarcasm in my voice. But wait–he said a run? Ugh.
I deflate. "A run? Really? Why am I just now hearing about this?"
It's probably because I'm forced into two-a-day practices in the water, on land, and everything in between.
Only a few more months to go, and the season will be over.
Fuck. I'm half delighted to be out for good and half terrified I'll be bored.
Oh well. There's always the damn gym. Or maybe even baseball. No matter how much Franco hates the simplicity of the sport. I fucking love it. It’s grueling in the summer months and much more enjoyable than Water Polo.
Maybe I'll be able to find a way out of this damn mess and get us out of here forever.
Far, far away from the man who brought us into his home and turned us into weapons.
"If you stuck around more, you'd see the messages..." JJ trails off in his all-knowing tone.
But he knows I can't sit still. Like ever. I'm always on the go. A puppy with a damn treat to chase. I guess that's why Franco insisted I go into Water Polo. Rigorous workouts. Pre-training. You name it; we're doing it. All in the name of going to the championships.
"You could text me..." I grumble.
He sends me a scathing look. "I did. Individually. In the group text. I even left a note on the fridge." I should feel properly chastised, but I don't. I’m sure JJ tried his hardest to get a hold of me.
Oh. Well, fuck. I dig out my phone and slide through the millions of notifications I have—a lot from social media and a few texts from JJ and Hux. And even one Franco sent to us all.
Oops.
"My bad." I quickly drink, enjoying the bitter beer rolling down my throat.
"Don't complain next time," JJ quips, shaking his head. "And answer your damn phone once in a while."
"I would if I wasn't so fucking busy," I grumble.
"The school year has barely started, and my schedule is so packed I barely have time to.
.." I make a hand motion near my poor, neglected cock, ready to spill all the beans on my lack of self-care, but JJ puts a stop to that. What? Like he doesn’t care about my well-being? Fucker.
"Don't even finish that sentence. I know it's going to involve your dick somehow." JJ takes a step back, putting a hand between us.
Well, he’s not wrong. But what gave me away? The hand motion? Or the desperate lust in my eyes?
I grin. "Aw, you don't want to hear about big Macklyn and his proud sails?" I jostle myself a little.
"What are you, a fucking sailboat now?" JJ quips, attempting to hide his smile.
"He is," I cackle, pointing toward my dick.
"You're an idiot."
"Eh, you kind of like me." I shrug, drinking again.
"Macklyn." I almost choke on my beer when Amanda's sweet voice pierces the air.
And there goes the good vibes.
You know, when I said her voice was sweet, I really meant it’s bitter and nasty.
Like week old laundry mixed with vomit and shit sitting in the hot summer sun.
So, yeah. Nasty and fucking awful. Just like her.
She may look like a beautiful girl on the outside with her long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.
But a manipulative demon lives deep inside her and always has.
Even back in high school when she pushed Livy around and tried to act innocent.
She was never innocent. Livy was, though.
My girl. She was always so tough and tried not to let us know what had been happening between the two.
But we always knew. I tried to let her take care of it on her own, but I couldn’t help myself in getting retribution.
Even now, despite the fucked-up circumstances, my buttercup will always be the damn queen of this roost.
Not Amanda, the girl I'd love to strangle.
But murder is frowned upon. Especially at parties. Or in public. Fuck. When is murder acceptable?
I eye the snake in the grass with physical indifference.
We're obligated to be friendly and cordial to her.
Actually, I don't know why we have to be.
She's Hux's problem. He's the one who was strong-armed into this deal with her and her father.
Thanks, Franco. Ya, asshole. You fucked all three of us. Took away our lives. Again and again.
But I digress.
If I go down that rabbit hole, I'll never emerge. So, I bury all my hatred, rage, and whatever else is testing inside me and throw it into the deepest crevice of my mind.
Is it healthy to avoid my problems and feelings? Absolutely not. Do I do it anyway to stay sane? You betcha.
Besides, I take care of those pesky feelings plotting against me daily with my Livy. She may be unable to talk back and offer me advice, but she listens well. And being so close to her, even though she's so far away, settles my aching bones and mind.
If only she were here with me now. In the flesh to soothe my brows and tell me she loves the rock I found her.
Or that my kiss took away all her worries.
My chest aches. I miss Livy with all my fucking heart.
She was my girl. Our girl. The day I had to put her in the ground without tears was the worst day of my life.
And it was all Franco's fault. I'm fucking sure of it.
Just an accidental house fire? Yeah, fucking right. House fire my ass. If the guys and I hadn’t been on a damn run that day, working our asses off for Franco, we’d have marched through those flames, laid down in the fire, and sacrificed ourselves with her.
A life without Olivia Viotto isn’t a life worth living. I’m barely hanging on to the shreds of sanity I have left. One more minor inconvenience, I’ll be a goner for sure.
I quickly peek over my shoulder, zoning in on Livy's grave.
The chips in the stone are the first thing I see whenever I look at her now.
Rage boils again at the thought of someone messing with her gravestone.
Fuckers. JJ better find them quickly and tell me who they are so I can beat their asses and commit that murder I shouldn't, deep in our basement with sharpened knives and lots of blood.
Whoever hurts my Livy, even when she's in an eternal slumber, has to come through me first.
I reluctantly take my eyes off the only girl who will ever be allowed to consume me again and glare at Amanda. Or Mandy. Or whatever she wants us to call her. It's whatever. She's still the same basic mean girl from high school. Only now she has bigger tits and a bigger entitlement to our time.
I lie awake some nights, trying to figure out how this all happened. Franco. He did this to torture us for eternity instead of giving us the good life. It'll be a cold day in Hell when Huxley is forced to meet her at the altar. If I can switch her out for someone more bearable, I would.
Amanda saunters up to me with the same grin she wore in high school when she was trying to seduce us to the dark side. That's a no fucking thank you from me.
"Mandy." My voice comes out monotone when she runs her fingers over my chest, and I step back out of reach.