[ xxviii. no man's land ]

➸➸➸

IN ONLY AN HOUR'S time, Willa Deveraux had gone from a silly and happy drunk to an irritable and angry drunk.

Like a receding wave tilting back towards the brink of absolute destruction, she had been tensed and standoffish for most of the latter portion of the darkening evening, doing all that she could to avoid conversations that lasted longer than five minutes. There was no one here that she particularly wanted to be around anymore. Well, of the individuals she could actually see, that is. Despite the fact that Kiara Carrera was an actual attendee of the Midsummers ball, and Pope Heyward was a member of the Island Club's paid service, she could find neither of them anywhere. And though she had continued to look for a familiar tussled head of wavy, blonde hair amongst the shifting crowds, Willa had also not been able to find JJ Maybank, either. It was as if they had all disappeared. As if they had left her behind at Midsummers.

But they wouldn't actually do that to her, would they?

She hoped not, yet she could also not put such a precarious possibility past them. She was lowest on the pogue's totem pole. She was not their friend. She was just someone that they had survived gunshots, beatings, electrocutions, and home invasions with. In those situations, Kiara, Pope, JJ, and John B. had not had a choice on whether to leave her behind or not. If they had left her behind, she might have been killed. But here? At Midsummers? There was no threat to Willa's life. She was in the belly of the beast, yes, but she was protected by the poison that was her own last name.

On the Cut, her last name meant nothing. To the pogues, her last name meant nothing. They had no reason to wait for her here. They had no reason to remember her even if she remembered them.

Willa tried not to let this upsetting conclusion bother her as she drifted her way through the extravagantly consuming party. She was only able to sift through the bustling and chiming crowds in search of three youthful and familiar faces for so long before she was pulled back onto the polished dancefloor for her promised second dance with Rafe Cameron. Even from a distance she had been able to tell that—like herself—he was drunk, too, and standing beside him now, the sickening scent of rum that wafted strongly from his pores was overwhelming. She was repulsed by the mere sight of him. She could barely handle his embrace as he began to slowly spin her around on the floor.

Rafe's hands were heavy and sloppy as they wrapped around Willa's hips, pulling her smaller body flush against his. She had no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck, her face mere inches from his own. One accidental step forward on either of their parts and there was no guarantee that Rafe would be able to restrain himself from daring a Deveraux taste. The thought of kissing him—of sharing the mere breath that he breathed—nearly made Willa sick and though she tried to ease the narrow opening between them, Rafe would not have it. He only held her tighter, his fingers now splayed dominantly and proudly against her exposed lower back.

He was putting on a show. There was no modesty in the way that he held her; no respect that was otherwise expected of an upcoming Figure Eight elite. He simply did not give a damn about his Midsummer date. Willa found that she did not either, but she could not let that be known. For Rafe to discard Willa, it was normal. For Willa to discard Rafe, it was a disgrace.

"Having a good time?"

The slur of Rafe's drunken tone broke into Willa's train of thought. "Don't act like you care," She snapped. "You promised a dance. Not a conversation."

He pouted mockingly. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Nothing about any of this is fun." She glowered. "I'm not having fun. And I know you aren't either. You're just playing a part for your daddy dearest."

Willa's head tilted to the side challengingly, watching the way Rafe's eyes suddenly narrowed at the mention of this father, the blackness of his pupils glinting ferociously in the yellow light above. Eyes, no matter how rageful, were not supposed to look like that. She knew that he was on something; that it was not just the overpouring of a drink that threatened to push him over an edge that he might not be able to return from.

"Is he watching right now?" She baited callously, yet still giving him no time to answer. "I bet he is. Unless he's dancing with his princess."

Both of their heated and hostile gazes instinctively fell away from one another as they each cast outwardly cold glances towards the surrounding unsuspecting couples that twirled away on the dancefloor. Willa was searching for Ward Cameron but found his daughter first. She was not where she was supposed to be. Rather than sneaking drinks with her own kook friends like Willa had seen her doing earlier in the evening, Sarah Cameron was now being spun away on the floor by none other than JJ Maybank. The sight of them dancing together so freely made Willa freeze, and her bare feet clashed against Rafe's own leather shoes as she forced them both to an unexpected halt. Rafe—who had been looking nowhere near the strange and unexpected duo—quickly turned his attention in the direction that Willa had been looking and his gaze darkened dangerously. Now, like his drunken date beside him, he was frozen in place, too. But unlike Willa, who had paused in her own timid confusion, Rafe was straightly stoic with a simmering rage.

