7. Bellamy

SEVEN

bellamy

Music thumped through a busted stereo in some run-down house on the outskirts of Dayton. A couple of the girls had stripped down to their bras and panties while guys pounded back cheap beer. And what was I doing? Typing out a text to Drew.

Me: So, what was it you were planning to do, baby girl? Use your daddy to get me blocked from Ivy League schools?

Baby Girl: A magician never reveals her secrets...

I fought a smile.

Me: Just so you know, I'm really fucking scared.

"Bell!" Hendrix shouted from across the crowded room, grinning like an idiot while he pointed at Betty Newman, topless and dry-humping the arm of the couch. "Guess who's plundering booty tonight?" The guy was an idiot…and for some reason, the girls lined up for it.

I drained the rest of my soda, checked my watch, then pushed up from the couch. Mom left for her second shift at work in an hour, which meant I had to have my ass back so my little brother wouldn't be alone with my shithead dad. Hendrix rounded the corner, his arm around Betty, who still had her tits out.

"Hell no, man." I grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him away. "I don't have time for your dick to go on a conquest. I've gotta be home to watch Arlo."

Hendrix shot a smile to the girl waiting by the stairwell. "The way she blows on that tuba, I can be done in five minutes flat, Bell...Come on."

There was no arguing with him. He was like a dog with its dick out, which meant I was wasting time. If I had to leave him, I had to leave him. "I'm going to my car, and If you're not out there by eleven thirty-three, I'm leaving your ass."

Hendrix glanced at his crotch. "Your time has come, my little warrior. We're walking the plank and diving straight into a brown star tonight." Then he made a beeline to Topless Betty waiting by the stairs. Unbelievable.

My phone buzzed.

Baby Girl: You'll see.

Typing out a response, I weaved my way through the party, past a kid puking in a potted plant.

Me: Can't wait. XX

Drew was cute, like a kitten attempting to sharpen its claws on my jeans. My bet was she would try to spread a rumor that I had a small dick or try to turn the Barrington football team against me—which had been done years ago, but why would she know that?

I made it halfway through the overgrown yard before a patrol car stopped at the drive. The kids loitering outside fled like cockroaches, dropping their beers and shouting Five-O before they hurtled themselves over chain-link fences. Amateurs.

I shook my head and kept walking. I hadn't drunk a drop, and having a dad who was an ex-cop, I knew the police couldn't do anything without probable cause.

The vehicle squealed to a stop, the flashing lights bouncing off my car as Officer Bivens climbed out. Followed by dickhead Jacobs who'd arrested Zepp.

"‘Sup, fuckwads," I mumbled.

Bivens frowned, slipping his thumbs through the belt loops on his uniform. "That silver Civic yours, West?" Bivens had been on the task force with my dad. He knew damn well the car in front of him was mine.

"Why?"

"We're gonna need you to open it." Jacobs grinned.

I threw a smirk back at the arrogant bastard, flipping my keys in my hand. "Got a warrant?"

"No."

"Then fuck off. I have to go home to watch my brother."

Another patrol car marked K-9 Unit pulled up and blocked the drive. A sinking feeling settled low in my stomach when a sniffer dog hopped out of the back, tugging on its leash as it headed straight for my car. Then lost its shit, pawing and barking.

"And I'd call that probable cause." Jacobs held out his hand.

I had no choice but to drop the keys into his waiting palm. My pulse threatened to pick up. I watched the officers walk to my car and shove the key into the lock.

Sure, the car probably reeked of weed, but I wasn't stupid enough to leave shit in there. The adrenaline building in my veins subsided. Jacobs could knock himself out. There was no way anything would—

"Got some dope here, Jacobs." Bivens popped up from the open door and shined his flashlight at the plastic baggie dangling from his fingertips.

Where in the actual hell...I tossed my head back on a groan. If Hendrix had dropped some of his shit in my car, I was going to kill him.

Jacobs shoved me, face down, onto the cruiser's hood, slapping cuffs on so tight that my fingers tingled by the time he forced me into the backseat.

"Zippity-fucking-doo-dah," he laughed, then slammed the car door.

The lights flashed. Sirens sounded. And panic settled in. If I weren't at home, no one would be there to watch Arlo. Mom couldn't afford to miss a shift, plus she'd leave, thinking I would turn up late. Then my kid brother would be stuck with Dad. God, I'd messed up.?"Man, I gotta get someone to watch my brother, Jacobs."

"Then I guess you better use that one phone call wisely, huh, shithead?"

I kicked at the back of his chair. "You fucking asshole." Then I slumped against the seat, my heart banging against my ribs like a caged gorilla.

The patrol car pulled away from the curb, picking up speed until it rolled to a stop at the end of the street, where I caught sight of Drew's hourglass shape casually leaned against the side of her shiny TT. She threw up a pageant queen wave, and that was enough to send me into full-on rage. I had no doubt Drew had somehow planted that crap in my car. Then probably called the police. Then came to sit back and watch the entire thing unfold. And that was absolutely not the kind of retaliation I'd expected. It was her fault my brother was about to be stuck with my drunk ass dad, and I wanted to literally wrap my hands around her throat until she choked. My hands were cuffed behind my back, which meant I couldn't flip her off, so instead, I headbutted the glass and shouted, "Fuck you," before the car drove off.

