Reckless Hate: A Bully High School Romance (enemies-friends-enemies-lovers-enemies) (Westbrook Blues Book 1) Page 7

  I can’t help but think how stupid this is. George’s casket shouldn’t be carried by some damn strangers, if anything, he would have wanted his friends—his best friends that he considered to be his brothers—the Blue Boys, to carry his coffin.

  This is just fucked up on so many levels and none of it settles the unease that grows with each second of being in this church.

  There goes that ache in my chest again. I look at the brown, shiny casket, a feeling of unease and disdain staining every inch of my being. The funeral people placed this huge ass flower arrangement on top of the casket.

  I can't help but also note that the color is all wrong! Everything about this is all wrong!

  George would have wanted a private thing, not this huge crowd of people that only know him from the football field but know nothing about his favorite songs. Or at least his favorite food, or books. The point is, none of these idiots know a thing about my brother and they all sit here like they did.

  All of this rubs me the wrong way. I watch as my father hands over a large close-up portrait of my smiling brother.

  In that moment, everything falls away. Everything fades into a hazy abyss as my gaze trains in on that picture.

  I remember that photo.

  I took that photo when he visited me in London at the beginning of the new year. I have that very photo in the locket that I wear around my neck, close to the pendant. I remember exactly what he was smiling about that day as well.

  I remember how happy he was, how excited he was for the summer and then starting senior year with the boys. He begged me throughout his visit to come back with him, at the very least to come back for summer. Then maybe start senior year together.

  I remember, I almost caved, having at that point been sick and tired of the depression that hit me each time I thought of Westbrook and everything I lost.

  Fuck, I remember that photo, taking it the exact moment, the sun rays reflected in his eyes and he looked like a god in that moment, I had to snap a quick one.

  Without the help of my damn anxiety pills or the environment I’m in, just like that, I fall apart.

  My throat pricks as hot, fat tears start falling like a stream. This time I can’t control them. I wish with all my heart that George was here. He would know just what to say to make this all go away. To ease the shattering of my heart.

  I wish that my Aunt was here. She is the one maternal figure that gives a damn about me and cared about me. If she were here, she would hold my hand. But that bitch will only ever want to do my father so, there goes that.

  I have no one.

  The fucking church organ sequence comes to a close. The casket is now at the front of the church, but I haven’t moved from my spot by the door. I’m still rooted here, unable to move, standing all alone as I watch a full church standing—paying their last respects to my brother.

  I watch as my parents take a seat at the front, with a noticeable distance between them. I watch as three other portraits of George stare at me with that playful smirk of his and a glint of sharp intelligence in his eyes. I notice his priced dimples that ‘get the girls’—staring back at me.

  I can’t do this. I can’t be here. I don’t want to be here.

  As the people start sitting down, I turn around, about to flee back to London if possible—my fight or flight response at full notch, with the flight option winning all the way. But as soon as I turn around, I stop just as quickly, frozen in place.

  Heartbeat.

  Heartbeat.

  Heartbeat.

  I feel him before I lay eyes on him. Every inch of me goes on alert. Because the one person that I didn’t want to see at all, the reason why I stayed away. The reason that made my heart pound with anger mixed with longing. The reason I have never really found peace anywhere because I somehow always thought that he was my peace.

  He stands right in front of me, blocking my escape. I look up, taking my time from his sneakers, up his muscular build covered in black clothes, right up to his wind knocking, gorgeous face with the crystal, frosty blue eyes and pause.

  My heart is ponding so furiously in my chest, my palms are sweaty. There is a tense energy between us but I realize something as our gazes connect. I hate him so much, I can’t breathe.

  “Star.”

  “Ace.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ASTRAEA

  I’M NOT SO SURE HOW long we stand there staring at each other with a coldness that threatens to freeze hell over.

  If it’s hell, then we are both familiar with it.

  I can’t seem to take in enough of him. I feel like I’ve been starved all these years of looking at him. Seeing him, feeling him, being around him. At one point, my entire life was him. Everything was him and he sent me away.

  The priests’ voice drowns in the background as I fight the tears and the anger rising in me. My nerves are on high alert as I watch the devil stare down at me with a chilling frost in his eyes.

  But somehow, I melt.

  “What are you doing here, Ace?” I harshly grit out as I look up at him.

  Holy fuck, I would recognize that frost in his eyes anywhere, but he looks do damn different. He feels the same and not at the same time.

  Have you ever wished that the person you hate didn’t look like the dirty fantasies that you have had in the dark? Ace looks just like that, but the actual person is so much better than the vivid images I’ve had over the years.

  He is freaking huge! Tall, muscular, brawny, so damn gorgeous and fuck my life, he looks much more handsome than every illicit dream I have ever had of him.

  Everything about Ace looks alluring, inviting and sensual but one cannot ignore the aura of danger that looms over him or the frost in his blue eyes that hides the swirling darkness that brews like an impending storm.

