Shattered Skull (Sons of Sinister Book 1) Page 2

  “Who can tell me the ten principles of economics?”

  I started to raise my hand, but instead, I jerked when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “Hey,” someone whispered behind me.

  I turned to find a girl dressed in all black. My eyes moved over her face taking in her dark, overly-lined brown eyes, nose ring, and hot pink bangs. She was small, and her legs looked even shorter since she was wearing black knee-high combat boots.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have an extra pencil?”

  I nodded. Turning to pick up my bag, I pulled out a pencil and handed it over.

  “Thanks.”

  “Welcome,” I whispered.

  The class went into a flow, people answering questions and listening while Mr. Blankenship started his introduction to Economics. Everything he was saying was familiar to me since I had read ahead the night before. Erik teased me for doing that, but I called it being prepared.

  An hour passed, and soon everyone was standing and moving toward the door.

  “Thanks for the pencil,” the girl behind me said, standing and setting the pencil on the desk.

  “No worries. Keep it.” I waved it away.

  Her dark eyes scanned my face before she shoved the pencil behind her ear and into her black chin-length hair.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?” she asked.

  “Am I that obvious?”

  She laughed. “Oh yeah. You stand out. My name’s Zada.”

  She held out her hand, revealing an arm covered in tattoos. Her nail polish was black, and each finger had a silver ring. I took her hand and shook it.

  “Everly.”

  “Nice to meet you, Everly. Where you from?”

  “Seattle.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she whistled. “Damn. That’s one hell of a move.”

  I shrugged. “My mom’s decision. Not mine.”

  She nodded, understanding I had to go where my mother went. “How do you like it so far?”

  “Eh. It’s okay. Definitely not home.”

  “I imagine it’s one hell of a culture shock.”

  “Oh yeah. Big time.”

  “So, this might be weird, since we just met and everything, but there’s a party this weekend. Not the kind of party the people at this school would go to, but it’s good times. You should come.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m not much for parties and people.”

  “I can see that about you,” she said, her eyes skimming my simple jeans and top. “Spend the rest of this week thinking on it. You never know, you might have fun. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow in class. See you around.”

  “Okay. You too.”

  She left, and I grinned to myself. Maybe I wasn’t going to remain the outsider after all.

  2 Everly

  NO ONE SPOKE TO ME in my second class, and I was relieved. It had taken all the baby steps to even get to the classroom in the first place. I was glad to see the room empty, and I was able to snag the last seat to be sure no one sat behind me.

  It wasn’t long before the bell was ringing, and my day was over. Mom was parked out front, waiting to pick me up in the Range Rover, one of the few things she had been able to keep after the divorce. Prenups and all that jazz. Erik had a car because he was, “Smart enough to have asked for one before your dad died.” Mom’s words, not mine. Which meant he could drive himself home when school was over. He had more classes than me.

  “How was your day?” Mom asked, checking out her freshly applied makeup in the rearview mirror.

  She had never been much for makeup before, but after the divorce, she didn’t leave the house without it. In my opinion, it aged her, but I would never tell her that.

  I shrugged. “It was school.”

  “Do you think my hair looks okay like this?” She switched the subject without even hearing my answer.

  It was the obligatory mom question, I supposed.

  “Yeah. It’s nice.”

  “So, were there any cute boys?”

  I turned toward her and lifted a brow. “Really, Mom?”

  She giggled. “What? The boys are cuter in public schools. They aren’t walking around with sticks up their asses.”

  “The only difference I saw was the lack of uniform.”

  “I bet you’re enjoying that. Finally, being able to wear whatever you want. It’s a nice change.”

  It wasn’t.

  I missed my uniform, and my closet was sad. I wasn’t one to blow money on clothes, especially now that money was tight for us.

  We pulled up to a stoplight, and I let my eyes drift, taking in the new place I called home. There were unfamiliar chain restaurants and stores. Even the gas station names were different. I sighed, missing everything familiar.

  The sound of loud engines filled my ears, pulling my attention from the view and making me turn in my seat. Four guys pulled up beside us on sport motorcycles, their engines humming as they slowed. My eyes caught on one guy who was dangerously standing on top of his bike seat. He smoothly stepped down from his position as his bike rolled to a stop.

  He faced forward, his profile hidden behind his black helmet, and he pumped at the gas handle, revving his engine and filling Mom’s car with the smell of gasoline and exhaust.

  His bike was black and neon green, the back tire extended further than the bike itself. Feeling my eyes on him, he turned my way, but all I could see were his bright green eyes peeking out. A handkerchief covered his face from the nose down with the nose, mouth, and chin of a skull.

  He nodded in my direction as if to say hi, and I turned away just as the light turned green, and Mom started forward. We had barely moved before all four bikes took off down the street in front of us, the screeching buzz of their engines echoing behind them.

  They disappeared well ahead of us, and by the time we made it to our road, they were long gone.

  Mom didn’t get out when we got home.

  “I have errands to run, but I’ll be back later. Text if you need anything,” she said, pulling away and leaving me alone.

