7. Maddox
MADDOX
“What the fuck was that?” I barked at Mason as I steered the car out of the parking lot of Marino’s and onto the main road.
He didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed on his phone as his fingers rapidly tapped on the screen, drafting a text. “What was what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Mas. That shit doesn’t work with me. Back at Marino’s.” I snuck a glance at him before my eyes returned to the road. “You invited an outsider. We don’t do that.”
My twin shrugged in the passenger seat, unfazed, his gaze finally pulling away from his phone.
“What’s the big deal? I was judging her interest in you and trying to help you move on.
I can’t watch you spend your entire senior year pining over a girl you can never have.
This is supposed to be the best time of our lives.
I want to make the most of this year. I want to have fun, especially after last year. We deserve it, Mad. You deserve it.”
A muscle in my jaw twitched. “I’m not—”
“You are.” He cut me off, tone matter-of-fact. “And it’s painful to watch. So yeah, I’m helping. Whether you want me to or not.”
Frustration built in my chest. “We have bigger problems than me trying to get laid,” I grumbled. “And I don’t need your help. Especially not with this.”
Mason expelled a half-laugh, half-scoff. “Right. Because you’re handling it so well on your own.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response.
Parties were Mason’s thing. Always had been.
Noise, people, attention—it all fed him like oxygen.
He thrived in chaos, flourished in crowds, got energy from the same things that drained me.
I tolerated them. Showed up because it was expected.
Stayed because leaving early raised questions I didn’t want to answer.
If there was booze, I could drown the crowd until they blurred into something manageable. Until the pressure in my chest eased and my thoughts stopped circling like vultures.
The football team expected it anyway. Training camp started this week, and we always threw a party at the start of a new season. Tradition older than us. Older than my father, passed down through generations of Corvos who’d worn the same jersey numbers and carried the same weight of expectation.
Appearances mattered.
Shining suspicion away mattered more. Not that we didn’t already have a glaring light pointed at us being Donovan Corvo’s sons.
“Besides,” I added, staring back out the windshield as the trees thinned slightly on the side of the road, “we already have a spotlight on us for being in a crew. We don’t need to make it worse.”
Mason’s laugh was quiet, almost bitter. “That’s never stopped us before.”
“Maybe it should.”
The church came into view through the break in the trees, stone walls cracked with age and weather, windows dark and hollow like empty eye sockets, a place that made parents nervous and teenagers reckless.
Gothic architecture left to rot, reclaimed by nature but not quite surrendered to it yet.
My father acquired it some years ago but left it to sit and deteriorate.
It did make the perfect place to let loose without worrying about disturbing anyone.
Cars were already lining the dirt road on both sides, parked at haphazard angles. Music pulsed from inside the ruins, echoing through the woods. I slowed the Jeep, navigating around a truck parked half in the ditch.
“We need to do something about Paisley,” my brother said suddenly, tone shifting with notes of seriousness. “She’s going to be a thorn in our side. I can’t believe she hasn’t given up this Nancy Drew–wannabe shit.”
I pulled off onto the grass, killing the engine but not moving to get out yet. The music was louder now, vibrating through the car doors. “She’s persistent,” I agreed.
“She’s reckless.” Mason turned in his seat to face me fully.
“We need to find a way to stop her from digging deeper and asking more questions before she gets herself hurt. Or worse, before she finds something she shouldn’t.
She asks the wrong question to the wrong person, and she’ll be the next girl to go missing.
Rusty might be dead, but the wheels of his operation are still turning. ”
“I know,” I said, tension settling between my shoulder blades. “But what do you suppose we do? Nothing you’ve done has worked, in case you didn’t notice, and after what happened last year, you’re probably the last person she’d listen to. Understandably.”
He smiled, dimples deepening on either side of his cheeks, which usually preceded bad decisions. “You work the new girl. And I’ll handle Paisley Tate.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “Oh, I just bet you will. I’m not sure seducing her is the answer, especially given your history. My bet is she’ll turn you down flat every single time, brother. You burned that fucking bridge.”
His eyebrow lifted, amused. “Is that a bet?”
“What’s the wager?”
