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This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the
author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Vicious Boys copyright @ 2020 by Nora Cobb and Scholae Palatina Inc. All rights reserved. No part
of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except
in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

BOOKS IN THE ELITES OF REDWOOD ACADEMY

CRUEL BOYS

BRUTAL BOYS

SAVAGE BOYS

VICIOUS BOYS

WICKED BOYS

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that takes place a couple of years before.

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her billionaire uncle and enrolls in the prestigious Montlake Prep Academy to finish her senior year
of high school.

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must both learn the unspoken code of the student body, and navigate through Montlake’s halls ruled by
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
VICIOUS BOYS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
BOOKS IN THE ELITES OF REDWOOD ACADEMY SERIES

OTHER BOOKS BY NORA COBB

VICIOUS BOYS
 Chapter One
Vicki

My hands are shaking as I stare down at my fingers, trembling with fear. I have to breathe from my
mouth as my chest rises up and down. Gasping, I take in gulps of air as my shoulders begin to shake.
Why did my mother have to come here? She’s never given a fuck about me. I close my eyes and try to
steady my body, but I can’t. My knees feel weak as I hold onto a stool. My hair swings down into my
face as I wobble. Great, I’m going to fall to the floor and crack open my head. I grab hold of the
kitchen island and take in slower breaths, just like Jagan does before senior meeting.

My hands grip the counter tightly. I flip off the fear and switch on anger. Fuck her. Fuck her for making
me feel this way.

My head hung down, I rock back and forth until I’m calmer and can think straight. Dad will be back,
and he’ll tell Maya to go back to hell where she belongs. She can’t do this to me. She can’t threaten to
control me. How dare she threaten me? I grab my phone and tap Dad’s number.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he answers after a few rings, and the ambient sounds of the highway are in the
background. “What’s up?”

“Maya was here…” I inhale, then finish the sentence, “At the house.”

There’s a long pause. “She left, right?”

“Yes.” I wipe my nose on the back of my hand. “She came into the house with her friend.”

Dad scoffs. “She’s not remarrying as long as I’m paying for her to remain single. I just have to tie up a
few loose ends and I’ll be back before dark.”

I just wanted to hear his voice. “No, Dad, I’m okay now. I don’t want to spoil your weekend. I just
wanted to tell you about Mom.”

“I have to finish up a couple of things here,” he continues, “And then I’ll be home in a few hours.”

I sit on the kitchen couch and lay my head down on the throw pillow. The thick canvas presses into
my forehead, and the firm pressure calms me. It helps center me and remind me that I’m here at home.
And home will always be wherever Dad is.

“I’ll be okay,” I whisper.

There’s a long pause. “I’ll call your mother. Lock the door, and call me if she comes back. Don’t open
the door.”

I lift my head up and swallow down a thick lump of mucus. “I won’t.”

Dad reassures me one more time before we end the call. I pull the fuzzy throw on the back of the
couch around me. I’m still shaking, but not as bad. I’m kidding myself. I’m fucking terrified of that
bitch.

Sighing, I pull my hand through my messy hair and curl up into a ball. I’m too tired to keep crying, so I
lie there, staring at nothing while my mind works hard to make sense of this shit. I think back to the
moment when I fucked Redwood up. Maybe things would’ve been different if I hadn’t tried to run
against Silas in the student election. If I hadn’t made trouble on my first day.

After a while, the throw is too hot, and I toss it off me. I get up and walk over to the kitchen cabinet
for an aspirin. I can’t tell if my head is warm or if it’s hot from being under the cover. The doorbell
rings, and I freeze to the spot and wait. It rings again, and I hesitate. I should just run upstairs to my
room and hide in bed until she rides off on her broom. When the bell rings again, my curiosity lures
me to the door. I just want to look, but I won’t open it.

Dom is standing on the front steps with his back to the door. He stares out at the view with his hands
in his pockets, and his broad back stretches the print on his old graphic T-shirt. His dirty blond hair
shines with streaks of platinum, reflecting the midday sun. Maybe I shouldn’t open the door, but I do.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is gravelly, like I just woke up.

“Nice greeting,” Dom replies stiffly. “What do you say to people you hate?”

“How do you know I don’t hate you?” I sass back as the fear melts off me. Truth is, I’m relieved to
see Dom standing there like a lone crusader, but he still fucked up. His face falls, and I feel a little
guilty. We were friends—more than that, the way things were headed.

I waver then step aside, letting him in the front door.

“Nice house,” he says, gazing up at the cathedral ceilings.

“You’ve never been inside before?” I ask, trying to remember.

“Nope,” he replies, “It looks small on the outside, but it’s pretty big.”

Dad left a grocery list for the delivery service on the side table, and Dom fingers the edge of the
paper while reading it. Intently, he stares at the writing as if it contains a secret message for him. He
pushes it aside then turns to look around the hallway, which opens up onto the living room.

“It goes all the way back,” I reply, “but I’m not giving you a tour.” He doesn’t need to snoop around
my dad’s stuff.

Dom sighs. “Look, I came by to apologize again. Vicki, I’m really sorry about what happened at my
dad’s house. I wouldn’t put you or Luna in danger on purpose.”
I cut him off. “You know that your dad is a shitty person.”

He winces as if I’d slapped him with the truth. I was being kind. His father is an evil, deranged, sick
fuck. Dom has to already know that, or he wouldn’t be here looking for forgiveness. His voice is soft.
“I know, Vicki. I know he’s a psycho dick. But I’ve got to deal with his shit because we’re related.”

“I get that,” I mumble, turning away to avoid his gaze. But forgiveness is earned, and he doesn’t look
sorry enough. “Of course you do,” I continue, “but I hate to see that sickness become a part of you.
Things like that creep up on you until one day, you’re doing something bad, and you don’t even realize
it’s fucked. I mean, the first time I did drugs, I felt good, and nothing horrible happened, so the next
time, it was easier to ignore that little voice telling me it was a bad move.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too.” Dom shifts nervously as I speak the truth. “I just wanted to
apologize.” He sighs, looking at the shut front door. “I’m going to head out.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so straight. My shoulders tremble as I think about being alone in the
house. What if Maya comes back? I reach out and grab hold of his arm. “Would you mind staying?” I
ask. “I’m not sure when my dad’s coming back.”

Dom looks surprised, and the stiffness eases off his face. He watches me closely, as if he’s not sure if
he should stay. Dom shrugs his shoulder as if he’ll tolerate my changeable mood. I feel the need to
explain and validate my flipping behavior.

“My mother was here earlier, reminding me just how shitty our relationship is. She’s my Mel.” I
scoff, “Her name is Maya. Both start with the letter M.”

Dom turns and faces me with a soft smile. He gets it. “Maybe it’s a sign,” he says, “Don’t trust people
with names that start with M.”

I walk toward the kitchen doorway, but he stays where he is. “You want something to drink?”

