Chapter 15 #2
I chase the sound of their engine, scaling the fence and jumping down into a small wooded area. Jogging to keep track of their movement, I follow the gentle rumble down into the business district, halfway between where we crashed the cart and Marymount.
Hiding in the trees, I follow their taillights, running alongside them as they check the storehouse and take the quiet street up to Marymount.
A police officer moves ahead, searching the school parking lot while I notice Milo’s BMW is parked over a curb. Jerome and Callum screech to a halt behind his vehicle, an officer hovering over Milo.
Callum climbs out of Jerome’s Audi, slamming the car door.
He charges up to Milo. “Fuck, what are you doing?” he barks.
Milo gets in his friend’s face. “I would’ve caught them!”
“You’re drunk.”
“And you’re holding me back!”
Callum hooks his hand around the back of his friend’s neck, biting out in his face, “I don’t want them dead. I want them alive to see this.”
He walks into Milo, not releasing him as he forces the latter to stumble backward.
Callum’s chest glistens, the blond at his temples darkened with sweat.
“They’ll watch us take back Krisjen,” Callum tells him, “and take back Clay and then watch us take a wrecking ball to that house and everything else there.” He jerks Milo’s neck. “And if you don’t do it my way, I’ll kick you out of my way.”
My cock twitches, and I push the fucking thing back down.
Pushing Milo away, Callum heads back to Jerome’s car.
“You need me,” Milo reminds him.
Callum just scowls, telling the cop, “Take him to Fox Hill.”
Officer Grady holds out his hand, ready to grab Milo, but he shoves it away, watching his friends go.
Callum and Jerome drive off, and I drift through the brush, between houses, and up St. Clare Avenue, following the sound of their car.
Jerome pulls through the Ameses’ gate, and I hop up a tree, scaling the white wall.
Slipping down, I crouch behind hedges. Callum gets out of the car and then leans back in the window, talking to Jerome.
I don’t see any other cars, so I don’t know if his stepmother is here, but it’s possible. During storm season, everyone tries to keep their vehicles parked in the garage.
He taps the roof and backs away from the car, Jerome swinging his vehicle around their cobblestone driveway and racing off. I watch Callum approach his front door, pulling out his keys, and I ball my fists, ready to make another bet with him.
He can have me arrested for breaking curfew if he evades my fucking fists long enough to make a phone call. How about that?
He sticks the key in, and I tense every muscle in my thighs, rising up.
But then he stops, dropping his forehead into the door. His back rises and falls with heavy breaths, and I pause as he just stands there, looking like he’s about to sink to his knees.
Gritting my teeth together, I swallow. Go, I tell myself. Attack.
For some reason, though, I don’t feel the fight pummeling through my veins right now.
He twists the lock, turning the handle and opening the door.
His head pops up; he sees something in the foyer, and he cocks his head. “What the hell are you doing up?” I hear him bark.
He walks in, the door swinging closed, but it doesn’t latch. Checking the gate and seeing it now closed, I run to the door and plant my back to the house, listening.
“I like the curfew,” a girl says, sounding gleeful.
Anna-Katherine.
Great.
I can’t kick his ass in front of her. I forgot she’d be here.
“The streets are quiet,” she says. “When I go outside, I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
Peeking through the window, I see she’s spread out on the foyer floor, her paints and brushes scattered around a massive canvas.
She moves around, setting supplies around the board and wearing the cutest brown pantaloons buttoned just below her knees.
I swear her mother hired tailors to craft whatever outfits her daughter wants to escape into.
A short-sleeve black T-shirt is tucked into the waist, the suspenders simply for decoration.
“You can be in the backyard,” he points out. “That’s not illegal.”
“Can I ride my bike in the street?” she asks, walking around the painting.
“No.”
But I’m guessing it’s because he doesn’t want her in public without him and not because she’ll actually get into trouble.
AK stops, fixing a purposely devilish smile on her face, challenge accepted.
Callum glowers. “Sophia…”
I can’t figure out their relationship. She’s not scared of him, but he hides her. I haven’t seen him in public with her outside of school, and even then, he’s rushing her out of the building.
She’s only attached to him because he’s made her rely on him.
“Where were you?” she asks.
He throws his keys on the table and walks back toward the door.
