Aleah's kitchen wasn't nearly as crowded as the other rooms in her house. There was enough space for everyone to mingle in small groups of three or four. Nat popped open a Blue Moon while Amari poured herself a glass of sparkling rosé. Dutifully, as their DD for the night, I only grabbed a bottle of water.

Nat and Amari toasted their drinks and hollered at the top of their lungs, "To Cate! We're gonna make AP History our bitch this year!"

Grinning, I drank to that. As we stood there chatting about nothing and everything at once, a billowing puff of smoke caught my eye. It came from the neighboring game room. The lights were dimmed, but I could see a dozen or so kids lounging around and smoking joints.

Through the hazy marijuana cloud, my eyes locked onto a tall, dark-haired figure, and, for a split second, everything else faded into the background. There was something strangely familiar about him. The heavily tattooed guy was sitting on the end of a white leather couch. He was shirtless and getting busy with not one but two girls at the same time. It was borderline pornographic. The first, a very pretty redhead, was perched on the armrest beside him while the second one, a blonde with a truly impressive rack, had managed to nestle herself snugly onto his lap.

I took another gulp from my bottle. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the leftover adrenaline from my run in with Hunter and Bea, but, try as I might, I couldn't tear my eyes away. The blonde was dragging her fingernails shamelessly across the tattoos on the guy's well-defined chest and arms. The devil-black ink clung to him as naturally as a second skin, and both girls seemed to everywhere at once, feeling their way from his broad shoulders all the way down to his chiseled abs. And lower still. I felt a slow-burning heat creep up my neck.

Amari's eyes followed the direction of my gaze. She smirked. Very loudly, she asked, "What are you looking at, Cate?"

I jumped. "Nothing, really. Just this display of raging hormones in front of us."

Nat couldn't stop staring either. "Shit, that guy is hot. Are high school boys supposed to look like that?"

Amari squinted. "I'm pretty sure no one at our school looks that good. Not even the seniors."

Nat asked, "Who is he? Does he go to Ashton Wellesley?"

Even though my cheeks were still feeling warm, I tried to be the voice of reason. "Does it matter? He's making out with two chicks right now. Total fuckboy. I suggest we move on, ladies."

Amari wagged her finger at me. "Uh-uh-uh! I call bullshit, Cate! I saw how you were looking at him."

"Like I wanted to wash my eyeballs with soap?"

Nat snickered. "Like you wanted to join them."

I laughed sharply. "Bish, you must be inhaling too much of this smoke—"

A flying bottle of vodka whizzed past my ear and shattered deafeningly against the wall. I turned around to see who had dared to launch that projectile so close to me. My six-foot-one idiot of a half-brother stormed in. Trick didn't look happy at all. The tendons at his neck were protruding from the sides, and his fists were clenched below his waist, as though he was ready to bash someone's brains in.

Nat, Amari, and I didn't hesitate to get the fuck out of his way.

He jabbed a menacing finger in Fuckboy's direction and yelled, "Get your hands off my girl, you little bitch!"

Upon closer inspection, I realized the blonde in Fuckboy's lap was actually Trick's ex, Brittany Lopez. She flipped around and glared at Trick, "Leave us alone, Patrick! I dumped your ugly ass last week. You can't tell me what to do anymore."

With a low growl, Trick addressed Brit, "Stay out of this! This is between me and bitch-face over here!"

"Stop it, Patrick! Be reasonable for once," she begged. "Don't do anything stupid. Can we please deal with this later?"

Ignoring her pleas, he turned to Fuckboy, "You just gonna sit there and let a girl defend you? I bet you're pissing your pants under all those stupid tats right now, aren't you?"

Tension spiked in the air. Nat clutched at my arm, her thumb and forefinger were flick-flick-flicking away nervously. All eyes were glued on Fuckboy. The moron had yet to remove his hand from Brit's ass. I muttered a silent prayer for him. Trick was about to wipe the floor with his pretty face.

My brother stalked closer to Fuckboy with a murderous gleam in his eyes. It was the same look he had given me a million times before when shit was about to go down between us.

"Are you fucking deaf, dumb, and mute? Say something, you piece of shit!"

