Ashley made his way to the bar and tried to tamp down the jealousy that burned through his blood. Not only was Abi Bale interested in his wayward brother, but, it seemed, the younger girl as well. "I'll take a bourbon and water, a double, and a Shirley Temple." He waited for the drinks and watched Andy and Abi. She seemed to be pleading with him to dance again, but he walked back to the patio, leaned against the railing, shook a cigarette from the pack of his jacket pocket and lit up. He was angry about something already and that spelled trouble.

Ashley couldn't believe the way Abi cuddled up to Andy, wrapping an arm around his waist, brushing her breasts against his jacket as Andy smoked, then it hit him. Like the proverbial ton of bricks. Abi and Andy were lovers. A mixture of envy, awe and raw jealously spurted through his blood. The he felt fear - bloodcurdling, mind-numbing fear. If Andy was sleeping with Abi Bale, his days were numbered. Her old man would kill him.

But Ashley understood his brother.

Hell, the thought of making love to Abi was seductive, and he knew it was impossible not to want her. Worth the risk.

Ashley tore his eyes away and ignored the heat in his loins. Just looking at Abi, at the cleavage from breasts packed tightly into a strapless bra and bulging slightly over the dipped neckline of that pink dress, made him hard. God, what he would give for a taste of Abi Bale. He was as bad as his randy brother. The difference was that Ashley was responsible and would have given up part of his life to make love to her.

"Your drinks, sir?" The bartender's voice brought him out of his fantasies, and he swallowed the bourbon and water in one gulp, then ordered another, hoping to quench the thirst that suddenly parched his throat.

He carried the drinks to the table where Mary Kate was seated with her parents.

"Why, thank you." Mary Kate's green eyes filled with gratitude that he'd deigned to return, though he sensed a deeper emotion that she quickly hid. He felt like a heel for ditching her earlier.

"Dancing," Mary Kate's mother said, her lips drawn so tight it was as if they were pulled by a purse string. "The devil's doing."

Ashley smiled. "I wouldn't say that too loudly if I were you, Mrs. Springer. Seems a lot of people here like it. They might not take kindly to being told they're doing some kind of devil worship."

"I hate to admit it, but you're right," reverend admitted to Ashley. He patted his wife on the crook of her arm, as if she were a dog that needed reassurance. "This is not the time nor place. We've accepted Judge Scodelario's hospitality and we won't condemn certain aspects of it."

Betty Springer, effectively rebuked, looked down at her clasped hands. She was
whispering to herself, praying, and Ashley was reminded of physical education class when he'd said the coach was a jerk and had been overheard. He'd been forced to drop and do fifty push-ups in front of the class. If he failed with any one of the push-ups, he was forced to do fifty more. He ended up doing nearly three hundred and feeling as if he were dying - his penance for mouthing off. He wondered if Betty's prayer, muttered under her breath so quickly after her husband's reprimand, was her atonement for speaking out of line. Suddenly, he felt sorry for the woman. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, interrupting the movement of her lips. She glanced up quickly, swallowed hard, then shot a look at her husband - as if she were asking to be granted permission.

Bartholomew's smile drizzled away. Ashley didn't give a damn. "How about a glass of wine - or a ginger ale?"

"That . . . would be nice. The soda," she said nervously.

"You got it." Flashing her a wide grin, he grabbed Mary Kate's arm and said, "Come on. You can help me."

Mary Kate's face turned the color of roses, and the blush helped give depths to her features. She was a plain-looking girl with a tiny nose and small eyes that continually blinked, probably from the contacts that had replaced her thick glasses. Her cheekbones were high, and Ashley suspected with a touch of makeup she'd be pretty. She was twenty-two now and had just graduated from some Bible college, but she still acted as if she was a shy seventeen-year-old coed.