"What is he doing here?" He demanded.

Willa dropped her eyes away from the dancing Maybank boy and her immediate instinct was to play dumb as she quickly looked back to Rafe. "Who?" She wondered.

"Your pogue."

"I don't know," She answered. Her shoulders stiffened drastically at the way Rafe's addressed JJ. He was not her anything. "He must have snuck in."

"Don't bullshit me," Rafe snarled. "What the fuck is JJ doing here?"

"I. Don't. Know," Willa repeated angrily; three words cutting through the sickly sweet-smelling air like venom. In moments where she always felt that she had to tiptoe around the truth with Rafe, where one false confession may be the undoing of everything, the one time that she was honest was when he believed her least of all.

She truly did not know what JJ was doing at Midsummers. The only person in the entire world aside from the scheming Maybank himself was his troublesome partner-in-crime, John B. And since they were no longer searching for gold, she could only assume that they were back to creating their own chaos. Perhaps they had simply gotten drunk and decided that a proper 'fuck you' was in order for the prestigious kooks of the Figure Eight. Or maybe they had narrowed their sights further, locking in on one single kook princess. Maybe John B. was taking a shot at revenge against Sarah Cameron, the girl who had gotten him fired and had taken away the only income he was promised to make. That would make sense as to why JJ had been dancing with her under the watchful and curious eyes of so many. There had likely been nothing innocent about the scene at all. He was simply luring her into a trap.

Willa should have felt concern about the impending embarrassment that would likely befall the kook princess before the night was over. But she did not. Instead, she only wanted to push the spotlight onto her more. "Why don't you go ask your sister?" She suggested to Rafe.

"I have a better idea," He sneered back. His narrowed gaze shifted away from Willa's placid expression as he looked over the top of her head and smirked at someone in the distance, smoking their way higher and higher into an oblivion where the garden came to life with hallucinogens. "Hey, Ace!"

Not a single bystander batted an eye at Rafe's sudden exclaim as he shouted over the heads of dancing kooks. The music from the live band had only grown louder and faster, declaring a sharpened twist on the modern slow dance. Everyone around Willa was dancing; distracted. Not a single soul was looking at her and for the first time that night she wished that someone might have spared her a glance; that someone might have been able to pull her away from the Cameron boy whose black eyes glinted like fiery coals on the verge of sparking an open, untamable flame.

Ace Deveraux soon appeared over Rafe and Willa and he peered between the two curiously, likely wondering why he had been called forward like he was nothing more than a guard dog bid to do whatever his master demanded. His icy blue eyes shifted slowly, almost dazedly over their intertwined figures, and Willa nearly rolled her eyes at her little brother's failing feigned sobriety under the dancefloor spotlight.

Were all of Willa's brothers drunk at Midsummers? She had not seen Hudson or Cruz in a while, but she could only imagine that they were surely on their own separate paths to buzzes and blackouts. Then again, she really had no room to talk. She was drunk enough that if she had not already taken off her heels she would have surely been suffering from a broken ankle by now.

"What's up?" The blood-born Deveraux asked.

"Find Topper and Kelce." The Cameron son's order was cold and snapped harshly in the air, violently like the crack of a whip.

Ace's expression twisted with confusion. "What for?"

"We're finishing what we started last night," Rafe informed coolly. If he felt Willa stiffen beneath his fingertips, he did not draw attention to it. Rather, his grip merely tightened, holding her steady, preventing her from running. But where would she go? Right into the arms of JJ to warn him? She could not do that knowing that Rafe would follow her right into the lion's den. "And if you know what's good for you, you won't puss out this time."

Willa frowned deeply at Rafe's looming threat towards Ace. She had not known that her younger brother had nearly been pulled into the vicious fight last night. The revelation made her uneasy and she stared at Ace, unmoving. What might she have done if she had been pitted against him? If she had been forced to choose between her brother and her . . . well, she did not even know what to call JJ exactly. Like she had said before, he was simply a boy that she now shared trauma with.

Would Ace have attacked her, knowing that she was his older sister; his promised protector that had turned her back on him more times than she could count? Would Willa have attacked Ace in return? If he had been the one to put one of the pogues in a headlock, would she have pulled a gun on him, too? The conjured image that flashed within her mind made her shudder with terror. No matter how many fights that had been shared between them growing up, Willa had never once threatened the life of one of her siblings. She had never even struck one of her siblings; had never been forced to push one away so harshly and cruelly. Would Ace's presence have changed anything at all about the fight last night? Without him there, she had not hesitated to save JJ. But what if she had?

