Losers: Part I (Losers, #1)

by Harley Laroux

“You get into a fight with a cat today?” I said, and he scoffed.

“We didn’t fuck around. Much.” He added that last word with a sardonic glance in my direction.

“Girl, we broke into your house, shoved ice up your ass, and fucked you over your mother’s kitchen table. Eat some goddamn cookies.”

“I did forget, sir,” she said, just above a whisper. She leaned a little closer. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said fine, sir.”

“Watch yourself, fucktoy. Manson will get really pissed if I spank you right now.” “Mm, well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” The tone of her voice said she absolutely fucking would, the little brat.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not stuck. We broke into your fucking house.” I sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over my head. “Do you want me to leave?”

I almost told her it was worth the cost of our cars and more.

“You’ve never heard System of a Down?” He practically gaped at me. “Oh, we need to get you to expand your musical horizons, Jess.

But Vincent was staring at me with a look I couldn’t fully understand. “What?” I said as he finally took the jacket. He shook his head, slowly, with a sigh that felt so heavy. “Damn. You got me too.”

She was wearing — holy fuck — a tiny maid costume, a collar with a bell, and cat ears. My mouth hung open for a moment. Had I passed out? Was I dreaming? Had Vincent put magic mushrooms in my breakfast again?

Vince had to be behind this. He was the only one who’d seen “cat girls” in my search history, and he hadn’t given me a break about it since. I’d been joking when I’d looked it up anyway. Half joking.

“You better be careful about using that title,” I said, unable to stop the smile on my face. “Otherwise I’m going to end up never letting you go.” What I didn’t say was that title made me goddamn feral.

She wanted a fast car? I’d fucking give her a fast car. What else did she want? Makeup? Jewelry? Clothes? A goddamn kitten? I’d give her that too.

it was like she was reaching into my soul, taking a casual look around, and figuring out exactly what made me tick.

Jason grabbed me and squeezed me into a hug as he said, “That’s our girl! I fucking knew you’d kill it.”

This was how I… Shit. This was how I was going to get myself in trouble. Getting these stupid soft feelings for her. Feeling proud of her. Feeling like I wanted to kiss her every damn time I saw her, or make her laugh, or see her smile. God fucking damn it.

“I wish I hated you,” I said. Her face tensed, tightened — contorted with confusion. “Everything would be so much fucking easier if I hated you.”

Part of the reason I failed that class — besides the fact that I didn’t care — was that I couldn’t stop staring at the back of her head, fantasizing about her,

“I’m not good at letting go of things I want, and you…I have wanted you for so goddamn long.”

“You won,” I finally said, once I had enough air in my lungs. “You won, you little brat. Happy?”

Damn it all, I was pathetic. Falling for a woman I should have detested, having thoughts of domestic bliss and imagining beds big enough for all of us.

I was screwed like the rest of them.

It made me feel nostalgic, although I wasn’t sure why. Was it possible to feel nostalgia for something you’d never experienced?

How many times had we told each other to keep going, to keep fucking fighting, because if one of us gave up, there was no hope for any of us at all?

feel like I’m losing track of time. The days keep disappearing.”

But sometimes, when I saw him getting better, when I saw how hard he was trying to be a better man, I felt like I was being left behind. He was able to do what I couldn’t, and although he kept trying to drag me along with him, I still lived with the fear that eventually, he’d fix himself and I’d still be broken. Too broken for him, for any of them.

searching for any reason at all to keep going, and we’d found that in each other.

“I knew you’d keep her safe. I knew that no matter what happened, if my father wanted to hurt her, the last person he’d have to get through was you. And he wouldn’t get through you.”

“You’re what I need,”

“Please, fucking hurt me,” I got the words out, harsh and heavy. “Use me. Fuck me. Show me that I can’t ever get away from you.”

Finally, although the words still trembled, I said quietly, “I love you.” He rested his head against my back, his breath warm on my skin. “I love you, too.” He pulled out of me, keeping a grip on my arm as we crawled into the back of the Bronco again and collapsed. “I don’t tell you enough,” I said. “I think about it all the damn time. I look at you…” I glanced over at him — at the sweat on his skin, the blissful afterglow on his face. “And I think of how much I love you, but I don’t fucking say it.”

“If that’s what you think, then I wish you could see how she looks at you,” he said. “You’re both too damn prideful.”

“If you can get through the night, you’ll see the sun again,” I said, repeating the words he’d told me back then. “Keep chasing the next sunrise.” I closed my eyes as I exhaled. “The night feels really fucking dark, Manson, but I’m still chasing sunrises.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Snatch up our pretty little toy and take her away all for ourselves? Sounds exactly like the vacation I need.”