Burn (Brothers of Ink and Steel #2) (2 page)

Chapter One

October, 2004 (Almost a Year Earlier)

Liam

“What the hell is she doing?” I say leaning up against some dead guy’s headstone.

“Fuck if I know,” Randy answers, popping the top of another can of Bud as we watch the girl across from us. “Maybe she’s stoned.”

In that moment the sound of Boston’s “More than a Feeling” reaches our ears.

Randy’s head spins around. “Hell yeah!” he shouts and slams against my shoulder. “Jamie and Scott are coming … and they brought girls!”

I turn and watch Randy as he jogs up the worn dirt path that leads down the steep hill into the old cemetery. Sure enough, it looks like half the senior class is coming down to meet us. Good fucking thing they’re carrying coolers—Randy and I have already plowed through our six-pack since getting here. And although I can’t see it, obviously someone has an MP3 dock! This has the potential to become a real fucking party!

School let out a couple of hours ago, and the Vine Street graveyard is where everybody comes to hang out. The freak warm autumn weather is giving us one more outdoor party before we’ll have to hang at someone’s house. Best part is, cops never bother us down here, since they figure we’re out of the way. They don’t give a shit about us unless we’re fucking around where it bothers the community. Here, we’re out of sight and out of mind. A lot of shit goes down in this cemetery. It’s not a safe place.

My thoughts turn back to the girl over by the towering granite angel statue. She’s climbing around the pedestal with a white plastic grocery bag, but I don’t have a fucking clue as to what she’s doing. Whatever it is, she’s doing it meticulously. I squint my eyes to focus on her better.

I recognize this girl. I met her briefly at a group home I stayed at overnight—at the end of summer, before I was transferred the next morning to a new foster home. I was a little surprised to see her at South Senior High a few weeks later in my same year. I’ve never talked to her. With her long blond curls and more than filled out t-shirts, she’s hard to forget, but fuck if I can remember her name. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in school for a couple weeks.

I look back up the hill. The group’s getting closer and so is Tina. Tina’s a junior—a year ahead of me. She let me know before school got out today that she’d meet me down here. It would definitely be a badge of honor if I bagged her, and she’d made it quite obvious that was exactly why she was meeting me.

But that girl is gnawing at the edges of my mind … what the fuck is she doing over there? And why the fucking hell do I care?!

I steal another view of Tina getting closer, in her skintight jeans and formfitting jacket, before I push myself up out of the dried grass.

“Fuck it.” My curiosity demands to be quenched.

My boots crush over the crisp, fallen brown, orange and yellow leaves as I trek my ass across the expanse of lawn to where the girl is.

As I approach, I can see she’s picking up shards of broken glass from the pedestal around the statue. Shit must have been left over from parties past. Probably a bunch of partiers doing target practice with their booze bottles.

“What the
fuck
are you doing?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest, annoyed.

“Why the
fuck
do you want to know?” she stings back without bothering to look up at me.

Her tone almost makes me laugh out loud. She’s a little thing, trying to sound all big and bad.

Gingerly, her fingertips work around a jagged piece of green glass. She picks it up and drops it in the bag.

“Why are you cleaning the glass?” I try impatiently.

I look back at the party forming behind us. All the coolers are opened, and they’re digging in. I notice Tina smile my way and I throw her a smile.

“Somebody has to,” the girl says. “It’s so disrespectful to smash glass all over someone’s tombstone!”

Is she fucking nuts?
“Who gives a rat’s ass? They’re dead.”

At that, she turns on me vehemently. Her blue eyes flash with indignation. “You don’t even know who it is! She could have been someone’s mom … or daughter. She was obviously loved to have been given such a beautiful angel to look over her.” Her eyes follow up the weathered concrete angel almost adoringly. “And if she wasn’t, and this was a mistake, someone should be loving her now.” She looks back at me, her gaze still searing. “And you guys are assholes for vandalizing this place.”

I lift my hands in front of me to halt her accusation. “Whoa … hold on there! I didn’t break this shit.”

“Maybe not,”—she disregards me again to continue her task—“but you’ll all leave your cans, bottles and cigarette butts and shit down here, won’t you?”

I’m incredulous. Fuck this.
Fuck her.

I start to turn away, but for some reason my eyes search around to see who’s here with her.

“Who are you here with? Where the hell are your friends … or parents?” I demand.

“Like you give a shit.” She climbs off the pedestal. “Look, I know who you are, Liam Knight. You’re a sophomore at South.”

“You know that?”

“The school’s not that big. Not to mention that last year you went to a dance with Alexis Nichols.” She faces me as she straightens her red sweater and pulls on her black quilted jacket. She’s wearing ripped-at-the-knees jeans and a pair of worn black Chucks.

I feel my ego puff at the idea that she’d learned who I was. But then she continues, “And she’s still talking about what an asshole and user you are.”

Nice.

She smirks and says, “Plus, we met at North House during the summer.”

“LIAM!” a female voice rings out. I look over my shoulder to see Tina waving me over.

“Don’t want to miss your party.” The girl turns away.

“Hey!” I grab hold of her arm and spin her around to make her pay attention. “It isn’t safe down here by yourself.”

She yanks her arm back. “Leave me alone,” she growls defensively.

“All right, calm down,” I say, backtracking. “Why haven’t you been at school? Graduate already?”

“Something like that,” she quips with a tilt of her head. Her bright blue eyes are the color of a perfect afternoon sky.

Trying to call a truce, I say, “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“My name is Quinn,” she says softly then snaps, “Are you finished with your interrogation?”

“Okay … Quinn. That wasn’t too hard, right?” I ask. “Why don’t you come over and have a beer with us?”

