Stealing Candi Read online

  “Shut her up. Find Candice.”

  A new voice enters the fray. Deep. Authoritative. I can’t see the man who is speaking. He’s hidden in shadow, but I can feel his presence. Powerful. Menacing. Dangerous in a way I’ve never encountered before. I’ve seen men like this on television shows. I imagined what it would be like to be in their presence but I’m realizing now that my imagination fell way short of reality.

  These men don’t follow the rules of normal society. They don’t care about the law. Being near them is like being near a pack of wild animals. There’s a feeling of sudden vulnerability, a reminder that I am 5’4 of female and they are so much more of man.

  Madison keeps shrieking. And then one of them does something fucking unforgivable. He hits her. Just winds back and slaps her across the face with an almost casual blow. Her head jerks to the side, the rest of her body following in a spin so she’s face first against the filthy dumpster.

  That’s when I lose my shit.

  “Hey! You leave her alone!”

  I have to push my way into the circle of violent offenders. In the middle, I find Madison with tears in her eyes, cowering away from the man who hurt her. I feel a flash of pure rage sear through me. How fucking dare he? She didn’t do anything. They scared her and she screamed. What the fuck did they expect? What are they even doing here?

  “Touch her again, and you’ll fucking regret it more than you already will,” I snarl, turning my back to her to face the men. I know there’s a very decent chance that I’m going to get hit next—or worse, but it doesn’t matter. Madison is innocent and she’s my friend. I’m not going to leave her to get the shit kicked out of her.

  “You guys need to leave. Now,” I say. “This is a private function, and you’re not invited.”

  “Homegirl talking like this piece of shit place is a country club,” one of them laughs. “You think we give a fuck what you say? We go where we want.”

  “Well, the police are on their way, so maybe you should rethink that. Also, you’ve been seen by dozens of people here tonight.”

  “Fuck off. Nobody is going to listen to drunk little white kids…”

  “Enough!”

  That deep, authoritative voice barks through the turmoil again. He was standing back from the situation, trying to keep control from a distance. Now he’s in the middle of it. He has the straight backed bearing of someone who has done more than one military parade. I could pick that gait anywhere, even if his does have street swagger added.

  He’s tall. They’re all tall, but he’s the tallest by far. I wish there were more lights so I could see him better. I can’t see any of these guys well enough to describe them to an officer later on.

  I wrap my arm around Madison’s shoulders and try to usher her out of the circle, but the guys aren’t exactly moving out of our way.

  “Excuse me, can you let us pass?”

  “Stay there,” new guy says. “I want to talk to you.”

  “If you wanted to talk to me, you could have come tomorrow and knocked on the front door like a sane person, not bought a dozen people and hit my friend…” I’m half-babbling, half-lecturing. That’s the wine in the punch. It makes me channel my mother, and she would lecture the pope if he offended her.

  “I’m talking to you now,” he says, calmly. He’s more lucid than I am, which strikes me as almost funny. Shouldn’t he be the one wasted? Aren’t men like him the ones who do hard drugs and rant and rave and commit crimes? He sounds more sober than I’ve ever been.

  “Yeah? Then let my friend go. And me.”

  “Your friend can get back to the party. You’re staying here to talk. I’m going to say you’re Candi.”

  He uses my familiar pet name and it does something to me. It makes me fucking fizz to my very core. He speaks to me with a casual intimacy he hasn’t earned, surrounded by a pack of violent men who could tear all of us apart in seconds.

  “We’re both going and you can expect to hear from law enforcement for assault on my friend,” I say.

  “You ain’t going to snitch on us, girl,” one of the gang members grunts.

  “Wrong. I am going to snitch so hard you would not believe it. I’m a WASP. It’s basically what we do.”

  This probably isn’t supposed to be what I’m saying. I don’t know what I should be saying, which is probably why I’m saying that. I want them to be afraid. I don’t want to be the only one who is afraid.