Ace had grown unusually quiet and beneath Willa's gaze, she watched as his features grew paler. She could see a nervousness, a guilt pooling in his glassy eyes. On her other side, Rafe was still looking at him expectantly, daring him to say no, to refuse him. But he never would. Eventually Ace blinked and the divide between them was seemingly mended. Or at least held at bay for another night longer.

That unresolved ending would have to suffice both kook sons for now. In the aftermath of their heavy exchange, Ace did not respond to his Rafe's command; not verbally, at least. With a single nod of his blonde head, he turned away and set back off into the throng of mindless dancers to find Topper Thornton and Kelce Walton. Willa watched him until he was lost beneath the dazzle of jeweled dresses and the sharpness of pressed tuxedos—until he became just another face in a crowd full of fakes.

She then turned back around to Rafe to find that he was already staring down at her, smirking expectantly, as if already expecting her next defiant outburst. "Don't pull my brother into this," She muttered. She hated defending Ace, but even she had been able to tell how uncomfortable he had appeared at the sight of getting his hands dirty. Willa knew now that Ace would not have harmed her last night and that surely would have been his own undoing amongst the deranged kook trio that still sought out fresh blood. Ace Deveraux was not a fighter; not in the way that she and Cruz were. He had always been an all bark and no bite type of individual.

"I'm afraid he's already involved," Rafe chided darkly. "He'd do anything I asked of him. Anything at all. You know why?" In the void of her response, Willa felt the air grow still around her. Rafe still continued to glare crossly at her. The tides that had balanced their opposing seas had turned drastically in only a split second, and Willa bit down on the inside of her cheek. Like she had done to him only minutes before, he now gave her no time to answer. "Because he's loyal." A tensed beat pressed on and then Rafe added with a careless shrug, "And because he's chasing a high that only I can mend."

Willa's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?" She questioned. They were no longer dancing.

Rafe seemed delighted at Willa's blatant confusion. As if he knew something that she did not, and he was going to torture her for it. "Do you not talk to your dear baby brother at all?" He mused. "Fuck, the least you could do is make sure he's cleaning up after himself."

"He can take care of himself," She bit back quickly. Too quickly.

"Are you sure about that? Because . . ." He shook his head and scoffed. "I don't know about you, but I could see the powder on his tux from a mile away."

Powder?

Oh, God.

The world around Willa went very quiet and her empty stomach dropped as the appalling realization hit her. Suddenly, Ace's strange and reclusive behavior that had begun to ensue over the past couple of days started to make sense. She had seen him drunk and high and hostile countless times before but never in the way that she saw him tonight. Fear coated her veins as she stared up at Rafe in horror.

"You gave him coke." It wasn't a question.

"I'd keep an eye on him if I were you." It wasn't a denial. "Wouldn't want any accidents, if you know what I mean."

Like the flip of a switch, fear subsided to fury. Petrified turned to protection. Willa's blistering sage eyes flashed dangerously as they narrowed into deathly slits and the bruised hands that had been resting on Rafe's shoulders dug in deep. Her Midsummer escort remained unfazed by her sudden change of aggression. "If you do anything to him—"

"What are you going to do? Shoot me?" Rafe cut her off coldly, halting her angry words in their tracks. He had been expecting this; had been wanting this disastrous night to end with himself on top and Willa floundering at the surface, unable to catch a breath against all the mayhem he could unleash. "Yeah, I know about your boy's gun. I also know that you had it on you last night. I saw you reaching for it. You could have ended that fight last night fair and square, but you didn't. Because you're weak."

Tremors coursed through Willa's strained bones as the poison of Rafe's tone seeped into her clammy skin. He was malicious and unwavering as he tore into her, peeling back every layer of armor that she had built for herself in preparation for this night. She would be left with nothing; an intoxicated mess on the dancefloor that no one would ever believe. She was vulnerable beneath his touch, and he was doomed to crush her.

Rafe leaned in closer, stealing the remains of Willa's personal space. The rum on his hot breath made her already spiraling mind twist with a fervor she could no longer contain. "You think you're a pogue now, huh?" He taunted. "Well, let me tell you this. You won't make it out there."

She was panicking but she would not let him see the fear that so effortlessly encased her. "I'd make it longer than you," She hissed. It was all that she had left to give.

Rafe chuckled dryly. Quietly. Like the balanced breath exhaled before the explosion of a bomb. "That's real cute."

One of his heavy hands abruptly shifted from her waist and reached upwards to brush back that familiar piece of straightened hair that would not stay tucked behind Willa's ear. All the while she watched his poised movements carefully, tensed, her body screaming at her to react—that his touch was merely a ruse for something much more sinister.