“If I get Paisley to give up her crusade, you give up on Kaylor for good. No more ogling her ass. No more comparing every girl to her. No more fantasizing about sleeping with her. You let it go and move on.”
My jaw worked. “What are you giving up if you lose?” Which he definitely would. There was no way in this fucking lifetime Paisley would give Mason the time of day. It seemed like a sure bet from where I stood.
“Then I won’t say another thing about your obsession with your brother’s girlfriend.” He held my gaze. “No more interventions. No more lectures. I’ll let you self-destruct in peace.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
“Uh-huh.” Mason’s expression didn’t change. “And taking pictures of her when she’s not looking isn’t considered stalking.”
Heat crawled up my neck. “That was—”
“Obsessive,” he finished. “Creepy. Pick your adjective.”
“You’re such a dick.”
He laughed, genuinely this time, and reached for his door handle. “Come on. Try to have fun tonight. That’s all I’m asking. One night where you’re not brooding in corners thinking about girls you can’t have. You’re starting to remind me of Kreed.”
Snorting, I took off my seat belt and sat for a second longer than necessary, staring at the church through the windshield. Light spilled from the broken windows, making the church less nightmarish, but something about the night felt off, like threads were tightening instead of loosening.
“You coming?” Mason called from outside the car, door hanging open.
“Yeah.” I pushed my door open and stepped out into the warm August night, the air smelling of pine, dirt, and the faint metallic tang of beer already being spilled.
Mason headed toward the entrance, hands in his pockets, confident stride never faltering, and as I followed him toward the noise and the chaos he thrived in, I couldn’t shake the uneasiness in my gut or clear the face of the new girl from my head.
It had been months since another girl other than Kaylor entered my thoughts.
What was it about this girl I couldn’t rattle free?
Hudson shoved a red cup into my hand when I crossed the threshold. “About time you fuckers showed. You’re behind. Gonna need a few to catch up.”
“Not a problem.” I lifted the drink to my mouth and slammed it back in three swallows, the liquid burning down my throat. Cheap vodka mixed with something sweet. I didn’t even taste it really, and it didn’t do a damn thing to quiet my head either.
Seeing Hales with Paisley tonight struck a nerve. I didn’t like it, but I also couldn’t figure out why.
I swore under my breath, the words lost in the pulse of music vibrating through the stone walls.
Maybe Mason was right. Maybe I needed a distraction. A real one. Something that would shove Kaylor and Hales both out of my head and give me room to breathe.
I scanned the church, eyes cutting through bodies packed too close together and the haze of smoke and vape clouds hanging in the air, looking for someone who could make me forget not just Kaylor but Hales too. Two different problems that had somehow taken up residence in my skull.
I wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened, but I didn’t have the mental bandwidth Mason did to juggle multiple girls. He thrived on the attention and attraction. For him, it was fuel.
For me, it was drowning.
I pushed through the crowd toward a folding table stacked with bottles, red cups, and crushed beer cans.
Grabbing another drink without looking at what it was, I turned to find three girls had materialized near the table.
They smiled at me, reaching for a drink.
One of them brushed their breasts against me deliberately, the invitation obvious.
Well, isn’t this just convenient as fuck. Turned out I didn’t even have to try. They came to me.
Hell, Mas could have sent them over. Regardless, I didn’t care anymore.
The blonde with glossy lips and a low-cut top came closer to me, her hand landing on my forearm, fingers trailing up toward my biceps. “Hey,” she said, voice pitched to carry over the noise. “You’re Maddox, right?”
I should probably know her name, but I honestly couldn’t recall ever seeing her at Public before, but that wasn’t saying much. I downed the second drink in one long pull. “Yeah.”
“I’m Jessica.” She smiled, showing a set of perfectly pearly white teeth. “We had chemistry together last year. Third period?”
I had no idea who she was. Didn’t recognize her face and didn’t remember seeing her in any class.
But it mattered little to me whether I knew her or not.
Hell, it was fucking better if I didn’t.
I reached out and grabbed her hand, the one still touching my arm, and laced our fingers together.
“Come on,” I said, already pulling her away from her friends, away from the noise.
It didn’t matter which one I chose, not to me.
