Alamort

36. Bennett

S kipping class is an art. Unlike most people, I have the finesse for it. Or I’m just willing to take one for the team and sleep with the teacher. Either way, it requires skill. No one wants a lousy lay. With a quick swipe of my hands on the filthy rag, I slide it into the back pocket of my jeans. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes from the scent of motor oil and fresh car parts.

Giving the old girl, Mindy, a loving pat, I shut the hood of my Aston Martin DB4GT from the first series. The keys jingle in my hand while I put them into the ignition to carefully maneuver her out of the garage. I sink into her seat. The rich, nostalgic smell of ancient leather and wood wraps around me, like a hug, a feeling of comfort and familiarity.

The gear shift is like an extension of my hand, blending seamlessly with my touch. God, she’s the most perfect specimen ever to walk this earth. She never talks back, always tells me when something is wrong and how to fix it. Well, she never has to let me know. Her upkeep is my top priority. Never picky on food and doesn’t yell at me. The smooth vibrations of the engine purrs beneath me, creating a sense of harmony between man and his machine. That’s poetic.

This was the first project Elijah and Ty worked on with me. The bonding for us turned into a hobby for me. Fixing up cars is my emotion dumpster. Pissed off, sad, even happy.

It makes me wonder where I would be if we had never met Tyson and his dad. I’d like to think that I would run my own personal chop shop, but I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to destroy some of the beautiful one-of-a-kind cars that I’ve come to know personally. That would break my heart, for sure. Ben & Bros Auto. Ben & Co. Auto…Yeah, that sounds nice.

The music in my car startles me as it blares in my ears. Before reversing out of the garage Elijah built for me, I can’t help but to laugh at myself. Technically, there’s not supposed to be cars here, too many issues with kids sneaking out. That’s why even at 18, most teenagers have to rely on someone to pick them up or plan with the admin building to go into town. Being Elijah’s son has its perks.

Parking Mindy in her designated spot. The satisfying click of the locks as I bid her farewell make me wish I was on the road. I’m dying to go out for a drive soon. The sensation of the wind against my face, combined with the soothing hum of the motor beneath my hands, gives me the thrill I crave.

“Goodbye, my baby. I’ll see you soon.” Blowing Mindy a kiss while I walk back towards the school. Just as I tear my eyes away from her polished headlights, a shrill screech echoes through the air.

“Bennett!”

An embarrassing shriek escapes my lips. Until I see Amber’s face screwed up into an ugly glare, aimed at me.

“Ahh, Amber. What’s up?” I keep my eyes on the castle as I walk towards our place.

“Are you avoiding me?” She flips her short hair over, her eyes narrow to slits. That will obviously get me to spill all my secrets. I hope the grimace I’m hiding stays that way.

“Uh, no?” Yes. She’s like a vampire, sucking the life out of me. The ruby red lipstick she wears is actually the blood from her victims.

“My parents are coming to this years ‘Parent Day’. They want to meet you.” She skips happily next to me, her hand stroking my bicep. Shit, I’ve been avoiding her dad for the past three years, wanting to never meet him. Every year we go home to dad for a weekend to catch up, visiting Ty or take on another job. My stomach rolls at the thought of her involvement with the Priya and Oscar situation.

As I scratch the back of my head, I rack my brain for a solution, fully aware that my brothers and I decided to stay this year, hoping Priya’s family comes.

“Um…” I let the ‘m’ drag on for as long as possible, to buy myself time to avoid answering. Has she always been this way? Cunning and vindictive? I looked the other way because it didn’t interfere with my life or getting pussy. It makes me second guess her as a person. She knew we were only a fling. I never gave her the impression I wanted to be more.

My saving grace is my brother stomping into the house, slamming the side door behind him. Perfect.

“I’ll catch you later. Something is going on with Crew.”

“Oh,” she looks around before lowering her voice conspiratorially, “I heard Priya started some drama in psych.” Side eying her, I shrug her off of me. What else are brothers for? If not to get me out of situations I don’t want to be in.

Trying to escape Amber’s bony fingers is overwhelming. With a swift movement, her hand finds its way into the waistband of my boxers, wrapping around my dick, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. Despite the restriction of my jeans, she persistently tries to stroke me. Maybe a quickie? I scan our surroundings for a better place to bend her over. There’s no way I’m laying her down here and doing that face-to-face shit.

Her lips kiss up my neck, causing me to harden in her soft hand. Did I say it was bony before? I meant soft, in the way she strokes me from root to tip.

The sound of glass shattering breaks the trance I’m in. Crew. Grabbing her wrist to stop her, she fights me, continuing to rub along the length of me. A jab of fear makes my heart stutter as a cold sweat coats my skin.