  It was fine. I didn’t mind being alone most days, but standing and looking up at the historic house and its crooked siding, I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t the only ghost who lived there. And that was what I was. An essence who moved through the house that no one could see. Invisible since the only person with the ability to see me had died.

  The house my mother grew up in was an old farmhouse on two acres of land. It used to be more, but the family had sold it off over the years. The view was more beautiful than the one I had in Seattle, oak trees, and nature as far as the eye could see, but that was the only difference that was nice. The rest was awful and needed love.

  Thankfully, I adored old things and could appreciate the history of the house. I only wished we had the money to make it beautiful again. I was sure it had once been a stunner with its tall windows, original wood molding, and gorgeous hardwood floors. It was a treasure that needed the muck cleared away.

  I started toward the wrap-around porch, slicing through the thick humidity as if I were swimming to the front door. I feared I would one day drown in the air around me. I stuck my key in the lock and opened the door; its hinges squeaked as if it were screaming to remained closed. I didn’t blame the door. I never wanted to open myself for anyone, either.

  Once I was inside, I locked the door behind me out of habit and went upstairs to my room. Tossing my bag onto my bed, I went straight for my pajama drawer and my comfy shorts. Jeans in Georgia in August wasn’t the best idea. I had spent the day pulling the material from my sweaty legs and wishing I was the kind of girl who wore breezy skirts.

  I fell onto my bed, glad I had been able to bring my comfortable mattress, and I let the stress of the day dissolve from my chest and shoulders.

  “Today was hard,” I said, speaking to my father’s urn

  It sat on my dresser and was a beautiful hand-carved urn made of African blackwood with tiny bits of emerald around the top. His name was carved on the side along with his birthdate and the day he died. At the bottom, the words Beloved Father blazed back at me, making my stomach clench with pain.

  I missed him more than I could ever put into words. It was like a large rock had settled at the bottom of my stomach the day he died, weighing me down and leaving an ache so strong I walked around in a constant state of nausea.

  It wasn’t the money.

  It wasn’t the lifestyle.

  It was the time spent with him. Our moments of genuine laughter and our exciting impromptu trips. His understanding of my sickness and how easily he could make me forget I was on the verge of an attack. He saw me and loved me. He was my person, and I was lost without him.

  It was just the three of us now. My father didn’t have a large family, only a cousin who lived in Europe, and my mother’s family was gone, as well. And while Erik and I got along fine, it was my dad who showed me what love was. I was his little girl, and he was my everything.

  “I wish you were here,” I whispered.

  I swiped at the tear sliding down my cheek and sniffled.

  If he were here, I would still be in Seattle living a happy life. Instead, I was stuck in Georgia and a stranger to everyone and everything around me.

  My anxiety nudged my chest, its black fingers squeezing my heart. I gasped at the feeling, and sat up quickly, twirling my hair to shake it off. Moving my mind away from things bound to send me into a panic attack, I went to work, pulling out my books and any homework I had. I buckled down, finishing the practice questions in both chapters and reading ahead.

  When I tired of schoolwork, I pulled out my recent read, a romance novel about a young girl and an older man, and I read until my eyes began to feel heavy. Whe
n I finally looked up again, it was dark out, and Mom and Erik still weren’t home. I picked up my phone and texted Erik.

  Me: Where are you?

  Erik: Out. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.

  Me: That doesn’t answer my question.

  Me: Erik?

  He didn’t come home, and as usual, I was worried. He stopped returning my texts, and I wasn’t sure if it was a bad signal or if he was ignoring me. He was probably ignoring me. He had once told me I was like an annoying mom, which I supposed was a good thing since our mother had decided she was going to relive her teenage years again.

  I was surprised to see her when she came crashing through the front door a little after midnight. Her eyes were glazed, and she smelled like beer and cigarettes. I didn't want to know where she had been while she was out “running errands.”

  Without a word to me, she went to her downstairs bedroom and slammed the door behind her like an angry teenage girl. I shook my head, not believing how crazy my life had been of late.

  I spent most of the night curled up on the beanbag in the corner of my room, talking to Dad’s urn. It was a lonely life, but it was mine. I woke the following morning still on my beanbag with a terrible kink in my neck.

  The rest of the week followed that rhythm. Except Mom got tired of picking me up from school every afternoon and insisted I stay after my classes and wait for a ride with Erik. I spent my afternoons in the library, doing homework and reading until the final bell rang.

  Erik’s car, a black Mustang he asked for, for our seventeenth birthday, was sitting in the parking lot. People I had never seen before waited beside the car, lounging against the driver's side as if they owned it.

  Why were so many people waiting on Erik?

  I mean, he was just a guy who had a bad habit of farting on me and picking his nose. He was gross, but then again, I guessed brothers were supposed to be. I wondered if half of these people would be waiting for him like he was someone special if they knew he peed the bed until he was ten.

  I went to the passenger’s side, all eyes on me in confusion, and leaned against the door waiting.

  “Do you even know Erik?” A girl asked with a sneer.

  I didn’t answer.

  There was no need.