Rafe leaned forward then, his forehead touching hers, and pulled her in as close as he could, hiding their expressions behind the curtains of Willa's thick and darkened brunette waves. With a single haunting embrace, he was isolating her on a dancefloor full of people.

She realized this only a moment too late. Before the warning could promptly escape her rattling lungs, Rafe's hand ghosted down Willa's smooth cheek, gently traced the sharp line of her jaw, and then settled at her throat. His long fingers curled around the base of her slim neck and pressed downward on her windpipe.

Willa's breath was immediately cut off. Her sage eyes widened with alarm and though she tried to pull back, Rafe held her still. She was frozen against him, drunken and confused and terrified.

No one could help her. No one could see her. To an outsider, it merely looked as if they were two teenagers in love, lost in an affectionate embrace; foreheads touching, hands creeping as close to one another as they could dare beneath peering and powerful eyes of the public. To an outsider, it did not look like Rafe was strangling Willa. To an outsider, the sinister prince and glowing princess did not look like the promised catalyst of a very-real threat.

"You know . . . You know, I'm impressed with you, Willa. I really am," Rafe growled in her ear. The pads of his fingertips only continued to push harder into the muscles of her throat. He was hurting her now. "Here I was, thinking that my date for the night would be some mindless bitch that only cared about herself. It took me less than half a dance to realize that that couldn't be further from the truth. No . . . you care about everyone but yourself. And that's why you think you're a pogue. Because you think that if you care about them, then they will show some sign of compassion—of respect back. But they don't care about you."

Tears were pooling in Willa's eyes now, but there was no one to see them fall. No one to catch them as they ghosted down her flustered and reddening cheeks. "And we don't care about you," Rafe continued emotionlessly. "You're nothing." A low breath slipped from between his clenched teeth, hitting Willa's face softly. It was a small gesture, but violent all the same; mocking her with the oxygen that she could not receive. "Your heart is so fucking big . . . And it's going to burst . . . into nothing . . . and there is going to be no one there to pick up your pieces. We're all just going to sit back and watch you bleed."

Rafe smiled sadistically. "I'm going to watch you bleed."

Willa could not breathe. And yet the first thought that entered her mind was: don't make a scene. There was no way that she could make this right. There was no way that this ended without it somehow becoming her fault.

"You can still save yourself, of course," He hummed nastily. "You could still be one of us. You could still be mine." It was with that haunting declaration from Rafe that Willa realized the control that the Cameron boy thought he had over her. Because their fates were supposedly aligned in the stars by their parents, he thought that Willa was already his; that she would always be his, no matter what say she had against it. "All you have to do is tell me what the Maybank kid is doing here."

But Willa Deveraux was not his. She would never be his. Rafe Cameron may have had the power over her life, but she still had the power over her own word and that was all that mattered. No matter what happened to her, at least JJ and John B. and whatever mission that they had planned to see come to fruition would remain unharmed. So, she remained silent, unmoving beneath her date's painful touch.

"Nothing?" He challenged. Willa tried to swallow but her lips were still pressed in a firm line. She would not talk. She would not bend. She would not break. "Fine. I'll do it myself." A blackness had begun to pull at the outer edges of her vision, but then Rafe released his grip on her entirely. "You had a chance to save your boy, but that's over now. Maybe your heart isn't so fucking big after all."

And then he pulled away from her and smiled. He smiled as if there were no care for himself in the world. As if he was not on the search for blood and answers and did not wish to choke a girl into unconscious and beat a boy to an inch of his life. He smiled as if he were not a monster with the catacombs at his feet to play with.

Rafe raised his hand to Willa's cheek once more in a smug farewell and this time she could not help but flinch. She immediately hated herself for displaying such a feeble and delicate reaction, but her mind was still caught in the place of an attack. She was still holding her breath even if Rafe no longer held her.

"So beautiful," He cooed. His large palm cupped the side of Willa's head so gently. One would have never thought such a hand was capable of so much pain. "So stupid."

With a disappointed sigh, Rafe let his heavy hand drop back to his side and he turned away from his startled and frozen date. He set off into the dancing crowd, likely in pursuit of her brother and his other friends, but Willa did not watch to see him go. Instead, she hastily turned back in the direction of the kook princess. Once again, Sarah Cameron was not where she was supposed to be, yet her absence still promised one certainty.

