We anchor up just as the sun has set in the sky. Storm pulls out his archery set, lighting the tip of the stick and aiming it to the pile of bush wood on the shore. He releases his finger and the bonfire explodes in a surge of flames.
Everyone at school knows about the weekend hangout spot and who attends. It’s exclusive, but that’s not because people aren’t invited, it’s only because not everyone has a boat and you can only fit so many on one. When Orson brings his dad’s out, then that’s a whole different story. The multi-million-dollar power yacht named Vegas is exactly what its name implies. It’s a whole party on a yacht themed and painted in Sin City. Orson’s father is the Greek to his American mother who is no longer with us. Since his mom’s passing, his father hardly ever occupies this house, leaving Orson alone.
Clutching my flip-flops and hoodie, I slip into the water and make my way to shore, needing to be as far away from Royce as possible while he has Annette all over him. I can’t deal with it, but I don’t know why. I don’t know why my stomach convulses every time she puts her hand on him, because he doesn’t put his on her. The PDA is always her, not him. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about that.
“Hey!” A girl with long curled hair and a couple of piercings in her face waves me over. She’s in cut-offs, a plaid shirt, and are those Doc Martens? I love Docs, but near the water?
“Hi!” I make my way to where she’s seated alone, smoking a cigarette. She’s gorgeous, that much is obvious, but I’ve never seen her here before. Ever, actually. Not even at school.
“Are you new?” I ask, taking a seat on one of the stumps that are surrounding the raging fire. It crackles in the background, warming the side of my cheek.
She nods her head, raising the bottle of champagne. “Sure am, and I gotta say…” She looks around, pausing every couple of seconds. “There’s not a girl that I see here that I would want to be friends with.”
I chuckle, shoving my arms into the sleeves of my Calvin Klein hoodie and zipping it up. I’m glad I slid into my black short shorts earlier, but now I wished I had brought some skinny jeans. I usually head up to the main house when things get rowdy down here—by Royce’s orders—so I rest in the fact that I won’t have to freeze my tits off for too long. “They’re not all that bad.”
“Sure they are…” the girl says, flicking off the ash on the tip of her smoke. She sticks her hand out in front of herself. “I’m India, you’re?” she asks, and I look from her face to her hand. I’m not one to make friends. That’s not because I don’t want to, that’s because no one wants to make friends with me. Never understood why, and by the time Sloane figured out I was a weird one, it was too late, we were already friends.
I take India’s hand in mine. “Love the name. People say I look part Indian. I’ve been told that all of my life, so now I sort of tell people that I have a grandparent who is from India. Makes me feel badass.”
India laughs, her head falling back before her eyes come to mine. “Yeah, I sort of see it. You have the tanned skin, dark hair, and—” She leans closer to me until the tips of our noses touch. “What color are your eyes?”
I inch back a little, somewhat thrown off by her intrusion in my bubble. “Ah, green. My name’s Jade.”
“Wow! That’s a cool name!”
“Well, we can swap.” My hands dive into the pockets of my hoodie, my eyes going to the flame. Music spills out loudly from behind me and I don’t have to turn my head to know what’s going on. The Tiki bar will be in full swing, the fairy lights will be switched on, and the graffiti that Royce sprayed over the rocky mountain wall will be on full display for everyone to admire. My eyes fly up to the art, all shades of the color green. Lime, forest, ocean, turquoise, jade. The numbers 2000 tagged in graffiti font. The year I was born and adopted into the Kane family. I don’t think anyone else notices the significance of it except for Orson and Storm. Every time I see it, my heart skips multiple beats. There’s never been a shadow of a doubt of what I mean to Royce and I him. Love is love, but when it’s unconditional, it’s for life.
“No way, you suit your name. So, what are you doing here?” India asks, butting out her smoke in the sand. “No offense, but you look a little bit younger than everyone else here too.”
Just as I open my mouth, Orson’s hands are on my shoulder and he’s squeezing roughly. “Duchess, you making friends?”
“She is.” India smirks up at Orson. This is where it happens. They get excited because they see my brothers and then suddenly, I’m back to square one and it’s just me and Sloane. Most girls my age are opportunists. They see my brothers and they decide they like them more than they like me.
India wipes her hand and puts it out to Orson with a friendly smile. “I’m India.”
Orson side-eyes her just as Royce and Storm come up behind him. “Orson.”
They all go through meeting India, and I watch as her eyes flick around, disinterested in any of my brothers. Weird, I thought to myself. Not what usually happens.
Maybe India is different?
The bonfire heats up, just as Royce slips in beside me, his arm hooking around my waist. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck, balancing his red cup in his other hand. “Mmmm, you always smell this good?” His voice is deep, vibrating over my flesh and hitting every nerve on its way out.
“So, you like them a little older?” India raises an eyebrow at the two of us.
“What?” My eyes widen in horror. I shove Royce away from me. He chuckles so loudly his head has to tip back. “No! He’s my brother.”
Confusion flashes over India’s face. “Really?” The corner of her lip curls, not in disgust, but shock.
“Yes, foster brother, but still brother.”
“Foster brother is a synonym for loophole, just sayin’,” Royce teases, flashing his tongue cheekily.
I roll my eyes. “Ignore him, he’s obviously drunk. Or high.”
Royce laughs, just as Annette comes up behind him, her arms hooking around his neck as she leans down.
“And you?” India asks me, cocking her head. “Do you drink or smoke?”
“No,” Royce answers for me, his eyes boring into mine. “She’s too young.”
I grit my teeth. It’s not that I’m not used to his overbearing nature, or that I’m not used to him doing this same shit with me every single time we party, but it’s that every time he does it, it wears on my patience.
“She’s fifteen, not twelve.” India rolls her eyes and before I can argue back to Royce, a red cup is in my hand, alcohol sloshing over the rim, spilling over my hand. “One won’t hurt you, and you know you got it from me, not some shady motherfucker at the bar.”
Royce leans forward to take the cup out of my hands when I pull away from him, eyebrows raised in challenge. “You know, she’s sort of right. I mean, just how much trouble can I really get into when I have all three of my big, overprotective brothers here to scare everyone away?”
“Duchess…” Royce warns, his jaw set.
“Leave her be,” Annette whines, kissing on Royce’s neck. “No one touches her anyway.” She laughs, but Royce whacks her hand away from him.