His shoulders relax. “Okay, you have some green tea?”

I nod. “Is Jagan rubbing off on you too?”

Dom’s expression lifts as his mouth widens into a smile. “The MF’er has got me hooked on it.” He
walks over to the living room couch and sits down, stretching his limbs out like guys do.

I go into the kitchen to make tea and return with a tray—two mugs and some Oreos on a saucer. After
a lifetime of being chased out of fancy rooms by my mother, I rarely sit in the living room, and its
prissy look is long gone. Dad decorated the room with old-as-hell antiques from estate auctions up
north. Brand-new, mass-produced couches, covered with hip print cushions that hide satins, line two
of the walls, and the oak table doesn’t show marks if you place your feet on it.

Dom’s found the remote and looks pretty comfortable flipping through the selections. I place the tea
down on the table, and he looks up at me. “Sometimes I just watch the trailers,” he explains.

Sitting down near him, I laugh. “I do the same thing.” I pass him a mug and a paper napkin.

“I know we haven’t been getting along,” I say quietly, “But if you had to pick a day to come over, this
was the best day.”

Dom leans in toward me, and I don’t move. I hold myself still as the back of his hand brushes the
underside of my chin. “Vicki, I really am sorry.” His eyes widen as he suddenly pulls his hand away
from me. “You’re shaking.” He sits back as far as he can, not touching me.

I take my mug in my hands and let the heat burn my skin until I can barely stand the scalding heat
inside the mug. Let it give my body some other pain to focus on. “My mother scares me,” I whisper.

Dom’s hard gaze catches on my eyes, and I have to look away. I want to tell him how badly his father
could destroy him if the man hasn’t already. I swallow hard, but I’m probably too late.

“My mother is a control freak,” I say softly, and force myself to keep my gaze on his unblinking eyes.
“So when she married Dad and all of his money, she felt…inadequate. A control freak with nothing
she could control. Well, her own insecurity about being an equal partner in the relationship ate away
at her, and she started lashing out at anyone that she saw as a threat. Before my older brother was
born, Dad had an intern, Lucy. She was young, kind, but most importantly, pretty. My mother was
convinced that Lucy was going to be the second Mrs. Saunders, to the point that my mother did a
really shitty thing. Dad had a petty cash account that Lucy had access to. There was a lot of money in
it—enough that when it all went missing, it was noticed immediately. My mother had waited until the
day Lucy went on vacation to empty the account. She framed her.”

He places down his mug and stares, horrified at what I’m telling him. “Was Lucy fired?” he asks.

“Worse,” I reply. “Arrested. Her parents posted bail and even hired a lawyer to defend her from the
charges my mother pressed. They couldn’t afford it. Lucy tried to contact Dad, but the damage was
already done. It made the news. Dad felt so terrible about it and guilty, even though he hadn’t done
anything wrong. The only thing he could do was find Lucy another job out in the Midwest. After that,
Dad didn’t want Maya anywhere near his workplace anymore, so he suggested they start a family.”

“Holy shit, that’s fucked.” Dom sits back and looks away. “I’ve seen some shit, but that’s low.”

For a moment, I consider stopping, but I’ll never feel comfortable sharing tales of my fucked-up home
life again. “Drugs kept me sane in a way. It’s easy to ignore what’s going on around you when you’re
high. It worked until I lost control. Of course, my mother found out.” I pause and push a deep breath
out of my mouth. “I was never her daughter. I was her project. So was my brother Troy. But I was
fucking it up. Having free will was fucking Victoria up for mommy dearest.” I stare at my trembling
hand. “I wish I had a fucking joint right now.”

“Isn’t that the gateway drug?” he asks.

I look at him sharply until that grin twitches the corner of his lips.

“You’re such a fucker,” I tease with a smile. I needed that.

Dom shifts his body over, so we’re sitting closer. “Well, if we’re sharing with the group…My mom
kept Mel in check. Your dad’s personality reminds me of my mom’s.” He smiles at my surprised
expression. “It’s not simply that you have a functional father. Greg reminds me of my mom, Hillary.
She loved the outdoors and took me camping when things got bad at home. My mom was kind, but she
had a backbone that wouldn’t tolerate shit. She left Dad once.”

“Why?” I ask.

Dom lifts his eyes to mine. “Why’d she leave him, or why did she go back?”

“Both,” I reply.

He looks away again. “Dad was always tempted by excess. He has that personality. People assume
that other people are led astray. That we’re all born pure and innocent. Impressionable little fucks,
we are. Well, that’s bullshit. My dad was born greedy. He used to hide food in his closet when he was
a kid. He didn’t need to. My grandparents weren’t poor, but Dad has a strong aversion to sharing.”

“Do you have an aversion to sharing?” I ask.

Dom doesn’t answer right away. He watches me long and hard, then looks back at the monitor. The
screensaver is flashing generic pictures of landscapes across the monitor. He speaks to it as the
images of flawless beauty flash by. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I’m an only child. I’m rarely
asked to share anything. And I haven’t had anyone else want what I want until now.”

I’m a little shaken, but I started this conversation. I don’t even know why I asked him about sharing,
or at least, I don’t want to admit it quite yet. I may have wanted to see where that moment would lead.
Awkwardly, I change the topic. “I thought I wanted this, but I’m not so sure.”

“Wanted what?” he asks.

“Redwood,” I reply. “I wanted to go before I got there. I’d look at the pictures of the campus online
and imagine myself there. I imagined what my first day would be like, and how I’d blow everybody
away with my talent.” My voice softens to a barely audible whisper. “But now, I’m not so sure.”

Fuck, the trembling is back as my bottom lip quivers. I close my eyes, and a tear slips down my
cheek. I don’t open my eyes. I keep them shut tight as I try to pull it together. My skin on my forehead
tightens and my temples ache. I can’t break apart into ruined pieces, but life seems impossible. Maybe
I’ll always be what I’ve always been—a shattered, strung-out mess.

I sense Dom is closer. The couch shifts beside me, and the heat of his body is near. His breath is on
my hair. The smell of his skin—I could recognize it out of a thousand. I know him now. Or maybe I
still don’t. Dom doesn’t touch me, not with his bare hand. I feel a napkin press against my wet cheek,
and the trembling immediately stops.

“We haven’t talked like this since that day we split a cigarette,” he whispers.

I open my eyes and my gaze locks on his. My breath quickens as another tear streams down my cheek.
My mouth collapses into a painful sob. Cigarettes. I had to stop smoking after the prank. I wouldn’t be
such a mess if I had one now.

“It’s too much,” I gasp with ragged breaths, “Redwood and my mother. Not both. I can’t handle both.”

His brow creases hard. “What do you mean, Vicki?”

My voice vibrates as I say the words. “I mean I want to drop out. Maybe I’ll just get my GED, or I’ll
just start working. I can get a job. I don’t need this fucking drama in my life. I quit.”

