Havoc (11 page)
Authors: Stella Rhys
It took a little while but I remembered what a crush was with Sean from across the hall.
I hadn’t “crushed” on anyone in what felt like ages. The concept was so sweet and lighthearted that it felt like I had no business anywhere near it. But it happened quickly with Sean, probably because of Rhode’s encouragement and the way that we met. It was on a Sunday morning that I’d woken to a splintering crash in the hallway, jumping out of bed and running out to see if everything was okay. What I found outside was a cute, shaggy-haired boy with a broken picture frame a bleeding cut on his finger. I’d been in my pajamas – a lace and silk chemise that Rhode had bought me during a two-for-one sale at Victoria’s Secret – and Sean had stared at me like I was the first pair of breasts he’d ever seen.
It was oddly endearing. Like a lot of things about him. He was in his twenties but the least “bro-ish” of the group, with a mop of dark hair that hid a devilishly handsome face and the most unique smirk I’d seen. The corners of his lips were impossibly sharp, stabbing into his cheeks like knives every time he flashed that Cheshire cat grin. He was around six-foot-two, long, lean and covered by baggy Volcom shirts. Like a grown-up version of the skater boys I dated in high school. He carried around an air of innocence, and on the night that he came over to thank me for bandaging his finger, we wound up having sex.
I was shocked by the severe build I discovered under his clothes. He had no body fat whatsoever, ripped and sinewy with dozens of long, fine scars that lashed across every shocking bulge of muscle. He obliged with the skateboard wipeout story behind each one, every tale in exchange for an article of my clothing. Once I was fully undressed, he stared at my bare curves with such unbridled awe that I considered that he’d never had sex before. “Shit, you’re so hot,” he breathed in shock, coming toward me so slowly, as if taking a mental picture of my nudity with every step forward.
But the second he touched me, all suspicions of virginity vanquished. His energy was like that of a Tasmanian devil. He squeezed all over my breasts, my thighs, my ass – like a beast that had been starved for ages and fed on handfuls of my body. When he sunk into me, his arms crossed in an X behind my back, grabbing my ass and holding my hips up for his cock to pump into. His rhythm was quick, hard, filling the room with the echoes of his hot flesh slapping against mine. The sound was so loud, so carnal that I surprised myself by crying out his name as I got close. But with my sudden, raspy moan, he came ferociously, spewing a string of profanity with the last few thrusts inside me.
When he collapsed onto my chest, he looked into my eyes and apologized for not making me come. It was so boyish it made me laugh, and even harder when he frowned under his mess of hair and asked what was funny. “Let me see how you look when you come,” he pleaded gently, reaching between my thighs. But I kissed his cheek and stopped him. Rhode would be home soon and I was sure that neither of us wanted to deal with the fanfare that would no doubt come with her discovering us together.
So he went home and the next day, I went to the library.
I wanted to ride this wave of embracing normal. I’d been doing well until that morning, when I woke up gasping from dreams of Abram. Cruel images my mind had conjured of us walking hand-in-hand, daisies along the sidewalk as he kissed me on the street. It had felt real enough to make me forget where I was, to open my eyes and wonder if he would come barreling through the door to see why I’d cried out. It hurt so badly and worse, made me ache for his touch. His comfort. The anguished need claimed my body for the entire morning, rendering me so useless I couldn’t think or eat. It scared the hell out of me.
So I entertained a possibly bad idea. I needed to remember that a life with Abram came at the cost of my safety, at my chance for any kind of normalcy. So I went to the New York Public Library and searched the archives for everything I could find about the Toros, reading through every documented incident of crime, murder and torture done in the name of that family. I read a dozen articles about victims who had their teeth pulled, their skin burned, their fingers cut off one by one. I read about a millionaire who was abducted and returned to his family mutilated, bleeding out between the legs. I spiraled into a dark place that had me daring enough to look at photos. One by one, they speared fear through my heart. Stealing, lying, cheating – the crimes that inspired these grisly murders were by far milder than killing a son of Dante Toro. I didn’t want to think of what they’d do to Abram if they found him first.
But at the same time, I didn’t want to think of what Abram would do if and when he found Jesse Toro.
Because whatever had been done to Gavin, Abram would do a million times worse. That was a certainty and the one that had inspired my day’s mission. I had long known of Abram’s physical capabilities, but now I knew what didn’t faze him mentally either. I had watched him look calm, bored after clubbing in a man’s face with his gun. I had detected the bloodthirsty lust
in his voice when he spoke of Jesse Toro and I knew that when he killed him, it wouldn’t be swift. It wouldn’t be humane. When Abram finally killed Jesse, he would ensure suffering with not only strength but creativity. Like he said, he’d spent a great deal of time plotting this entire chain of events. I could only imagine how many nights he’d devoted to mapping out the torture and death of Jesse Toro.
