“Dashiell!” I scream, cupping my mouth with my hands. “Adrian! Someone get my brother!” The music is still loud, but my screams are louder. I run back to the room, hoping someone heard me. I can’t get through to Ash right now, and I don’t have the physical strength to stop him.
They’re rolling around on the floor, and it’s all Jackson can do to block his face from the blows.
In a last-ditch effort to get through to him, I wrap my arms around Asher’s waist as he pummels Jackson. He pauses, hesitating, fist poised for another hit. I press my lips to his spine, resting my forehead in between his shoulder blades.
“Please, baby. Stop,” I beg him.
/> “What the fuck?” Pools of blue that match mine meet my guilty ones as Dash barges in, taking in the scene before him.
Asher whips his head around, panting and heaving with exertion. His black hair has fallen into his eyes, and he flips it out of the way with a jerk of his chin. Dash shakes his head in disbelief, and Adrian stands with his arms folded across his chest, eyebrows pinched together, with his usually playful demeanor nowhere to be found.
“Dash—” I start, backing away, but before his name leaves my lips, Jackson takes advantage of the distraction and clocks Asher. Not expecting the hit, his head flies back, and he stumbles, almost taking me out. I lunge for Jackson, suddenly no longer concerned with his safety. I slap and claw at his face for all of two seconds before he shoves me away and all three guys are on him, pinning him back against the wall.
“What the fuck!” my brother yells. He has Jackson’s right shoulder, Adrian his left, and Asher? Asher has his throat. “Somebody better start fucking talking. Now.”
A feminine giggle reminds me of Whitley’s presence, and we all turn to see what could possibly be funny. She stands there, black thigh-high socks askew, laughing and shaking her head. Next to her is a glass mirror with little white lines cut into rows, a rolled up hundred-dollar bill, and a credit card on top of the nightstand.
“You’re so fucked up, Whit,” Adrian says. “This is low, even for you.”
Her face falls, her eyes narrow, and I already know what’s coming. She’s about to drop a bomb that’s going to leave my world in ashes without giving one, single fuck.
“I’m fucked up?” she screeches, pointing a finger in our direction. “You four want to act like you’re all so close. So loyal. Untouchable to outsiders. But you’re the fucked-up ones. You’re keeping more secrets from each other than you know what to do with.”
I lock eyes with Asher, both of us mentally bracing ourselves for what we know is coming. I want to tell my brother about us. I want to tell the world about us. But not like this. It shouldn’t come from Whitley.
Adrian huffs out a laugh, letting go of Jackson, and starts toward the door. “I’m out.”
“Let’s start with you, then, Adrian,” Whitley says. He pauses and turns around, throwing his arms out in a hit me with your best shot gesture.
“I bet no one here knows that you can’t get it up. At least not without your best friend there. Why is that? Could it be that pussy just doesn’t do it for you?”
What is she talking about?
“No, it’s just yours that tends to kill my boner,” he strikes back, but I can tell her jab hit its intended target from the way that he grinds his jaw and clenches his fists.
“He’s not gay. That’s enough, Whitley,” Dash says in a low, threatening tone. She turns her attention to him, lifting one perfectly arched brow. Dash releases his hold on Jackson, but Asher keeps him pinned by his throat.
“Why? Because you don’t want your precious little sister to know how messed up you really are? How you like to share girls with Adrian. How you both fucked me together, night after night, even in high school.”
Her eyes glow with victory, dying for my reaction. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. I knew Adrian was into some freaky shit, but there are just some things you don’t need to know about your brother. Dash won’t so much as meet my eyes, and I hate Whitley right now. I hate her for all of this.
“And what about you?” I snap. “You have literally slept with everyone in this room besides me. Did Daddy not love you enough? Or is this because of Asher? He doesn’t want you, Whitley. Why can’t you accept it? Sleeping with all his friends isn’t going to make him jealous.”
I know I’m being harsh. I hear the words being spewed from my mouth like verbal diarrhea, but I can’t stop myself. Whitley is toxic, and she’s hurting every single person I love with her brand of poison. I’ve put up with her for years. But this? This is too far.
Whitley’s mouth snaps shut, and her face reddens.
“You,” she says, pointing a finger at me, “are one to talk, Little Miss Make Out Slut. You’ll shove your tongue down anyone’s throat, but when it comes to fucking, no one gets you off like your brother’s best friend.”
And there it is. My pulse races, and I hear my heartbeat in my ears that are now on fire. All eyes are on me. No one speaks. Dash begs me with his eyes to deny it, but I won’t lie to him. Jackson laughs, despite Asher’s fingers closed around his neck, but Ash doesn’t show any emotion whatsoever. His face is completely blank, but I know what he’s doing. He’s bracing himself for the fallout. Slipping that mask back into place.
“I mean, sure, you screwed Jackson in an attempt to get over Asher. But even that was a one-off. Not that I blame you, though,” she whispers conspiratorially, holding her finger and thumb an inch apart in the universal sign for tiny penis, with her bottom lip jutted out in a fake pout.
“What the hell, Whit?!” Jackson yells, while my brother says, “You fucked my sister?”
“Since we’re all sharing secrets,” Jackson shoots back, “do you want to know the real reason Asher had to leave?”
“Jackson, no.” Whitley shakes her head, looking genuinely nervous for the first time. My heart sinks, stomach full of dread. Even Asher seems confused. What could Jackson possibly know about Asher leaving?