Page 18 of Endgame

“Touch her and I’ll fucking kill you.” I didn’t mean to yell. Hell, I didn’t mean to care. I shouldn’t… but I did. “I mean it, D,” I snarled, agitated at the thought of my best friend chasing after Six. “She’s off limits, man.”

“I knew it!” He threw his head back and laughed. “You like her.”

“No.” I shook my head, refutably denying the fucking notion. “I don’t.”

“Then what?” He looked at me in confusion. “You don’t want her, but you don’t want any of the rest of us having her either?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re an asshole, Rourke.”

I was. But no one was touching Six.

“Rourke.” Daryl’s tone was suddenly serious. “All jokes aside, man; I think you should give her a chance. Or at the very least, leave her alone.”

“You cannot be serious.” I gaped at the absolute bullshit that was coming from my best friend’s mouth. “You know what happened the last time I gave someone a chance.”

“History ain’t repeating itself here, Rourke,” he replied, voice pained, eyes full of sympathy. He could fuck his sympathy. I didn’t want it. “She’s just a girl, man, tryna make it in a new town. If you give Sissy a chance, I bet you’ll be surprised with what you find.”

“Quit calling herSissy.”

“What, and call herSix?” Daryl cocked a brow. “No thanks. I’m not that cold.” Shaking his head, Daryl exhaled heavily. “Come on, man, she doesn’t need the wrath that comes with being on your bad side. You know how it works around here; if you hate her then the whole town’s gonna hate her.”

I knew what Daryl was trying to say. Fuck, I even wanted to listen, but every time I tried to comprehend the notion of accepting my new family, the image of my sister’s face penetrated my mind, shutting down any sort of welcoming thought. “I don’t care,” I hissed finally. “Let ‘em hate her.”

Mercedes

I HATED MY STEPBROTHER.

Seriously, I hated him more than I hated anyone in my life – even more than the scumbag that knocked my mom up at fifteen and left her to raise me alone.Whoever he was.

I normally had a handle on my emotions, but since arriving in Ocean Bay, I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs. My nerves were in shreds and I was burning with anxiety and rage. Who the hell did Rourke Owens think he was? Talking down to me like I was trash? Making me feel like a bad person for breathing? And throwing me in his stupid swimming pool in front of his stupid friends? Rage coursed through me. He wasn’t going to get away with it.

The alarm on my phone cut through my thoughts and I quickly snaked a hand out from under my warm duvet to turn it off, wondering why I ever bothered setting an alarm when I always woke before it went off.

It was 7am on a Saturday morning in mid-July. Most teenagers I knew would be sleeping the morning away. But if I had been back in Kansas, I would have been getting up for work right about now.I guess old habits die hard.

Throwing the covers off myself, I climbed out of my warm bed and straight into a fancy-pants shower that had more water jets than I had skin to wash.

Drying off, I dressed in a black tank and my denim cut offs before ambling downstairs to the kitchen to fix some breakfast.

Grateful for my early bird nature, I tackled the empty kitchen, making myself familiar with every cupboard door and expensive looking appliance.

When I had fixed myself a plate of bacon and eggs, I sat down on one the stools at the huge granite marble counter and dived in.

As I munched on the crispy bacon, I gazed out the gigantic floor to ceiling window in dismay, taking in the sight of that damn swimming pool Rourke had tried to drown me in last night.Jerk.

“Fond memories?” a familiar deep voice asked. I bit back the urge to growl when Rourke sauntered into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants hung low on his hips. The white shirt I presumed he had been wearing was wrapped around his left fist.

“What the hell happened to you?” I blurted out, eyes locked on the blood smeared shirt in his hand.

“What the hell has it got to do with you?” Rourke shot back coolly, tossing the shirt down on the counter in front of me.

“Nothing,” I replied, flicking it away from my plate. “Bleed to death for all I care.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Reaching into the fridge, Rourke grabbed a bottle of water and cracked the cap open. “To get me out of the way so you and your momma can clean up?”

Was he for real?

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