ONE #2
The pool house sat independently of our mansion and had its own private entrance.
It had been refurbished the previous year with no expense spared.
The soft furnishings, new kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom were all high-end: a fortress of glass and leather.
It even had a monster sound system and a huge projector, creating a cinematic weapon.
Grand Theft Auto on the PS5 felt like I imagined the real deal would.
Maiming people on the big screen was so much fun.
And come on, who didn’t want to mow down members of the cartel in 4K with no blowback?
That was the type of shit dreams were made of.
Cameron had designed the pool house, and his company had built it to his specifications. He ran his own architectural business, which was about the only thing he was any good at.
My point was that it was a place you could escape: my type of living.
A neutralised zone, and so much more relaxed than the main house, a.k.a.
ground fucking zero. The pool house was a self-sufficient space and a reprieve from having to sit and listen to my dysfunctional family's bullshit.
So what? I had a hard-on for wanting to live there; it was a work of art; it had everything and was purposefully designed for those who knew they were better than everyone else.
Enter Kieran.
I rubbed a hand across the bristles of my jaw, annoyed with my sister for causing me to overthink that shit.
My father and I were already at a declaration-of-war stage; there’s no way he would have made that kind of decision without running it by everyone.
That would only result in his offspring giving him even more crap.
And I’m not talking about Lincoln letting my tyres down because I stole the last sourdough pretzel.
That was amateur hour. Giving up the pool house to anyone outside of the family, especially our stepmother’s niece, was some slap-worthy shit, right there.
I wondered how Lincoln would take the news that it appeared I wasn’t to inherit what had been his palace for years. He’d been looking to buy an apartment recently, and so he probably didn’t care.
“It’s not going to happen, Jessa. He wouldn’t do that without talking to me,” I informed her with a feigned bored expression: not on my watch.
“You’re wrong, Kier. She already has Daddy wrapped around her little finger. You know he’s a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
I cut her a look. “She’s a troubled teenager with a drunk as a father. Ten a penny; she’s hardly a damsel in distress.”
As I started to pull the cushions off the sun lounger, I thought back to the grainy photo I’d seen of Amelie Thorn.
“She’s extraordinarily pretty, even with that messy hair and those filthy clothes.”
“If you like that sort of thing,” I grunted noncommittally.
“What are you talking about? She’s totally your type.
Blonde hair, blue eyes,” my twin said with a conspiratorial hum.
I had no idea where she was going with that.
My taste in girls was particular and didn’t extend to scrawny runaways off the street, especially ones with parents in the slammer.
My intel had yet to fully explain why both Jacob Thorn and his wife had been arrested.
Something about the living conditions in their property?
So, they were messy buggers. I’d first assumed Louise Thorn would have been considered an accessory, but nope, supposedly, there was more to it than that.
My friend Weston’s father was chummy with the Chief of Police, and there was nothing he couldn’t find out.
“Such a sweet little thing. On the outside anyway.” Again, I wasn’t listening, but caught the end of Jessa’s tirade.
“Says who?”
“Lexi and Louis,” Jessa chirped.
“And how would they know? Her coming to live with us is a secret, remember.”
“No, the shit about her parents is the secret; her coming to stay with us isn’t.” Really? Well, that wasn’t news I would be shouting from the rooftops. I exhaled moodily as Jessa carried the fuck on. “I showed them her picture. They have a bet on how long you can keep it in your pants. So gross.”
Typical, Lexi and Louis were two of Jessa’s lesbian friends and had far too much interest in my sex life, considering they were supposedly gay.
Lexi Marshall and Louis Warburton: two females I’d love to catapult into the sun.
And I don’t mean that because of the gay thing.
I wasn’t homophobic; some of my closest friends batted for the other team.
They were stoners: human voids that spent most of the time smacked off their tits; that was the reason I disliked them so much.
The girls had nothing to say for themselves that wasn’t bullshit.
They were the administrators of our school's group WhatsApp forum and loved a gossip power trip.
And for the record, I enjoyed a good chin wag whilst getting fried as much as the next guy, but I didn’t let it interfere with my everyday life: that path had Loserville stamped all over it.
As soon as I finished high school, I had places to be.
I certainly wasn’t going to allow myself to get sidetracked by mouthing off about the wrong person or OD-ing on a stash of low-grade skunk.
“Lincoln thinks she’s pretty, too,” Jessa added with her usual snide lilt as I jammed the cushions into the watertight storage container with more force than necessary.
Our stepmother would flip if her precious patio furniture got left outside to face the elements.
Vanessa Rook, née Blair, didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word waterproof.
It was printed on every cushion. I suppose when you had nothing to do all day but look expensive, you invented your own disasters.
Wet lounger cushions, putting the empty milk carton back in the fridge, and leaving the table without asking were just three of my father’s wife’s many bugbears.
When it came to first-world problems, the woman was all over that like a rash.
As I hadn’t taken the bait, Jessa went for round two, “I mean, it’s not like he’d go there. She’s too young for our Linc, but he did say she was beautiful.”
“It’s Lincoln, so is anything with a pulse,” I pointed out, slamming the lid and making my way in through the patio doors to the kitchen.
I knew Linc wouldn’t be seriously interested in a seventeen-year-old girl.
Word on the street suggested Lincoln was dipping his wick where he shouldn’t: in a teacher of all things.
I just hoped to fuck she wasn’t one of mine.
Jessa buzzed after me like an annoying insect. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my sister, and we generally got along, just not lately. Ever since her boyfriend, Jordan, dumped her, she had been a pain in everyone’s arses. Even our other sister, Maisy, was giving her a wide berth, and nobody fazed her.
“Don’t you think it’s risky? Having a seventeen-year-old girl who isn’t family living with us? How will you restrain yourself? Maybe that’s why Dad has offered her the pool house to keep her away from you?”
“Could you fuck off already, Jessica?” I huffed, washing a hand over my face as I pulled the fridge door open.
Scanning the contents, I grimaced as I was met with an entire shelf of that green shit that Vanessa drank.
At least it was a step up from that almond milk my sister bought that looked like spunk.
The beers had been relegated to the bottom shelf; damn bitches and their incessant need to take over every inch of my life.
I didn’t include Maisy, the youngest member of our flock, in that.
She was the only good, pure thing that had come out of my father’s and Vanessa's relationship.
Even at almost four years old, she had my heart in her hand, and I would burn the world to the ground for her if I had to.
My twin Spidey-senses must have failed me, as Jessa lingered by the counter, now looking like she wanted to throat punch me.
“Look, shoo. I’m tired, and you’re killing my vibe,” I lied. My eyes were like saucers; I was that awake. Even after two joints, I couldn’t relax.
“Killing your vibe?”
“Yes, as I said, messing with my mellow,” I repeated my earlier comment.
Jessa mumbled, “Whatever. You’re never mellow these days.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“You! You walk around like you’ve got a huge stick up your arse.”
As she muttered something about going to bed, I raised an eyebrow and twisted back to face her, “Yes, one that you helped put there, remember?” I called out as my twin tried to make her escape.
My words stopped her at the doorway, and she turned, her expression troubled.
I straightened up with a fresh beer in my hand and slipped a finger in the ring pull.
“And from the look on your face, you know it.”
Jessa raised an eyebrow as she glared across the kitchen. “I never said I agreed with Dad; you took it the wrong way.”
Kicking the fridge door closed, I chugged my beer with a ‘whatever’ expression.
“I’m not having this same fight. I’ll see you at school in the morning. If you can get out of bed without a massive hangover, that is.”
I flipped her off with a smile. “Sweet dreams, baby sis,” I replied. Jessa then stormed off in a huff.