He'd been surprised to run into her at the drugstore in town where he'd picked up a couple of bottles of aspirin and a tube of Ben-Gay for his mother. He'd said hello as a matter of courtesy, and she struck up a conversation, then stunning him, had asked him in her tongue-tied, desperate-virgin manner to the barbecue. He'd agreed for solely selfish reasons - to meet the powers that be in Malibu, Los Angeles, and the rest of California - and now he felt like a jerk. Already, he'd left her twice, once to talk to Jake Bertilecci, a downtown corporate lawyer with a major firm, and then to dance with L.K.

Now, he told himself, it was only right that he plant himself firmly at her side, smile and give her the attention which she deserved . . . at least for a while. His eyes strayed to Abi again. God, she was beautiful - such a princess.

At the bar he ordered the ginger ale as well as another bourbon and water for himself, then tried not to notice L.K standing alone, looking out for a place when she should have been having the time of her life. She was interesting in a different way. Pretty enough, but pale in comparison with her half sister, L.K seemed quick, a lot smarter than Abi, even though she was still a skinny kid wobbling in her first pair of high heels. She'd probably age well, become more interesting and beautiful with the passing of time. Trouble was right now she seemed hung up on Andy. Just like Abi. Ashley's jaw tightened so hard it hurt.

" . . . around here, you know, in the Malibu area?" Mary Kate asked, blinking up at him, and he'd realized he'd been ignoring her again. She followed his gaze and stiffened when she recognized L.K.

"Pardon me?"

"I asked if you planned to practice law somewhere around here."

"Depends." He lifted a shoulder and grabbed the two drinks.

"On?"

"What I'm offered, I guess."

"I thought you might stick around, you know, because of your Mom."

Something in her tone caught his attention - the same self-righteous inflection that he'd heard from the women of the church who tried to help out when his brother Joey had nearly drowned a long time ago. All at once the time faded and he remembered years back, riding home on his bike, seeing the dead cat draped over the mailbox, glazed eyes staring blindly back at the road, flies already gathering at the stench. Bile roiled up in the back of his throat, and he wondered, as he had a thousand times over the years, if the well-meaning reverend or zealot from his congregation had been responsible for the carnage. "Ma can take care of herself," he said, his voice clipped. No reason to get defensive. Not here. Not now.

"Good." Mary Kate's smile appeared genuine but he still felt that little prick at the back of his scalp, the one that warned him things weren't exactly as they seemed. "My father, he worries about everyone in the community, you know, whether they're Christian or not."

"And Mom's not?"

"I don't know." She sipped her drink. "Is she?"

He considered his crazy mother and his own plans about having her see a psychiatrist. "Mom's just unconventional," he said and heard the thread of steel in his voice, felt a trickle of perspiration at the base of his spine. Though he'd grown up ashamed and embarrassed of his mother's eccentricities he wouldn't let anyone else put her down. "But she's the fairest, most decent human being I know."

Mary Kate's eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Then why did your father-" She stopped short, blushed again and shook her head. "Never mind."

"No. What were you going to ask?" he demanded, vaguely aware that the music had changed and the notes of an Elton John song drifted through the crowd.

"It was nothing."

"Go ahead. Tell me."

"Really, Ashley, it's just a silly thought."

He felt a tense tic in his jaw. "What about my old man?"

Licking her lips nervously, she looked down at the ground for a second before angling her chin upward and meeting his gaze. Curiosity and something else, something murkier and deadlier, lingered in those innocent green eyes. She swallowed. "Then why did your father leave?"

A question that haunted Ashley all his life. Why? Why? Why? Guilt settled over his shoulders. Was it something he'd done? Was it because he hadn't been able to save his younger brother? "I don't know," he admitted, feeling like that impotent five-year-old boy he'd been so long ago. "But I think it had a lot to do with Joey - my younger brother-"

"Yes, I know-"

"When Joey nearly drowned, Dad snapped. Just left for work one day and didn't bother coming back."

"Don't you ever hear from him? He is your father."

