Sorrow (Cape Frost #1)

2

There’s a half-naked lumbering jackass on my couch when I wake up. For a moment, I fantasize about kicking him or maybe smothering him with a pillow — it just doesn’t take long for my traitorous brain to switch up on me. Seeing him like this, silent and sleeping, really makes it hard to look past how attractive he is. I’ve always known it. Boo and Hayes might have six years on me, but I developed a raging crush on Hayes pretty much the moment I hit puberty.

It didn’t last long.

Hayes had no business acknowledging my existence, yet he made it a personal goal to make my life a living hell. Pulling my pigtails, locking me in closets, saying whatever he could to hurt me. I remember one night, a boy I liked asked me to a school dance and Hayes bullied him for it so badly that he took the invitation back. I sat at home while the rest of my friends had the time of their lives, and I swore to myself that one day, I’d get revenge.

Of course, as I grew up, I realized that the best way to get back at Hayes was to pretend he didn’t exist. Guys like that survive on attention, be it good or bad. He thinks that his rippling muscles, strong jaw, smoldering eyes and tousled hair will get him whatever he wants in life, and maybe he’s right. Most of the time. But no amount of good looks can make up for a rotten soul.

“Why are you staring at him?”

I jerk so violently, my neck cracks. “What?” Whipping around, I come face to face with a very judgmental Boo. “I wasn’t staring at him, I was trying to figure out where the hell I’m supposed to sit since he takes up the entire couch and his feet hang over the recliner.”

Boo shakes his head. “Whatever. I have to go back to work, will you be okay here?”

Okay? Alone with Hayes when he wakes up? I’ve never met a man who was less of a morning person, and I’m his favorite little punching bag. “I’ll be fine. Why are you going back so early? ”

“They’re switching me to nights. I guess being the youngest detective in Cape Frost’s history means nothing to them, but whatever. This is my last day shift at least until The Sons are caught.”

Frowning, I pay a little closer attention to the lines on his face and the fear he’s trying to hide. I’ve never really noticed before.

The Sons are exactly what they sound like: the descendants of Cape Frost’s founding fathers. They think because their families were here first, they’re untouchable, and so far they have been. Carter Jennings, Ricky Madoff, and Holt Turner have been terrorizing the town for months now — from armed robbery to arson, they’ve been leaving a trail of violence in their wake that no one seems to be able to stop.

I love Boo, but I’m not sure what they expect him to do about it. Most people think they’re the ones responsible for all the bodies turning up in Bleak River, and if that’s true, I really don’t want my brother tangling with them. He’s all I’ve got.

“Just be careful, okay? Please.”

Squeezing my shoulder tightly, he offers me a pursed smile and makes his way toward the door. The loud creak and thud that follow wakes the sleeping giant on the couch, and my mood sours even further. “Hayes.”

It’s the only greeting I offer him as I turn to head back to my bedroom, but it’s not in his nature to simply let me walk away.

Before I can even close my door, he’s right behind me shoving his way into my bedroom and climbing into my bed like he wasn’t done sleeping. His legs still poke out of the bottom of the comforter, but even I can see how much more comfortable this is for him. “You can go start your shift watching reality tv now.”

He nuzzles his face into my pillow and settles in, making me want to set the entire bed on fire with him in it. “They’re documentaries, not trashy reality shows. It’s not like I received the best education around here. Maybe you should’ve watched a couple, your last five brain cells wouldn’t have committed suicide.”

He surprisingly snorts a laugh, but that’s where his amusement ends. “Stop being rude. I’m sleeping, Naggy Simpson.”

Seeing him in my bed of all places is jarring to say the least — like spotting an iguana on an igloo. It shouldn’t be allowed by nature. Still, the way the muscles in his biceps bulge as he curls his arms under his head makes heat stir in my stomach. I’ve never had a man in my room before except for Boo.

“Don’t you have a job?” I mutter. “Or your own bed to go to?”

“You really should be nicer to your guests. I make my own hours, not that it’s any of your business.”

He moves my pillow on top of his head to drown me out, but I know he can still hear me. I’ve tried to do the same thing on the nights my brother brought a girl home, and my thin pillow does nothing to block out noise.

Ignore him. Ignore him... ignore him. “Are rats considered guests?” I mumble under my breath. Then, louder, “It’s my business when you’re in my bed, but fine. Go to sleep. I’ll burn the sheets later.”

Spinning, I grab my light blue faded hoodie from the chair where all of my clothes go to die and head back out, this time to the kitchen. Boo bought bacon and eggs for the first time in weeks, and I’m craving a good scramble. I’m also hoping that fucker smells bacon and comes running like the animal he is so I can deny him.

