Beneath His Stars Read online

  “Livingston.” The way he said my name made my mouth fill with saliva. He said it with reverence and filth. His voice was deep and dark with want and deceit. It made me shiver.

  He leaned against the wall in the grand stairwell, all fake nonchalance, effectively blocking me from going to my room. Yes, I knew to some Sebastian was beautiful. But I’d seen first-hand what shadows lurked in the depths of this dark boy’s soul. His soft, long, brown curls and sparkling white smile didn’t deceive me. His playful brown eyes didn’t fool me. I knew what kind of games he wanted to play. The disturbing kind.

  “Where’s Georgina?” I stupidly asked, like she was going to save me. Help me. It was laughable. That woman only thought of one person. Herself.

  A bitter laugh passed his lips. “Who the hell knows.” He lifted a glass to his lips, taking a sip and finally stepping down the stairs toward me like he owned the place. And in a lot of ways he did. “Who cares.”

  I didn’t move. I didn’t back down. I knew from experience the moment I showed weakness he’d be on me like white on rice. It was the fear. He loved it. The predator in him could smell it. He’d roll around in it, wallow in it, and come out the other end smiling like a maniac.

  His fancy loafer tapped against the marble floor in front of me and I stood there still as a statue. He was only a year older than me, but it felt like he was miles taller, infinitely stronger.

  He leaned in, his nose almost in the crook of my neck, and I smelled the expensive brandy Georgina liked to keep in the house on his breath. Bile rose in my throat.

  He breathed deeply like a man starved for air. He was starved for something and it frightened me. It had since the very beginning. I’d always known.

  “Mmmm,” he hummed near the skin of my neck and I froze as his nose made its way to my ear, careful to never touch me. No, Sebastian was as smart as he was creepy. He never touched me. He made sure to never do anything that could come back to bite him in the ass later on. He was sadistically patient. He was waiting on the right time to strike. And he’d been doing it for years, keeping me on my toes, always fearful, always dreading.

  Panicked but trying to hide it as best as I could, I pushed past him, careful to touch him as little as possible, and darted up the stairs to the sanctuary of my room and the safety it still provided for now. He never came there. It was the only space in the house that was mine.

  “You smell good, Livingston. Just how I like you.” His deep voice made me pause on the steps. It slid over me like a thousand dirty hands. I felt sick. He always called me Livingston. Him and the evil stepmonster.

  I felt the right side of my lips curl up in a smile even as I kept my back to him. I straightened my spine and cleared my throat and prepared to hit him where I knew it would hurt. The sick bastard. I would win today.

  “Braden asked me out today.” And I ran up the stairs like a bat out of hell, shooed Harry into my room, and slammed the door behind us as I heard a glass shatter downstairs.

  Yes, my stepbrother, Sebastian Carter West, was good at playing sick games, but Livingston Rose Montgomery was getting better and better at it, too, and it frightened the hell out of me.

  I WAS THIRTEEN THE FIRST time I crossed the bridge on foot from Saint Ashley Island to the mainland. Tonight, I was alone, but back then I hadn’t been. Tonight, I was like a thief, stealing off into the night, but the only thing I took with me were my memories.

  My daddy’s strong hand had enveloped mine as we walked across all those years ago. The smell of old spice in my nose, the tanginess of salt on my lips, the rare car meandering past. It had been a slow walk, almost a stroll. By then, he’d been barely able to walk, but he’d made it across that bridge somehow. He didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. We were as close as two people could be, me and him.

  We often communicated through small smiles, little looks we threw each other. Yeah, we knew each other in and out. Words weren’t too much needed with us. And there were little that night as we walked along the sidewalk on the bridge that separated the mainland from the island. My hand was warm in my daddy’s. I’d never forget it. It would forever be one of those nights that was burned into my mind. Mostly because it was the night my daddy told me he’d be leaving me soon. A part of me had already known, but a bigger part of me had been in denial. He was all I had left. My mother had died giving birth to me. Surely, fate wouldn’t take my daddy, too.