Ashley felt a familiar pain and dealt with it the only way he knew how. Tossing his drink back, he refused to answer, to think of all the reasons why Frank Biersack had bailed out on his family. Ashley wondered about it often, just as he'd wondered about what become of Joey, but he'd never asked; the subjects were taboo in the house and anytime anyone dared mention Frank or Joey to Eva, she would clam up for days, get lost in herself somewhere dark and far away. "Come on, your mother's drink is getting warm." With a smile he'd practiced for years, Ashley ushered Mary Kate over to the tent where the Springers were still seated and handed Mrs. Springer the ginger ale.

"Thank you," she said, grateful for a little kindness cast in her direction.

"No problem," he replied and told himself not to push it, to hang on to his poise, to ignore the rising temper that his brother always gave in to. This was the worst place in the world to get into it, but the spark of interest in Mary Kate's eyes when she talked about his family and the memory of the dead cat and the way the ladies of Reverend Springer's church had tried to force Mom to give up her little family, whispering that she wasn't a fit mother, welled up in his mind. He wondered, as he had off and on for years, if the Springers had been behind the bullets shot at the palm-reading sign of the gutted cat . . . All his self-imposed control went to hell as he favored Mrs. Springer with a smile. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to dance with Mary Kate."

"Out of the question!" the reverend said, wiping the barbecue sauce from his lips with the corner of his napkin.

"She's over eighteen, old enough to make up her own decisions, don't you think?" Again he flashed his wear-ever grin.

"She'll not be partaking in any of that hedonistic ritual," he replied, his lips beginning to whiten. "It's the work of Satan, boy."

"Mary Kate, sit down," Betty commanded softly.

Mary Kate tried to wiggle her fingers free from Ashley's but he held on tight, clenching her hand in a death grip. "What do you say, Mary Kate - we shouldn't be discussing you behind your back. Will you dance with me?"

She squirmed. "Please, Ashley, don't-"

"You don't want to dance with me?"

"It's not that, but-"

"That's enough!" the preacher hissed. His hands splayed on the table, he shoved himself upright and rose to his full six-feet-three-inches. With hawkish features, huge hands and a voice that could boom and whisper at the same time, he was an imposing man. He glared down at Ashley. Hatred shimmered in the air. "You heard her, boy. She doesn't want to dance with you."

"I think she can speak for herself."

A hush came over the crowd, conversation ended, ice cubes stopped rattling in their glasses. Dancer's passed and even the strains of an old Beatles tune faded away as the piano player, too, let his fingers drift from the keys.

Ashley sensed every eye on him, and the gazes on his back nearly burned through the fabric of his rented tuxedo. Christian Bale, his own boss, the richest man in Malibu, Judge Scodelario, his host, and whom he might appear before should he pass the bar exam, Jake Bertilecci and Elliot Barnes, both prominent local attorneys - they all were here. Watching him. The governor and a fledging senator were supposed to be in attendance. Be careful, his mind warned, don't blow it! You've worked too hard to get here. Don't piss anyone off just because this lying jackass thinks he's better than you and your mother.

"Mary Kate, get your things," Reverend Springer ordered quietly. He glanced at the crowd, obviously noting that he had everyone's attention. "Betty, I think we should leave."

"Not until I get my dance." Ashley's fingers dug into Mary Kate's hand.

"No way, son. If you think my daughter's going to dance with the son of a woman who practices witchcraft and Satanism-" He caught himself then and cleared his throat. His anger was quickly disguised beneath a mask of benign contemplation. "Look, boy, I don't think we should make a scene. This is, after all, a celebration for The Judge and his lovely wife."

"You insulted my family," Ashley reminded him.

"A mistake, you know, that's all. I pray for your mother and those lost souls who come to her for guidance instead of seeking the truth of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Every night I kneel at the altar of our beloved Father and pray that she'll give up her deal with Satan, that she'll no longer pay tribute to Lucifer-"

"You don't know a thing about it."