Dom’s eyes narrow and he moves closer. “Vicki, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?” I argue. “I’ve been through some shit, but the crap I’ve dealt with at Redwood?” I shake
my head. “It’s cruel and unnecessary. I don’t need to deal with it.”

“You’re tougher than this.” He tries to reassure me. “It’s just petty bullshit.”

The sadness ebbs as anger returns. I stare down at my trembling hands. “Who fucked with my
cigarettes?” I demand.

Dom won’t answer me. Our gazes lock until he turns away first. No matter how he feels about Chase
and Silas, he won’t rat them out.

I soften to get an answer. “Please don’t tell me it was you.”

“No.” His frown hardens. “And I was pissed when it happened. Vicki, don’t quit school. I’ll help
you, no matter what.”

I just stare at his pained expression—a mix of frustration and rage at the past. Does he even realize
that it all started with him? “I need to think about it,” I mumble as I wrap my arms around my knees.

“I wonder if you care about me at all,” he whispers in defeat, “Is it love or control with you?”

I jump up from the couch, narrowly missing the coffee table. “I won’t be guilted into being with you,”
I say loudly. “Love? Were we even there yet?”

“Maybe I’m just lagging behind the rest,” he says coldly.

I give him a sharp look and then grab the mugs. The tea is ice cold and swishes precariously as I slam
the mugs back onto the tray. He grabs my hand, and I have to place the tray down fast, or it will spill
onto the floor.

“I’m sorry.” He stands up. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” His mouth curves down in disappointment.
“I know I’m an adult, but I haven’t had the best role model when it comes to dealing with women.”
He looks at the front door. “Look, I’ll give you some space.”

Before he can shove his hands into his pockets, I grab the nearest one. “Look, I know it sounds weird,
but I don’t want to be alone.”

He pauses, looking down on me. “Even if it’s with me?”

I sigh deeply, like the effort is draining me. The spent air leaves me lightheaded and hollow. I close
my eyes, and my fear shakes me like a leaf on a branch before it falls. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Another tear slides down my cheek, and Dom pulls me into his arms. My body fits tightly against his.
I can feel the warmth along his solid body and it grounds me. Dom brushes my tangled hair off my
flushed cheeks.

“She must have really scared you,” he whispers. “I won’t leave you alone.”

I hesitate, but then he smiles. I let him pull me closer. He smiles sweetly, and the boy from Malibu is
back again. The one I’ve missed. Dom tilts his head to the side, and my lips part as I lean my body
against his.
 Chapter Two
Vicki

While he visits, Dom sits near me with his hands in his lap like a freakin’ gentleman. We kiss, but then
he gives me space. I make fresh tea, and when I’m through drinking mine, I cuddle next to him on the
couch. Slowly, he drapes his arm around my shoulders, and I wiggle closer until my body fits next to
his like a puzzle piece. My whole being relaxes until I feel warm and cozy like my favorite blanket.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this relaxed, as if all my problems have been solved, and life
doesn’t seem so unbearable anymore.

When the umpteenth episode ends, I take the tray back into the kitchen and offer to make lunch. Dom
follows me into the kitchen and immediately laughs when he sees the couch by the wall.

“Your dad is a genius.” He plops himself down on the overstuffed cushions, and they lift under his
weight. “This is such a dude thing to do.”

“How do you know I didn’t put it there?” I ask, putting the mugs in the dishwasher.

Dom shakes his head. “No, this is a guy thing. The hand-painted girly mugs on a tray? That’s you, but
this?” He waves his arms above his head, encompassing the whole side of the room. “This is
definitely a guy thing.” He kicks his feet up and places them on the armrest as he stretches out with his
arms behind his head. “Man, I could live on this couch for a month and be content with everybody.”

Dom looks so pleased that I’m almost a little jealous that he’s cuddling the couch and not me. I walk
over and slap his hard thigh. “Move over some, and give me some room,” I demand.

He slides over, and I squeeze in tight beside him. With my eyes closed, I cuddle against his broad
chest, and without thinking, I wrap my leg around his hips. My eyes fly open wide when Dom tenses
underneath me.

“You know this is bad?” he asks.

“In what way?” I ask innocently, though I damn well know what he’s thinking. It’s in my head too.

“We might have to do something.” His response is deadpan, but he’s not kidding.

I shift my body over, so I can lift my head and look into his eyes. My Malibu boy is still looking back
at me, but his nostrils flare as he takes in deep breaths. I take my index finger and tap his nose. Dom
grabs my hand and places a soft kiss on my wrist. He doesn’t let go.

“You ever think about that day we went to the lake?” he asks.

I nod and squirm against him. “I think about it.”

“What do you remember about it?” he whispers and watches for my reaction.
Lowering my eyes, I swallow. “I think about how good it felt.”

Dom shifts underneath me until he can pull me up onto his body. His hands are firmly on my waist.
Every hard muscle slides against my softness, and I tremble for another reason. I part my legs, so I’m
straddling him. He smiles until his lips meet mine. I part my lips underneath his hot kiss, and it
deepens. This is what I want from him. No promises of making me famous or powerful in a
heartbreaking industry. I want my heart to be secure and safe. I want him to hold me tight, prove that
he cares about only me, and not give a flying fuck about the money and the power. I sigh, pulling back,
but Dom tugs me back down toward his parted lips again.

His kisses are soft as I press my lips hard against his. I want to do more than kiss. But maybe he
won’t try again. Not after I’ve shot him down so many times. I wouldn’t try, but I don’t think like a
man.

“What time is your dad getting back?” he asks breathlessly.

I smile with a naughty curve on my lips. Dom will never change, and right now, it doesn’t bother me a
bit. I glance at the clock on the microwave, and I’m a little stunned that Dom’s only been here for an
hour.

“The drive to San Francisco takes seven hours, and he’s been gone over three,” I reply.

Dom holds onto my hips, digging his fingers into my curves. “So, we have time.” He kisses me again,
slower this time as the urgency recedes. He pulls away, and I moan with my eyes closed.

“I won’t be able to stop, so I want you to be sure,” he says.

“I’ll be right back.” I climb off him, heading out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

I hurry to Dad’s bedroom and open the door wide. My gaze covers the sparse room. Dad’s too busy
running back and forth to give a thought to decorating his own bedroom. He cares about the rest of the
house because I’m here. But his bedroom is just a place to sleep and store his clothes. I pull out a
dresser drawer and move his clothing—careful not to leave a hint that I was looking.

Business papers are tucked away in the bottom drawer, but I don’t see what I’m looking for. Then it
hits me. Of course. I go to the closet and find an overnight bag on the floor. Checking the pockets, I
find what I am looking for—a box of condoms. I slip one out and carefully put back the rest.

