Beautiful Beast by Aubrey Irons (5)

“Dude, hit that.”

The smoke fills my lungs, the sweet acrid taste of it buzzing through my senses. I exhale slowly, eyes closed, letting the mellow pull me down before I finally turn to Tyler.

“Chill,” I mutter, passing him the joint.

“You’re fuckin’ bogarting that thing is all I’m saying,” he mutters, plucking it from my fingers and bringing it to his own mouth. He inhales sharply, like the greedy bitch he is, the cherry glowing bright red as he puffs.

“Hey, douchebag,” Asher mutters, grabbing the joint from Tyler the second he pulls it from his mouth. “You want to save some for the rest of us?”

Tyler laughs out a plume of smoke and coughs sharply. “Next time bring your own.”

I crane my head back, inhaling and exhaling slowly and letting the inane bickering of my friends fade to the background. I blink, watching the flickering of the afternoon light come twisting through the branches of the big weeping willow. I basically have a ten-bedroom house to myself, not to mention a pool house, an apartment above the five-car garage, and ten acres of coastal real estate. But somehow, at the age of fifteen, we’ve decided that the willow tree in the corner of the garden by the back patio is our go-to spot when we’re up to no good.

Smoking weed would fall under that category.

Ash passes to Dylan, who passes back to me when he’s taken a hit. I fill my lungs again, letting the weed mellow me the fuck out and passing it back to Tyler when there’s the sound of footsteps outside the green cave of branches.

“Shit,” Tyler hisses, glancing around as if looking for a place to hide the joint. I just roll my eyes. Mrs. Tottingham’s caught me doing way, way worse in the last five years, believe me.

The footsteps get closer, and suddenly, two hands reach through to part the low branches of the willow tree. It’s the auburn hair I see first, followed by those sharp blue eyes, narrowed suspiciously.

“The fuck are you doing here,” I growl.

Ana bristles. “I thought I saw smoke, I was worried.”

I frown. “For?”

“A fire?”

Tyler snorts. “Only you can prevent forest fires,” he quips in a stoned yet half-decent-sounding Smokey the Bear voice.

Ana scowls. “Well, what are you—”

“We’re doing drugs, Texas,” I say flatly.

Her eyes go big, her lips pursing as she makes that little stifled peeping sound she makes when she’s uncomfortable. I know this because in the last five years, I’ve made making Anastasia Bell uncomfortable my favorite hobby.

No, scratch that. I’ve made it my full time job.

At first, it was payback. At first, finding ways to make Anastasia squirm, or cry, or at least do her best to pretend she’s not about to cry was my vengeance for her and her father even being here. Maybe it’s because I viewed the two of them as the clouds that brought the storm. They arrived, and less than eight weeks later, my whole life changed for fucking ever with the plane crash.

She came, my parents left. I understand at a fundamental level how fucking stupid it is to view it like that, but I honestly don’t care. And five years later, I’m still making her pay for something she never did.

And I delight in it. I delight in making her uncomfortable like this. I enjoy that look I can’t quite read but I sure as shit know it isn’t happiness when I make sure whatever chick I get to stay the night leaves via the side door in full view of the gardener’s cottage.

There’s a chance I really am the psychopath I know she thinks I am.

She scowls at me specifically. “You can’t do that.”

I grin. “Yes, Texas, I can. In case you’ve forgotten, I can do whatever the fuck I want. It’s my house.”

“It’s illegal.”

“Call the cops,” Ty snorts.

Ash chuckles, looking stoned as fuck.

“Look, Ana,” Dylan, the big fucking softy that he is, steps in, to “kill the situation with kindness” like he always tries to do. The perpetual lovable nice guy, which makes us being best friends fucking bizarre. Maybe he’s the little sliver of humanity I need to at least make a passing effort – the last hope for me not actually being the Anti-Christ.

At least, that’s what Lana, my old nanny, called me when she quit.

Dylan grins as he drapes an arm over Ana, which makes my scowl only deepen for some reason.

“Look, it’s not hurting anyone. We’re just letting out a little steam, you know? It’s been a rough week with midterms and all.”

She gives him a side-eye. “Doing that stuff during midterms might not be the smartest idea. Marijuana makes you stupid, you know.”