  “You ain’t telling anyone anything, Candi.”

  He drawls my name with a latin accent which is, damn, I’m just going to admit it. It’s hot. He has a husky tone to his voice which makes everything sound sexy. I still can’t see him that well, but I can see that there’s an intelligent gleam in his eye, though I don’t know if that’s an accurate impression, because crashing a student party is stupid as hell.

  “Where’s the bottles you took?”

  Okay. He wants the alcohol. Okay. Maybe that makes sense.

  “You own a liquor store?”

  “You don’t need to know what I own. Just those bottles. Give them to me and we go. Where are they?”

  “In the kitchen,” Madison stammers. It’s not like I wasn’t going to tell him where they were, but I’m glad she thought to answer him right away because I was going to ask another question. Like, who the hell he is to come crashing our party and asking for bottles of whiskey, which I’m starting to think might not even be whiskey, and okay maybe I should just sober up here because you don’t ask questions like that of men like him.

  He jerks his head toward the house. “Pollo, Marcus, go get them.”

  One of his guys is called chicken. We’re about to be maybe robbed by a man named chicken. Jesus. Nothing in my life has prepared me for an encounter like this.

  I grab Madison by the hand and I pull her out of the circle of guys and back into the light of the party. She’s pale, except for the red spot on her cheek where that thug hit her.

  “Oh my god, Maddy. Are you okay?”

  She nods, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s not okay. Of course she’s not okay. She’s been assaulted by a street criminal. I don’t even know what to call these men. Are they gang bangers? My grandmother would call them hoodlums. I’m going to not do that.

  Miranda and Steffy run up to us. They must have been hanging back. I wasn’t paying attention to them, not with that guy standing over me. He’s still there, waiting for Chicken and whatshisname to get the bottles. I hope they’re quick about it and get out of here, before the people at the party work out what’s going on. I hope they don’t steal anything while they’re in there.

  I look over to see that Miranda is fussing with her phone, and the numbers on the screen are ominous.

  “What are you doing?”

  Miranda pauses, her phone in her hand. “I’m calling the police, of course.”

  “Don’t do that!”

  Miranda stares at me. “Why not! You threatened them that you would.”

  “Yeah, threatened. But if we call the police we have to admit we stole the liquor…”

  “You stole it,” she clarifies.

  “Okay, I stole it, fine.”

  “Chica!” A voice from the darkness behind me makes my spine tingle.

  I turn around and see the mysterious man with the tattoos and the gang and the threatening visage wants me again.

  “Yes?”

  “Where’s the bottles?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “My boys say they’re not.”

  “Well, they are. They’re probably not looking properly. They better not have made a mess.”

  “Candice,” Steffy hisses. “Don’t be rude!”

  Am I being rude? I don’t know. They’re being rude. It’s hard to calibrate my response to this situation. I want them to get the bottles and get out of here already. I should never have taken the fucking things. We didn’t even need them in the end. It was a stupid, impulsive decision which is ruining our party.

&n
bsp; “Look. I’ll go get the bottles and bring them out to you. Delivery service.” I force a smile and then look at Steffy with an okay was that polite enough expression on my face.

  She shrugs, and all four of us head to the kitchen. I stole the bottles, but we’re all going to fix it. I feel really fucking bad right now. I’ve ruined this party for them, especially for Madison.

  “Oh my god. They tore this place apart!”

  The kitchen is a mess. The drawers have been pulled out. The cupboards have been ransacked. Our Ramen stash is all over everything. Even the cutlery drawer has been pulled out and dumped.

  “How the fuck did they think we hid cases of whiskey in with the teaspoons?” I curse. This is ridiculous. They weren’t looking for the bottles. They were just destroying our place because they could.

  “I don’t know. They were right here. Under the table,” Miranda says, frowning at me. “They’re gone.”

  “You think someone took them?”