A series of texts buzzed in my pocket while Drew's threat: "I'm about to be the worst thing to happen to you, pretty boy," played on a loop through my head.? This was unbelievable.

Earlier in the week, I'd found her comment cute, but now, as Jacob's ushered me through the slums of Dayton, in the backseat of a police cruiser, while I worried that my little brother might catch his first busted lip from my dad, I didn't find it anything but infuriating.

Instead of the normal twenty-four hours that most people served for a dime-bag of weed—a rookie mistake on Drew's part—the door to my cell opened after ten. Special treatment since everyone in the Dayton PD knew my father was a piece of shit. Plus, the guy doing the booking asked who had Arlo. Sometimes sympathy could get a guy places, even in Dayton.

The clerk highlighted my court date, then passed the paperwork across the counter and buzzed me through the locked doors.

On my way into the parking lot, I powered on my phone. A string of texts came through. Hendrix. Wolf. Then...

Beep.

Baby Girl: Abracadabra?

Beep.

Baby Girl: You know, you'd think breaking into a car would cost more than $20

Beep.

Baby Girl: Guess payback's a bitch

I froze halfway through the parking lot. My thumb hovered over the letters, itching to type out some smartass response while my jaw tensed. But instead, I texted Hendrix:

Me: Ready to burn some shit tonight?

Hendrix: Hell yeah!

Most people wouldn't up the ante with me—especially not a girl. Girl or not, she'd fucked with the wrong guy because I would burn her shit to the ground.

A horn blared, and I glanced up from the text to Nash's dented van idling at the crosswalk. I hopped in, dragging a hand through my hair as he pulled off. Because this shit was unbelievable, and the longer I thought about, the angrier I became.

Nash dropped me at the impound. I paid the stupid fee—using the last of my money—then drove back home. I slowed to a stop in front of Nora's house, staring across the street at my dad's truck parked haphazardly in the drive. The front bumper touched the side of the carport.

If I had to guess, he was still half-drunk, passed-out on the couch from the poker game he'd probably lost his unemployment check to the night before.

He was the kind of man who played the villain in most made-for-TV movies, and I hated him.

I killed the engine and made my way up the monkey-grass-lined sidewalk, past the potted plants on the front porch, then I knocked on the door. And waited, staring at the wooden, hand-painted "Welcome" sign. Nora and I didn't exactly get along, but her family was nice, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy that.

The door opened with a creak of hinges. When Nora's gaze met mine, she rolled her eyes, then leaned back from the doorframe. "Arlo," she shouted. "Your brother's here."

His excited squeal echoed down the hall. Nora just stood in the doorway, glaring.

"Thanks for grabbing him last night," I said. Being nice to her was pretty much the same as trying to swallow a cactus—painful and awkward. But she'd helped my brother out. I had no choice but to be less of a dick to her now.

"Yeah. It's fine." She brushed her nails on her shirt. "I don't like you, but he's cute."

Arlo shot around her like a cannon, then latched onto my leg. "I'm glad they didn't keep you."

"Yeah, me too, buddy." I scrubbed a hand over his messy hair, giving Nora one last, thankful glance before we turned and headed to my car.

"Why'd you park here?"

"Because…" I didn't want to deal with Dad, so I opened the back door, motioning Arlo in. "Wanna grab a Happy Meal and go to Hendrix's to play on his PlayStation?"

His eyes lit up and he hopped right in, buckling himself up with a grin. "Yeah! He's got that game with girls in short dresses."

"You are not playing Grand Theft Auto , Arlo."

A Happy Meal later, Arlo sprinted across Hendrix's living room, the paper bag in tow as he snatched the game controller from the coffee table. "This is the best day ever!" He threw himself down onto the ratty couch cushions before fishing out a handful of fries.

Hendrix stood by the kitchen, eyeing the bag. "You didn't ask me if I wanted a Happy Meal, cocksucker."

I flipped him a bird, told Arlo not to play anything other than SpongeBob , then followed Hendrix into the kitchen.

He hopped onto the laminate countertop, cracking open a can of soda. "Did they make you get naked and lift up your ball bag?" He grinned before slurping back his drink. "Zepp said that's what they made him do."

"Man, shut up." I grabbed a spatula from the stove and hurled it at him, but he ducked. "Zepp's in prison. I was only there for ten hours."

"Why'd you have weed in the car anyway, dickstench?"

"I didn't." I combed my fingers through my hair, pacing the small space between the kitchen table and the cabinets. Pissed.

Drew may not have been competition, but she was definitely a problem. A big, hot-ass problem. I recalled how smug she looked, leaned against the smooth paint of her expensive car, watching while the cops hauled me off—to jail. She was a used-to-be rich girl, which meant she probably had no idea what the implications of what she'd done actually held—of course, she didn't. Or she would have planted more than a dime bag of weed. But still. Forget the record. Forget the inconvenience. She'd inadvertently put Arlo in danger, and that was enough to make my blood boil white-hot. And the more I thought about it, the more sinister my thoughts of retaliation grew.

Hendrix stared at me. "Fuckface! Why was there weed in your car? That's like the cardinal sin of—"

"The new girl set me up."

His eyes popped wide, and he lowered the soda to his side. "Oh, it's on now, cocksucker." He hopped off the counter. "It's on now. ‘Cause she just put her feet all over your rug." He tapped the toe of his sneaker over the kitchen rug. "Just like that."

And that was an understatement.