To both Willa's horror and her relief, the space once occupied by the unforeseen dancing duo that was Sarah Cameron and JJ Maybank was empty. JJ was gone and for his sake she could only hope that he had left the Island Club entirely. Because if not, there was no promise of how this violent night would finally and truly end.

➸➸➸

WILLA DEVERAUX WAS STILL gasping for breath as she finally made her way off the dancefloor and went to stand near the garden's shadowy edge. She was trembling like a madwoman, and she could hardly see straight through the tears that pooled in her eyes yet refused to let fall. Her gloved fingertips ghosted along the skin of her aching neck, and she winced, feeling the phantom pains of Rafe's fervent grip ricochet through her unnerved body.

Her other free hand that did not caress her bruising throat was still shaking. The glass of pure vodka that she had swiped from the bar in her escape through the garden fell from her fingertips and to the grass and rolled at her feet. It did not shatter, so no one turned Willa's way at the tiny yelp that slipped from her lips as a result of her unsteady grip. Thankfully, the glass was empty, Willa having already downed the bitter contents in her hurry to shake the overwhelming nausea that coursed through her.

Her fear and her fury were gone from her. All that she felt now was a numbness that had engulfed her entire being. She did not feel in control of herself. She knew that she needed to leave but she had nowhere to go. Her home on the far north side of the Figure Eight was not enough to shield her from the frenzied agony that splintered through her muddled brain and twisted into the tissues of her withering body.

"Are you alright?"

Willa's head snapped up sharply at the newfound voice behind her and she briefly turned when she did not recognize its owner. A boy that Willa was unfamiliar with was leaning casually on the wooden railing that lined the entirety of the Island Club's back porch. He was looming over her but not in a way that was unexpected given that Willa was the one who had attempted to flee to the darkest corner of the garden. She had entered his space, but she was not about to give it up. She needed it more than him.

"I'm fine," Willa clipped.

The boy could not have been older than seventeen, but his expensive, black-suited attire was clearly an attempt to make him look like the adult he aspired to be. Willa glowered at the mere sight of him, even as she knew that it was likely not his fault that he appeared so seamlessly before her. His parents had probably forced him into such a suit, too, right? But she could not focus on that right now. She could barely focus on the fact that the unnamed boy was still looking at her. Why the fuck was he still looking at her?

"You look like you could use a drink," He said. There was hardly any emotion in his voice.

"And you look like you're not twenty-one," She muttered. She had no time for his games.

The boy tilted his head to the side and his dark, windswept hair shifted carelessly in response. His expression remained taut; guarded and relaxed all at once. Even in the dark, his deep-set eyes were a dazzling blue that could have challenged even the brightness of the sky on a perfect summer afternoon. His gaze shifted momentarily towards the discarded vodka glass that he had clearly seen Willa down in a single sip. Then he looked back to her, his features still unchanged. "Neither do you," He countered.

"You must not know me all that well, then."

"I don't," The boy confirmed with an uncomplicated shrug. "I don't even know your name. I'd like to learn it over a shared drink."

Willa rolled her eyes and looked back to the ground. She needed to stop looking up at the stranger behind her or she was going to be sick all over herself. The reality of her situation made her grimace. Though she was long-past ready for this night to be over, she was not quite ready to lose her stomach just yet. There was only one way that Willa knew to stop it.

Carefully, she tilted her head upward once more. "What are we drinking?" She dared to ask.

The boy pushed him off the railing, standing tall so that he towered over her. "I'm Barrett," He introduced. "Barrett Coldwell."

"And I'm thirsty," Willa retorted sharply, unforgiving in her tone. She did not miss the way that his guarded eyes widened slightly, but she did not care. She slowly made her way back onto the porch and stopped when she was standing less than a foot away from him. "What?" She confronted. His expression still had not lost its edge even in the time it took her to approach him. "A drink for a name. Your rules, not mine."

Barrett blinked but his red lips remained pressed in a firm and unwavering line. "Okay," He complied stiffly.

Willa almost grinned at his growing discomfort. Was the mysterious Barrett Coldwell regretting asking her for her name already? A drunken and miserable and vexed Willa Deveraux hoped that he was. If not, she would certainly make sure that he did by the time that she was done with him.

Without waiting for him to attempt a chance at leading the way like a true gentleman would, she turned away from him and did not look back to see if he would follow as she made her way back towards the garden bar. Unsurprisingly, the pogue bartender that Rafe had ridiculed only hours prior was still in the very same spot that he had once been left. The older man was staring uncomfortably across at Willa as she haughtily approached and leaned her arms boldly along the countertop.