So with that in mind, I reminded myself that I could want Abram as any woman who’d ever laid eyes on him would. But I would never have him without his morbid history and I would never hold his hand without touching cruel death. I would never be the woman Elle so idolized and therefore, I simply had to do it.
I had to let him go.
Rhode had mentioned what beer she generally saw at the boys’ apartment across the hall, so I brought a six-pack there one evening, to surprise Sean. Yes, he was an adult-size reincarnation of all the crushes I had as a high schooler, but his bright side was being a normal guy who just liked to skateboard, and that simplicity appealed to me right now.
So in a sundress and red Converses, with my hair gathered into a ponytail, I rang the boys’ doorbell. I could already hear that it was a madhouse inside – a chorus of yelling, reggae and screechy sounds from what I assumed was a video game or zombie apocalypse. Precisely why I never wanted to visit.
“Shit, hey!” Travis laughed when he finally opened the door. “Sorry, I thought someone else got it.” He scratched his head and looked around. “Shit, I would’ve cleaned up if I knew you were coming by. You’ve never been in here, right? We’re not usually this messy.”
“It’s cool,” I giggled, craning my head to look inside. Nice furniture littered in pizza boxes and Solo cups. Pretty much what I expected. “Is um… Sean there?”
“Yeah! Why, what’s up?”
“I was hoping to say hi or see if he… wanted to come hang out,” I smiled, sheepish as Travis’s mouth slowly formed into a big, scandalous “O.”
God.
I was flashing back to college, being in the dorms and having to encounter knowing looks from smug roommates. But it was kind of fun.
“Definitely. Right on…” Travis nodded, trying to mask his thorough surprise. “Clearly, I missed some shit,” he muttered with a grin before calling out, “
Sean!
Hey, Sean! Your girl’s here!”
I raked my grin between my teeth as I waited, feeling the kind of girly butterflies in my stomach that I thought just went away as you got older. Maybe it was appropriate that Sean reminded me of all my high school boyfriends – he made me feel like a teenager again. A tingle flurried up my spine as I heard his sneakered footsteps loping toward the front of the apartment.
But the second he got to the door, my stomach went cold. He looked at me with complete and utter confusion.
Because he wasn’t my Sean.
He wasn’t the boy I’d slept with a couple days ago. My Sean was tall and tan with black hair. This one was my height, dirty blonde and thoroughly freckled. I’d never seen him before in my life. “I’m sorry. I… when did we meet again?” He gripped his forehead, jogging his memory for a moment that I knew didn’t exist because suddenly, I had a very bad feeling – a hunch that I prayed to the God I’d fear again if he’d just please prove me to be utterly wrong.
“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” I breathed, turning straight around to press my body into my door, keys shaking as I tried to rush into my apartment. The second I was in, I bolted toward my bedroom, in search of the laptop I so desperately needed for a Google search of recent pictures. But I dropped everything in my hands the second I shoved the door open.
Sitting on my bed was Sean.
A version of Sean. He looked completely different with his black hair shaven close to his skull. Instead of those bright, goofy tees, he wore a ripped black T-shirt and black jeans, his head cocked just so as he bore his dark eyes into mine. I flinched hard when he stood up, which made him smirk, that wide Joker smile compelling me to tremble in fear when days ago, it had me so thoroughly charmed. But as he stalked toward me with mirth and amusement, I realized that the wholesome persona had been just an act. A complete and utter lie.
I drew upon every last ounce of strength in my body to keep from collapsing.
“Your name isn’t Sean,” I hissed shakily as he backed me against the door. I forced myself to look him in the eye as he stood over me, transformed. He didn’t look like a skater anymore, he looked like a man escaped from prison. A snake that tricked, deceived and lurked in dark corners. He had seemed almost virginal the night that I slept with him. How could I possibly be standing in front of the same man?
He tilted his head at me with a chilling calm. “Now what makes you say that?”
Even the way he spoke had changed. His voice had gone from boyish to sinister. My throat twitched when his hand slid mine off the doorknob. I couldn’t find my words but when I did, they spilled out without control. “I just met Sean, the real Sean, so I
know
you’re not Sean.”
“You’re right, I’m not Sean,” he murmured, stepping in so close to me that our stomachs touched. “Which is a shame because I really liked the way you screamed his name the other night.”
Panicked tears sprung to my eyes and I squeezed them shut. A thick, viscous horror seeped through my veins as I realized my true and deep mistake – the massive error in judgment that was about to shatter my world if I got the reply I expected from the stranger looming over my body. “What is your name?” I asked. I kept my eyes closed as he answered.
“My name is Jesse Toro.”
DAMAGE (HAVOC #2) Available August 24
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