I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror before leaving his room. Holy hell, I look a mess. My
eyes are pink, and my nose is crusty from crying. My hair is sticking up as I pull my fingers through it.
I don’t know why I’m bothering. It’s obvious my crybaby look didn’t bother Dom. My swollen face
hasn’t kept him from kissing my lips. I wipe my face with a wet washcloth and toss the comb back on
the counter. I don’t want to overdo it.
I returned to the kitchen, and Dom is as I left him, except he’s studying the pictures on the wall. His
hand is reaching up toward a frame as he stares at a picture of Troy and me from grade school. It was
before the addiction, when all I needed to be happy was to be outdoors on a sunny day.

He looks over at me as I stand with my hands behind my back. Dom smiles as he places his hands
back behind his head. But the smirk slips off his face when I toss the condom onto his chest. His eyes
widen as he grabs it and holds it up to check if it’s what he really thinks it is. Dom sits up so fast I
jump back with a start.

His pants tent up when he stands, and I swallow hard. “Last chance,” his voice cracks, “I can jerk off
in the bathroom. And leave.”

I fling myself onto his body, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. His kisses crash down on me,
and I swear he’ll eat me up. I pull him closer as my tongue explores his mouth, and his enters mine.
His breathing is guttural as he hungrily pulls me tight, pushing his hard-on against my thighs. I moan
with need as my pussy heats up. Right now, I want to be his. I want him now, and then later, I’ll figure
the rest of my life out.

It feels as if we’ve been making out for hours, though it’s only been a few minutes, and I wonder
what’s going on. Dom always seems on the verge of taking me, but he seems hesitant now that I’m
willing. I pull away and look at him. Slowly, he lifts his gaze to my face.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods and looks away. “I’m not sure if you really want to do this.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously? I went and stole one of my dad’s condoms.” I step farther back. “I want
to do this.”

“You seemed really upset before,” he says, “I won’t be able to stop.”

I realize what he’s saying. We’re alone, and later, I can say anything. His father’s really messed him
up good. I step toward Dom again. This isn’t about getting laid for him. He needs to be convinced it’s
more. I smile at the uncertain look in his eyes. I never thought I would be the one in control in this
moment. I take his hand in mine and place it against my lips. He has no idea how beautiful he looks to
me right now. His emotions are hidden behind a hard, cold look. He’s sharing his fear that I might still
reject him, and I’ll convince him that I won’t.

I step out of arm’s reach and pull off my T-shirt, revealing a ridiculously bright pink bra. Dom bites
his lip as he watches me. He’s seen me before, but that look of awe relaxes me. I know what I’m
doing is right. I reach behind my back and unfasten the hooks. I stand away from him, topless, and he
licks his lower lip. That look of want heats me up again. I glance at the clock; we have time to take it
slow.

“I took off my top,” I say in a soft voice, “Are you going to take off yours?”
He smiles that warm and inviting smile that reminds me of the beach on a sunny day. Dom grabs the
hem of his T-shirt, and his muscles flex across his chest as he pulls it over his head. His body is
tanned compared to my pale skin. The difference makes me smile as I try to recall if he has tan lines
across his tight ass.

“You go next,” he whispers. And our striptease becomes a game like strip poker without the cards. I
unbutton my jeans and push them slowly off my legs, down to the floor. With a serious look, he
watches me as I bend over. I straighten up. My panties stay on.

“Okay, you go,” I say to him.

Dom undoes his fly and pulls his jeans off clumsily, as if he can’t bear them against his skin. His
boxers come off in his jeans. He doesn’t bother to try to pull them back on. My gaze lowers to his
hard cock, and it’s beautiful—the length and the width as it lifts away from his body. The smooth skin
that leads to a tip that’s wet and inviting. I lick my lower lip and look into his eyes. I’m amazed by his
self-control as mine slowly slips away.

“I want this to be special,” he explains.

“It will be,” I say, stepping closer.

With a timid hand, he reaches out and gently touches the curve of my breast. The nipple stiffens as
soon as he touches me. His thumb swirls over my skin as he intently watches it rise to a hard peak.
My breathing fills the silence in the kitchen as he explores the softness of my skin in his strong hands.
I push his hand away and sit down on the couch. Dom sits beside me and watches as I push my panties
off my hips and leave them on the floor. He sucks in air as he stares at my naked body, but I don’t feel
embarrassed. His gaze explores me gently, and maybe it wasn’t too soon to talk about love.

While I kiss his lips, his hands caress my skin, tracing my curves until his hands rest on my hips.
Slowly, one hand moves over my thigh until his fingers slip into the wet heat between my legs. I relax,
letting him explore as we continue to kiss. My fingers tangle in his soft hair, pulling his face against
my mouth. My heart speeds up as my pussy gets wetter. Moaning, I squirm against him as his finger
circles my clit with steady strokes.

His mouth lowers to my neck, and I press my hips against his thigh, but Dom takes his time as if he
wants to taste every inch of my body first. I close my eyes tight and wrap my arms around his head as
he kisses my neck. I sink into a feeling that comforts my heart, soothing the hurt and healing the cracks.
I moan again as his tongue traces the curve of my breast, and he takes my nipple in his warm mouth.

I hiss as his kiss trails over my tummy, and he shifts his body until he’s on the floor, his head in
between my knees. He avoids my wetness and kisses my inner thighs, slowly watching me as I watch
him. My mouth twists as a chill shoots through me, and I moan.

“You smell so good,” he whispers as he pulls his hand away. I shiver at the loss of contact but arch
my back as his mouth makes contact again. His tongue parts my lips, and I feel his breath as his tongue
licks slow up my slit. I grip the couch as my legs shake and he holds them apart. I stare at the ceiling
as my body shakes, and I scream as my orgasm lifts my hips off the couch.

Hot and sweaty, I tug at his shoulders, pulling Dom up until our lips meet. His cock throbs, trapped
between our stomachs, and I feel the need build between my thighs.

I reach down and grip him, guiding him toward me. He pulls away and grabs the condom. He fumbles
with it at first, and I take in a deep breath. His lack of expertise in all things is reassuring. He looks
up with nervous eyes, but I open my legs, inviting him in. Dom gazes at me tenderly and starts to say
something. His lips part, and he breathes heavily but hesitates. He shuts his lips tight as his tip
presses against me.

I guide him in and moan as he stretches me open. His hardness slides into me, each inch gently
moving in deeper. I grip his back and shudder as the sensations in me rise to my skin. The slightest
movement shoots pleasure into my body as I squeeze around him. Dom pants as his mouth presses
hard against my shoulder.

He’s gentle, until I can no longer stand the wait. Dom holds still, desperate to hold on, but I’m
bucking my hips underneath him. I ride him wildly as my body is caught up in a wave. With a groan,
he pushes deep into me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. I pull him into me deeply and hold onto
him. He is perfect, and this is how I want it to always be.

“I wanted to last longer,” he whispers as I stroke his hair while we lie there, half on and half off the
couch.

“It was perfect.” My lips brush his sweaty cheek. “But you can’t tell.”

He lifts his head and looks into my eyes. “I won’t.”

