Genevieve
I FEEL OUT OF PLACE.
Staying overnight at a house with six guys is, quite frankly, intimidating. I've stayed over before but that was back when we were hiding our relationship while it was in the early stages and now it's out in the open and even my best friends are aware, Harris has asked me to stay the night. I couldn't say no to him, even if I do foster some reservations considering my presence will now be known.
Harris is utterly charming, especially at the best of times. And he's distinctly aware of my weaknesses. Maybe it's the fact that I was drowning in delirium when he asked me because his lips were tickling my neck, his breath hot and tantalising with each word uttered. He promised more if I agreed, and my body surrendered to his.
Now it's the next morning following our date at Moonshine where we spotted Ford Brody and his date—I only know her as Gabriella; I'm unaware of her surname. Harris claims early this morning he has some business to attend to... whatever that translates to. He always alleges that his business is private, and I never desire to pry, but the secrecy is starting to bug me. I won't outright announce my concerns to him, but I hope that one day soon he can confide in me.
Sitting on the edge of Harris' queen-size bed, I glance down at my hands situated idly in my lap. My fingers on my left hand are speckled with small and faint tattoos. They're only partially intricate, and the designs consist of a compass, a small rose, a crescent moon, an arrow, and a lightning bolt, to name a few, with additional dots surrounding some of them and shading. It was my eighteenth birthday present from my parents. I was clueless as to what else I wanted, so my parents handed me the money and I went and got the tattoos done the next day. Even two years later I'm still in love with them.
My stomach rumbles—a reminder that I'm supposed to be hiding out in Harris' room until he returns, but I'm so fucking hungry that I'm willing to risk running into one of his friends I barely know just to grab a snack downstairs. We'd skipped out on breakfast and now I'm paying the price.
The house is enormous with seven bedrooms, though one is seldom used considering there are only six guys residing in the excessive mansion. I've been sneaking in and out of it for over a month now which is how long we've been dating. We'd had some close shaves—and laughed about them afterwards, caught up in the adrenaline-fuelled thrill of being caught—but ultimately, we'd never been found out.
After an internal quarrel, I sigh and push myself up from the bed. Poking my head through a crack in the door, I confirm there's no one nearby before traversing the corridor and beginning to descend the stairs. It's only when I reach the ground floor when voices begin to filter from what I can only suspect is the dining room. The lounge is empty as I pass through it and the voices stretch further from the kitchen. I only know the dining room to be in that area, though how often six twenty-one-year-olds sit down at a dinner table, I don't fucking know.
My footsteps become featherlight until I stumble, unsure of whether to continue into the kitchen and be in their line of sight from the dining room. In the end, I halt there, unintentionally licensing myself to eavesdrop into what I can only suspect is supposed to be a private discussion.
"William, this isn't just nothing. This is an absolute clusterfuck," Ford says, rage lacing his words.
"They won't do anything," someone responds, and I assumed that it's William.
"They could have been the ones who got to Iesha."
The name Iesha rings a bell, but I frown as I fail to pinpoint why it seems so familiar to me. While my memories fog, something is being stirred up in my mind, though it's vague and still doesn't answer my query of the identity of Iesha.
"Ford's right, William," another interrupts. I marry up that voice to Jax—one of the only ones who initially spoke up when Harris officially introduced me to the group. I can still recall the tentativeness and unease of both his expression and words, even if I fail to explain why.
Truthfully, I knew none of the guys until my relationship with Harris was broadcasted to them, with the exception of Ford Brody. They're all a year older than me and never take any notice of me during high school or college—prior to Harris—but Ford's different. He used to be my neighbour before he relocated to this mansion, and our bedrooms faced one another.
"Ford's got a girl, Jeremiah's still got his, and now Harris has Genevieve. You've just risked all their lives because of your fucking idiocy," Jax adds, his tone beginning to mirror Ford's.
Unease festers in my stomach at the mention of my name in attribution to a threat to my life. Harris, potentially for good reason, has never specified much of what he does outside of college, but I know it has to be something quite lavish considering him and his five best friends all reside together in a house akin to a mansion, though the décor leaves much to be desired. Whatever it is, it implicates all six of them, and not just Harris.
And now I'm unknowingly weaved into the chaos too.
It's in that moment when I abruptly remember why the name Iesha is so familiar to me. One of my best friends, Talia O'Neil, mentioned that a girl had been bashing her skull against a wall at college the other day. She seemed so out of it like she was high or something. The sight, according to Talia, was beyond gruesome as she had a large dent on her forehead from the incessant force of impact.
