Black Promises (Blackwoods College)

I knocked on his door and waited. He answered after a few seconds, looking slightly put out by my unannounced visit. He didn’t like to be surprised.

Calvin was the most rigid of the group. He preferred structure and order to random chaos. I had no clue how he could stand to be around Des for more than ten seconds, but they made it work.

“Solar,” I said.

“Hale.” He frowned and looked over my shoulder like he wanted to be sure I was alone. “I’m guessing this is about Cora?”

I nodded. “Let’s talk.”

He gestured for me to follow him inside. He looked tired and more than a little bored of this conversation already, but I didn’t care. I stepped into his immaculate living room, full of antiques and paintings on the walls, the furniture from some designer brand I’d never heard of, the television mounted tastefully above an Art Deco cabinet. Calvin rarely let anyone inside of his house, and never, ever had parties here—his stuff was worth a small fortune, and besides, the idea of letting strangers touch his things was likely extremely off-putting.

I’d been in there a handful of times though. I sat on a comfortable easy chair that was probably worth more than my entire existence and kicked my feet up on the coffee table—also obscenely expensive.

Everything about his house exuded taste and class.

That was likely the desired effect.

And of course, the stupid, brutish part of my brain wanted to rebel against it by destroying everything.

Calvin sat on the couch and picked up a glass of something brown. The guy was barely in his twenties but he acted like he was a sixty-year-old man.

“I assumed Cora would tell you everything the second I left her.”

I made a dismissive gesture. “I don’t care about that.”

His eyebrows went up. “You don’t?”

I smiled, happy I could still knock him off-balance. Fortunately, I wasn’t lying.

I didn’t give a shit that Calvin knew. I would’ve told him myself if it wouldn’t have broken the terms of my deal with Cora. If there was one person in this world that I trusted, it was him.

Despite being a rich asshole with his whole life built on top of countless corpses, he was shockingly loyal and a good friend.

“You were only doing what you thought was necessary.”

“I know that, but I’m surprised you see it my way.”

“Occasionally, I can be reasonable. You don’t know Cora, and she holds my life in her hands, though I’m not sure she realizes it. You’re trying to protect me.”

“That’s my intention.”

I leaned toward him. “Only, if you steal my phone again, I’m going to break your fucking neck.”

He smiled. “That’s the Jarrod I know.”

“I mean it, Calvin. Don’t touch my fucking stuff. Don’t get involved in my life.”

“Is that why you came out here? To give me shit for stealing your phone?”

I shook my head and leaned back, crossing my legs.

I wasn’t going about this the right way. I needed a favor from him, and I shouldn’t be so aggressive about it.

But I couldn’t help myself.

I didn’t mind that Calvin threatened Cora. It would’ve been different if he really intended to hurt her, but I knew he only wanted to protect me, and that he’d back off if I asked him to.

Except I hated that he went through my personal shit.

That was a step too far.

“I came out here to tell you to leave Cora alone. And to ask for a favor.”

He laughed softly. Calvin’s laugh was dry and rarely used. He stood up and walked toward the kitchen. “Want a drink?”

“Sure, whatever you’re having.”

He returned a minute later with a glass. “Japanese whiskey. Better than the shit they make here.”

“More expensive too.” I accepted the glass and sipped it. Tasted like whiskey to me. “Cora’s a decent person.”

He sat back down. “I never said she wasn’t.”

“You probably think she’s leading me down a dangerous path, but I was already on this road long before she showed up.”

“I wonder about that.”

I snorted, sipped my drink. “I’ve been getting into fights for fun. Taking pain, dishing it out. Football’s good, but it’s not enough.”

“We’ve all noticed. Des thinks you just like to show off how strong you are. Addler thinks you have a secret death wish because of what happened to your parents.”

“Addler’s a shitty psychologist,” I said, bristling.

“I agree. They’re both wrong. You’re not suicidal and you don’t want attention.” He leaned toward me, eyes suddenly alive. “You’re like me. You live for the thrill.”

I went very still and quiet as I sat in that overly expensive living room.

The thrill. That was one way of putting it. We’d never talked about this before—not in so many words at least. I knew Calvin liked pain as much as I did, though he expressed himself in different ways. He preferred to dish it out than to receive it, while I was an equal opportunity sadist. Anything was good enough for me, so long as it left a mark.