I hold my breath, but he just pushes it closed.
“Out with friends,” he tells her.
Peering through the window again, I watch her rush over to him, crashing into his chest and wrapping her arms around his body.
“Mmm,” she coos.
But he tries to pull her off of him. “Sophia, no.”
Her eyebrows nose-dive, and I hear her—even through the window—inhale his smell. She draws in air once, then twice, and then, before he can pry her off, she releases him.
Dropping the brushes in her hand, she stumbles backward, nearly tripping over the canvas as her face contorts into fear.
He reaches for her. “Sophia.”
She shakes her head, retreating and trying to get away from him. “Why?”
What the fuck?
I thought he smelled fine.
He walks toward her. “Come here.”
She shakes her head frantically, backing up the stairs, terrified of him all of a sudden. Why is she scared? What happened?
“Sophia!”
“Don’t, please!”
Spinning around, she scrambles up the stairs, and he grabs the banister, vaulting up after her.
Lifting my arm to my nose, I sniff. I didn’t wear any cologne tonight, but there’s a perfume.
There were women on me and…him. I was close to him.
I smell again, catching the scent.
The Wolfe Room was perfumed. I could smell it as soon as I walked in, like the Garden of Eden, coupled with the décor and music meant to transport us into another realm.
Realization dawns. She knows what the Wolfe Room smells like.
I open the door and walk in, hearing glass and other things crashing and smashing on the second floor.
“Sophia!” he bellows. “It’s okay!”
“Why?” she wails. “Why, why, why…”
Taking a quick glance to make sure no one else is around, I ascend the stairs softly but quickly. Hugging my back to the wall, I slide down to a bedroom.
“Sophia!” he growls.
Peering through the crack, I watch him grab her, but she flails, screaming.
He can’t keep hold of her, and she goes wild, shoving everything off her little makeup table.
“Does that help?!” he hollers, jamming his foot into her dresser drawers again and again and again.
She scurries back, sobbing as she grabs a lamp and shatters it on the floor.
“Dammit!” he growls, balling his fists. “Knock it off!”
She clutches her head, screaming as tears stream down her face.
“I didn’t do anything bad,” he shouts. “I never do anything!”
I can hear the sobs caught in his throat, and I don’t even breathe, afraid he’ll see me.
What the fuck is going on?
“I can’t enjoy anything because of you!” he fires back. “And him!”
He pulls her to him, shaking her, and I fire up every muscle, ready to get her away from him.
But then he shouts. “I warned you!” he blusters in her face. “I fucking warned you, didn’t I?”
Warned her about what?
She squirms in his hold.
“Stop it,” he bites out.
She slaps her fists into the sides of her head, still shaking it back and forth, back and forth.
“Stop it, or I’m calling Silver Lane!” he shouts.
One of the institutions she was in while he was in college.
All of a sudden, she sucks in a breath, a jolt straightening her spine, and she folds, Callum falling to the floor, catching her as she collapses.
She inhales and exhales rapidly, almost hyperventilating, and all I see are her sneakers kicking as she struggles to breathe.
Callum cradles her, his back to me, but he doesn’t call for help. He doesn’t try to get her to breathe.
Instead, he starts rocking her.
The soft sound of humming drifts into the space, and I crane my neck, trying to see her face.
I can’t, though.
Then I hear him.
“Someone holds me safe and warm,” he sings. “Horses prance through a silver storm.”
I go still, watching them. Her legs calm, the kicking subsiding.
He sings quiet and serene, and for a moment, I don’t breathe.
What is he doing? She needs help. Is it a seizure? A panic attack?
Slowly, though, her legs calm. The kicking subsides, and her voice joins in the next verse, singing with him.
I have no idea where the tune is from, but it’s familiar. A children’s tune. Paisleigh might’ve listened to it or heard it in a movie.
Callum holds her, and I listen, both of them singing as her voice grows stronger, and I watch as her arm circles his neck and he pulls her in closer.
Her breathing quiets again, and in a moment, both of them are the only sound filling the house.
I blink, realizing my eyes have started to burn.
He cares about her.
She’s the only person on the planet who loves him.
It’s Callum Ames and Anna-Katherine against the world.
And all the monsters.
I leave him to calm her down, and I make my way to his bedroom.