  Five minutes passed before Erik finally showed, his arm slung over the shoulder of a pretty blonde with too much makeup and not enough skirt. He grinned at me and nodded.

  “Hey, sis, hope you weren’t waiting long,” he said, kissing the blonde on the cheek.

  “That’s your sister?” Someone at my side asked, an embarrassing amount of shock in their voice.

  I was sure it was the same girl who snarled at me earlier like a rabid dog in heat. I wasn’t one to curse, but she was a total bitch.

  Yes, Erik was good-looking and outgoing. And yes, we were twins, but that didn’t mean we had to look and act alike. If anything, it gave us more reasons to be different.

  “My twin actually,” he answered, unlocking his car with his key fob and making the lights blink.

  He pulled open the driver door and tossed his bag in the backseat. Then he muttered something to the blonde, kissed her on her over-glossed lips, and pulled away, smacking her on the ass when she walked away.

  “Gross,” I said, hugging my bag to my chest.

  His eyes followed her ass across the parking lot. “Not gross, but hella dirty.” He grinned, and I pretended to gag. “You ready to go?”

  I nodded. “I’ve been ready for ten minutes.”

  I climbed inside and waited another five minutes while he said goodbye to his fans. Rolling my eyes, I shook my head in disbelief.

  Sheep.

  That was what the students at North Lakeside were.

  The ride to our house was anything but quiet. Erik had his radio blaring, the new speakers he added to the car a month after he got it thumped against my back and made his trunk rattle. Why anyone thought they needed that amount of bass in their lives was beyond me.

  Instead of looking at the road, he continuously checked his phone. I was scared he was going to kill us. My anxiety was through the roof, and there were only so many things I could see, touch, hear, smell, and taste in the confines of his car.

  I couldn’t continue this way. Riding with my brother was becoming unbearable. Even leaving my house was starting to get to me. Briefly, I considered online schooling.

  The panic attacks.

  The constant fear of a school shooter.

  There was always something making me afraid to live my life. If it could hurt me, I worried it was going to happen. It wasn’t a way to live, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Phone down and eyes on the road, Erik,” I said, grabbing onto the bar above the door.

  He chuckled and set his phone on his lap. “You sound like Dad.”

  I warmed at his words. I was glad one of us did.

  “So, there’s a party this weekend at this place called The Strip,” he started.

  “No,” I said before he could even finish.

  “Let me finish! I was going to say you should go.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “It’s not healthy to stay cooped up in the house all the time,” he argued.

  “Neither is partying, drugs, and alcohol, but you do it. I guess we’re both unhealthy.”

  He sighed, resting his wrist on the top of the steering wheel. “Stop being so boring, Ev. It’ll be good for you.”

  “Hard pass.”

  He shook his head, giving up the way I had hoped he would. “Whatever. You’re never going to meet anyone if you don’t get out. You’re going to live one hell of a lonely life.”

  Little did he know I already was.

  He shrugged. “Guess I’ll just have to drive home drunk.”

  My eyes went wide. “Or you could not drink?”

  He chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that? Listen, I know you don’t like parties, but could you at least think about it. Even if it’s so that you can nag me and be my DD.”

  The nag and a designated driver.

  It was the perfect title for me.

  Yes, I nagged Erik, but he never worried about the consequences. It was as if I got all the common sense, and he got all the personality and good looks. I had no desire to go to a party or be someone’s designated driver. Not to mention, I was sure Erik wouldn’t drive his precious car drunk.

  Or would he?

  I sighed, my eyes taking in the trees gliding past us in a blur.

  He totally would, and no matter how much I didn’t want to go, I knew he would use my fear of losing another family member to persuade me.

  “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked, grinning in my direction.

  “Shut up and watch the road.”

  He laughed.

  I hated that he knew me so well, but I guess that came with being a twin.

  He didn’t get out of the car when we got home. Just like Mom had, he left me home alone—just a ghost in an old house—invisible.

  I didn’t speak to another person, except for my dad’s urn, for the next two days. It was getting to the point where hearing my voice was strange. I haunted the halls—gliding up and down the stairs in a never-ending pattern of reading, homework, and something to drink.

  Once Friday came, I was looking forward to economics. I hoped Zada, the girl who had been there the first day, would speak to me again. I was beginning to worry that maybe I really was becoming invisible.

  When she walked into the classroom, I waved her over to me with a smile. I could tell by her expression my actions confused her.

  “Hey, new girl,” she said, sliding into the seat beside me.

  Her pink bangs were now purple.

  “Hey.”

  “Did you do last night’s homework?”

  “I did. It wasn’t bad.”

  “Really? It had me stumped. Maybe you can tutor me.” She laughed.

  “If you need help, just let me know. I don’t mind.”

  Anything to have someone else see me and talk to me. It wasn’t something I wanted all the time, but every few days would remind me I was still alive.

  “That would be awesome. Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  The class filled, and I watched each person who came in. They were strangers, and yet I had seen them almost every day. Weird how that could happen.

  “You never said yes or no to the party. You should come along. It’s at this place called The Strip. It’s fun.”