"Remember me?" Willa snarled outwardly at the bartender. "Yeah, I know you do." Somewhere, in the deep depths of her obliterated mind, she wondered if her arrogant words were slurring as badly out loud as they were in her head. "Because I'm a fucking Deveraux." She exhaled an exasperated breath before adding with a low and unbothered drawl, "Unfortunately."

Barrett had quietly lowered himself down onto a plush barstool beside her. Though they were both obviously underaged, the bartender did not bother with IDs this time and the Coldwell boy quickly ordered two drinks before turning his concentrated gaze upward. "Deveraux, huh?" He asked without judgement. "I actually do know that name. Willa, right?"

"Would you like a gold star for that riveting assumption?"

"Hey. I didn't—"

"Because you definitely earned it," She interrupted him. "I mean, I am Willa. Kind of sucks that people know who I am before I can even introduce myself." She sent him a pitiful glance as the bartender lowered two gin-and-tonic drinks in front of them. A disgusting beverage for a weak and inexperienced stomach. "I thought you would be different."

She hadn't really. No one was different in the Figure Eight.

"Look, I'm just trying to learn names. I wasn't trying to offend you," Barrett insisted firmly. Strangely, he did not seem bothered by Willa's unexpected anger. If anything, his voice only softened, as if he were trying to reach out to her through the fog of her intoxication. She hated it. It made her dislike him even more. "I'm new here," He explained. "I started back at Kildare High in the spring and—"

"And I am done with this conversation," Willa decided harshly as she took a sip of her drink.

If she had not been so intoxicated, her brash behavior might have shocked even herself. Most nights, under better circumstances, Willa Deveraux was an undeniably happy and playful drunk. But then there were some nights where her unwanted and suppressed rage towards the world overtook her. Where all that grief and frustration that she had been holding at bay finally released itself into an erratic and ugly mess, and anyone that found themselves in her crossfire would only find themselves hurt.

"Thank you for the drink, Barrett Coldwell. Even though I did most, if not all, of the work to get it," She dismissed. "Now, if you would excuse me—" Willa rudely grabbed another full shot glass of an uncertain liquid off the counter, completely disregarding the gentleman at the opposite end of the bar that had been waiting for it. "—I have to go and take this shot anywhere other than here because your gin and tonic was simply not doing it for me. What are you, from the Upper East Side?"

Barrett scoffed coldly. It was the most emotion she had seen displayed from him since she had first laid eyes on him. "You don't have to be such a bitch," He snapped.

"Please. You haven't even seen the bitch in me yet," Willa cautioned. His bitter words did not hurt her, for she had already been called much, much worse in her young life. "But if you do so happen to see me beyond shitfaced at any point after this very moment in time, do yourself—and me—the decency of leaving me the fuck alone." She smiled briefly, but she it did not reach her eyes. "Have a pleasant rest of your evening."

Willa then slid another waiting shot—a remade drink of the one she had stolen from the unnamed gentleman—down the counter to Barrett who remained unmoving at the bar and then lifted her own glass in a final farewell. "Oh, and cheers."

Her heart was a swirling, stormy mess but she did not watch the way Barrett's expression finally fell as she turned and set off back into the crowd. Leaving the garden bar behind, Willa made it ten whole steps along the Island Club's back porch before someone had harshly snagged her elbow and yanked her backwards. She stumbled as she was pulled and twisted into a familiar set of bony hands. Through blurry and tearful eyes—wait, when had Willa begun to cry?—her startled and distracted attention fell to none other than her wrathful mother.

Maren Deveraux was glaring madly at her daughter as she yanked the full shot out her trembling hands. "Are you drunk?" She hissed through her teeth.

The tears in her eyes dried in an instant.

Now, Willa only cackled. She was too far gone to be scared by her mother.

"No!" She exclaimed loudly. Now, she could make a scene. Now, if she was going down at least she could drag her mother down with her. Because what kind of perfect mother would allow their perfect daughter to get shitfaced drunk on the most important night of the summer?

"Who gave you alcohol?" Maren demanded with a snarl. Her hands only tightened on her daughter's skinny arms, her long nails catching on the satin of Willa's faded purple gloves.

"It was Lila!" Willa chuckled obnoxiously. Once again, she was pulling that mindless name back into her lies. She really hoped that there was no one here named Lila.

Actually, she really hoped that there was. Willa was in need of a little chaos.

And then chaos came knocking.

"Look, man I can walk myself! I got legs. Can you see that, brother? I really appreciate what you did back there. But let me just walk out by myself! Mr. Dunleavy, hey! I see you got your drink. Good, that's really nice of you. I'm actually going to down that!"

