Angry God Read online

  There was nothing more beautiful than watching Vaughn Spencer let go.

  There.

  I fucking did it.

  I kissed a girl, and I liked it.

  A whole fucking lot.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d kissed Lenora Astalis. But now we had an arrangement, and I was going to milk the shit out of it until I finished this damn internship. I was going to kiss her, fuck her eventually, then get out of Carlisle Castle a normal person, sexually.

  Maybe.

  Fine, probably not.

  After the conversation with Dad where he’d asked if I was gay, I knew I had to take a proactive step toward dipping my cock into more than one hole. People had started to notice, and I didn’t like that.

  I spent the next couple weeks working from seven in the morning till nine at night. The sculpture was shaping up nicely. The heads were proportioned now, and I’d carved the faces in detail, down to the very last vein, crinkle, and freckle. Getting each individual hair right was going to take weeks, though. Having Lenora around in the studio would probably cut the time it took me to get shit done in half, but I didn’t want her help.

  It looked good, though—the sculpture. Edgar had come to check on the piece a few times, muttering profanity all the way from the first door to the second about the fungal smell and creepy atmosphere. But he said my soul poured out of the sculpture.

  “Keep this up, and you got yourself an easy sell. If you could sell it. As it happens, it is going to be Carlisle Prep’s property. Forever.”

  Bet he wouldn’t be so smug if he knew that after I worked on my piece, I ran to my second shift: making his daughter, my other piece, moan my name every night.

  The good thing about my working hours was I managed to avoid human interaction almost entirely. I woke up every morning at five-thirty, jogged, took a shower, went through my emails with my coffee—answering Dad, Mom, and Troy Brennan, AKA The Fixer, who’d started working on the Harry Fairhurst case—then locked myself in the cellar before classes started at eight a.m. By the time I finished working at nine p.m., people were already in their dorms. The dining hall was closed, and other than random punks who bowed down in my presence and the occasional dry-humping couple, I didn’t see a fucking face.

  Not even Arabella’s.

  Definitely not Rafferty Pope’s.

  And, thank fuck, not Harry’s, either.

  I was sure he kept his guard up despite my lack of presence in his life. He’d gone as far as framing my mother to make sure I wouldn’t retaliate, so I knew he wasn’t the dumbass I’d pegged him to be. However, just because I was silent about it didn’t mean I wasn’t working on taking him down.

  Then there were the nights with Good Girl.

  After a shower and an entire buttered loaf of bread and ham, I’d slip into her room and kiss her mouth.

  And neck.

  And eyes.

  And hair.

  I was ready for more—tasting her tits, maybe. I hadn’t touched them yet, but I’d been thinking about them since that day she got out of the pool naked.

  Len made me rock hard, and that was both an unwelcome distraction and a relief. Each night, after hours of first base, I’d crawl back to my room, dizzy because all my blood was in my cock, and beat one off before passing out in bed. I came buckets. I hadn’t come often before my arrangement with Good Girl, and never this much. I’m talking enough to fill a milk carton. I had to Google that shit to see that it was normal.

  For some reason, Lenora seemed perfectly content to kick me out as soon as we were done. Neither of us wanted anything more, so I wasn’t exactly fucking begging for spooning. She didn’t strike me as clingy or possessive, and I dug that.

  I even started feeling a little sorry for hijacking her internship.

  Okay, not really.

  My streak of not seeing people in a castle full of fucking people ended on my sixth week at Carlisle Prep. It was ten past seven in the morning, and I strode down the fourth-floor hallway where all the interns, assistants, and staff resided.

  Basically, all the assholes of legal age who could fraternize with each other without getting their asses thrown in jail.

  That’s when I saw Arabella slipping out of a room.

  Edgar’s room.

  She closed the door with a soft click, tucked her chin down, and shook her head. She looked like shit—tired, emotional, crying. When she looked up and spotted me, a slow, bitchy grin spread on her face.

  She wiped her cheeks clean of tears.