The sound of gravel crunching on the driveway rouses us out of our delicious haze. My head jerks up,
and I turn to look at the clock. Dom has been here for over two hours. How did that happen? I leap off
him, grabbing my jeans. San Francisco is a seven-hour drive—unless it’s my mother again.

Dom sits up on the couch and stares at me like I’ve lost it. “What’s the matter?” he asks.

I throw his jeans at him. “Get dressed. Someone is here.” I race over to grab my T-shirt and struggle
to pull it on. I skip my bra, and running into the hallway, I shove it into the drawer of the side table in
the hall.

“If it’s your mother,” Dom calls out, “we don’t have to open the door.”

He’s right. I should’ve been rushing in the opposite direction. But instead I hurry toward the front
door and peer out the narrow window beside it. “Shit. It’s my dad!” I shout.
I hurry back toward the kitchen to make sure the place doesn’t look like it was hit by a sex bomb.
Dom is yanking on his T-shirt. The used condom is on the floor. “Get rid of it,” I hiss.

Dom picks up the slick mess with his fingertips and stares around the room, lost. He’s never been in
the kitchen before. “That door.” I point to the door at the back of the kitchen, nearest the deck. “That
door.”

He hurries to the bathroom and steps inside as the front door opens. Fuck! His shoes. I grab them,
open the bathroom door, and toss them blindly inside. Slamming it shut, I turn around in time to face
my dad.

“I thought you were going to San Francisco,” I pant.

Dad looks puzzled as he looks around the mess in the kitchen. The couch is tossed up, and the air is
humid with the smell of sex. I look over my shoulder as the loud sound of the toilet flushing spans a
minute. We wait in the silence.

“Is someone here?” Dad frowns. “I don’t recognize the Mercedes. Did your mother come back?”

I shake my head as I hold my breath. “No, Dom came by. He’s been keeping me company in case she
came back.” I shrug my shoulders. “So, no San Francisco?”

“I had booked a flight. I was headed for LAX when you called. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I don’t have time to answer the question before Dom walks back into the kitchen. My gaze travels
over his clothes. His face is flushed, but he’s pulled together. He tucked his T-shirt in his jeans, and
his shoes are tied. Maybe Dad will accept that I was a wreck and nothing else happened. Dom gives
him a cheerful greeting as he steps in front of me. But Dad doesn’t return the smile. Dad greets Dom
with a stiff nod, then steps out of the room.

Dom leans down and whispers in my ear, “Your fly is down,” he hisses.

Fuck. I look down, and I can see my hot pink undies peeking out. I spin around and zip it up as Dad
walks back into the room.

“Dom, are you through with your visit?” asks Dad. It’s not a yes or no question.

Dom responds by nodding.

“Good,” replies Dad. “Dom, come walk with me to your car.”

Dom says nothing but follows Dad out of the kitchen. The front door opens, and I hurry out into the
hallway. Something catches my eye. It’s my bra. It got caught on the pull and is halfway out of the
drawer. Can’t I have anything go right? I leave it and look out the window. The expression on Dad’s
face is stiff as his finger lifts into Dom’s face. He points at the house, making angry gestures. Dom has
more bulk than Dad, but he hangs his head and occasionally nods.

I sigh. There goes my love life. I catch sight of my reflection, and I look like I’ve been thoroughly
sexed. My wild hair is squealing on what we spent the afternoon doing.

Dom gets into his car, and I dart away from the window as Dad enters the house. I try to look
innocent, but my wide eyes probably make me look guiltier. I take a deep breath and prepare for the
lecture I deserve.

“I thought to myself,” he says. “Don’t go to San Francisco when she’s upset because you shouldn’t
leave her alone. Not with her mother circling the house.”

Dad opens the drawer and pulls out my bra. He tosses it to me, and I catch it.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have called you?” I offer weakly.

Dad looks at me like I lost some brain cells while screwing. “You know what? A part of me doesn’t
even want to think about what I know went on here this afternoon. I’m racing back like a fool…”

He stops when I sob, and a tear slides down my cheek. I’m surprised I have any tears left to cry. My
face crumples as I sit down heavily on the living room couch.

“I’m sorry,” I reply in a pathetic whisper.

“That boy took advantage of you,” replies Dad.

I shake my head. “He didn’t. Dom really likes you. Please don’t blame him, Dad. I think he needs to
know you’re okay with him.”

Shocked, Dad’s brow lifts, and he shakes his head in disbelief. “He said ‘yes, sir’ so many times I
lost count.” Dad sits down beside me. “Vicki, I’m trying to take care of you, but you’ve got to start
meeting me more than halfway.”

I suck the tears back down my throat. Dad’s right. I mess up, and then I’m surprised by the results.

“What happened with your mother?” he asks gently.

I tell him everything about the visit. How she came into the house and looked around. How her
partner, or whatever Dennis is to her, came in. How she threatened to ruin my life again. By the time
I’m through, Dad is holding me close in his arms.

He waits until I catch my breath before he speaks. “Vicki, come back home.” His words cause me to
suck in air until it straightens my spine. “Just come home,” he repeats, “I’m not telling you yet, but it
may be a smart choice for you.”
“I know you’re right,” I reply softly, “but at some point, I’m going to have to get my shit together on
my own, right?”

He stiffens, and the comforting hold he has on me becomes a hard grip. Does Dad even realize that
he’s squeezing me too hard? I yank myself away from him and look up to read his expression. Dad is
staring at a spot over the mantelpiece, unaware of me. His thoughts are recalling the life we left
behind us. The life that seems to have followed us out here.

“Vicki, one more mistake, and I’ll insist that you move back home. I’m not going to court with your
mother again if I can avoid it.”

“I understand,” I reply nervously.

“Then show me that you do,” he responds, “Your mother is relentless when she thinks she’s right, and
there’s no way to reason with her. She’ll always hate me for the divorce. And she hates me even more
because my children picked me over her. She can’t comprehend that you and Troy don’t want her as a
mother.”

“But legally, I’m an adult. What can she do to me?”

“Conservatorship,” he replies, “You’re an adult with a trust fund, and if she can prove that you are
unstable, she’ll control your life. I’m not telling you this to scare you but to warn you. Your mother
hasn’t given up. She wants you so she can control your money.”
 Chapter Three
Vicki

Monday, before dawn, I return to Redwood with my overnight bag. I park my car behind the town
house and look up at the windows. There’s a light on in Dom’s suite, and I see a shadow move past
the curtain. I didn’t expect him to be up, and I wonder if he was waiting for me to return. I let myself
into my suite and put my bag down in my bedroom. As soon as I sit on my bed, my phone chimes.

Dom: Special mtg for club 2day. U coming?

I hesitate for a moment and stare at the words on the screen while I make an effort to compose my
response.

Vicki: What time?

Dom: @4. Thanks.