Ash chuckles. “Temporarily. And that’s kind of the idea.”

“You ever tried it?”

Ana swallows quickly, her cheeks going pink as her eyes dart back to Dylan, shaking her head.

His fucking arm is still over her shoulder.

He smiles. “You want to?”

“No,” I finally step in, shaking my head. “No, she doesn’t.”

“She can answer for herself, dude.”

“No, she can’t,” I growl, not actually sure why my usual needling dickishness is quickly turning to just plain anger right now.

“Ignore him,” Dylan grins, turning back to her. “Look, if you want to see what it’s like, you’re welcome to—”

“I don’t,” Ana says sharply, shooting a venomous look my way. “Like you said, it’s midterms week.”

“All the more reason to,” Ty says with a grin, pulling a toke from the joint.

“Well, some of us have getting into college to think about, because some of us won’t just have our futures handed to us,” she says with a thin smile.

Dylan, Ash, and Tyler laugh. I just keep glaring at her.

“Well, if ‘some of us’ want to keep living on my property and want their father to keep receiving a paycheck, she’ll keep her fucking mouth shut.”

Ana just rolls her eyes, which pisses me off since my intent was to scare her. Or something.

She shrugs her way out from under Dylan’s arm. “Bastian, I don’t care what you do, I just thought something was on fire in here. Keep wasting your whole life doing drugs under a tree and pretending nothing else matters for all I care.”

This time, I do smile. “You know what, I think I will. Thanks.”

She rolls her eyes again and starts to turn.

“Oh, and Texas?”

She turns back and I level a sharp grin at her.

“Trust me, I’m going to do just fine in life.”

* * *

The long, hanging branches of the willow tree close behind us as Tyler and I step through, enclosing us in the green-tinged light of our old hangout spot. He leans against the trunk, loosening his tie and rolling up the sleeves of his Armani dress shirt as I start rolling the thick joint.

“How’s the daily suit-and-tie rat race working out for you?”

“Great, how’s cosplaying the Big Lebowski every single day working out for you?”

I give a half-hearted snort as I glance down at my t-shirt and sweats. Hey, I’m out of the house.

“The dude abides, what can I say.”

I’ll never tell him, because that’s just me and because he’s a dickhead enough to lord it over me, but the fact that Ty is still coming around these days is probably one of the few things keeping me from losing the last of myself. Especially since he and Dylan run a company together, and me putting the CFO into a coma doesn’t exactly do nice things for that company.

We’ve already had the hard talks, of course - the “you drove off the road and almost killed our friend” talks. Not just talking, either. The first one ended with bruises and bloody knuckles.

Ash still isn’t really speaking to me, outside of client-lawyer conversations, that is, seeing as he’s my attorney. But against all likelihood, somehow Ty is still coming around.

Ana wasn’t wrong those years before. We were going to have our futures handed to us, and that included entrance no matter what the fuck our grades were to the best colleges money could - and would - buy. Whether or not we did well there didn’t even really matter for our future prospects. It was just another checkmark on our pedigree sheet. Family money from three generations back? Check. Obnoxiously large house in one of the most expensive zip codes on earth? Check. The right family connections to the right movers and shakers of the world? Check. Likewise, whatever jerk-off Ivy League school would take a seven-figure check instead of a remotely passable high school GPA.

For the four of us - because if you’re going to buy your way into a school, why not buy your way into the same school your buddies are going to - it was Harvard. Except, once there, our outlook on the situation varied.

Tyler somehow ended up fucking applying himself against all likelihood. Like, a lot. He still fucked around, but he somehow found the time to actually excel instead of coasting through his bought and paid for education. Dylan did too, maybe a bit less so, but the man pulled some real grades. Likewise with Asher.

As for me? Well, I just perfected the art of being me, which is to say “an agent of chaos.”

This girl whose name I completely forget but who I distinctly remember fucking a few times before moving onto her likewise nameless sister called me that once – an “agent of chaos.”

It kind of has a nice ring to it.

Ash is the youngest partner at Cross, Mosher, and Yu, in New York, and also my attorney. Ty and Dylan started Eastern Acquisitions right after business school and are - surprise - kicking ass. Having seven-figure bank accounts before they even filed the LLC paperwork didn’t exactly hurt things. Neither does having the sort of family connections guys like us just grow up with.

