Stupid bastard.

I dropped my scissors on the table with a clunk and wiped my hands on a towel next to the bowl. “Excuse me. I’m just going to go get cleaned up.”

“Okay, honey,” Mrs. Bennet said with a smile. “Come on, Lucas.” She threaded her arm in his and towed him toward the door. “Come get settled in.”

“Oh, I will,” he said to his mother, though he was looking at me with that outrageous smile of his tilting his lips. “I’m in for the long haul. So don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

3

The Brood

LUKE

Mom hadn’t stopped talking, but I didn’t hear a word she’d said.

I hummed like an engine, my skin sparked with electricity, and every thought in my head was of Tess Monroe.

I remembered her as a sixteen-year-old kid with eyes too big for her face and hair like a shiny penny. We met here at the shop, though we lived a block away from each other, the Bennets went to private school, and Ivy and Tess went to the local public school. Once upon a time, we had been friends—summers spent working together in the shop, pizza and video games at her place, sneaking into the greenhouse after hours with booze my sister had bought for us. The occasional rabble-rousing with Ivy, Tess on our heels, hissing warnings that we’d get in trouble.

And though I was a shameless flirt, it never went anywhere with Tess. But somewhere along the way, something changed. I always chalked it up to the loss of her mom since the events happened within a few weeks of each other. After that, Tess locked it down like Fort Knox, complete with an armored guard and automatic weapons.

Didn’t stop me from trying though my efforts seemed to piss her off even more.

Mostly, I exercised my impulses on Ivy, who in turn exercised hers on me. We were never a thing, not really. Friends, sure. Hookups? Absolutely. But never anything more. I hadn’t seen her in five years.

Tess either, and my, what a pleasant surprise that had turned out to be.

I’d always been averse to the word no—respectfully, of course. With Tess, it was more of an itch I couldn’t stop scratching. I wanted her to like me. I wanted her to want me. I could count the people who didn’t like me on two hands, and Tess occupied the right hand, index finger.

And that was something I decided to rectify.

As the youngest of five, I’d learned early how to get my way, a skill that proven useful in life and lust. Not so much in love. In that department, I’d failed miserably.

Sadly, I seemed to be the only one who was surprised.

I pushed open the door, chiming the bell to mark our exit from the store, and around the sidewalk we went, to the grand stoop next to the shop that marked the Bennet family home.