Page 15 of Endgame

“She’s mysister,” he repeated, emphasizing the wordsister. “No halves, quarters, or fucking tenths about it.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, feeling oddly offended as I desperately fought down the urge to shiver in pleasure, my traitorous body enjoying his touch far too much. “This is getting old.” I shivered as the cool night air nipped at my bare skin, the weight of his stare on me entirely too much to handle. “I’m cold and I want to go to bed.”

Rourke looked down at me and smirked cruelly, his blue eyes dark and full of anger. “You know what you have to do.”

I balked. “You’re not serious.”

His grin darkened. “Say it.”

“Drop dead.”

“Okay then.” He turned to leave.

“Please.” I almost choked on the word as it came out of my mouth. I didn’t want to ask this asshole for anything, but I was colder than my pride. “Please, Rourke, can I have my clothes back?”

“Well of course you can,” he shot back with a smile before reaching back and tossing them into the water. “Go fish.”

“Bastard!” I yelled as I dove into the water to retrieve my clothes, the sound of his laughter causing my skin to burn with rage. I only had one pair of Converse and that prick had tossed them in the ocean.

“You’re going to pay for this, asshole!” I called out from the water as I battled to capture my stuff.

“Looking forward to it.” Rourke laughed once more before turning around and walking back to the house.

Oh yeah, he was laughing now, but I would be the one that laughed last. I didn’t give a shit about his issues. Rourke Owens was goingdown.

I WAS SOAKED TO the skin and shaking all over by the time I reached the house. Dropping my bundle of wet clothes on the floor outside my bedroom door, I made a beeline for Rourke’s bedroom door and kicked it open.

Ignoring the pain in my foot from where I’d kicked his door, I quickly scoped out the layout of his room. Amongst the posters of football players and semi-naked women that usually ordained a teenage boy’s room, were pictures of random buildings. Weirdo.

Like a raging lunatic, I stalked towards his closet, still only in my bra and panties, before pulling open the door and grabbing a handful of clothes.

Furious, I walked into his ensuite bathroom and tossed them on the floor of his shower before switching on the water.

Unsatisfied with my vandalism, I returned to his room and looked around to find what I could use around here to hurt him. What would really piss him off? Dammit, what did teenage boys love most?

Sex.

Grinning evilly, I stomped over to his bed and yanked open the drawer of his nightstand before rummaging inside. A worn leather traveler’s notebook? Boring. Some gum? Nope. A stash of random keys? Not really. A porno magazine? Ugh, was he serious? Continuing to snoop, my eyes landed on the twelve pack of condoms laying open inside the drawer. Bingo. I quickly scooped them up. That would do. Rourke could consider it a little payback/delayed gratification for throwing my clothes in the ocean tonight.

On my way out of his room, I stopped in front of the huge shelving unit that looked like a makeshift shrine to his beloved game. Row upon row of trophies ordained the shelves, several of which held the title MVP. Huh. So, Rourke Owens was valuable on a football field? I bet he was. Dick. Grabbing the biggest trophy I could find, I tucked it under my arm before knocking the rest onto the floor and retreating to my bedroom. Even though it was childish as hell, I went to bed that night with a shit eating grin on my face.

Mercedes

I WOKE SEVERAL HOURS later to the feel of being dragged out of my bed. Startled, I kicked and flailed my arms out in a desperate attempt to free myself from the clutches of pure evil.

“Omigod, Rourke! What are you gonna do?” a female voice squealed out.

“I’m gonna teach her a lesson,” he shot back as he carried me over his shoulder, “not to touch my shit.” So this was payback for messing with his room?

“If you don’t put me down, I’ll scream,” I warned him as I banged my fists against his lower back in my feeble attempt to free myself.

“Oh, you’re gonna scream, Six,” he promised darkly. “I can guarantee you that.”

“Jesus Christ, Rourke!” I had to close my eyes then; the sensation of being carried down the stairs upside down was too much to handle. “Let me down!”

“What is hedoing?” yet another female voice called out. This bitch was laughing though.

“Dude!” a male voice hollered out when we reached the bottom of the stairs. “What the fu–”

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