Just as people were beginning to pause and stare at the clashing Deveraux mother and daughter, all formerly prying eyes snapped newly towards the unexpected explosion of defiant insurgence. Willa turned away from her demeaning mother just in time to follow the shocking sight of none other than JJ Maybank being dragged out from the inner depths of the Island Club. A bouncer was holding tightly to his arm, pulling him away from who Willa could only assume was Mr. Dunleavy, an old and unsuspecting man that had just had his drink stolen from him. JJ jugged back the alcohol in one swallow and Willa felt her gaping jaw turn upward into a smug grin. As far as she could tell, he was still unharmed. Rafe had not gotten to him and due to the grand display of his exit, she could only assume that his mission was complete.

"What the hell's the matter with him?" Someone in the crowd murmured.

"Whoo!" JJ crooned loudly, if not a bit drunkenly, too. "I really appreciate the discretion, Daryl, you know? It's okay, everybody! Do not panic! Just leave it to the men and women in uniform! Let's hear it for them!" He began to clap loudly and off-key as the security guard shoved him further into the garden, nearing the edge of the property, doing all that he could to remove the rambunctious boy from the privileged sights of the respected kooks. "Hey, Rose!" JJ yelled obnoxiously as he pointed coyly towards Ward Cameron's puzzled wife, clad in a bright pink gown and a sharpened headpiece. "You look like Lady Liberty!"

Willa snorted. She had thought the same exact thing upon seeing that woman for the first time tonight.

"Let go of him!"

The sudden and harsh command came from none other than Kiara Carrera as she marched her way out onto the porch. She was not standing all that far from Willa, but her presence was booming and controlling, a storm in her own retrospect.

The security guard froze, and JJ was jolted to an abrupt stop in the man's grasp. "Excuse me, ma'am?" The former demanded.

"You can't just boot him!" Kiara exclaimed, ignoring the protests of her own kook parents behind her. "I invited him here! I'm a member of this club—"

JJ did not wait for Kiara to finish in her rebellious tirade, taking the tiniest piece of her distraction and absolutely running with it. He quickly whipped towards the security guard and shoved him off, freeing himself from any restraint. "Mandatory power hour at Rixon's, Kie!" He shouted before he spun sharply on his heel, looking in the direction of the open dining area. "Pope, you as well, all right?"

Pope was frowning but nodded his head in understanding from where he stood beside his father, and Kiara was already beginning to pull free of her mother's hold. JJ waited for neither of their verbal responses as he lifted his arms into the air and pulled against seemingly invisible handcuffs on either of his wrists. "Come on, y'all!" He beckoned to the pogues. To his friends. "Workers of the world unite! Throw off your chains!" He then took off into the night, sprinting out of the garden and towards a figure that was proudly saluting him from the outskirts of the Club. John B.

"Wahoo!" John B. cried, throwing his hands wildly into the air.

"Mission accomplished, sir!" JJ cheered.

"Captain!"

"Colonel!"

Willa watched the two boys embrace in the distance, their lively and playful silhouettes brightened by the glow of the full moon overhead, and then her attention was torn back towards the sight of both Kiara and Pope hurriedly running after them, abandoning all that they had known prior to their Midsummer commitments. Their respective parents were shouting fiercely after both of them, but neither responded to the harsh threats of punishment and groundings. Neither reacted to anything at all as they both ran into the open and awaiting arms of their friends; Kiara into JJ's and Pope in John B.'s. They were all grinning at one another as they hugged each other tight, like there was nothing else in the world that could pull them from this defining moment. They had one another. That was all that mattered.

Not a single one of them looked back. Not a single one of them looked back towards Willa who now stood alone, a tainted kook, wishing for nothing more than to just be a pogue.

But why would they look back? The search for the gold was over. They did not need Willa Deveraux anymore.

They really were leaving her.

Willa let her defeated and sullen gaze fall silently back towards the wooden floorboards, back towards her mother who was determined to pull her back into the Island Club once and for all. There was no way that Maren would let her out of her sight now. This truly was it. Willa was destined to become that little shadow that her mother always wanted; that little shadow that would never see the promised light of real opportunity again. Already she missed what she had briefly shared with the Kiara, Pope, John B., and JJ. Even if her bond with the pogues had not been real to the rest of them, it had been real to her.

But then she heard her name in the distance. Willa abruptly lifted her head and looked out into the darkened garden's edge once more, her eyes narrowing with a wavering concentration that her drunkenness threatened to steal from her.