"She's a troubled woman, son."

"Go to hell!" Andy had heard enough.

He'd seen Ashley with Mary Kate and noticed the fire in his brother's eyes. His brother, damn him, was in way over his head. These people would love to have a reason to blackball Ashley Biersack forever, and if he caused a scene at The Judge's party, he could kiss his future career in Malibu, and probably Los Angeles, good-bye. Idiot. Andy vaulted over a chair to stand next to his brother. "Ease up," he advised.

"This isn't your fight."

Andy's smile widened. "Sure it is; they all are."

"Hey, now, folks, let's not get into this." The Judge intervened, spreading his hands in gentle supplication while his hard little eyes glittered furiously. His wife strode quickly to the piano player, issued a terse directive, and soon notes of "In The Mood" filtered through the sticky night air.

"You'll pay for this, both of you," Reverend Springer predicted as he shepherded his little family though the crowd. "Judgement Day isn't that far off."

Andy snorted. "See ya there." He plucked a grape from a nearby table and tossed it into his mouth, then turned his gaze on his brother. "Boy, do you know how to make an impression."

"Don't remind me." Impatiently, Ashley plowed his fingers through his hair. "I probably just cut my own throat." He glanced over to his cluster of attorneys who worked for Jake Bertilicci, but their gazes slid away. Well, screw 'em.

"Maybe not," Andy argued. "Some guys might like a lawyer with balls enough to stand up to a pompous ass."

"Some guys don't." Ashley, now that people were turning back to their conversations and their drinks, relaxed a little. "Looks like I lost my date." Mary Kate glanced nervously over her shoulder but, at a sharp word from her mother, hurried away.

"Her loss."

"What about you - where's the Angel?"

Andy's mouth quirked a little. "Abi? She's in the ladies' room."

"I thought maybe I could have a dance."

"You'll have to wait in line." Andy reached into his pockets for cigarettes. As he'd suspected, he shouldn't have come here.

"That bother you?"

Andy shook out a Marlboro. "Everything bothers me." As he cupped a flame to the tip of cigarette, he noticed a movement in white near the rose garden and his stomach seemed to shove up against his diaphragm when he recognized L.K and some boy - Rusty Something-or-Other. Rusty seemed intent on talking to her, though L.K, from the looks of her, didn't want to be bothered.

"Interested in the younger one?" Ashley asked as Andy blew out a stream of smoke in disgust towards the boy.

"The younger what?"

"Don't insult me by playing dumb. You know who I'm talking about. Lindsay Bale. You were looking for her the minute you walked in the door. Even though you had her sister hanging on your arm. When you saw her dancing with me, I thought you might start throwing punches."

"You're too old for her," Andy observed.

"So are you."

"I'm not interested."

"Like hell." Ashley rubbed his jaw. "You'd better be careful, Andy. Sisters don't appreciate it when a man can't make up his mind. But by the way, she's worried about you. Claims that Adam and Jimmy are out for your blood."

"So what else is new?" Andy wasn't concerned.

"L.K Bale cares about you."

"I told you I'm not interested in either of the Bale girls."

"Yeah," Ashley replied with more than a modicum of sarcasm. "And I'm Reverend Springer's new best friend."

---

Abi wanted to die.

Her stomach was queasy as it was and then the Biersack boys nearly came to blows with Reverend Springer, of all people.

She dashed upstairs and down a darkened hallway to be sick in Kaya's private bathroom, where, after throwing up and rinsing out her mouth, she brushed her teeth with Kaya's toothbrush, touched up her lipstick, took one look at her wild hair from the motorcycle ride and groaned. Her tangled locks were a lost cause. Instead of trying to comb her knots free, she tossed her head around and decided to with the untamed look. She may as well get used to it. With Andy.

She felt better now and some of her color had returned. So she had to face The Judge's illustrious guests, deal with old men with a few drinks in them trying to flirt with her, face her father and Lord knew what else.