  “Thought you’d look for me, Spence.” She popped one hip out, parking her hand on her waist. She wore…what the fuck was it that she wore? Some sort of red, lacy nightgown with a matching robe. She’d clearly paid the sculptor a social call. On her back, most likely.

  I continued advancing toward Len’s room, ignoring her. She followed me, chasing my steps like the desperate Chihuahua she was. Good thing I didn’t have any loyalties to Lenora. Breaking the news that her fifty-something pops was porking a teenager would make for awkward foreplay conversation.

  Not that we had any, thank fuck.

  Although, I couldn’t be completely sure I wasn’t going to tell her, either. Who the fuck knew what was going to come out of my mouth when I met her again? Sometimes I wanted to ruin her, sometimes save her, and most times I was indifferent to her existence, save for what her stupid body made me feel.

  “Did I tell you all my clothes got stolen and burned last week?” Arabella called after me. “I had to walk around in an actual uniform until my parents shipped me some clothes.”

  I knew. I was the one responsible for it. Arabella seemed to have completely forgotten that the last time I saw her, she’d set Lenora’s house on fire and left me to save her. I thought it’d be a nice way to say hello without actually seeing her face.

  “Damn shame.” I moved deliberately fast to make it hard for her to keep up. “Then again, most of the time you’re out of your clothes and on your knees, so I bet no one will notice.”

  “You’re so funny.” She swatted my shoulder, shadowing me, still. “Where’s your room?” she panted.

  She’d been crying just a second ago, but now looked like a ball of fucking sunshine. I hated soulless, preppy, hedge fund girls. I passed Len’s room and headed toward mine. I didn’t want Arabella anywhere near my business.

  “It’s room stop-being-so-desperate,” I quipped.

  “I haven’t seen you around, and we live on the same floor.”

  I passed my room, too, reached the wide stairs, rounded them, and went down the other stairway, toward the second floor. She followed.

  “I’m working,” I said finally.

  “Well, I’m not.” She burst out laughing. “Poor Raphael, or whatever his name is. Vampire Girl helps him sometimes, but honestly, he’s lonelier than a virgin in a Panic! At the Disco concert. I go downtown every day in search of cute clothes and, like, a life. There are zero malls in this area. Total bore.”

  So Lenora was still hanging out with fuckface. I made a mental note to remind both of them to keep their hands to themselves. My pulse began to drum against my throat.

  Best friends since childhood, my ass. I’d seen how it ended between Knight and Luna. Spoiler: They weren’t very platonic since she’d started gurgling his cum on a daily basis.

  I rounded the hallway, proceeding to the last stairway. Arabella could barely breathe, I moved so fast.

  “C’mon, Spence. I’m lonely as hell.”

  “Leave, then.”

  She was the one who’d begged me to score her this gig when I dragged her ass to Indiana. I couldn’t even remember why I’d complied—something to do with pissing Len off, and knowing I’d have a steady girl to suck my cock in a place full of minors. Didn’t seem like such a bad deal at the time…

  “I can’t,” she pouted, actually stomping her foot like a fucking three year old. “Something…someone is keeping me here.”

  “Then stay and shut the fuck up. Those
are your two options.”

  “We used to be friends.” She clung to my arm.

  I shook her off. “Correction: we were friendly—meaning I didn’t actively hate you. But the road from there to liking you was still a mile long and a mile wide. Then, you set a house on fire while I was in it and left me to rescue Drusilla. That homicide attempt put a little damper on our relationship.”

  I reached the first floor. Stopped. I wasn’t going to go down to the cellar and reveal where I was working. Her chest rose and fell, and she shoved her rack in my face. Pushing her tits up, she knotted her arms over my shoulders and grinned. My dick was so soft I could knead it like fucking dough.

  “I’ll make it good for you. Help you unwind. What do you say?”

  That was an easy question.

  “Fuck. No.” I pushed her arms aside.