And then there’s me, fucking rotting away in this goddamn house.

I know what you’re wondering - why here. Why the fuck is it here - the house I’ve barely used as more than a hotel since I turned eighteen - that becomes my holding pen when I own properties in New York, Paris, and Los Angeles, and have the money to buy anywhere in the world?

Two reasons: asset forfeiture, and shit luck.

When you do something supremely stupid like get blackout drunk and drive a sports car off a cliff into the ocean, in a place like this? Well, it doesn’t exactly get swept under the rug. It becomes news, in the most media-circus sense of the word. It also becomes a lightning rod for local politicians to start talking about “getting tough” on DUI laws, or about making the guardrails on Notting Point stronger and safer.

And in most cases, that’s as far as it goes. You make an apology, you cut a huge check, and everyone forgets about it.

Or you could be me, and get dealt some shit luck. Because in my case, it attracted the attention of a certain up-and-coming young state prosecutor with his eye on the governor’s mansion for the next election cycle. Jared fucking Traif - young, motivated, not from the kind of money I am, and dead set on “eradicating pay-to-play justice” in the place where writing a fat check pretty much gets you out of anything.

A year ago, this dickhead was pushing paper at a private firm, until he found religion or some shit and decided he needed to make the world a better place through civil service. Which basically means I picked the single worst time ever to drive through a guardrail under the influence in the Hamptons.

And yet, I also got lucky. Because I happen to be friends with one of the most kick-ass young lawyers in New York. I also got lucky in that Asher was able to look past his own personal shit - namely, hating me for putting our friend into a coma - and take the case anyway.

He’s the reason I’m here and not bending over for Bubba in fucking prison.

Asset forfeiture, though, is when the state decides they’re going to hang onto your shit for the duration of your sentence. Which means a year-long vacation in Paris, LA, or Manhattan was pretty much off the table. My parents’ house, though, technically belongs to my trust.

And so here we are.

I finish the blunt and light it, taking a few puffs before passing it his way. Ty drags on it heavily, filling his lungs.

Greedy bitch, as always.

“Good thing Eastern Acquisitions doesn’t drug test, huh?”

“Oh, we do.” Tyler grins.

“Being at the top does have its privileges.”

He snorts. “Actually, I just fired this fucking finance intern last week for testing positive for coke.”

I roll my eyes, knowing my friend’s proclivities. He shakes his head dramatically. “Yeah, poor kid. Yale undergrad, Columbia business school. The whole thing. I think he saw this as a big break for him.”

“Probably shouldn’t have been blowing coke then.”

“Probably shouldn’t have let his boss have a taste either.”

I laugh. “You’re a fucking bastard, you know that?”

“Coming from you, Crown? I’m not sure how to take that.”

I flip him off as I snatch the weed back, taking a slow drag.

“Oh, I was going to ask you. How tight is Carmichael holding onto your purse strings?”

“I’ve got a stipend,” I mumble.

“Stingy fucker, isn’t he.”

Brent Carmichael is my financial consultant - my money man. And believe me, when you’re me, and you’ve got access to the sort of money at my disposal?

Yeah, you pay someone to manage that for you.

Brent was an easy choice. For one, he’s about my age, and he’s from South Neck, so he understands the lifestyle both of those things entail. Brent also went to high school with us, but he was peripheral, and I quite honestly remember nothing about him from back then. He certainly wasn’t in our crew, but he was one of the consummate hanger-ons, which means he’s a fan. It means he likes me because he’s one of those guys who always wanted to be me back in high school.

On top of all that, it turns out dorky little Brent Carmichael is a fucking genius financial manager. He actually manages affairs for a bunch of people back here in South Neck, including Ty’s mom.

Tyler’s right though: since the crash, he’s been a stingy motherfucker when it comes to letting me get at my own money. Ultimately though, that’s probably a good thing.

I tell this to Tyler, who makes a face.

“No, fuck that. What you need right now is to go out and spend some cash. Buy a fucking boat or something. I’d tell you to get yourself a new ludicrously expensive car, but…”

“Point taken.”