Give me strength.

Of course she'd expected Andy would make a scene. It had been inevitable, she'd told herself, but what the hell was wrong with Ashley Biersack, picking a fight with Reverend Springer? The entire party had nearly stopped. This wasn't going well, not at all.

And then there was the situation with Alex and Kaya. What a joke. Why didn't she just dump him? They were always fighting. Always. Couldn't she figure it out that he didn't care about her? That he just used her?

Lately Kaya seemed so desperate, so determined to have Alex all to herself.

As if it would ever happen.

Satisfied that she'd done everything she could to look her best, Abi slipped into the shadowy hallway and felt, as she had the other night, someone watching her.

Get over it!

No one was lurking in the darkened rooms and alcoves of The Judge's huge Southern-looking mansion. For God's sake, she was leaping at shadows.

Lately she'd been a jangle of nerves . . . well, she had her reasons.

Thud!

She nearly jumped out of her skin. Someone was up here. She glanced over her shoulder and her breath caught as she felt, rather than saw, a bedroom door - one of the guest rooms - quietly shut.

Her heart dropped and her skin crawled.

You're imagining things! You're at a party with hundreds of people. It's safe here. Nothing out of the ordinary. Even if someone is up here, it's no big deal. Just someone looking for a bathroom, or snooping.

And yet there was something that still felt wrong about it. Her curiosity got the better of her and she knew she had to face whoever was in that room. Quickly she strode down the hallway and, without knocking, threw open the door. She flipped the light switch, and two matching table lamps glowed to life on either side of a queen-sized bed with a floral coverlet.

The room was empty aside from the bed, writing desk, bureau and a few plants near
the French doors. Abi crossed to the doors but they were shut.

She noticed a scratch on the edge of one of the night-stands, a smear of green, and she touched the scrape. Wax. As if a candle had fallen . . . but there was nothing on the floor. Again her skin prickled, but she ignored it. The rooms looked and smelled empty. She thought about looking under the bed, in the closet and adjoining bath, but told herself she was being ridiculous. Besides, she couldn't leave Andy to his own devices for too long. Either he'd get into another fight or find some other woman. And what would she say if Judge Scodelario or his wife or Kaya found her snooping around?

Get a grip, she told herself as she walked to the door. You're not Nancy Drew, so give it up. Angry with herself, she snapped off the light and hurried down the hallway to the sounds of the party - music, laughter and the buzz of conversation that wafted up the wide, split staircase. She had to find Andy.

She didn't have time for her own paranoia. She needed to ask him and fast.

---

Clutching the damned candle, I watched her leave.

Stupid, beautiful bitch.

My back teeth ground together and I let out a breath. I'd gotten lucky. She hadn't stepped out onto the small balcony where, if she'd confronted me, I'd have had to make up an excuse for being upstairs, an excuse that she would buy.

Fortunately, it hadn't come to that.

And everything was still going according to plan. I shouldn't have followed her to the bathroom, but I'd seen her upset she'd been, wonder why she fled to the second story, and expected her to meet her lover in a darkened upstairs room.

Instead, she'd gone into the bathroom and, from the sounds of it, puked her guts out.
The sounds of retching and the stale smell of vomit had slipped through the bathroom door.

Served her right.

No matter how sick she was, it wasn't bad enough.

Quietly I slipped back into the guest room, replaced the candle that I'd knocked over inadvertently in my haste and hurried to the door. I cracked it open, half expecting to see her waiting in the dim hallway, but the corridor was empty and I could make good my escape.

Which was perfect.

I had a lot to do and little time.

I licked my lips in anticipation.

The stage was set . . . it was just time for the final act.

I smiled at that, imagining what was to come.

Tsk, tsk. Poor Abi. Beauitful, smart and soon to be, oh, so dead.

---

L.K felt a warm hand on her arm, and she closed her eyes.