“Stop, Amber.” She ignores me, fighting against the grip I have on her wrist. My foster parents flash behind my eyes. Feather light fingers brush against my skin. Heavy breathing and the distinct stench of alcohol permeate the room.

“That’s enough, Amber!” Blind panic causes me to shove her away roughly, using all my strength. With a lack of grace, she tumbles and lands in an awkward sprawl on the grass. Anger overwhelms my guilt for putting my hands on a woman who may or may not deserve it. Narrowing my eyes at her, my lips pull back into a sneer.

“Do you know what the word ‘stop’ means, Amber?” My voice comes out low and dangerous. Fists balled at my sides to hide the trembling. Her bottom lip quivers as she nods.

“But Bennett, you always like it when I touch you.”

“I like to fuck people, Amber. Don’t get it twisted thinking I’m only interested in you. You knew what this was the first time you spread your legs for me. Playing dumb will only get you so far.” I scoff and shake my head, looking away from her, afraid I might do something I’d regret. She isn’t as coy as she pretends to be.

Her usual flawless face transforms into what she really is. The hatred in her eyes tries to burn me to ashes where I stand. Brushing off her skirt, she gets up without saying a word and stomps away.

Finally, once I’m in the house, I want a shower to clean off the memories that are ghosting my skin. No one tells you that trauma will always find a way to haunt you. It’s one of those things that goes unsaid and can only be understood once it’s happening. At least I’m not like Malice. That guy destroys everything he touches. On another note, I think Saint is still a virgin. Anytime the topic comes up, he changes the subject. When I get bored enough, I’ll look into it. Deflect.

Heading up the stairs to the bedrooms, I follow the smell of fresh laundry and asshole, straight to Crew’s bedroom. The room looks like a guest bedroom, with only a bed, nightstands, and our four chairs. Oh, and that little area where he keeps his alcohol. Other than that, I wouldn’t assume someone lived in here. It’s lonely.

Sadness weighs me down as my steps become slower into my brother's room. A thick syrup runs in my veins instead of blood. Does he really have nothing sentimental enough to have in here? There are no pictures of our family, even Ty. None of his accomplishments in his life. There is nothing. Not even dirty clothes are on the floor. An idea chases away the sadness. I’ll get him a custom shirt or blanket with my face on it. That way, he’s never alone and when he misses me, because everyone does, he’ll still have me.

With that in mind, I bust open the bathroom door. Thick clouds from the shower pour out of the doorway, filling his room in a misty atmosphere. I leave the door open so I can breathe properly. I tiptoe over to the foggy shower glass, to not disturb the silence. The shower hides his features, leaving only an outline, which means he might see mine if he pays attention. I’d like to think of myself as a ghost, invisible and barely making noise.

I bring my finger up to the glass and draw a big heart before using my entire hand to wipe away the center and place my face there for Crew to see.

Putting on my cheesiest smile and batting my eyelashes, I ask, “Can I join you?”

Instead of scaring him and making him jump, he freezes, still as a statue. He’s almost a replica of myself. Sudsy bubbles cling to his mocha- colored skin from his soap. Except scars line his body from his time with Steve. His back is the worst of it, though. It looks like he was whipped. Raised scars crisscross on his back, a constant reminder of the trauma he endured. Crew always talked about getting it covered with tattoos like Malice did for Saint, but I think a part of him is afraid.

It’s better to ignore it, then to bring it up. The other night was a once in a lifetime opportunity to hear about it. I wasn’t going to miss that.

I wonder if he washes his hair with laundry detergent since he always smells like clean linen. So, I ask him, just making naked conversation on the other side of the glass with my ‘big’ brother.

“Or here’s a thought. I wash my fucking clothes, dirtball. Get the fuck out of here.” He resumes washing himself, rinsing the bubbles away before starting on his hair. My lips purse, giving him a look that says “Really?”.

“Dude, we have the same equipment. Don’t get all shy on me now. Your body is a temple or what?”

His body heaves as he lets out a long sigh. “I’m not in the mood to put up with your shit today, Ben.”

It’s possible Amber was right about what she heard. Before I can ask, my phone dings in my pocket, a text from Saint.

“Dear brother, we are being summoned.” I say in a posh British voice, mocking Malice. He grunts a response.

“Is that a ‘yes’, ‘no’, or an ‘okay’?” If I can press his buttons, I will. Bad day or not, who else will give these guys a laugh? They’re not funny. I’m the life of the party.

“I need a new phone.” He mumbles, shutting the shower off by pressing a button on the wall. The steam has mostly cleared out, so I can see my hand in front of my face. The only thing that’s changed about him is the vein in his throat throbbing, and that only happens when he’s livid. He’s still the same old grumpy guy we know and love.

I wait for him to elaborate on the phone situation.

“She threw it.”