  We’d finished crossing the bridge and entered a huge field to the right side of the road. We’d walked deep into the grassy field until all you could see was the bridge in the distance and the stars in the sky, the ocean far off, but not so far you couldn’t hear its waves. He’d pulled out a blue blanket he’d had tucked underneath his left arm and laid it in the grass.

  Tonight, I laid that same blue blanket down, only instead of lying down next to my daddy with my hand in his, I lay down alone, much like I did most nights I could sneak out here. And I did what he told me to do.

  “Look at the stars, Liv. If you feel alone. If you feel sad. I’ll always be there.” He’d leaned over me, his solemn green eyes pinning me to the ground, holding me together. He laid his hand on my chest. “And here.” He’d thrummed his fingers against my heart and I thought at that moment that maybe my heart would just stop. I had wanted it to. I’d wanted to go with him. I’d even prayed for it in the months that followed.

  “Don’t forget to look up, Liv.”

  Wetness had filled my eyes and run down the sides of my almost-a-woman cheeks. It’s not fair, I’d wanted to yell. How can I lose both my momma and you, I’d wanted to scream. But I hadn’t. For him. I only gave him a sad smile as tears pooled in my small ears and the temples of my brown hair. He’d blown out a relieved breath and lain back against the blanket, clutching my hand in his own and bringing it to rest over his heart. I’d felt it beat against the back of my hand. I breathed in the ocean air and the smell of my daddy in that field underneath the stars. It would be the last time we were alone. The last time we could just be. Before the rush of visitors. The wave of goodbyes. Before the morphine and prayers and endless parade of people and hospice nurses.

  Look at the stars, Liv. If you feel alone. Don’t forget to look up. I was always alone. A stranger in my own skin. Just a girl with a bucket full of dreams and a past full of ghosts. But still, I looked at the stars and I wished. I dared to dream. For my daddy, a dreamer himself. For a man who’d built his life from the ground up. For my momma, for a better life. For love. And I talked to my mother and father as they hid among the stars. I told them of my day, and I prayed they heard. I wished on a shooting star. I prayed for peace. Not for the world, because even at sixteen, I was still wholly selfish. No, I prayed for peace within myself. And strength to go on when it felt like I had no one on my side.

  I didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time my daddy crossed that bridge by car or foot until the day he died.

  I knew it, now. God, I knew it and I hated it.

  So, I came here at night when life became too hard. To my field of dreams and my sky of wishes. I tried not to cry tonight. It hadn’t been so bad. Sebastian had only been his usual self. But it hadn’t been him I was disappointed in. It was myself. It was like I was turning into these people. Becoming malicious and mean. Thoughtless and selfish; vengeful. A calmness only this field could give me settled over me. I felt my daddy here. I could almost imagine him lying next to me.

  I rolled on the blanket until I was on my side, facing away from the island and toward the lights of Madison. My daddy said it wasn’t safe for me there. But it wasn’t safe for me here, either. Madison was beautiful with its old Southern charm, antebellum homes, and Spanish moss. But not this side. This was the north side and it kept me chained to this island and this field like a prisoner to jail. I was too scared. I wasn’t brave or heroic. I’d been sheltered from that bad. Maybe because my life had already suffered too much bad. I was still a kid with a healthy dose of fear her father had instilled in
her as soon as he’d brought me there.

  Still, I’d adventured over that way some and I knew if I crept closer to the north side of that field, cigarettes, broken bottles, and old condom wrappers littered it. I’d always turned around and headed back to my blue blanket and dreams. Because I knew what lay on the other side of that bridge and field in North Madison.

  I’d seen it enough on days my daddy had taken me out. We’d crossed the bridge from the safety of our luxury car and I’d pressed my face to the window every time, barely understanding what I was seeing. It was like some weird dream, leaving the beautiful island of Saint Ashley and two minutes later entering what could only be described as the ghetto where homelessness, prostitution, and drugs were rampant. The demographic divides in Madison were staggering, even to my young eyes. Even I knew it was wrong. It was like Madison had two classes. The really rich and the really poor.