She followed without hesitation, her friends giggling as I led her down a side hallway branching off from the main room to a small office no one had used for anything holy in decades, just a room with a desk someone had left behind and windows so dirty they barely let in moonlight.
I pushed the door open with my shoulder, the hinges groaning, metal scraping against metal, and pulled her inside, enclosing us in near darkness.
Dust motes floated in the dim light filtering through the filthy window, suspended in the air like ghosts.
I had no desire to see her face. In truth, I had no desire at all, not for her, but she was nearly the same height as Kaylor, and perhaps it would be good enough for my imagination.
She pressed closer immediately, not wasting time as she slid her fingers up my chest. “I’ve had a crush on you for years.” Her perfume was too sweet and wrong. She didn’t smell like Kaylor, and the sense of smell was a harder sense to trick, but I could do something about the sound of her voice.
“Don’t talk.”
Her mouth found mine instead and…
Fuck.
I felt nothing.
Not a damn thing. No spark. No pull. No heat building in my chest, in my blood, or in my fucking dick. Just emptiness. And annoyance. Everything she did irked me.
I tried anyway. Forced myself to lean into it, to let my body respond the way it was supposed to, to make my hands move to her waist and pull her in.
To kiss her back. I smashed my mouth to hers, hard, but all I saw, even with my eyes shut, even with her pressed against me, was big light-blue eyes and full, kissable lips.
The way Kaylor smiled and laughed, how her small hand felt in mine, how she weighed next to nothing.
What the scent of her shampoo did to me.
We’d never kissed, never done anything beyond a hug, but I’d thought about it. A lot. Too damn much.
“Fuck,” I muttered against this stranger’s mouth, breaking away abruptly.
She blinked, confused, her hands still on my chest, lips swollen from my brutal kiss. “What’s wrong?”
I had a reputation, and this wasn’t going to enforce what everyone thought. Why hadn’t I grabbed another drink? I wasn’t drunk enough for this shit. “Nothing,” I gritted out.
She cupped me through my jeans. “Maybe you just need a bit more encouragement.” Her fingers fumbled with my button, unclasping it before tackling the zipper. Dainty fingers slipped into my boxers, finding my dick and wrapping around me.
My body reacted. I was a guy after all, but it didn’t mean I was enjoying myself.
Just the opposite. I felt sick. This wasn’t what I wanted.
She wasn’t whose mouth I wanted, but I didn’t stop her as she dropped to her knees.
My head fell back against the wall, and I weaved my fingers into her hair, messing up the perfectly styled curls.
She had skills, but it didn’t matter. My growing irritation overcame any pleasure she gave me. Fuck it.
I stepped back, putting space between us, dragging a hand through her hair and gripping hard enough to hurt. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
“Why not?” She tilted her head, trying to read my expression in the dim light. “Did I do something—”
“Turns out, you’re not my type.”
Hurt speared over her features. “You don’t have to be an ass.”
“You came on to me.” I was definitely being a jerk, but that was nothing new about my character, and it wasn’t her fault. This was a me problem, a problem that would take more than a one-night stand to cure.
Before she could curse me more or say anything she would regret, I yanked the door open and walked out, leaving her alone in that dusty room with whatever expectations she’d brought in with her.
The narrow hallway pressed in around me as I stalked back through the crowd, shoulders bumping into people who were too drunk or too high to care, making my way toward the makeshift bar again.
I needed another drink. Because if this was supposed to be fun, if tonight was supposed to help me forget, supposed to be the distraction Mason promised it would be, then something was seriously, fundamentally wrong with me.
Grabbing a bottle this time instead of bothering with a cup, I took a drink straight from it, the burn familiar and grounding. Mason found me twenty minutes later, leaning against the stone wall near the back of the church, bottle nearly gone.
“You good?” he asked, eyeing me with concern and amusement.
“Great,” I lied.
“You look miserable.”
“I said I’m great.”
He studied me for a second longer, then shook his head. “You’re a disaster, you know that?”
“Yeah.” I took another drink, the vodka doing nothing to fix whatever was broken in my head. “I’m aware.”
The shithead grinned. “You’re so losing this bet.”
I’d completely forgotten about my wager with Mason.