Asking for the time is the same as saying yes. We haven’t spoken since Dad kicked him out of the
house. Nothing weird between us. No hurt feelings. Just haven’t had the time. I have a lot to think
about with Dad giving me an ultimatum, and the end of school is fast approaching. I have a few good
projects, but we have to start shooting for the film festival. I find out that all the clubs have started
meeting more than once a week. And I’m realizing it was a jerk move to quit this one so far in.

That afternoon, Rosie and Paloma seem happy to see me when I walk in. Or maybe that’s relief. We
need to find more people to participate if we’re going to pull this project off. When the meeting starts,
we discuss the schedule date by date in order to get it done on time. Nothing can go wrong. No fuck-
ups allowed or tolerated. My eyes widen when Rosie looks at me.

“We still need an actress for Lust and Envy.” The decision was made to have seven different
actresses because no one student can devote that much time to filming a project for someone else
before finals.

“Do we need someone with an acting background?” I ask.

“It would help,” replies Dom, “but we’re planning on using cue cards. That would make the most
sense.”

Paloma scrunches up her nose as she thinks. “What’s the name of the girl who hangs out with Silas?
The tall girl with the dark hair and the fancy name?”

“Rosemonde?” asks Dom.

Paloma nods enthusiastically. “Yes. She would be perfect as Snow White. Even if she doesn’t speak,
she looks like a princess.”
I try not to roll my eyes, and I keep my mouth shut. That’s an insult to any woman who’s ever had the
title. Even if nothing had happened between Silas and me, I’d hate Rosemonde for her pretentious,
sycophant attitude. The thought of her being involved in my project…I glance over at Dom, who’s
watching for my reaction. My mind shifts quickly as he presses his lips hard together. Does he think
I’m jealous of Rosemonde? Maybe I am.

“I could do it.” I raise my hand as if I’m in class.

The random chatter around the room comes to an immediate halt. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea,”
replies Rosie, “You know the project, so we don’t have to bring you up to speed.”

“Yeah, but can you act?” asks Liam, smirking. “I’ve seen you act up, but…”

I scowl at his sass. “I lip-synced Stevie Nicks. But I’ll only do it if I get to direct a short.”

Dom smiles, no doubt because he likes how I managed to maneuver that into my corner. There are a
few pissy looks, but no one seems to have a legitimate objection.

“Which one do you want to do?” Dom asks.

I’m not certain if he’s implying something else as the corners of his mouth lift into a mischievous
smile. I don’t like that look on his face at all. It makes my stomach lurch, and I wonder why I trust
him.

“I should direct Lust,” I reply.

Dom shakes his head, but Rosie misreads what he’s thinking. “I think it’s a good idea to have a
woman direct Lust. The expectation would be to focus on a man’s needs. A woman would be
sensitive to how we are objectified even by ourselves.”

Dom holds up his hands in surrender. “I agree with everything said so far. So, Vicki, you’ll direct
Lust and star in Envy.” He raises an eyebrow, and I get his innuendo.

We discuss a few more details about costumes and scenery that need to be resolved, and preliminary
shooting will start next Monday. We’re allowed a few absences from class only if our grades are
good. I wait for the others to leave, so I can talk to Dom. He’s putting away the equipment, but I can
tell that he’s also waiting to speak to me.

“So, what happened?” I ask.

He knows exactly what I’m talking about. “Your dad told me to make sure I use protection.”

Shocked, I sit down on the top of the table. “I wasn’t expecting him to say that.”

“It was a new experience for me too,” replies Dom, “No one’s spoken to me like that since my mom
passed. Well, a few times, my uncle has tried to say something. But what can he really say? I almost
didn’t mind. You know, your dad giving a shit about me.”

“You mean about me?” I correct him.

Dom nods dismissively. “He told me that having a big bank account and a name makes me vulnerable.
He told me I have to cover it up, or I may end up paying for it later.”

I gawk. My dad giving Dom that kind of advice seems surreal under the circumstances. I can’t believe
he was giving Dom permission to fuck me. I blink my eyes as I try to wrap my mind around what must
have been said.

“He also told me he didn’t approve, but you’re an adult.”

“Okay.” I sigh. “I was waiting for that part.”

Dom stops putting away the equipment and smiles. “He really loves you, Vicki.

Smiling, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and a sweet kiss starts to get a little too heated. Dom
pulls me tight against his body and pushes his hips into mine. I pull back quickly. “I got work to do,” I
announce.

He lifts a brow. “Maybe later?”

I point my finger and shake it. “Only if you continue to behave.”

***

Despite the cue cards, I decide to memorize my lines for the film. The recording studio is the perfect
place to rehearse and not be disturbed. Earlier in the year, I could just walk in, but with projects due
before spring break, I have to sign up for a time. I also have to get over my dislike of the creepy
basement if I’m going to edit my film. Hardly anyone goes down there, and it’s fairly empty at night.
But I’ll never go alone down there. I can handle the recording studio on my own.

I fiddle around with the recording equipment, so I can test my voice and see if it carries. Stage acting
isn’t the same as video acting. On stage, one wants to have a booming voice and make big gestures,
but film misses nothing and actions need to be subtle, or it will look like bad acting. I read the script
cold into the microphone on my laptop and play it back over the sound system in the room.

I cringe at the sound of my own voice. Is it really that high-pitched? I look over at the door to make
sure that it’s locked. “Testing, testing,” I speak into the free-standing mic. I lower my voice into a
sexy murmur. “Testing,” I lean into the mic as if I’m ready to tongue its bulbous tip and giggle. “The
apple is as green as her envy.” I purr the words into the mesh casing over the mic.

“Wow.”
That wasn’t me talking. I spin around in the swivel chair, and Chase is standing in the open doorway.
He has a bored look in his eyes, but his lips twitch with amusement. The daylight is lasting longer,
and he’s back to wearing logo T-shirts from all the surf shops lining the coast. His short sleeves are
rolled up over his huge biceps, and his hair is trimmed out of his eyes. I miss the stray lock of hair
that grazed his forehead, but his stormy gray eyes are more intense with nothing in the way. Chase
strolls into the room and shuts the door behind him before tossing his tall frame into a seat.

“That door was locked,” I complain as my cheeks heat, no doubt turning red.

“And I have a keycard, so I don’t check the sign-up sheet.” He wheels his chair closer until he’s next
to me. The air transforms around us and takes on a charge as goose bumps flare across my arms. I
shudder with a chill, and look into his gorgeous eyes.

“Did you like how that sounded?” I ask softly.

Chase doesn’t answer because he’s too busy kissing me. He leans in, taking my chin in his firm grasp
as he presses his lips to mine. I keep my hands down at my sides, and I only touch him with my mouth.
He places kiss after kiss on my mouth until my lips are swollen. He stops and gazes into my eyes as I
grip the edge of the seat.

“I did,” he replies.