  “They’re going to kill us. Those guys are literally going to kill us.” Madison starts freaking out. Fuck. I really need to get some ice on her face. She’s getting a horrible bruise where that asshole hit her.

  “They’re not going to kill us. Are the football guys still here?”

  “I think they left earlier. There was a Phi Kappa party they were going to.”

  “You think the took the whiskey?”

  “They wouldn’t steal from us.”

  “Uh, yeah they would.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. They…”

  “I heard Donnie has a record…”

  We’re talking over each other now.

  “BLONDIES!”

  He is standing in the doorway. I don't know his name, and right now that doesn’t matter. I know who he is. I know he’s mean and dangerous. I know he commands violent men. And I know I have something of his. And that’s not good.

  As he steps into the kitchen, I see him in the light for the first time. He has the face of a brutal angel. That’s too poetic for this situation, but I am a good gallon into the punch and I swear I’m making some very bad decisions today.

  He has close cropped raven black hair, thick and short, a hard jaw and brow and every other part of his face looks like it was carved by a vengeful angry god. He has the darkest brows and eyes which are somehow even darker. It’s like being looked at by a man who has captured two voids in his eye sockets. And the tattoos. So many tattoos. He’s been scrawled on by very angry, artistically inclined men. A big cat is roaring from his throat, a good image for the voice which emerges from him when he speaks.

  “We can’t find the bottles,” I say. “Someone must have taken them.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I’m calling the police,” Miranda says.

  His glare sharpens. So do those belonging to the men who are packed in all around him. I’m pretty sure they’re tempted to use the weapons they have on them, visible under the hems of their shirts and bulging in their pockets.

  This isn’t what either of our groups are used to. The biggest drama my girls and I have ever dealt with was a rogue cheerleading squad who almost took us out at quarter finals by stealing our routine. This is way worse. This is a seriously uneven stand off.

  They have tattoos and guns. We have phones and eyeliner. It’s not going to end well for us.

  “You call the cops, you’re going to have to tell them you robbed a liquor store,” the handsome outlaw leader says. I wish I knew his name. It would come in handy for the inevitable police report.

  “No, we’re not. We’ll just tell them you crashed our party and we don’t know why,” Miranda argues bravely.

  “There’s security camera footage of you stopping in the yard and blondie here getting out and taking the cases.”

  “I wonder who has better lawyers. You, or us?” Steffy pipes up. “I’m calling the cops too. We’ll both call.”

  Oh Jesus, this is escalating. We’ve all had too much to drink to really deal with this. I’m just as affected as the others. They fucking hit Madison, and the more I think about that, the madder I get. How dare they walk into our house and intimidate us? So we took some drinks. If they have evidence, they should be the ones calling the police.

  Steffy is holding her phone. 911 is already tapped in on the screen. All she has to do is hit dial. Miranda is giving them a look like they’re something that just crawled out from under a rock. I don’t know how I look, but I know I’m responsible for this happening. Madison is back hiding behind us. I don’t blame her.

  “Just give us the bottles back.”

  “They’re gone.”

  “Sure they are.”

  “Do you see them?” I gesture around me. “You think we’re going to hide it from you? Risk getting shot for some cheap liquor?”

  “Naw, maybe not,” he drawls with a short shake of his head. He changes gears, or modes, or something is suddenly very different. “Sorry to have disturbed you, ladies.”

  He knows how to speak like a gentleman, but he still looks like a criminal, and none of us are buying the sudden respect. I’m holding my breath as he gestures to his men and they turn and leave.

  For a few minutes, the girls and I just stand and stare at the open kitchen door, expecting them to come back at any moment.

  “Is that it? Are they gone?” Steffy asks.

  “I don’t know,” Miranda says.

  “I’m so sorry, guys,” I apologize. “Madison, we’re taking you to the hospital.”

  “I don’t need the hospital. He didn’t hit me that I hard. I just need some ice,” Madison says. “And maybe some booze.”