  I told myself, I’d get out one day and I’d make a difference. I could do a lot with the money my father left me. I wouldn’t sit on that island for the rest of my life and live blissfully unaware of what was going on around the world. I could change things. I could help.

  Days like today made me think I couldn’t, but I knew different. I felt stuck today. The confrontation with Sebastian sat heavily on me. I was tired of it. Just done. I turned back to the sky and crossed my legs at the ankle and closed my eyes. It was weird. How I felt safer in this open field under the stars than I did at my home.

  A rustle of grass and the snap of what sounded like a twig drew my attention and I sat up quickly, looking around. Most nights I brought my big goofy golden retriever for the little protection he offered me. He was sweet and wouldn’t hurt a fly, but at least he looked somewhat intimidating. But tonight, I’d been very cautious not to wake Sebastian, so I’d left him at home.

  I was usually vigilant. I knew from experience I wasn’t the only one who came out here, but I knew the bridge side of the field was safer. Clearly, tonight I hadn’t been as safe. I hadn’t been as watchful. Because three men who looked to be a couple of years older than me surrounded my blue blanket and blacked out my stars with their height. Every hair on my body stood on end as panic filled my chest.

  “Damn, boys, look what we have here,” the tall one with dark hair said as he stood in front of me. His dirty jeans and faded black T-shirt told me which side of the bridge he was from and I felt a healthy dose of fear.

  I had good enough sense to scramble back on the blanket and try to stand, but the ringleader who’d spoken before was lightning fast and dropped into a squat beside me. I pulled at the hem of the white summer dress at my ankles, making sure every inch of me was covered.

  He placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “Nah, baby. You’re good. You don’t need to get up on our account.” His greasy brown eyes moved from my face and down over my body. His hand moved from my shoulder to my ankle and my whole body stiffened at the contact, but I tried my best to put on a brave front.

  “Come on, man. Leave her alone.” My eyes left my ankle and darted to the man behind greasy guy. The tall blond behind him ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s go.” He looked at the man standing beside him for help and my eyes shot to his, too, hoping for something. Only there didn’t seem like there’d be any help there.

  The guy was staring at me. Not in the way Sebastian did, but in a way like he was trying to figure me out. Like he was studying me. I swallowed hard as I took in his icy blue eyes almost hidden behind his long black bangs. But no, it wasn’t those eyes that made me pause. That kicked up my pulse. He was covered in tattoos. They didn’t just peek out of the sleeves of his shirt. No, this man wore his tattoos like clothes. They blanketed his arms and came out of the top of his shirt and onto his neck. He intimidated me. Maybe it was the tattoos. Maybe it was the chilly blue eyes or maybe it was that he wasn’t smiling and didn’t look at all like he was going to help me. No, he looked like he wanted to unwrap me and study all my parts. The intensity was blistering, his stare unwavering.

  I was fucked. And I didn’t use fuck lightly. I’d never actually had someone approach me out here. Had I seen people before who frightened me? Yes. But I’d always left before they’d made contact. I’d always gotten the hell out of there. Never had I been cornered and definitely not by three men, two of which looked like they could eat me alive in one big bite. I swallowed a golf ball size lump of fear.

  I weighed my options on that blanket. I’d get up and leave. I’d run. They might catch me, but I was long and fast. Although, the flip-flops on my feet might slow me down. I’d ditch them. I’d run. I’d fight, even if my fear made me stumble.

  The guy crouched down next to me smirked. “What are you doing all alone out here, baby?” He looked toward Saint Ashley before darting his eyes back to mine. “You’re from the island, right? You out slumming it tonight?” His fingers skirted up my ankle and to the sensitive skin behind my knee. Fear climbed up my throat. I jerked back, frightened and pissed off, my pulse jumping in my throat so hard I could feel it all over me, all inside of me.

  “Come on, Boone. Let’s get out of here,” the blond guy pleaded and pulled on the sleeve of Boone’s shirt. All the while, tattoo guy stared at me, his piercing eyes seeming to see right through me to the other side of the field. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to kick me or taste me. It was unnerving.

