Losers: Part I (Losers, #1)

by Harley Laroux

Manson would wait for you in the dark and you’d never see him coming; while Lucas would come in broad daylight, smash your windows out, and set your house on fire.

He’d tasted like peppermint gum and tobacco when I’d kissed him. He’d felt like corruption, like a sin. He’d put his hand around my throat and squeezed when he kissed me, and ever since I’d been unable to shake that feeling of his fingers digging into my flesh. I wanted to feel it again, feel it harder. I wanted to rip open his viciousness and take it all in. I wanted to ride this man like a goddamn rollercoaster and then take his friends for a spin too.

It was feral — a beast’s grin. Wild, reckless and, finally, victorious.

If a guy couldn’t play with my masochism as enthusiastically as he played with my pleasure, then I didn’t want it. There simply wasn’t a nice way to tell your mother that you wanted a guy who could spank you as well as he could fuck. A man who was as comfortable with whips and chains as he was at candlelit dinners. Someone who wasn’t afraid to take control but wasn’t going to make the relationship feel like a cage.

“Stretch you both until I can fist you. I’d love to have a brat impaled on both hands.”

Manson had his pills, his therapy, his meditation and all that shit, but there was still something dark in him that would never quite go away. Something born because it had to be, and alive because nothing could kill it. That thing, that monster inside him, had gotten a taste of Jess and nothing else could satiate it.

“Is it really that hard to give an inch, Jess?” “Yeah, Jess.” Jason meandered closer beside me, sipping his beer. “Can’t even give an inch when Manson gave you eight?”

“Jess.” I looked up. His eyes were almost black in the night. “What are you doing out here?” he repeated the question, but it was different this time. He meant something different. What was I doing out here? “Playing with things I shouldn’t,” I said softly.

I didn’t know what exactly she was doing, but she’d staked her claim like a pro. I didn’t let anyone but the boys sit in this car, but fuck, I could make an exception. Jess could sit her ass on my goddamn face if she wanted.

It was way too hot in here. How the hell did we get so close? My stomach turned with anger, but my thighs squeezed together as I watched his lips close around the cigarette again. “That’s a gross habit,” I said, and he lifted an eyebrow at me. He opened his mouth, keeping his dark eyes on me all the while, and stubbed out the cigarette on his tongue. He didn’t flinch, his expression didn’t even change.

Something like a smile twisted his mouth, dangerous and mean. “You need someone to punish you properly, fuck you good, and care about you enough not to let you hang out with friends who will stab you in the back the first chance they get.”

Manson seized my face. “When you call to your God, you’d better look at him,” he said.

Reject the boxes you’re offered and people will keep trying to shove you into them. They’ll put their labels on you and demand you adhere to them, and then if you don’t, it becomes your own damn fault that life is difficult.

I closed the gap between us. She looked away at first, but slowly her gaze came up to meet mine. I caressed my fingers over her cheek, tucking her blonde hair back over her shoulder. Part of me still felt so angry, fury pulsing in my chest. But it was impossible to look at her without my heart softening. I was weak as hell for this woman. She could stab me in the heart and I’d probably still forgive her.

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

Manson moved closer from the far side of the couch, and Jess stretched her legs to rest them on his lap. Her back was against my arm and shoulder as she munched on her cookies and stared at the TV. But as the minutes passed, her shoulders slumped and so did the cookies. Then her head sunk down and rested against my shoulder, a soft sigh melting her body against mine. I glanced over at Manson for help, but damn it, he’d knocked out too. I hadn’t been able to relax a single muscle, but as Jess’s breathing steadied, I dared to wrap my arm around her. She fit perfectly. Like a puzzle piece tucked against my side, soft and warm.

“That’s not being picky, it’s being invasive. It’s no one’s damn business what you eat, as long as you’re eating.” She smiled, reaching across the table and grabbing some of my fries. “There you go. Steal as much as you want.”

“Oh, I can,” he said. His fingers brushed my arm and his green eyes fixated on my lips. “For the right price.” “Price…” I echoed. I brushed his hair back, intentionally keeping the touch of my nails as light as possible on his skin. He shivered, and it made me smile. “I feel like I already owe you such a debt…” “Trying to play sweet with me now, are you?” He grasped my chin, giving my face a little shake. “You’ll have to try harder than that, baby. Jason is a brat too. I know how you work.”

“Shut up.” Again, he said it like it was a joke, but the joke carried sinister weight. “That’s exactly what’s going to happen, baby. I’m going to break you, and you’re going to cry and beg me to stop even though you love it. Then, a couple days from now, Jason is going to have his turn with you and do the same damn thing. We’ll break you again, and again, and again. As many times as necessary.”

“Dance?” I said. “Out here? With you? In the rain?” He shrugged. “Yeah. Why not?”

“And I take it this is Jason’s thing?” I said, pulling the cat ears out of my purse.

His blankets smelled fresh, like they’d just come out of the laundry. But his scent was still there too — sweet, subtle, and musky. I hadn’t realized I missed that scent until it was flooding my nose again.

“What are you doing?” I said, as he shoved open my bedroom door with his foot. “Getting that sad look off your face,” he said, smiling at me crookedly as he stopped next to my bed.

And you know what really fucking sucks? I loved him. Mom loved him. What do you do when you love someone so goddamn much that you’ll let them hurt you and even let them destroy you? Just hoping they’ll love you back? Hoping you’ll earn it?”

I was spiraling, and I saw no way out. The darkness around me was only growing, and I swore it would suffocate me. I wanted to speak, but I hated my own words. I wanted someone to understand, but I also didn’t want anyone to know. These weren’t things that were easy to admit. They were dark, panicked thoughts that lurked at the back of my brain, packed away right next to tightly sealed memories of my childhood. I could try to lock them away, but I couldn’t hide them when they lived in the same house, when they echoed in the walls, specters of pain lurking in every corner.

Was it possible to feel nostalgia for something you’d never experienced? Bedtime stories, running through sprinklers, playgrounds, and holding your parents’ hand — I longed for things I’d seen only on TV, or enviously watched others experience. I craved it as if it had ever been mine and not only a dream.

“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.”