  I don’t want him here though. I know for a fact that Ace, the boys and my brother stopped being friends a long time ago—according to everything George told me months ago. In fact, I’m pretty sure the two of them hated each other before he died—which confuses me each day that I open my eyes because Ace and George were practically inseparable since we moved here.

  All four boys were always together. But now, nothing is certain. Everything is up in the air but I’ll stick with what George told me before he died. He never did explain what happened but my loyalty will always be to the one that was loyal to me.

  I won’t tolerate this insult to his life by having Ace here.

  “Alex.” He says.

  His voice is not as I remember either. He is not the eight-year old boy that would destroy my bicycle just because it was too ugly for him. Neither is he the ten-year old that would pull my hair each time I passed him in the hallways at school, trip me while walking in the cafeteria and would watch me with a smirk on his face as I tumble face down and straight into a bowl of spaghetti and Bolognese sauce.

  He literally enjoyed making a fool out of me in front of the entire school, but he would always make it look like I tripped over my own two feet.

  Hell, he wasn’t the thirteen-year old boy that I remember running away from each time I got a glimpse of him on the sports field with his shirt off or whenever he decided to embarrass me and the braces I got later in life. He isn’t that infuriatingly cute but spoilt rich boy anymore. He is much more than that now, much harder, sharper and meaner.

  He towers over me, I have to crane my head back just to look at him, ignoring the pounding of my heart. I summon my best poker face. I don’t want him to see just how bothered I am by this situation, by the way he looks now, bothered by the hate that is still in his eyes.

  He is dressed in black jeans, a black tee covered by a black leather jacket that does wonders for his built frame, with his sexy as fuck jet black hair mused up so perfectly, like he has been running his hand through it in frustration.

  He isn’t anything I remember at all, and still exactly who I picture when I allow myself to think of him. To think of the boy that sent me away when t
ragedy struck my life. When I needed him the most—he sent me away. He is a much older now, no longer a boy. Much more alluring and oh my fucking gosh, sexy as hell. He was the very epitome of danger, if danger had a sharp, chiseled face like a god with blue eyes, and lips so kissable, I feel like I might just die if I don’t kiss them. Again. . . But that was a long time ago and so totally not going to happen again.

  I’m no longer that stupid little girl anymore.

  But as I look up at his icy blue eyes, that are much colder and more intense than his mother’s—I know that time didn’t do anything to curb the cunning, ruthless desire in him to make my life a living hell.

  “What?”

  “Don’t call me Ace. No one has called me that for years and I’d like it to remain that way.” His voice is low, deep and manly. I have no idea why it gives me chills but it certainly makes me angry.

  “Well, Ace,” I stress the name I gave him a long time ago with satisfied emphasis as I look up at him, our voices low, “My name is Astraea not Star. Be sure to remember that.”

  He only looks at me more intensely but something about his gaze is unnerving, until he speaks, his voice deeper, much lower and very much threatening.

  “I gave you that name, and you will be whoever I want you to be.” He states, with venom in each word.

  I reel back as if he has just slapped me across the face. The audacity of him. . .

  I’m so surprised by the entitled, hateful way he just said that, I pause for a second. I take a step closer to him, getting into his face, feeling the heat from his body. I can feel each breath he takes but I never take my eyes off of him.

  “Then you must remember who owns who. You will always be the symbol of death. You will always be, Ace.” I whisper, making sure my voice drips with sensual arousal and hate. That gets a rise out of him because he grabs me by the elbow and pulls me further into the shadows, his jaw clenched.

  “Don’t mistake my absence from your miserable life these past years for freedom. I still own every inch of that rebellious fire. In every way that counts.” His voice is soft, deceptive as he leans into my ear.

  I shiver, clenching my fists, trying not to react or give in to the sudden flood of lust that has just assaulted me. His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me closer into his large, hard body. I suck in a breath, unable to feel anything else other than the threat of violence that is his touch.

  “Every inch of you is mine. Every breath that you take is only because I allow it. Just remember that, Star.”

  I can feel his heavy gaze on me as he leans back, watching me like I’m his prey and he is about to devour me. But first, he beguiles my mind, drawing me in, in a way only he has ever been able to.

  I know I should leave but I can’t move and he won’t let me. I don’t want to talk to him, I never wanted to see the face of my disaster so I turn, forcing his hold on me to drop. I’m about to walk out the door but again, with no effort at all, he stops me, pulling me back until my back slams into his front.

  “Where do you think you are going?”

  Oh God. A shiver goes through my body, his lips at the shell of my ear. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the shivers intensify, vibrating in me and through him. It’s like we are one being, with two opposing forces joined by a mutual hatred for each other. I can feel his hardness growing at my hip, and that snaps me into focus with panic. I push his hands away, this time he lets me, then turn to look at him.

  “None of your business is where.” I spit out and make a move to go around him so I can leave in peace but he doesn’t allow me to, stepping with me to block my way.

  “I think it is my business. This is—after all—my town.” He says with a cool note of indifference in his voice.

  “You can take your town and everything your entitled ass thinks he owns and shove. . .”