  I couldn’t believe this. How many times a day could a girl get accosted? I’d come out here for a break. My eyes met the blond’s and I mentally pleaded with him. Jesus, even my field under the stars wasn’t safe anymore. I felt so helpless. I tried to stand up, but the man they called Boone only brought his hand around my knee and pushed down, keeping me seated. Fear hit my skin like ice and tears invaded my eyes. I was truly screwed. I was going to be raped and possibly killed in my daddy’s field. I’d be a statistic. I’d be another stupid girl, who made a dumb decision and became a number.

  I met the tattooed guy’s blue eyes again and they drifted down to the spot where Boone had his hand on my knee. His eyes focused on Boone’s hand and they froze there, chilling me to the bone.

  I pressed my eyes closed, praying for someone, something, anything really.

  “That’s enough.”

  My lids shot open and my eyes once again hit blue orbs.

  I noticed all eyes were on him now. It was stated so plainly, so unexpectedly, so brutally, that we all just watched and waited.

  “Now,” he finished succinctly, his pink lips curling around the word slowly, adamantly. It was a command. An order. Definitely not a request. His firm voice like a thunderclap in the middle of the quiet field, his face unreadable.

  Boone rolled his eyes and blew out a breath, his hand dropping from my leg. “Fine. Let’s go. She’s probably a fucking virgin, anyway.” He stood up quickly and brushed off his pants, like he hadn’t just scared the shit out of me and acted like an animal. I looked at the man with the tattoos, my eyes trying to tell him how thankful I was, but he only stared at me. His blue eyes bored. His face blank.

  He turned and headed back to the north side of Madison, not even sparing me another glance, the blond scampering behind him, throwing apologetic looks over his shoulder.

  It was Boone who left last with the parting words, his slippery gaze sliding over my body once more. “Better be careful out here by yourself at night, baby. It’s dangerous, ya know?”

  It was a threat, but it felt like a promise. I did know. And now I knew even more. Nowhere was safe.

  THE STING OF THE NEEDLE felt good. Too good. I shivered as Raven pressed the ink into my skin at the base of my neck. I was particularly sensitive there. Some might believe that’s why I came here. Because I liked the pain. Because maybe I got off on it, but that wasn’t the truth. The truth was my tattoos were the perfect disguise. I hid behind the pieces of art that covered my body. Every color, every picture was a story that hid mine. And I liked it like that. When people looked at me, they didn’t see me. They saw my ink. They didn’t want to t
alk to me. They didn’t want to know me. I loved it. I hated it.

  “Almost done here.” Raven smiled down at me from behind her pierced nose and shaggy black hair. We’d been friends since grade school and she’d been practicing her craft on me for as long as I could remember. I’d been the perfect blank canvas in high school and now at the age of nineteen my torso and arms and most of my neck were almost completely covered. Hidden. Just how I liked it.

  “Take your time.” I didn’t have anywhere to be. It was one of my rare days off from work. Another place I could hide. And I didn’t feel like roaming the streets with Boone and Grady, getting into God knows fucking what with them. There wasn’t really much else do to on this side of Madison, South Carolina. I was nineteen, poor as sin like the rest of this side of the city. Barely scraping by on the minimal wages of my part-time job and trying my damnedest to put myself through school at the local technical college. The only thing I had going for me was Raven and the free tattoos she gave me.

  Raven was my saving grace in a lot of ways. We’d been together since elementary school. She’d sat next to me in kindergarten and that had been all she wrote. We were two socially awkward kids who bonded over our awkwardness. We’d never dated. It was always out of the question, mostly because Raven was a lesbian and I was, well, an asshole. She knew all my secrets. All of my fears and insecurities. And while she looked like a total badass with her black hair, nose piercing, and abundance of tattoos, she was still the kindest, most understanding person in my life.

  “Not working today?” she asked over the buzz of the tattoo gun, her eyes never leaving the tattoo needle.

  “Nah.”