Chase grabs me into another kiss, and I hold onto him, wrapping my arms tight around his neck. His
mouth is soft and sensual as he nibbles on my bottom lip. I smile at him through a haze as I wonder
how dangerous he can be. No matter how good this feels, it’s not right. I push his hands away, and his
eyes narrow on me. I shrink under his hard gaze as if I did something wrong. But I can’t do this until I
know.

“Are you still seeing Marcy?” I ask.

Chase pushes his chair back and looks away.

“Is that no?” I challenge him with my tone.

Chase looks back at me with a pissed-off look as if I shouldn’t make demands on him. But I will make
demands if he seriously wants me. If he expects me to give up someone for him, then he has to give up
someone for me. I’m not competing for his time with Marcy. And what happens when I fall in love? I
won’t want Marcy around.

“Why?” he asks.

“What do you mean why?” I glare at him as if he’s nuts to question me for a reason. He should know.
“I’m not sharing you with Marcy.”
He scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “But you’re okay sharing Dom and me.”

I stare at him while a cold chill races down my back as if some clumsy person had spilled water on
me. Chase knows, and he was testing me. The jerk was testing me to see how far I would go. If I
would go as far as I did with Dom.

“What did he tell you?” I ask.

He doesn’t waste time playing dumb. “He gloated about how much you wanted him.”

I open my mouth to speak, but I don’t know what to say, so I shut it again. Dom told Chase, which
means Silas probably knows too. I asked Dom not to tell, but he did. He made my choice for me by
kissing and telling. That SOB. He did take advantage of me. He took advantage of my trust. This is
how he is. How he plays. He is his father’s son, and he’ll never be any better than that.

I straighten my shoulders defiantly. “So, when did he tell you we slept together?”

Chase raises his brows and then relaxes them as if it’s a pleasant conversation. “Over the weekend,
he could hardly wait to tell. Want to see the text?”

My cheeks heat up again. And we stare at each other for what seems like forever without speaking.
I’m afraid that if I move, what’s left of my relationship with Chase will come apart. Any hold I have
left will crumble once we leave this moment. So, I stay motionless as he stares cruelly into my face.

“It’s time you stopped acting like a little girl,” he replies coldly, “I don’t have time to waste on a
tease.”

Chase is gone before I can even deny it.

***

Eventually, I shake the shock off me. Angry, I don’t even know why I was surprised that Dom told the
second he arrived back at Redwood. No wonder he didn’t call. He was too busy bragging. I never
wanted to go to the suite he shares with Chase, and I understand why now. If I went to see one, what
would I say when the other one shows up? It would have forced a decision, and so far, my choices
have been crap-fests.

The message is clear—I’ve chosen Dom.

I go looking for Dom in the basement, where he’s spending more time hanging out. I hesitate at the top
of the steel stairs going down, listening for the sound of other people. I hear a girl laugh and figure it
must be safe. I don’t want to be alone, not even with him. Dom has been working on his senior project
harder than anyone else at that school. I’m curious to know what it is, but I didn’t ask him, thinking
that he might tell me eventually. The large metal door to the archives is locked, but the keys are still
on the hook in the closet. Maybe he’s somewhere else, and I listen for the laughter again. I sigh. I have
the key; I might as well look.

Dom is in the smaller editing room in the opposite corner of the studio. I have to walk around the
shelves to see him behind the glass. Boxes of videos are scattered on the floor of the room, and the
laughter is coming from a video playing in the machine. Dom sits in front of the console with chunky
headphones on, but they’re plugged into his phone. He doesn’t notice me until I tap him hard on the
shoulder.

My expression is louder than words. I could wring his neck with my murderous gaze. He pulls the
headphones off and looks at me as if nothing is out of the ordinary. I immediately lose my shit.

“You told him!” I shout. “You told Chase after I asked you not to. And you said you wouldn’t.”

Dom holds up his hands in a calming gesture that only angers me more. He might as well be waving a
red flag at an agitated bull.

“Vicki, it’s okay. I took care of it for you.”

“Took care of what?” I ask. “What did your gossiping take care of?”

He looks at the console as he speaks. “I know you felt awkward telling the other guys, so I took care
of it for us.”

My jaw drops. “You didn’t do this for me. You ran off and bragged about your conquest. That’s what
you did.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. The tears think twice before appearing because I am pissed.
Dom was so sensitive and patient when we made love. We made love. I had sex before, but this time,
it was different. It felt like love.

He reaches for me, but I sidestep, dodging his grasp. He frowns at me as if I’m a pet that’s being
naughty—a gullible pet that doesn’t trust him yet. My lips are tight as I think of the nastiest thing I can
spew out at him. But I should have known better. He’ll never be my Malibu boy or even my friend.
He’ll only look out for himself, just like his perverted dad.

I take my hand away from my face. “It was one time. I needed you, and you pull this shit on me?”

He sits back and assesses me as if he’s not sure of what to say to convince me that I’m wrong. But I’m
mistaken. Dom isn’t preparing an apology in his head, followed by a string of excuses. He turns fully
to face me, and his voice is as cold as his gaze.

“I will do whatever I need to do to get rid of the competition, Vicki. I want you more than any other
girl I have ever known. You have everything I want and need. And I won’t find it again. So, I’m going
to hold on tight.”

Eyes wide, I shake my head. “That’s so fucked up.”

He shrugs. “Maybe because we’re both fucked up. We get each other, Vicki. I don’t know why you
think you’ll find something better than me.”

I shake my head in disbelief as he casually turns around and plays with the knobs on the console.
“Fuck you!” I shout. “And leave me alone.”