"How about a dance?" Andy asked, and his fingers left hot impressions on her skin.

"No," she said quickly. "You'd better leave. Adam and Jimmy are on the warpath."

"I heard."

She turned pleading eyes up to him. "They're dangerous."

"They're all big talk. Snot-nosed kids."

"Don't tell them that," she said.

"Now, the dance-?"

Her heart leaped before she remembered that Abi planned to marry him. Her dreams scattered. "I don't think so."

"You danced with Ashley."

"He twisted my arm."

Andy smiled. "Is that what it takes?" His grip tightened.

Her heart was knocking wildly. He wanted to be with her. "What - what about Abi?" she asked, turning to face him. There was something different in his gaze, a tortured ghost that seemed to pass behind his eyes.

"Her dance card's filled."

"I think she wants to be with you." For the rest of her life.

"She'll wait," he said, and then instead of drawing her toward the dance floor, he led her behind a thicket of fir trees to a small garden, where he pulled her into his arms. Tipping up her chin with one finger, her cursed himself, then his lips claimed hers. He tasted of sweet tobacco and liquor, and he held her close enough that she could feel the angles of his body, hard and wanting. Closing her eyes she melted against him, kissing him until her heart was racing so wildly she couldn't breathe, couldn't hear, couldn't think, and the beast of desire was awaking deep inside her, stretching and yawning.

The music faded and the shadows surrounding them seemed to deepen as he held her fiercely, kissing her hungrily, his hands moving against her back, skimming her bare skin.

He wrenched his lips from hers and that same dark angel she'd witnessed before appeared in his eyes. Resting his forehead against hers, he let out his breath in an agonized sigh. "No, no, no."

"What-?" She felt dazed and elated that he'd found her, drawn her to this private little garden and held her as if he never intended to let go. Now he was arguing with himself.

"I just wanted you to know that it's over."

"Over - what?"

With a shuddering sigh, he stared into her eyes and she felt a tremor of despair. "Everything. This - you and me - it can't be. We both know it. You want things I can't begin to promise and you make me want to promise them. Hell, L, I'm all wrong for you and we shouldn't even be having this conversation." She tried to protest, but he shook his head before a word crossed her tongue. "I'm quitting working for your old man."

No! "But why-?"

"There are things . . ." His voice failed him and he glowered at the sky where clouds roiled noiselessly, blotting out the stars. "Things you don't know about me. Things you don't want to know. Things that-"

"I don't care."

"You would," he said, his voice low as the wind rushing through the branches overhead. In the darkness he appeared older than his nineteen years, world-weary.

"Why don't you tell me and let me be the judge?" But she didn't want to know, not really, didn't want to hear his horrid confession that he'd been making it with Abi, that they had been lovers for weeks, that toying with L.K had been a mistake, that he was going to marry her half sister. With a sickening jolt of her heart, she realized that he'd fallen for Abi, not been seduced by her but fallen in love with her as well. Just like all the others.

"You're too young, L."

"And you're afraid." She pushed away from him, her humiliation and mortification complete, tears hot in her eyes before they splashed down her cheeks.

"Afraid of what?" He reached out a tender hand to wipe away the dripping water, but she flinched away.

"Me!" She jerked her thumb at her pitiful little chest.

He snatched her wrist in his big hands and pulled her dangerously close to himself, his breath fanning her face, his lips brushed softly over hers. His face was twisted in pain, but he didn't argue. "I just thought I should say good-bye."

Bereft, her silly little-girl dreams dashed, she yanked her arm away from him. "Go to hell," she whispered, surprised at the vehemence behind her words as she spun away and headed into the darkness.

"Believe me, I'm already there." His words trailed after her, having her to pause in front of him. She turned around to look back, which caused his chest to flutter a little. The feeling left when she turned back around and ran through the gardens in the damned high heels and wished for all she was worth that she'd never met Andy Biersack, never kissed him, never been stupid enough to give him her heart.

Notes