  “Goodness, Star. You forget where you are.” He smirks with a wink, then grabs my hand and the next thing I know, he drags me back into the church but we don’t go towards the front where I’m expected to sit with my family, no. Instead Ace leads us to sit at the very back where there is an empty pew—closer to the door.

  His grip on my hand is strong and sure. I wait for that repulsed feeling to reach me because I hate—absolutely loathe—being touched, but it never comes. He stands aside and waits for me pass by him to sit down but I stand defiantly, shooting him a glare.

  “Do you want a scene, Star? I remember just how much you like those.” He says with a raised eyebrow.

  I hate a scene and I don’t want to give these people more to talk about. I’ve already noticed the glances that I’ve been getting since arriving to this church. I’ve heard the whispers and the gossip but the last thing I want is a scene. All I want is to be as far away from here as soon as humanely possible. So, I take a seat.

  “Scoot over.” He says with a serious expression on his face. For the life of me, I can’t read him. I have no idea what he is thinking and I honestly don’t know if I actually want to know what he is thinking. I quietly scoot over.

  He takes a seat and I scoot over some more to make sure there is distance between us. He only looks at me but doesn’t say anything nor does he move to close the gap.

  “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here? George wouldn’t want you here.” I say, trying to keep my voice down, staring daggers at him.

  “Is that any way to greet an old friend after all these years?” He questions, but there is no humor in his voice, nor on his face.

  “Old friend? You must be suffering from some kind of amnesia, Ace.” I look at the priest as he begins reading a passage from the Bible about a time for everything but was this his time? Was this George’s time to go, when he was so young and so full of life?

  “I told you, don’t call me that.” He grits out.

  “I will call you whatever the hell I please. You are not welcome here.” I seethe as I look at him.

  “So, what were you about to do? Run away?” He questions with a knowing gleam behind that impassive expression on his face.

  I don’t know what happened through the years, but he is no longer that carefree boy that tormented me when we moved here. Somehow, he looks harder and much, much tougher. There are no laugh lines around his eyes that I was sure would one day appear when we were younger because he used to laugh hard at my expense all the time—the kind of laugh lines that my brother had.

  There is just. . .hardness here and a brooding, almost volcanic sense of power about him that I feel so acutely, it shocks my system.

  He seems restless somehow, and that more than anything makes him dangerous. We look at each other and I soon realize something as we look at each other.

  “You were watching me, weren’t you!” I accuse as I think back to the blue Lambo. I think back to the chill that it gave me—much like the one I have now, even when I’ve been in Ace’s presence for longer—I still feel the unease and the acuteness of danger.

  “Why are you asking something that you already know?” He says after a beat.

  I turn away, still feeling Ace’s gaze on me. I look straight up at the boy that has just stood up to say something about my brother. I’m not sure I know him though, and I feel like I’m supposed to know him since he is up there saying something about my brother on his funeral.

  It must mean that they were close. Maybe if I can talk to him, I’ll get answers as to what happened to my brother.

  “Who is he?” I question Ace because I know he is watching as well.

  Silence greets me instead. A brooding, suspicious kind of silence. I look over at him and I watch as he stares at the boy with so much animosity in his stare, I pause.

  “Ace?”

  “George didn’t tell you who that is?” He questions, and I notice the way his voice has just dropped to a low, deep pitch that brings goosebumps to my skin. My entire body is filled with goosebumps because of him.

  “I don’t recall. What’s his name?” I quest
ion but he ignores me. I know that silence too. He won’t answer me.

  “What happened to my brother, Ace?” I question him and this time I don’t give a fuck as to what is happening around me. Something isn’t right here and I feel like I’m the only one that doesn’t know it.

  I feel like I’ve just been thrown in some kind of power play game where the participants are all the people around me. Maybe because of said game, George was a fatal accident, caught in the matrix that is Westbrook. I don’t really have facts but I feel it deep within me that my brother didn’t just die. His time didn’t just come.

  Something happened to him and Ace knows about it.

  Ace looks at me, stares at me for a long time. I wait on bated breath for him to say something. To give me some kind of explanation as to what’s going on here because if there is one thing that I know about Alexander King is that he hates lies and he is no liar himself. It was the first ‘law’ that he put down the very day my family and I moved to the Westbrook Blues.

  “What happened to him?” I question again, my voice suddenly low and hoarse. I’m asking but I’m scared of the answer. I try to see if his face will give me some kind of clue as to what he is thinking, maybe he will tell me—but his facial expression is as impassive as ever. It doesn’t give a single thing away, nor do his icy blue eyes that just draw you in.

  Eyes that I once knew so well.

  “His foolishness killed him.” He says and turns away. I gasp out loud. How dare he speak ill of my brother?

  “How dare you?! You of all people knew him and I fucking know that you know he was an excellent driver. How dare you?” I defend angrily, feeling like he just destroyed another part of me.

  I’m hating each second that I’m here at Westbrook. Each moment brings something that makes the hate grow and fester into a bigger force than I can handle—but I hate it way more for taking away my life. I hate it for what it did to my family. I hate it for what it did to me.