  Madison looks delicate, but she’s pretty hardcore when it comes down to it. We all are. Cheerleaders have to be built tough to sustain the physical punishment of being climbed on and thrown into the air, relentless, rigorous routines. Still, we’re not built to take heavy impact, and I am worried about her. She probably doesn’t want to go to the hospital because of the medical bills. There’s no way she can afford to pay them.

  Steffy runs to get her some more punch. I grab her some ice from the freezer. Miranda just stands there, probably in shock.

  “You okay?” I reach out and squeeze Miranda’s arm lightly.

  “Yeah,” she nods. “I’m just…”

  “Yeah,” I agree to her unspoken statement as I turn back and push the ice pack against Madison’s cheek.

  “You should get a towel for that,” Miranda says.

  “Oh yeah, shoot, sorry.” I wrap a towel around the ice and give it back to Madison. Outside, the party is still going on. The music is pounding away, there are guys and girls laughing and dancing, way too drunk to notice that we just got… what did just happen to us?

  “I’m going to go turn the music off,” Miranda says. “I think this party needs to be over now.”

  None of us disagree.

  Chapter 2

  “We’re going to be late for class!”

  In the hustle of another bright morning, and the fog of what isn’t quite a hangover, the events of the previous evening seem more amusing and exciting than they do worrying. It’s funny how a few hours of sleep turn ‘terrifying night’ into ‘best party ever’.

  Steffy and I have the same class. Or at least, I think we do. Steffy tends to tag along to whichever of our classes she thinks are the most fun on any particular day. She usually sleeps through the 8 AM ones, but I guess she doesn’t want to be home alone today. Madison and Miranda were out before I woke up. I hope Madison is okay. She’s the one I’m worried about.

  We’re halfway across the campus gardens when Steffy stops and her nose basically twitches like a rabbit. She’s caught the scent of food.

  “Do we have enough time for me to grab something from the cafeteria real quick?”

  “You go. I’ll wait here,” I say. I don’t want to get caught in the morning line for caffeine. I never miss class, and I’m never late. Okay, maybe that’s not true, but from now on, it is going to be.
I’m going to be so good.

  “I’ll grab you a coffee,” she promises as she darts off. “Maybe a donut.”

  I’m about to say I don’t want a donut, but I stop myself before I do. A donut sounds pretty damn good right now, actually.

  There’s a steady stream of students streaming into campus. After last night, I’m just glad to be standing in daylight, surrounded by young people chatting and talking and, okay, staring at their phones. It just feels real and safe. My mind keeps playing flashes of what happened down the back of the house, Madison being slapped and then that man, the one with the imposing presence and the devil eyes standing in our kitchen.

  I end up off the path, standing under a tree, checking social apps on my phone while I wait for Steffy to deal with her caffeine craving. I’m halfway through my feed, which is equal parts made up of cats and dogs wearing hats when I feel a shadow fall over me. Someone is blocking my sun.

  Looking up from my phone, I see a man standing in front of me. His presence is so unexpected that I don’t even fully process who it is until he speaks.

  “Candice.” He says my name like a sin. “Candi, girl.”

  My stomach gets super tight. Jesus. It’s him. No wonder the world has gone dark. When I’m in this man’s presence, it’s like the world has undergone a transformation I can’t even begin to understand. I never thought I was one of those girls who finds bad boys attractive. I found the ones in my high school to be kind of lame, almost pathetic with how hard they tried to look bad and to stand out.

  He doesn’t have to try to look bad. It comes off him in waves. Last night he looked like a gangster. Today he looks like he could be delivering the eight o’clock philosophy lecture, wearing black jeans and a black sweater. He could be on the cover of a fashion magazine with his smoldering good looks which are heightened by simple, pedestrian attire.

  “You find what you took from me, mi pequeña?”

  I blush. My Spanish isn’t good, but I’m pretty sure he just called me his little one, and in a tone which sends a flush of warmth right through the very core of me.

  “I didn’t.”