take no for an answer, she dug through my closet, trying to find something suitable for me to wear tonight. All we found was this sweater dress that was casual enough to look like I wasn’t trying too hard, but it wasn’t as homely as my holey jeans and graphic tees. Once I’m positive I don’t have a hole in my dress, I right myself on the log. My gaze dips toward my Converse, and I take in the redness around my ankles.
Good god, I think the chance of my exposure to poison oak just went from fifty-fifty to one hundred percent. I’m pretty sure I’m going to need medical attention soon.
Ignoring my inflamed ankles, I sit in front of the fire and drink in silence, people-watching. When Winnie’s popular teammates call her over, she tugs on my arm to follow, but I shake my head, slipping free.
“No, no, you go.” I force a smile, not wanting to hold her back any longer. With alcohol swimming heavily in my system, I feel like I’m seeing things way more clearly now that I’ve got a buzz. Winnie needs a night like tonight. I can’t hold her back anymore. Especially not with senior year looming.
She’ll never admit it, but she purposely avoids these parties and hanging out with other people from school—all to keep me comfortable. She knows I hate these things, and she knows she’s my only friend. I don’t want to be the one who keeps her from enjoying her last year here in Ferndale.
“You sure, Kenz? I don’t want to leave you alone.”
I smile through my alcoholic haze, my eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m fine, Winnie. I’ll be right here. You go. Seriously.”
For a second, she looks as though she’s going to argue. I know she doesn’t want to leave, but in the end, she decides to go. I take another sip of my beer and wait for her to come back, my gaze riveted to the roaring flames of the fire.
I don’t know how much time passes, but it’s long enough that it dawns on me Winnie is still gone. She’s no longer in the spot she was when she left to go mingle. She’s nowhere to be found actually. My stomach sloshes as I sway when I climb to my feet. I realize I may have consumed way too much beer. I’ve obviously overestimated myself and my drinking abilities.
My legs feel weird, and I’m pretty sure if I bit my tongue off right now, I wouldn’t even feel it. Everything feels blissfully numb. In my drunken state, it takes me a while to process the loud voices being directed at me.
“Hey, you! Get over here!”
When I pick my gaze up, hazy vision and all, my eyes settle on the group of hulking guys standing not too far away from me, and it’s then I realize the rowdy group is talking to me. My brows pull down, or at least I think they do, and I look over my shoulder, trying to see if these jocks can be talking to anyone else, but, sure enough, I’m the only one here.
One of them barks out a laugh at my actions.
“Yes, I’m talking to you. Get over here!” The voice is deep. A guy’s voice. When I find the source, my stomach clenches because I recognize who the voice belongs to. Trent Ainsworth. All-around asshole, hot jock, and one of the five Savages of Humboldt County.
Yeah, that’s right. I said Savages.
Honestly, I think they’re more in line with devils.
Because that’s exactly what these assholes are in our small town. Each of their ancestors is a founding family. They’re like great white sharks, swimming amongst a sea of us trout. Or are we sardines? Jesus. I can’t even think straight anymore.
Trent’s bastard, jock rich friends call themselves the Savages. Town royalty. Amongst other ridiculous nicknames.
Why? No one really knows.
They’re like a rabid pack of wolves—the strongest of their pack. They stick together, though it remains unknown who, out of the five of them, is the alpha.
Over the years, I’ve watched them from afar. I’ve heard the rumors, and even though they can be just that, rumors; part of me never truly believed it. They were constantly up to no good. If there was a brawl at school or at a party, everyone already knew who was behind it. If there was a commotion in town late at night, the rest of the people in Ferndale knew to stay indoors. If