The next day, her death had been plastered all over the news, but following from that, it all seems... hushed up, honestly. There's something suspicious about her death. But she was involved with Jax? Does that mean Harris knows more than he's letting on?
Inundated with questions, I frown, waves of nausea rolling over me and overwhelming the hunger I previously experienced. As much as I want nothing more than to hide out back in Harris' room and not hear something that I shouldn't, I can't deny the incandescent inquisitiveness that my body's drowning in.
"They won't do anything." William's tone takes on a jarring edge as though the entire conversation agitates him. "They're not Red Alert. They have no fucking hold over me."
My body stills.
Red Alert are notorious around Westville. Everyone knows of them and most fear the cult that dominates everyone and everything inside Westville. Even the security system that's implemented on every single fucking computer device and cell phone is West Point, which is rumoured to be designed and maintained by a member, as well as it being hackable by intentional exploits being left vulnerable—whatever the fuck that means in coding language, considering I'm clueless on the entire topic.
The entire establishment and history of Red Alert is something to be fearful of. Members often keep their membership private unless you are the right kind of person to instigate an alliance with, so you never know when you're walking past one in the street or your co-worker has some illegal side activities.
Those who suddenly die or go missing?
Red Alert has some hefty involvement, even if it can never get substantiated or publicised.
"Harris won't be bothered," William adds snottily.
What does Harris have to do with any of this? I muse sickeningly. God, how much do I actually know about my boyfriend? Because blatantly, it isn't much.
"Harris can suck my motherfucking dick," Ford hisses furiously, his voice low and thick.
Jax chuckles.
"What part of this are you not comprehending?" Ford continues, ignoring Jax. "You are messing with plans Jax has set out and has leads on investigating into what happened to Iesha. These people might be fucking dangerous and if we're not careful, they can capitalise on the element of surprise. And then, where are we?"
"Shut the fuck up, Ford. Don't cry over spilt juice."
"Milk. Cry over spilt milk, you asshole."
"Get the fuck out, William," Jax interjects. "Fuck sake."
Only realizing a beat too late what's imminently about to transpire, I staggeringly jump behind the wall to the kitchen archway. William saunters past me a second later, somehow astonishingly not noticing the blur of movement flying across in front of view until he disappears. With the blood pumping in my ears, I wait until the murmur of voices subside and then Jax stalks past me, my body attempting to flatten against the wall again.
Neither of them register that I'm hiding behind the corner.
Hoping to regulate my heartbeat again, I persist for a few more moments, but Ford doesn't pursue in their actions. Peeling myself from the wall, I decide to bite the bullet and amble cautiously into the kitchen, hoping I can hastily grab a snack and depart before it will provide Ford with the chance to engage with me. He's potentially the most terrorising of the group with his silent glowering. The others are more spoken, whereas Ford is concealing his demons... whatever they are that latch onto his bones.
As I tug gently on the fridge to grab a drink, I wince as the unlatching noise fills the kitchen and therefore broadens into the dining room. The verification is cemented when footsteps begin to approach slowly, my body hunching as I scoop up a bottle of water. With my stomach churning, I turn around slowly to find my gaze connecting with Ford's. He seems blasé with the way he's leaning against a kitchen counter, the hard muscles of his chest rippling through his tight black T-shirt he's matched with ripped jeans and boots. A lethal combination, frankly.
The condensation of the water bottle skids over my fingers, soaking the ink of my left hand as my gaze slopes to the tattoos he has freckling his exposed arms. The sleeves cling to his biceps, but I amputate my gaze to check out the black rose, skull and sword, and compass, before catching sight of the ink on the back of his neck, though its entire design is undistinguishable from my angle.
"Some would believe you were eavesdropping, Genevieve," Ford speaks, shattering the tense silence that has dwelt to encompass us. "Maybe you should keep your nose out of other people's business."
"What's your problem?" I ask, somehow losing my patience much quicker with Ford than I would with anybody else. My hand grips the slippery water bottle.
"My problem is with other people, as you so distinctly heard," he retorts, gaze piercing into mine. "And my problem is also with your fucking boyfriend who can't seem to care enough about things."