JJ Maybank had suddenly stopped in the middle of the grassy yard and spun back around towards the beaming Island Club once more. He was a blonde spitfire of exhilarated chaos and triumph as he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Rixon's Cove, kook bait! Let's roll!"

At the sound of her own familiar nickname echoing back to her, Willa's heart might have stopped beating in her chest, but she would not have noticed. In the next moment, it was as if her entire body had been shocked with a glorious restart. At JJ's calling, her pulsing blood flushed heatedly with excitement and her soul soared at the striking sight befalling her. All four teenagers—JJ, John B., Kiara, and Pope—had all halted in their retreats and had turned back to face her. Her.

They were not leaving without Willa. They were leaving with her.

Alden Deveraux stepped up beside his daughter and frowned. "Willa," Her father addressed. Surprisingly, she did not hear concern nor caution in his voice. Only curiosity. "Who are those kids?"

Who were those kids to Willa Deveraux? Those kids that defied all laws and boundaries and expectations in the name of loyalty and love for each other?

She only had one thought in response. Now or never.

Willa side-stepped away from her father and mother, and quickly ran back towards the garden bar. With all three bartenders occupied by the messy scene that JJ had just made upon his exit, Willa hopped over the mahogany counter and grabbed a large bottle of Tennessee whiskey that had been resting lowly on the shelf. Then she was vaulting back over the way that she had come. As she made her way back across the porch, she spared both of her puzzled parents a single, unyielding glance.

They might never forgive Willa for this.

But she found that it was worth the risk.

"Those are my friends!" She announced.

And then, without another word, she stepped out into the open space of no man's land and began to run.

An elated gasp escaped Willa's lips as she pushed herself off the Island Club's porch steps and shot forward through the spacious and glowing garden. The grass felt cold beneath her bare feet as she sprinted her way through the discerning and grudgeful and confused crowds, knocking elite people aside as she did so. Behind her, she could hear the faint shouts of her parents calling after her, both of them stunned at the sight of their promised kook daughter running willingly towards the Cut. In front of her, Kiara, Pope, John B., and JJ were all grinning, jumping, and shouting, beckoning her closer and pulling her into the shadows of the night with them.

"Let's go, Willa!"

There were a million surprised and horrified and fuming eyes on her dashing, giggling form, yet there was only one gaze she dared to hold. A storm of summer sage and warm hickory clashed wildly and proudly as Willa ran straight into John B.'s open arms and jumped to meet his embrace. He had been waiting for her. Her arms swung haphazardly around his broad shoulders in a warm hug, and then he was pulling her onto his back and hoisting her high into the air.

No words were exchanged further as she left the Island Club behind, but Willa did not think that the English language could have sufficed to properly explain the way that she felt in that fleeting moment. How quickly the night had turned. The light that had nearly been snuffed away from Willa had regained its brightness and a promise had reclaimed its hope. She felt more than on top of the world. She felt infinite. Safe in the embraces of the south side pogues, safe in the embraces of those she could now call her friends, all the while twirling madly beneath the blanket of a blazing summer night in the arms of a beautiful Routledge boy, she felt the weight of the world slip off her shoulders and she smiled freely as she was carried off into the dark.

Not once did Willa Deveraux look back.

~~~~~~~~~~

a chapter to define the rest of the story.

wow, a lot happened.  i hope you enjoyed it.  i don't even know what to say because so much happened.

but on another note, do we think rafe threatened jj with 'tell kiara she looks pretty hot for a pogue' or 'tell willa she looks pretty hot for a pogue' . . .

anyways, this chapter was huge for willa's character.  she has finally been embraced by the pogues and she, in turn, has embraced them.  there's still obviously a lot of growth to come, but this is a huge win for our kook bait!!! gah!!! i'm so proud of her for sticking up for herself over and over again!!  she faced so many battles and internal conflicts in this chapter; she just needs a break!!! and some advil for the hangover she's surely going to be feeling in the morning.

also, for anyone that's wondering, this is what i imagine barrett coldwell to look like. i hope you enjoyed the introduction to his character even if willa absolutely did not! he's got a bit of a brooding vibe and i am absolutely here for this new kook boy.

so, what are we thinking of this chapter? how are we feeling? it stressed me out a lot to write, so i hope you enjoyed it.  i'd really love to know what you all are thinking! i'd also love to thank you all for the continuous support of this story!! in only three days, 'letters she wrote' has gained 3,000 new reads!!  ahhhhh that's amazing!! thank you!! thank you!! i love you all so, so much!!!

stay safe and stay well.

--B.