She looks past me to the group. “I don’t know.”

There’s something about her—it’s like she’s trying to act unaffected, but she can’t mask the sadness.

“Come on, none of us will bite,” I coax. I consider her. What kind of teenager comes down to the graveyard,
alone,
to clean up random acts of vandalism?

“Okay, one beer.”

I smile.

She doesn’t smile back.

At least she follows me over to the party.

I lean into the cooler for a couple beers, when Randy comes over.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?”

“What the fuck does it look like?”

“Tina’s waiting for you, and you come back with the fucking bag lady!” he exclaims. “Albeit, a hot bag lady.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I shove him. “And I can handle Tina.”

Walking back over to Quinn, I hand her the cold can.

“Thanks,” she says without meeting my eyes.

“I thought you’d never get back over here,” Tina whines and slides her hand into the back pocket of my jeans, subsequently stroking my ass.

“I’m here now,” I remind her and drape my arm around her shoulders.

I catch Quinn as she rolls her eyes at me and Tina. She’s so blatant I almost laugh, but again, the gnawing won’t be ignored. I went over there to quell my curiosity, but instead, it’s become deeper. Why is she here alone? What was she doing at North House during the summer? Why hasn’t she been at school? What’s her story?

Tina’s hand rubbing my ass is making my dick grow, but I’m staring at and thinking about Quinn. This is probably not the best combination.

I watch as she cracks open her beer and chugs it down for all she’s worth. Liquid streams escape from between her lips and create channels running down the sides of her chin. She quickly lowers her head and eyes as she brings her sleeve to her mouth to catch the errant drink. She must have been really thirsty.

“Now that’s the fucking way to drink!” Dylan Porter, who’s a senior, comes over and casually snakes his arm around Quinn’s waist. “First time getting drunk?”

She stiffens, but doesn’t look up at him or make an effort to move away. Meanwhile, Tina begins to run her lips up my neck. She whispers something, but I don’t make out the words.

Dylan drops his hand to Quinn’s ass. “I bet that’s not your only first.”

“Leave her the fuck alone,” I say to him.

Dylan, who’s a head taller than me and the varsity quarterback, gives me a once look-over. “Fuck off, Knight. You got your piece of ass.”

Tina giggles beside me.

He waves his half empty bottle of Jack in front of Quinn’s face. “This will get the job done faster.” When she doesn’t take it, Dylan leans in closer. “I’ve never seen you at South High. Are you a freshman?”

“No. A sophomore. I just wasn’t around last year,” Quinn says, looking at the ground.

I can see why Dylan thinks she’s a freshman. There’s something innocent about her. That
something
an asshole like Dylan would like to take. I’m one of the oldest kids in the sophomore class, so I know she’s probably younger than me, but she
seems way
younger—like she could be fourteen, easily.  

“I’ve got to go,” she says, still staring at her shoes.

“Not yet, you don’t, I just got here.” Dylan licks his lips. “Have you ever been kissed before?”

She winces and tries to take a step away, but he holds her fast against his side.

“Oh, you like to play rough …” Dylan smiles.

“Hey,
dick
, leave the girl alone,” I say, making sure to emphasize
dick
.

“What the fuck did you call me, asshole?” Dylan looks surprised anyone would ever challenge him.

Our words are getting everyone else’s attention, and people are starting to gather around us.

Quinn’s deep blue eyes are tainted with fear when she lifts them to mine. It does something inside my gut I can’t explain; like her eyes are a conduit to the electrical current that flows through my body, the voltage shoots through me. An extreme shot of adrenaline is injected into my muscles.

“I know I didn’t stutter, fuckface,” I warn, very seriously. “Move on.”

Tina stops sucking at my neck and nervously steps away.

Dylan’s eyes turn hard and his smile turns wicked. Dramatically, he lets go of his grip around Quinn. It’s apparent she was pulling away from him as she stumbles under her own force. Douchebag doesn’t even attempt to help her; he just holds his arm out straight.

“Knight, you should have minded your own fucking business,” he warns before he takes a pull from his bottle.

“Maybe,” I retort. “But something about you holding a girl against her will just doesn’t set right with me.”

“I’m going to kick your motherfucking ass.”

“You only think you are, douchebag.” I hate assholes like Dylan. He has an over-inflated sense of his own popularity and thinks he’s entitled.

He hands his Jack bottle to a nearby friend and pulls his coat off unsteadily. I shake my head. Smug bastard is already half in the bag; I’ve only had a few beers, which means I’m going to sweep the fucking floor with him.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch Quinn—who had been slowly and cautiously backing away from us—now running through the dusk covered graveyard.

Fuck!
She ain’t coming back.

Dylan’s fist collides with my jaw, but the only thing I’m thinking is that Quinn’s going to disappear into the night, and I’m not going to be able to find her again. Now, I don’t know why I give a shit, since I’m guaranteed to get laid with Tina, but ever since the girl entered my field of vision tonight, I obviously haven’t been able to think of much else.

A fight would have been entertaining. Oh well.

I position my right foot behind my body to anchor myself, and then I hit him beneath the chin, just right, so he goes down.

He hits the ground hard and stays there. My friends start laughing, while his friends look like they expected it.

“I’ll deal with you more thoroughly another time,” I promise before I turn and start a quick stride after Quinn.

“Hey, man! Where are you going?” Randy calls out.

I wave him off. “There’s something I have to take care of.” I doubt he hears the entire sentence because I’m already halfway down the hill, weaving between the old granite headstones—and over the dead bodies with no voices to protest or encourage me. The only sounds I hear are my breath and my boots crushing the dried leaves underneath my feet.