Losers: Part I

After a fuck like that, I wasn’t ready to go home. I was done with work for the day, and now that I was thoroughly pleasured and worn out, I wanted to relax.

“I’ll take you back to our house,” Manson said, after he’d used a small disinfectant wipe from his glove box to clean the fresh cut on my butt cheek. “You can chill there as long as you want. Lucas and I will be finishing up work.”

I was able to get a look at the cut for the first time in the Mustang’s side mirror and found Manson’s name etched into my skin. I’d expected to feel excitement and arousal at the sight of it. What I certainly hadn’t expected was an overwhelming flood of emotion, a sensation of aching happiness.

“Don’t worry, it won’t scar,” he told me. “The cut is shallow.”

Maybe I wanted it to scar. Maybe I wanted his name on my skin forever, but I didn’t say it. My ass stung as I slid back into the passenger seat, and I was glad I’d chosen a skirt today instead of denim.

The gate was wide open when we reached their house, and Manson pulled into the yard and parked in front of the garage. I spotted Lucas’s legs under a vehicle as I followed Manson into the house, sighing in relief when the cool interior air hit me. As Manson put Lucas’s espresso in the fridge, I sat on the stairway to greet the dogs as they snuffled excitedly around my feet.

But a sudden loud burst of singing from upstairs drew my attention. The voice was muffled, but someone up above was scream-singing at the top of their lungs.

Manson laughed. “I guess Vincent is awake.”

“His room is in the attic, isn’t it?” I said, unable to stop myself from giggling.

Manson nodded. “You can go up if you want. I have to get back to work, so make yourself comfortable.”

As Manson returned to the garage, I went upstairs. There was another narrow stairway at the end of the second floor hallway, and the door at the top was open, music blasting from within as Vincent loudly sang along.

I went up the stairs and stopped in the doorway. The attic was spacious, although the angled ceiling limited its height at the edges of the room. A large bed was against one wall, the eclectic selection of patterned blankets and knit quilts rumpled. A couple freestanding clothing racks held shirts, jeans, jackets — also in a plethora of patterns and colors. A round window at the other end of the room allowed in the morning light, and it was in front of this window that Vincent was seated, cross-legged on the floor with a canvas in front of him and paints spread around him.

As the music’s chorus began again, he leaned his head back, flinging his paintbrush to the side and splattering blue paint across the floor as he belted out the lyrics.

He noticed me standing there as he opened his eyes, and a wide smile spread across his face. “Oh, shit. Hey, baby.” He got to his feet, uncurling his long limbs and enfolding me into a hug. As he let me go, I noticed a collection of spray paint cans in the corner, nestled on the floor behind a large canvas on an easel.

“Is this your new painting?” I said, crouching down to get a better look. The canvas was splashed with various colors, depicting a psychedelic sky over a field of tall green grass. The vague outline of a figure was walking through the field, their back to the viewer and their face turned slightly, as if they were about to look over their shoulder.

“Yep, started it on a whim,” he said. “I took an edible last week and had this really vivid dream…I had to try to get it on canvas.”

“It looks amazing,” I said. The way the colors swirled together reminded me of the iridescence in a pool of oil, and the vastness of the field made me feel as if there was an entire world waiting on the other side of the trees along his horizon.

As I stood and had another look around the room, I spotted some hooks on the wall beside his bed. There were neatly coiled lengths of rope, in various colors and material, alongside a plethora of impact toys: big and small paddles, leather straps, even a slim wooden cane. There was a black chest on the floor beneath the hooks, and I bit my lip curiously.

Vincent noticed me looking.

“That’s the toy box,” he said, nodding toward the chest with a sly smile. “I’ve got all kinds of fun things in there.”

I had no doubt he did, but a rapid popping noise from outside caught my attention. I stood on my tiptoes at the window to peer down and spotted Jason standing along the side of the garage. He lifted a gun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger, the popping sound pinging again as splatters of bright yellow paint hit a rusted car door leaned up against the side of the garage.

“Paintball?” I said. “Looks like fun.”

“It’ll be fun all right,” Vincent said, coming to stand beside me. “He and Lucas have been putting their heads together for weeks, trying to figure out how we’re going to get back at Alex and the others.”

I turned, looking at him with wide eyes. “Like a revenge mission?”

“Oh, yeah. Those fuckers need to be taught a lesson. You should go talk to him. I have a feeling they have a very important role for you.”

He gave me a wink, and curiosity got the better of me. Leaving him to his artwork, I went back downstairs and out into the yard, trudging around the side of the garage.