  For some stupid-ass reason, the idea of Len walking by and seeing this pissed me off. Not that I gave a shit, but I didn’t need the headache. And I really wasn’t going to let Arabella suck me off again, so any second wasted in her presence was time I wasn’t going to get back and could be used doing better things, like scratching my ass or staring at the wall.

  “But I will throw you a bone.”

  “Really?” Her eyes lit up.

  “Relax. I said a bone, not a boner. If you find it in yourself not to bone Edgar Astalis, I promise not to fuck your little sister’s face when I’m back in Todos Santos.”

  I had no intention of returning. Permanently, anyway. But Arabella wasn’t privy to that information, and there wasn’t one motherfucker in Todos Santos who’d put it past me to let a minor suck my cock.

  “My sister is barely seventeen, you sick schmuck!” She scowled.

  I shrugged. “Legal next year. Perfect timing. I’d hate to do the full house thing, but your mom seems easy, and knowing your entire household had sucked me off would be a trip. Stay away from Daddy Astalis, and go find someone else to play schoolgirl with.”

  “You think I’m screwing Edgar Astalis?” There were tears in her eyes.

  Maybe. Staring directly at her face seemed counterproductive. I wanted to eat today.

  I curved an eyebrow. “Were you playing air hockey in there?”

  “Jesus, you are pussy-whipped.” She snorted. “She really got in your head, huh?”

  “Who?”

  “Drusilla.”

  Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to teach Arabella how to speak? I wanted to sue her nanny.

  “You’re high. Take a hike.” I turned to leave. I stopped when I heard her voice, my back still to her.

  “Yeah. The Astalises have this effect on people. Well, not Poppy. Poppy is a loser. But something about Drusilla and Edgar is irresistible, huh? They change people.”

  I smirked, turning around and getting in her face.

  “No one and nothing will change me. Don’t blame others for your lack of personality and the fact that your morals are looser than your pussy flaps. Now beat it, before your clothes aren’t the only thing missing from your room by the end of today.”

  Arabella stared at me, dumbfounded. I bared my teeth and snapped my jaw. She took a step back, bumped into the stairway bannister, turned around, and ran in the other direction.

  Students began to pour out of the cafeteria into the hall, and all of them chanced a look at the half-naked, psychotic girl in lingerie running around. I turned and strolled to my cellar before more people could figure out what I was doing.

  Change, my ass.

  I was the same bastard. I just happened to be getting some ass now.

  At lunchtime, I walked downtown to meet Uncle Jaime, Dad’s best friend and my trust fund’s trustee. My parents didn’t want to handle that shit. Dad had worried Mom would grant me whatever I wished for, so he put his friend in charge. Jaime had flown all the way from Todos Santos to meet me, and it wasn’t that his schedule was wide open. He ran a hedge fund with Dad, Knight’s dad, and Luna Rexroth’s father. It’s that I’d told him it was important.

  This part was tricky, because I needed to trust Jaime not to pass it forward. Luckily, he wasn’t the snitching type.

  We met at a local Gregg’s. He ordered coffee, and I chose some type of weird pastry I had no plan to eat. I preferred eating alone somewhere quiet. I hated it when people witnessed me doing something so mundane.

  “Yo.” I bumped my shoulder into his, and he grabbed me by the back of the neck and jerked me into a hug.

  “Hello is the word you were looking for, punk. Hello, godson.”

  We fell into our chairs. He had sandy blond hair, not unlike Fairhurst, but much friendlier features. His hair was buzzed close to the scalp, and he looked like California royalty, not some British douchebag who knew words no one knows the meaning of.

  “Why am I here?” Jaime cut to the chase, taking a sip of his Americano.

  “I need to break the piggy bank. Get access to my money,” I said flatly.

  He nearly sprayed his coffee all over me. I remained seated, wide-legged, my fists shoved deep into the pockets of my pilot jacket.

  “Are you high?” he wondered aloud. “This is not half a stick we’re talking about, son. It’s the whole goddamn trunk, and then some.”

  “If you knew what I needed it for, you wouldn’t say that,” I said calmly, my eyes on him the entire time.