“Probably not the most sensitive move.”

He’s talking about Dylan’s parents, who’ve point-blank refused my phone calls over the last few months.

“You could get some new clothes.” He smirks, nodding at my pajama pants.

I just flip him off, blowing smoke through my lips.

“At the very least, you should get some girls over here, dude.”

“Have you fucking seen my bedroom recently?”

“As I understand it, no one has, which is exactly my point.”

I frown, shaking my head at the thought of Ana that somehow digs its way to the surface.

Like it always does.

“No,” I growl. “No girls.”

“Guys?”

“Fuck you.”

Ty grins. He passes the joint back to me and turns, stepping towards the green canopy of the willow tree and pushing it aside. I take a slow drag as I watch his brows go up.

“Well, shit.”

“What.”

He glances back at me, one brow still cocked. “Is that Anastasia fucking Bell?”

I nod slowly. Oh, right. I haven’t exactly mentioned this new development to anyone other than Ash.

“It is.”

“What the fuck is she doing back here?”

I take another, deeper drag.

More than she knows, and more than I’m telling you.

“Working.”

Tyler hoots. “For you?”

“With her dad in the hospital? Shit, someone’s gotta cut my fucking grass,” I mutter, shrugging.

Like I said, plans haven’t exactly been shared yet - with anyone. Not even my closest, oldest friends.

He chuckles. “Now who’s the heartless bastard?”

I shrug as he takes the joint, inhaling as he glances back out through the branches of the willow tree.

“Man,” he whistles lowly. “She got fucking tasty.”

My jaw ticks.

My fist clenches.

My eyes narrow.

“Watch it.”

Tyler either ignores or doesn’t catch the tone in my words.

“Man, too bad about that bet, huh?” he says, still fucking eyeing her through the leaves. I don’t answer him as I reach out, pluck the blunt from his fingers, and puff on it. Hard.

“Oh, don’t go silent, you prick. If you had, you’d never let us hear the end of it.” He sighs. “Fuck, I mean one of us should have sealed the deal on that, you know?”

* * *

“Say no,” I husk, feeling her chest rise against mine, her body shaking slightly. I can smell the tequila on her breath, or maybe it’s mine and something dusky and sweet in her hair.

“Say no, and I’ll leave right now.”

Her breath comes hitched and staggered, the sound of it like fucking honey dripping through my ear.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t say no.

“Tell me,” I growl, and she gasped quietly, her hands tightening on my arm.

“I—”

“Now or never,” I husk into her ear. “Right here, right now, we bury this thing and find out what we’ve been fighting for fucking way too long.”

The words are supposed to be sweet little lies - ones I’ve said a hundred other times to a hundred other girls on a hundred other nights exactly like this one. The fact that they mean something, for the first time ever, scares the shit out of me.

I move against her, pressing her against the bulkhead behind us. Beneath us, the floor of the boat pitches gently with the tide.

“Anastasia,” I say quietly. It’s cheating, and I know it. I know what using her name over “Texas” does, in a fucked up power-balance like ours. And I know this is monstrous even for me.

So be it.

“Anastasia,” I growl again, feeling her shudder. “Yes, or n—”

“Yes.”

The word is so quiet I barely hear it, but it’s all I need.

I close the last few inches between us, my mouth claiming her pillowy lips. Her soft body melts against my hard, firm one. A little moan trembles so vulnerably through my mouth as my tongue finds hers, and I know this is going to destroy her. I know how selfish this is, and I know this is going to wreck her.

But it’s the only way.

I pull back, one hand cupping her face and trailing a finger over her jaw as I step away from her. My cold eyes hold her sweet, soft, eagerly trusting ones.

“Take off your clothes,” I growl.

* * *

“Yo.”

I glance up, back here in the now under that willow tree. I blink, focusing on Ty holding the joint out.

He gives me a weird look. “You want this or not?”

“Keep wasting your whole life doing drugs under a tree and pretending nothing else matters for all I care.”

“Trust me, I’m going to do just fine in life.”

I scowl at the joint for a hard second before I angrily grab it and bring it to my lips.

The past is the past, the future is just as dark, and you know what? The now can go fuck itself.