Jason saw me coming and paused his target practice, but at the same time, Lucas emerged from the garage’s side door with another paintball gun in his hands. I couldn’t read his expression as he looked at me; only that it looked pained.

What was his problem? He was always stand-offish, but he was looking at me like I was a grenade that could go off at any second. As if he wasn’t sure how safe it was to have me close by.

Whatever. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my mood.

“What’s all this for?” I said, looking around at the various items they had set up around the yard. Besides the rusted car door, there were also several tin cans on cinder blocks, and another metal panel propped against one of the trees.

“Target practice,” Jason said, propping his gun against his shoulder. Lucas had already looked away from me, focusing his attention as he took aim. He fired, the paintballs whizzing across the yard and knocking down three of the cans.

“Next target is Alex’s Hellcat,” Lucas said, squeezing the trigger again. Another paintball struck the glass in the rusted door, but this one didn’t splat. It hit the glass with a sharp sound, cracks spreading from its point of impact.

“Woah…” My eyes widened slightly. “Can I try?”

Lucas handed over the gun. I’d shot my grandpa’s BB gun when I was little, but didn’t have much experience otherwise. I didn’t think a paintball gun would be too different as I took aim at the door, firing off several shots.

I was pleased to see all but two of them hit their target.

“Nice shooting,” Jason said, sounding impressed.

Lucas grunted, his eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe I’d done it. “Not bad,” he said, taking back the gun. “Looks like you’re already prepared for this Saturday, then.”

“Saturday?” I said. “Is that when the revenge mission is?”

Jason laughed. “The revenge mission, right. I see you’ve already talked to Vincent about it.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it, fucktoy,” Lucas said. “What we’re going to do is far from legal, but you’ve never had a problem with that, have you?”

“Not when it’s for a good cause,” I said easily, getting Jason to smile again and Lucas to look even grouchier. “What’s the plan?”

The two of them exchanged a look that spoke of nothing but trouble. Lucas stepped toward me, the strap of his paintball gun over his shoulder. He looked at me like he was sizing me up, and I automatically straightened my shoulders and stood up a little taller.

He noticed me do it, and his nostrils flared.

“All those fucks are going to be at a house party this Saturday,” he said. “It’s at Nate and Danielle’s house in the Heights. Since they thought it was funny to come and thrash our shit, we think it would be pretty damn funny to return the favor.”

Of course — the very same party I’d gotten an invite to that morning. But there was a problem they may not have considered.

“How are you going to get in?” I said. The entire community of Wickeston Heights was gated, and you were required to have your name put in at the guardhouse before you’d be allowed inside.

“Well, you got an invite to the party, didn’t you?” Jason said. A door clicked shut, and I glanced back to see Manson had emerged from the garage and was making his way over to us.

“Yeah, I got invited,” I said. “Let me guess: you want me to RSVP, get my name put in, and then I’ll get you all inside?”

“Exactly,” Jason said, speaking rapidly with excitement. “I’ve got paintballs sitting in a cooler with dry ice, and we’ll have all the tools we need stored in the back of the Bronco. The last thing we’ll need is a distraction.”

“I’m great at being distracting,” I said, and Manson chuckled. My brain was already churning with ideas, but Lucas was still glaring at me.

“You’re volunteering to come along and fuck up your friends’ night?” he said. “Really?”

“They’re not my friends,” I said quickly, and Lucas rolled his eyes. “I mean it, they’re not! They destroyed your cars and left me here to take the blame. Alex is a complete asshole creep and Danielle is a backstabbing bitch.” I folded my arms. “So no, they’re not my friends, Lucas.”

He held up his hands. “Hey, whatever. But you’re sounding defensive. Maybe a little guilty…maybe a little uncertain…”

“Lucas…come on, man.” Jason shook his head. “She wants to come.”

“Never said she couldn’t,” Lucas said. He leaned close to me again, the challenge obvious in his posture. “All I’m saying is that I don’t think she’s going to rise to the occasion. I don’t think she’s down.”

“I think she is,” Manson said. “You love a challenge, don’t you, Jess? Because this is going to be a big one.”

“I’m ready for it,” I said. “You’ll see. You guys aren’t the only ones who want payback.”

Lucas still didn’t look as if he believed me. But Jason sounded excited when he said, “Perfect. We’ve got this in the fucking bag.” He fired a shot, hitting the window right where it was cracked and shattering the glass. “Saturday is going to be fun.”