Harris has confessed a thing or two regarding Ford to me, and I'm acutely aware of their hatred towards each other. Harris never has a good thing to say about Ford, despite his champion boxer status, and I can only assume the same applies likewise. Maybe that's something else I will have to discover through my blossoming relationship with Harris, though I know I have to query a few unsettling questions with him concerning what I heard of the heated and private discussion I just eavesdropped into.
"Do you not like Harris or something?" I ask, trepidation sinking into my body.
Ford Brody is intimidating as hell. Not only is he a champion boxer and notorious for his ceaseless knockouts in the ring around Westville, but there's something else I can't quite pinpoint. I've only ever caught fleeting glances of him in the corridors during high school or college considering he's a year older than me and has no reason to ever converse with me—not that I care. Honestly, until Harris first started pursing me, I never cared about him or his friendship group.
I know we were neighbours. Despite the large expanses of gardens our families both have, I could always view him clearly from our bedrooms. In my mind I always knew it was creepy the way I've spotted him more often than not just sat on his bed facing his window, doing absolutely nothing, gaze focused intently on me. Other times he'd be stationed at his desk, but it was the same thing: he would just be staring at me.
It makes me more aware of utilising my curtains. I've also learnt long ago not to parade around my room clad in little to no clothing because of his hawk-like observing. Sadly, sometimes I don't always spot him in his room, and I would painstakingly deem the situation safe enough to cross the room in just my underwear or something. It's difficult to spot him without his bedroom light on, illuminating him distinctly. And I didn't want to stoop to his level of spying.
There's something... disturbing about Ford Brody. His reputation and the rumours involving him proceed him. Behind his eyes, there's nothing. Disturbing, but he's an enigma, indeed.
"No one fucking likes Harris," he says, his tone brimming with distaste. "You shouldn't either."
I bristle, the defensive nature of me surfacing. I cross my arms over my chest, disguising my hands clenching into small fists with the bottle squeaking from my vehemence. "There's nothing wrong with Harris."
Truthfully, I'm beginning to see the cracks in his armour that initially charmed me. The affection is there, but it's in his words and his tone. It's seldom—every so often. Not frequently enough for it to be jarring, but just enough that it continues to catch me off guard. But I really like him, and when we were in the talking stages—messaging constantly and sneaking around—he managed to evoke the teenage-like butterflies and skin flushes.
Ford scoffs, his features coiling into a fierce scowl. "Everything's fucking wrong with Harris."
"What's your fucking problem?"
He shakes his head, a flinch of a smirk tugging at his lips, though I'm unsure what expression he's supposed to be exhibiting. I've known of him since I was seven and attended the same high school and college as him, but seldom do I ever observe him in a corridor with a smile marring his face. Like I said, he's an enigma.
"Somethings are beyond the scope of your knowledge."
My chin rises defiantly, though Ford doesn't seem to notice. In actuality, he's barely laid eyes on me during the entire conversation—my first interaction with him and he's a royal asshole. What the fuck is wrong with him? Does he not like me as well as Harris? He doesn't even fucking know me. Indignant, I simply continue to latch my eyes onto him, anxious to bait him from whatever compulsion he has over himself to not meet my gaze.
Why is he even living with Harris if he hates the guy so much?
My eyes survey Ford briefly as silence lapses again. He dons a silver necklace of some kind, though whatever ornament hangs off it is tucked under his t-shirt. But he wears a plain black ring on his middle finger on his right hand and a silver bracelet around his left wrist. I swear it's Cartier, but from the distance I can't determine exactly if my assumption is correct. Diamond studs—I wonder if they're real diamonds—adorn both his ears. Given he's wearing Cartier, they're probably real diamonds.
Staggeringly, it's Ford who shatters the silence first. "Harris has a lot of secrets. Many of which would make your skin crawl, Genevieve. Secrets bond people, even if you hate the motherfucking guts of them. Don't pretend like you know every aspect of his life when I do. You've known him a couple of months at most; I've known him my entire life."
Before I have chance to respond, though I'm uncertain what words would have tumbled from my ajar lips, footsteps begin to approach the kitchen and I turn around to see Jax stumbling to a halt in the archway, his stare flickering between Ford and I. Whatever he had been so focused on saying—the determination is reflected in his hardened expression—is abruptly lost as bewilderment devours him. When he manages to compose himself, he nods respectfully at me and turns his attention to Ford.
"Hawk?" Ford prompts.awk
Jax nods, tugging his lip ring fleetingly between his teeth, his nervousness displayed. "He's getting in touch with some guys. He'll let me know what happens when they guys get back to him. He said it might take a few days."