  He stared at me, rigid with rage. “Try me.”

  “First, you need to promise not to snitch to my parents.”

  Uncle Jaime said nothing, like I knew he would. I took a contract I’d drafted all by myself from my backpack and slid it across the round, plastic table between us.

  “Vaughn—”

  “They can’t know.” I cut into his words, handing him pen. I fucking love contracts. Paper scared the shit out of rich people, much more than a gun. “Just read it, sign it, and I’ll tell you what’s up.”

  A part of me was sure he was going to stand up, rip the contract to shreds, and throw it in my face. I released a breath when he actually signed it. Then he sat back and asked me what was up, and I told him about Harry blackmailing me about Mom.

  I left out the other, really tiny part about killing him—semantics and shit.

  “And this plan of yours, are we sure it’s going to work?” He frowned.

  “I’m not unsure.” I smirked.

  Uncle Jaime closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn’t happy. My trust fund wasn’t anything to laugh at. Eight figures. The kind of shit most people would never even fantasize about having. And I needed every single penny.

  “Am I going to regret this?” He rubbed at his cheekbone, his index finger hovering over the screen of his phone. To make this sort of transaction, you had to drag your ass to your actual banker, but Jaime was that banker, so he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.

  I could feel the saliva pooling in my mouth.

  Do it, old man. Release the fucking money.

  “You’re going to thank me by the time it’s all over,” I said calmly, standing and pretending I wasn’t eager for him to just transfer the money into my account.

  “I’ve done this dance before, son, and shit can go real bad real fast. Keep me posted?”

  “Bet on it, Uncle Jaime,” I lied.

  I walked away without saying goodbye.

  I got back to Carlisle Castle by foot. There were no buses to and from the castle, and I preferred it that way. It meant most students bailed or fucked off during the weekends, because the place was secluded and dead. And that meant fewer assholes to stand in my way.

  It was an uphill journey, and I spent it sending The Fixer a long-ass encrypted email about my progress in the Fairhurst matter. I’d avoided the painter like the plague, but wasn’t necessarily happy about it. I wanted to put shit in motion, but not before Mom was completely out of the woods. Taunting him now would raise a red flag. I needed to play it smart.

  After hitting the send button, I looked up. I was on the edge of downtown Carlisle Village,
about to cross the street to a road bracketed by a thick wood, which led to the bridge that would take me to Carlisle Prep.

  There was a little chocolaterie at the end of that road. The display window and doorframe were colored the same shade of frog green, and there were Christmas lights and little bullshit smiling china dolls dressed like medieval whores scattered among the confiseries biscuits, a tower of brownies, and fruit pastilles.

  I stopped, staring at the candy. I didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but I knew someone who made her dentist very happy and very rich. Someone who’d appreciate a slice of that brownie very fucking much.

  Someone whose pants I wanted to get into eventually.

  I shook my head, glanced at the entry door, and crossed the street.

  Don’t change for a pussy.

  About the time I’d gotten used to seeing summer session students around, they left and the school year at Carlisle Prep started with a bang. I’d forgotten just how busy it got here—the hallways always teeming with people, chatter everywhere, shoulders brushing. And with the students, came the fall. The leaves turned yellow and orange, and then fell from the trees completely, leaving them naked and exposed.

  Like the leaves, a part of me wanted to jump ship. But I clung on, even when I felt crispy and brittle and curling at the edges, just like them.

  In an odd juxtaposition, Pope spent weeks eagerly anticipating my birthday. I was pleased by this—particularly considering what I’d asked him for—but it was strange since the occasion had merited hardly a greeting card from anyone around me last year.

  He seemed determined to erase that experience.

  When the day finally arrived, I was awakened by my bedroom door, which flew open and slapped against the wall.

  Pope barged in wearing a birthday hat, casually blowing a party whistle in my face.

  “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Lenny,” he sang, holding two full shot glasses and keeping a fancy liquor bottle tucked under his arm.

  I squinted at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It wasn’t even eight yet.