“Because it’s fucking noticeable,” Baron snaps, his eyes burning into me.
Duke steps over to us, looking me up and down. He swallows, his eyes going wide. “Are you wearing Mabel’s clothes?” he asks, his voice low.
Royal may be making a scene to make a point, but his brothers aren’t.
“What do you care?” I ask again, shooting them a defiant grin. “They barely fit me. There’s no way you could squeeze your ass into them.”
“Take. Them. Off.” Baron grits out the words, his fist twisting in the fabric until it strains around my ribcage. The motion brings us closer, until I’m almost flush against him, only his fist keeping our bodies apart. I stare up into his blazing eyes, and something snaps into place.
Guys might notice I’ve changed my look, but this isn’t that. I glance at Duke, just standing there gazing at me like a wounded puppy who just saw a ghost, or some such mixture of emotion. That’s what this is about. Not what I’m wearing, but their feelings about it.
“You cared about her,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Baron demands.
“Mabel Darling,” I say. “You didn’t just ruin her life. You liked her.”
I know Colt’s on the other side in the war between families, and I only heard his perspective, but it still rattles me to realize that it was more than them bullying her to the point of suicide. There’s a lot more to that story than he told me.
“Mabel Darling was a fucking cum dumpster,” Duke snaps. “Just like you.”
But they’re wrong about her, just like they’re wrong about me. They may not admit they have feelings, but they wouldn’t flip out about me wearing her clothes if they didn’t care. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even recognize her clothes.
“Understand this,” Baron growls, dragging me even closer, leaning down so we’re nose to nose. “We don’t ‘like’ Darling girls. They’re no more memorable than a used condom. Once you’ve cum inside them, they’re worthless. We threw her away like the trash she was. You’re no different, so don’t go thinking you’re special just because Royal wants to wreck your ass before he tosses you in the dumpster for good.”
His eyes glitter with a twisted malice, and I wonder if maybe he is the most dangerous one. I’ve seen Royal’s dark side, seen his eyes go ragey or hollow, and I’ve understood him. I understand murderous rage. I understand detaching from your body so you don’t freak the fuck out. I’ve spent enough time locked in closets to do some self-reflection.
This manic, sadistic gleam in Baron’s eye is beyond my scope, though.
I swallow hard and force my voice to come out light. “Never in my life thought I was special to you.”
But she was. Mabel Darling, a girl whose colorless wardrobe seems like an attempt to disappear long before she graduated. She did graduate, though, and she left behind more than her tormentors. She left three broken boys who are still tied to her in some way. Did Royal pull her out of the river because he loved her? Is that why he no longer dates high school girls? I’m not sure if it’s better or worse if they loved her, that their love was so toxic she wanted to die rather than endure it.
But I understand why she changed her name and vanished.
“Why are your hands on my little jailbird?” Royal asks, stepping up beside Baron. He doesn’t sound like he’s going to kill him in the next ten seconds, but his nickname for me sounds forced, like he’s straining to hide his annoyance. The bell already chimed, and the other guys have slipped into class, leaving me with the three Dolce boys. Our annoyed English teacher swings the door closed, giving us a sour look as she leaves us in the hall.
“My hands aren’t on Harper,” Baron says to his brother. “They’re on her clothes—Mabel’s clothes.”
Royal glances over me like he’s just noticing that I’ve changed up my look. Today I chose a pair of beige linen pants that are probably out of season for people who care about that stuff, and a pale blue blouse with tan flowers and too many ruffles, which is now clutched in Baron’s death grip.
“Are those Mabel’s clothes?” Royal asks, sounding genuinely curious for once, like he’s actually going to take my word on it.
“What about it?” I ask, trying to play it cool.
“Are you trying to piss off my brothers, or are you just that fucking stupid?” Again, he sounds genuinely open to hearing my answer.
“I didn’t know,” I say quietly, not dropping my gaze from his. “So I guess I’m that fucking stupid.”
I really must be, too, because I can’t summon the rage and hate I’ve felt for them while they were gone. Now that they’re here, in the flesh, looking at me with real emotion, they’re just boys again, not monsters. I don’t even care that they’re telling me what I can and can’t wear. It’s not like they’re telling me how to dress. I’m walking around in a painful reminder of what they lost, and I feel ashamed of it and angry at Colt for not telling me the whole story. I might as well have shown up to school in their dead sister’s clothes.
“Go change,” Royal orders.
I wrap my fingers gently around Baron’s wrist since he’s still holding my shirt. “No one told me. I’m sorry.”
He pushes me back against the wall, but Duke holds up a hand. “Wait,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me. “Where did you get those?”
I glance from one boy to the next, my mind racing. I may be pissed at Colt, but no fucking way am I making things worse for him, even if Dixie’s right and he knew what was coming if he fucked with me.