His voice follows me out of the room until I reach the heavy door. “You’ll always come back to me.
I’m the best out of this whole rotten bunch.”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
it’s a case of work at the oars and make time. Let’s get a move on
ourselves.”
We did, most effectually, and in just two hours’ time were shoving
a crude, whipsawed skiff out into the river, and feeling the current
catch us and sweep us toward the Ramparts below. We had begun
the grim chase to overtake the one man who had paid his toll of
gratitude by robbing the man who had twice saved his life, and it was
certain that, did we overtake him, this time there would be no
escape; for we would bring him back for trial.
The current helped us, and, to our satisfaction, we discovered that
the apparently clumsy skiff handled excellently and responded
bravely to our steady oars. We tore through the Ramparts where the
waters lashed the rocks, and out into the breadths below, and then
set ourselves to our task, as we traveled through that great
uninhabited country. Save for the flying fowl, and a bear that lazily
paused from drinking on a distant shore, we saw no living thing, and
we did not pause for luncheon, but took turns with the oars.
Accustomed as we were to the heaviest work, and in the perfect
physical condition that comes from healthful food and clean lives, we
did not suffer from the prolonged exertion. Indeed, had our mission
been less melancholy and desperate, I, for one, would have enjoyed
that steady, rhythmic motion, the gurgling of the water under our
bow, the ever-changing scenery at our sides, and the beauties of a
perfect day. We did not talk much, but once or twice Shakespeare
George, brooding, quoted as if to himself, in a bitter tone, his own
version of Wordsworth’s “Gratitude.”
What would have been evening in a more southerly latitude came
on, and found us still rowing with that same measured stroke, save
that we took shorter turns at the oars, and found the resting spells
more grateful. The current carried us closer toward a shore, around
a point that seemed blanketed with the evening’s purple haze, and
we stopped rowing abruptly at the sound of a rifle shot. Nestled at
the foot of a bluff was a squalid little Indian village, and the natives
were running excitedly up and down the water’s edge and waving to
us. It was evident that the shot had been fired to attract our attention.
We headed the boat toward them, and they caught our prow and
pulled us up on the shingle before we could protest.
 “Come! Quick come!” urged a withered, kindly faced old native,
presumably the tyune of this little domain. “White man ’most peluck!
Him soon die. Quick come!”
We hastened after him to the big Kazima, a sort of clubhouse
which each village of any size possesses, crawled in after him, and
when our eyes grew accustomed to the dull, smoke-blackened,
raftered interior, lighted only by a huge hole in the upper center over
the fire pit through which the soft daylight streamed, we stood above
the cause of his solicitude. Our chase was ended; for on the skins, at
our feet, lay Laughing Jim.
George knelt beside him, and ran his hand inside the blue shirt
that was torn open across the chest, and then looked up at us.
“Somethin’s happened to him,” he said, “feels to me as if he was
all shot to pieces.”
At the sound of his voice Laughing Jim opened his eyes a little
wildly, then smiled as recognition crept into their clear, but pain-
drawn, depths.
“I’m going,” he croaked, with a queer, gasping effort. “You got here
just in time. I—I⸺ Drink!”
Bill Davis pulled our little emergency flask from his pocket, George
lifted the wounded man up, and gave him a strong sup of the brandy,
and it momentarily strengthened him. All our animosity was forgotten
now, as we stood there rubbing shoulders with death, such is the
queer awe and pity that assails us at sight of the mortally stricken
regardless of their merits.
“Who did it, Jim?” asked George, still supporting the dying man’s
shoulders and head.
“Mahoney. But I got him! He’s over there!”
He rolled his eyes toward the dark corner of the Kazima, and with
exclamations of surprise all of us, save George, hurried to the
corner, struck matches, and looked. There lay Phil Mahoney, beyond
all aid, dead. I threw my handkerchief over his face before we went
back to George and Jim, on tiptoe, as if the sound of our footsteps
on that beaten earth would ever matter to him. We gave Jim another
draft of the brandy, and he feebly waved for silence.
 “Let me talk,” he said. “Not much time left. Been going out all day.
I’ve never been any good. Gambler’s habit of sleeping days, awake
nights. Took walk yesterday morning. Wanted to get close to birds
and hear ’em sing. Mile above camp. Saw Phil Mahoney toting
something toward boat. Acted queer. Didn’t see me. Got in boat and
shoved off. Skirted opposite shore as if afraid being seen. ‘Funny,’
says I. ‘Wonder what that big, ugly devil’s up to?’ Forgot all about it
and went back to my cabin, to clean up. Couldn’t find best shoes.
Cussed some, and wondered what Siwash could have swiped them.
Then, all of sudden, remembered Mahoney walked queer. So I⸺”
He stopped and his lithe, wounded body was twisted with a harsh
cough that threatened to undo him, and again we gave him brandy.
After a time, but in a weaker and more broken voice, he went on: “So
I went back. Never trusted him, anyhow. Sure enough there were
tracks in the mud. He had ’em on. I back-tracked him. Found thicket
of pussy willows, and inside of it empty gold sacks. Special buck.
You fellows’ names on ’em in indelible pencil. Got wild! Ran back
farther along tracks and saw he must have come from gulch trail—
your direction. Saw it all in a minute. Saw you fellows wouldn’t
believe me, because you know I’ve been a bad one—sometimes—
not always. Maybe not so bad as some. Only thing I could do to
show you I wasn’t a dog, and appreciated what you all had done for
me, was to catch thief. Grabbed canoe and chased him. Caught him
here, where he’d stopped to make tea, above village. Saw smoke.
Found boat—nothing in it. Crept up on him. He had gold dust with
him. Tried to get drop on him, but he was too quick. Whirled and
shot.”
He rested silently for a moment as if to gather strength, and there
was a little, exultant gleam in his eyes as he continued:
“I was down. Played fox. ‘That’s all right!’ says he, as he came up
and stood over me, ‘but I’d rather you’d been hanged by them
Competents.’ Then he laughed and turned back. I got to my elbow
and shot. He went down. Then we shot from the ground, and luck
was against me. Could feel every one of his hit. Didn’t know any
more till Indians came running and picked me up. Phil was dead.
Made natives bring me here with your dust. Told ’em better bring
Phil, too, so if I went out, and you came, you’d understand.”
 He coughed again, more violently, and the brandy seemed to
have lost its effect. He motioned with his dying fingers toward his
side, and we had to bend over to catch his whispered words:
“It’s there—by me—all of it—and—and—George, you’re white and
—I’m not so bad—after all—am I? Wanted you boys to know that
⸺”
As if the severing of soul and body had given him an instant’s
strength, he half stiffened, struggled, and then tried to laugh, a
ghastly semblance of that reckless, full-throated laugh that had given
him his sobriquet, twitched, gasped, seemed to abruptly relax, and
rested very still.
“Right? You’re right as rain! You are! God knows you are!”
George shouted the words to him as if speeding them out to
overtake his parting soul, and I like to remember that Laughing Jim’s
eyes seemed to twitch and that he went out with a smile on his face.
Side by side we buried them there, close to where the babble of
the Yukon might croon to them in the long summers, or display to the
cold skies its beaten winter trails, Phil Mahoney, the thief, in his
stolen shoes, and Laughing Jim, the strange admixture of evil and
nobility. And over each, with equal forgiveness, we put a rude
wooden cross, while curious, stolid natives stood quietly by. The sole
distinction we made was that the cross above Jim was carefully
hewn. But George lingered behind as we made our preparations to
camp in the village for the night, and the next morning, still filled with
the tragedy, I slipped back up the hillside for a last look at the
graves. On that of Laughing Jim, who would laugh no more, lay a
handful of dying wild flowers, and I saw scrawled on the cross, in the
handwriting of Shakespeare George, these words:
Under here is Laughing Jim. Paid a little favor with his life,
And died with a laugh on his lips! Bad as he was, better’n
Most of us, and provin’ that sometimes even poets is
wrong, and
That men don’t forget. Lord help us all to do as well.
And so we left him, and my eyes were fixed, as we rowed back up
the river, and the village with its natives was lost to view, on the
rough-hewn cross that seemed to blaze with a peculiar glory all its
own, a shining standard for one honorably dead on the field of
gratitude.

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the December 1, 1913

issue of The Popular Magazine.
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