After what felt like an eternity, Fuckboy gave the two females a gentle nudge. They quickly detangled themselves from him, dashing to the far corners of the room at record speed. Once the girls were gone, Fuckboy finally looked Trick in the eye. His mouth curled into a mocking smile. "Heard you the first time, jackass. You're the one who wasn't listening. Brit said she's done with you. Don't take it out on me. It's my birthday today, bro. Let me live a little."

Before Trick could open his mouth to respond, Fuckboy was on his feet and, in one fluid motion, rammed his shoulder full force into my brother's stomach. I gasped as Trick doubled over in pain. It looked like Fuckboy knocked the wind out of him.

A few female screams blended into the crowd's roar of excitement as the two guys started tussling like animals on the floor. Their voices carried throughout the entire house, attracting more and more kids to gather around the night's entertainment.

The intensity in the room erupted into pure mayhem when someone began chanting, "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

Trick shoved Fuckboy aside in a burst of violence and scurried to his feet. Foolishly, Trick tried to tackle him again before regaining his balance. Fuckboy stepped aside, only to twist his body back around and dig his elbow into the back of Trick's neck. The giant oaf lost his footing again and tumbled to the floor.

Fuckboy moved over him and yanked his shirt collar from behind, "Get up, fucker! We're just getting started!"

Trick managed to land one solid blow to Fuckboy's jaw. The force of it sent him stumbling backwards. Fuckboy shook his head, as though to regain his bearings, and ended up with a mouthful of blood. He raised his arm to wipe the redness away.

The smile never left his face.

I was so transfixed that I nearly forgot to breathe. The onslaught intensified as Fuckboy began to pummel Trick without mercy. My brother fell into a blind rage as he tried to withstand the assault. His thick arms swiped after Fuckboy, too slow and clumsy to find their target but still packed with deadly force. He lunged around in a frenzy while Fuckboy circled him, almost playfully, striking at the most opportune times.

Their skin glistened with sweat, and their flesh, mostly Trick's, darkened with traces of blood, broken skin, and some serious bruising. The poor guy was being slammed around like a rag doll, and, as much as I resented him, this one-sided beatdown was becoming uncomfortable even for me to watch.

Right as I was about to intervene, Everett Prince and Justin Desmarais, a few of Trick's friends, rushed in to retrieve his nearly unconscious ass. The crowd cheered as Fuckboy spit out a bit of blood onto the carpet and thrust his fist into the air triumphantly.

One voice cried out, "Happy birthday, man! You show that motherfucker how it's done!"

Another voice followed, "Way to go! That son of a bitch was asking for it!"

Brit and the other girl hurried over to Fuckboy's side. Both of them were looking very eager to nurse his wounds. The room exploded into catcalls when they kissed him at the same time, leaving lipstick stains on either side of his cheek. He grinned and placed his arms around their shoulders to herd them away, obviously preparing to enjoy the spoils of war in a more private setting.

As he walked by, we made eye contact for a split second, and he had the nerve to wink at me with two other bitches tucked under his arms. I glanced over to Nat, who appeared to have stars in her eyes as she watched him leave the room.

I shook my head in contempt. "That guy is bad news. Stop looking at him like that."

With a dreamy sigh, Nat said, "What are you talking about, Cate? He just defended Brittany against Trick! It was so romantic! You should be happy someone finally taught that brother of yours a lesson. Doesn't Trick mess with you all the time?"

I arched an eyebrow. "Just because Trick is a fucking asshole doesn't mean he deserves to be knocked unconscious. He already has a shortage of brain cells as is."

Amari frowned. "Don't tell me you suddenly care about Trick's brain cells, Cate. I'm pretty sure he used all five of them to make your life a living hell ever since you moved here."

I grimaced. "I know, I know, but I feel like I should go check on him. I've never seen anyone take him out like that before. Usually, Trick is the one that sends kids to the hospital."

Nat wrinkled her nose. "Oh, no. Are you going soft on us, Cate?"

I groaned, hating every word that was coming out of my mouth, "I'm just saying—what if he has a concussion or something?"

Amari shrugged. "You do you, girl. I'll stop drinking so I can drive later."

I nodded gratefully. "Thanks, bish. I'll text you once I find Trick."

Nat booed at me but gave a hug before I turned to go.