The kid pushed back.
“Are your parents here?” I asked.
“I told you.” He was losing patience and showing it. Definitely a punk. “They’re sleeping.”
“Son, let’s not play this game,” I said. “Your parents aren’t in there.”
“They are,” he stated obstinately.
I shook my head, done with him.
“Open this door,” I said low and quiet. “Immediately.”
His eyes shifted to the side then back to me and he lifted his chin.
“Not sure you can come in here unless you’re invited.”
“I’m not a vampire, kid. I don’t have to be invited. But even if I were the undead, I own this property. Now, open the freaking door. Now.”
He pushed harder against me pushing harder on the door and ordered, “Come back tomorrow.”
“Open or I’ll—”
I didn’t finish my statement. The kid’s eyes darted up, widened instantly with fear, and then the door opened so fast, the kid stumbled back and I fell through.
I lost hold on my bat and flashlight seeing as I was about to go down on my knees and I needed to throw my hands out to cushion my fall.
But I didn’t go down. This was because an arm hooked around my middle and hauled me up to steady on my feet.
The arm stayed there, ironclad, locked around my belly, forcing my back to fit tight to a hard frame and my heart skipped a beat when I heard Priest growl, “Fuck me.”
It took me a second to recover from the surprise of him suddenly being there.
Then everything I was seeing, and smelling, crashed in to me.
The three boys were there, two others besides, all big and bulky. There were beer cans everywhere, also Jack Daniels and Absolut, several bottles of both, some tipped to their sides leaking onto my pretty braided rugs and across my fabulous floors, not to mention cans of beer the same way.
The air smelled of vomit, beer, booze, cigarettes, and pot. In fact, there was a cloud of smoke hanging in the room and there were makeshift ashtrays, these being torn apart beer cans. They didn’t work very well. I knew this because there were burns in my coffee table.
There was also a girl in jeans, a sweater, and boots on her ass in the corner, one of the boys ineffectually attempting to hide her with his body. She was on her ass in the corner, knees up, curled into herself, face shoved into her legs, sobbing.
And there was another girl that another boy scrambled off of when Priest and I forced our way in (well, Priest did, I tumbled in).
She was the one on the couch, clearly unconscious, her clothing askew, the sweater that was pushed up was pushed high and I could see her bra.
Pressure built in my head and was about to blow but it didn’t because I would find in that instant I had a much bigger problem on my hands.
That problem being Priest.
“You hurt her?”
His voice came low, deep, quiet, and deadly.
“My parents bought us the booze,” the kid replied, not answering his question, his chin up, his body held alert, his eyes scared.
“Did you…hurt her?” Priest repeated and I twisted my neck to look up at him.
Oh yes.