Luckily for me, it works. I hear him in the bathroom washing up before I can even plate the food, but unluckily for me, he walks out just as I serve my plate and grabs it before I can even turn off the stove. “This makes up for your rudeness. Thanks.”

He moves over to plop on the couch, not bothering to put his shirt on before he takes a bite and nearly breaks my heart. He might’ve if I had one.

My stomach growls and I look at the nearly empty carton of eggs. Boo will kill me if I eat the last of them, and I know better than to make more bacon. Hayes would just steal that, too.

Oatmeal it is... again.

I hold my head high as I boil the water in silence. I won’t let him get to me. I won’t.

The burp he releases when he finishes only antagonizes me further, making it hard not to stab him when he crowds me in the kitchen again to set his empty plate in the sink. “Oatmeal? You really made bacon for me and mush for yourself?”

“I didn’t make anything for you. You stole it,” I point out. “I let you have it. It must be so hard for you being one of the richest men in Cape Frost. You look absolutely emaciated.”

Rolling his eyes, Hayes crosses his arms and stares down at me. “Always so fucking angry. I’m not rich, dumbass. I just work for a living. Maybe try it.” He pulls out his wallet and tosses a $0 bill at me a second before brushing past me. “Keep the change.”

Fuck it. In this town, money is money.

Pocketing it, I shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth and follow him out. “Usually after you tip your waitress, you leave the restaurant. Thanks for stopping by, please don’t come back.”

He chuckles darkly as he shoves his shirt over his head so quickly his hair gets ruffled. “If only it was so easy to get rid of me. You can stop pretending, Samuel. We both know you can’t decide if you want to kill me or fuck me. Just pick one so we can move on.”

My jaw goes slack as I’m slapped with the reality of that statement. I do want to kill him. I do want to fuck him, even if it’s just to prove something. Unbidden, my eyes drop down to the sliver of skin peeking out under the corner of his scrunched up shirt. “I’d rather sit on a rusty chainsaw, but tell yourself whatever you want. You just can’t handle the fact that there’s a woman alive who sees through your bullshit.”

This time he laughs loudly enough to make me twitch. “Woman, huh? All I see is a little girl. ”

He reaches out to ruffle my hair, but I manage to duck away just out of reach. The comment hurts. I tell myself I don’t really care how he sees me, but I’ve grown up. He used to call me flat, but now I jump to put my jeans on and fill out a respectable C cup. My cheeks are hollowed out, no longer full or flush with adolescence. I’m nineteen years old. I’m not a little girl, physically or mentally.

Hayes just sucks.

“Climbing into a little girl’s bed is pedo behavior,” I counter. “And you’re a lot of things, but not that. I think the truth is that you can’t handle the fact that I’m all grown up and you want to fuck me.”

He steps in, his expression changing to something dangerous as he slowly backs me against the nearest wall. “If I wanted to fuck you, you’d already be on your knees choking on my cock as an apology for being a shit host since I got here. Luckily for you, I don’t fuck virgins.”

“I’ll gladly die one if it means you’ll stay the hell away from me. Call me a shit host all you want, but you reap what you sow, Sarro.” I let my eyes drop to his dick, letting all the years of pent up anger have a little fun. “ Doubt there’d be enough to choke on, anyway.”

The grin that takes over his face is challenging in a way I don’t want to consider. “So you are a virgin? I wasn’t completely sure before, but damn. Sounds miserable, go figure you hate everyone.”

Shit.

“I do just fine by myself. Better than being a whore incapable of actual emotion,” I counter. “It must be so lonely for you knowing you’ll never be loved.”

“I do just fine by myself,” he tosses back at me. “Better than settling.”

I breathe again when he backs away to put his boots on, but for the first time, I think we’ve found some solid ground. “I suppose we just have different ways of making sure we don’t settle.”

“Suppose so.” He laces his boots up in silence and then regards me again. “Has anyone ever offered?”

Heat creeps up my neck, settling in my cheeks. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” The truth is, Nate won’t give me the time of day because I am a virgin. He said he doesn’t have time to train me, but he’s still stringing me along anyway. I’ll die before I ever tell Hayes that. “What does it matter?”

He shrugs like he doesn’t actually care, but I can tell he takes my response as a no. He’s biting back a smile. “Doesn’t.”

It doesn’t matter because in his mind, he already knows exactly who I am, what I’m worth, and believes no one could ever want me. I’m the daughter of murder victims and the sister of a cop, so I’m as tainted as they come in Cape Frost. No one wants to touch the cursed girl.

But as he stands to leave, he looks me up and down like I’m not a person at all, just a piece of meat or some kind of aberration. Maybe both.

I hate him.

The heat coursing through me turns quickly to anger as he shuts the door behind him, and all I can do is slam my fist against the rotting wood.

I hate him.