Glimpsing over my shoulder, Ford's eyes immediately connect with mine. Eyes piercing mine, he nods wordlessly to Jax's announcement, and footsteps begin to recede. Fracturing the lock our eyes first, I turn my attention to Harris who is already leaning against the archway, startling me as a flush creeps guiltily across my cheeks. When did he get here?
Harris seems to beam at me, but in his typical style with a smirk. A perpetual smirk ceaselessly seems to be curved at his lips, though I find the smirk heartachingly attractive. He runs his hand over his blonde hair that somewhat mirrors the style of Ford's, though it's much longer at the sides and not as close-cropped, meanwhile Ford leaves his hair on the top shaggy for his fingers to run through and style.
Harris steps away from the archway and closer to us, donning a light grey hoodie with a crest on the left breast that's faded almost entirely. He knows I like to wear that hoodie when I'm cold.
"It's heart-warming to watch my girlfriend and one of my best friends get on so well," he declares sarcastically. "The animosity in here is practically the same as the potent stench of death."
Sometimes, Harris can utter some... worrying things. That's another crack in his armour. It's a rarity as well, but enough that I have a mountain of growing concern for him and the way his brain's programmed. He doesn't think in the same way my parents do, for example. Actually, he doesn't speak the way even my best friends do or anyone else I know.
In my peripheral vision, I distinctly see Ford roll his eyes, inclining his head away from us before witnessing the scene playing out in front of him. Harris steps up beside me, slinging his arm around my shoulder quite possessively as he tugs me close against his body. Does he feel threatened around Ford? There's absolutely no way he isn't aware that we're neighbours, considering occasionally Ford does spend the night back at his parents' house and he explicitly states that he knows Harris better than I do, so it must apply vice versa.
"I'vejust heard an interesting little fact," Harris pipes up, seemingly oblivious tothe tension that trickles between Ford and I. "Ford has a boxing match coming up. You should be my date, Gen," he proposes, shooting me such a shit-eating grin that I wonder whether it's wholly sincere or not.
I sneak a glance at Ford who's clenching his jaw irately, rolling his eyes, cheeks pinked ever so slightly. "You should," he bites out through gritted teeth.
"You'll have to tell me the details," I mumble to an ecstatic Harris.
"Fantastic." He leans in quickly to press a kiss against my forehead before drawing away and turning back to Ford who's eyeing us intently. "Anyway, Jax messaged me. Something about William causing a clusterfuck, I think were his exact words."
Ford rolls his eyes. "He's upstairs. Go see if you can talk some sense into him."
Harris sighs, straightening his spine and retracting his arm from my shoulders. He kisses me again on the cheek, though this time slower, and murmurs, "I'll meet you in my room after I'm done with William."
"Okay."
Harris doesn't spare Ford another glimpse as he ambles out of the kitchen, leaving Ford and I alone again.
With the water bottle still being clutched securely in my now-soaked hand, I tilt my head to Ford. His eyes seem latched onto the counter in front of him as he widens his stance slightly. Knowing Harris will definitely favour me being kept out of the loop, I decide there's nothing to lose by stooping to a low level and interrogating Ford regarding what I've overheard.
"What's going on?" I ask, more out of crippling desperation to ensure that Harris' safety isn't compromised in some way. And of course, my name was mentioned in accordance to whatever the fuck's transpiring that has both Jax and Ford so riled up. "You said I could be in danger—and Harris."
Jaw clenching, Ford pushes himself off the counter and strides to me, determination flooding each stride he takes. As he nears me, my body involuntarily coils in on itself, intimidated by both his presence and stature.
Expressionlessly, he steps beside me, his inked arm grazing my bare one. He leans down to me, his intensely crystal eyes piercing mine. Even from this proximity—how striking they are—they seem to be completely empty behind them.
"Nothing to worry your pretty little head about," he mutters condescendingly.
Then he simply struts away.
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Author's Note:
Finally the first proper interaction between them!!! And lots more to come, but what did you think of their interaction?? Genevieve's not liking Ford lmao. But any predictions how you think they'll cross paths again??? :))))))
And thank you so so so much for over 500 reads already!! Hope you guys are enjoying the story so far!! It's kinda a slow start, but things are gonna be hitting hard soon enough :))) So make sure you all stay tuned for that!! :))))
Thank you :) x