Unable to hold back my laughter, I die. Tears are coming out of my eyes, and I struggle to breathe as my chest tightens. Why the hell would she do that? Does she have a death wish? Oh my God but imagine his face when she took it from his hands and threw it. I bet it was good.

My eyes connect with his dark honey-colored ones, and I laugh harder. His scowling expression is so intense that it looks like he has a unibrow, while his arms remain tightly crossed against his chest, clearly not finding this situation as hilarious as I do. Wiping the tears from my face and take a much-needed breath. “Oh, fuck.” I say, while sighing. “I needed that, thank you.”

“Are you done?” He replies, short and snippy.

“Huh? Yeah.” This time I’m able to swallow the laughter that threatens to come up. Clapping him on his wet shoulder, I make sure it hurts a little.

“Let’s go see what Saint is up to.”

He follows me out of the room, towel and all. We can hear Saint talking to Malice before we reach the door. The harsh hushed whispers seem like they're in a disagreement about something, which is extremely unusual. I gauge Crew’s reaction to see he’s slightly alarmed at this development. Stepping on a creaky floorboard outside his door, the talking stops. Crew opens the door and walks in like he owns the place. Drama queen, I swear. Everyone thinks it’s me but get a load of this guy.

Saint is laying on his messy bed, head hanging off the end with his squishy blue stress ball in hand. Pillows are strewn around on the floor, giving the room a messy appearance. The other half of the room looks like Crew came in here and tidied up. How long has it been since he’s left the room? It smells a little stale in here, like sweaty balls. At least he has actual clothes on, jeans and a white T-shirt. The bags that were under his eyes a couple of days ago are long gone. He looks much better, refreshed even. Since my brother always takes the chair closest to the door, I have no choice but to sit in the computer chair.

Saint jumps to stand on the bed, “I found something!” His excitement reminds me of a puppy excited to see its owner. Crew’s eyebrows raise at Saint’s eagerness. Me? I’m foaming at the mouth to see what our little techie found.

“Okay, remember when I said I had a theory I was working on?” We both nod.

“Okay, okay, well. If you look up the articles for the fire that was set in the school library, you’ll find hardly anything on it. Remember how dad didn’t want Ty’s death in the paper? What if the Carter’s didn’t want theirs in the paper either? The messages stopped coming on the same day of the fire. There was no public funeral.”

I’m unable to keep up with Saint. He’s talking a million miles a minute. He lost me after the first sentence. Casually, I glance at Crew from the side of my eye. He appears as confused as I do. I don’t want to bring Saint down from whatever high he’s on, so I leave it to the party pooper.

Crew holds his hand up, effectively stopping Saint. “Now let’s try again, in English this time. Take a deep breath.”

Saint’s shoulder slump as he recovers from whatever the fuck that was.

“All right, you know how dad made sure there was barely any coverage on Ty’s death? What if he wasn’t the only one pulling strings? What if there was another death that the Carter’s wanted to cover up? We thought it was just to keep Priya out of the papers for burning down the building. It wasn’t making sense to me. Why did the texts and calls to her sister go unanswered?”

He looks at us for an answer. I’m caught off guard because I thought it was rhetorical and he was going to answer it.

“Her sister hates her and the fact she killed someone is unforgivable?” I question.

Saint’s finger goes up in an “A-ha” gesture. “That is what we thought. But we were wrong. Her sister is dead. She killed her sister and Tyson in that fire.”

A gasp leaves my mouth and my eyes stare at him in horror. She killed her sister? Oh, that’s fucked up. Why? This brings me more questions than answers. Who would kill their sister and why was Ty collateral damage?

“How are you sure?”

A smug smirk that’s more like me than him sits on his face. “I thought you guys would say that. So, I made sure to fact check everything. At first, I was confused. No mention of it in the media. No funeral. It’s the type of messages she would send her sister that got me thinking. I used the cloned phone to place a call to the cemeteries in Los Angeles. Eventually, after many phone calls, I got the right one. They immediately recognized the number and who it was. I played the part of a surprising boyfriend and got her plot number and confirmation of Addison Carter’s gravestone.”

“You’re sure?” Crew asks, coming out of his shocked stupor.

“Absolutely, Exhibit A.” He does a grand gesture towards his computer. Addison Carter’s grave sits there on the screen. Some generic shit on the headstone. My body faces the computer screen entirely, with my back to my brothers. I look up at the ceiling when my sinuses sting and attempt to sniff it away before someone calls me out.

I don’t know what kind of fucked up person could kill their sister. Thinking of Crew or even Saint being killed makes me queasy. Maybe it’s the times we have almost died or the tight bond we have. My brothers would never die by my hand. The guilt would eat at me for the rest of my life. I hope it does to her.

A plan forms in my mind.

“I know what we should do next.”