Too Strong: Chapter 1

“YOU READY YET?” Cody shouts, battering the closed door with his fist. “Hurry up!”

Impatient as always. The party doesn’t start for another hour, but he’s all geared up, ready to roll. Always the first one jumping at any opportunity to fill Nico’s garden with too many people and always the last cleaning up after.

The house is set, decorations in place, but no one’s showing up for a while. Whenever we say six o’clock, nobody arrives until at least seven.

“Five minutes!” I shout back, pulling on my costume.

Jeans, t-shirt, my favorite watch from this year’s F1 collection, and brand-new, snow-white Jordans. I check my reflection in the mirror, then glance at the time. Looks like I over-compensated because what do you know? I’m ready inside half a minute.

Cody lingers outside my door, casually leaning against the opposite wall, eyes focused on the screen of his cell, fingers typing away. His costume is just like mine—low-effort—although, considering I bought my ‘

’

t-shirt online, I guess his required more effort.

He’s wearing all white save for the red silk ribbon circling his ribs—courtesy of Mia for sure—and ending in a big bow over his chest. A large gift tag with ‘

;

’

dangles from his shoulder, bouncing against his pec.

“No fair,” I mutter, annoyed I didn’t come up with that idea. “You’re hardly a gift to women, bro. What’s Colt wearing?” I dodge the fake cobwebs hanging from… well, everywhere as I follow Cody downstairs.

Having a woman living with us means an upgrade on the decorations. Last year, our older brother, Nico, wouldn’t have allowed this nonsense.

Fuck, last year, we couldn’t even dream about throwing a Halloween party.

Now look at him… He spent yesterday morning carving pumpkins and the afternoon shopping with his girl, Mia, buying more decorations than would fit in the house. He got up early today to help us put up cobwebs, lanterns, candles, and a million other different kinds of creepy shit she bought.

“No idea, but I bet his costume is as imaginative as ours,” Cody says, entering the living room where Mia gestures with her hand, silently telling us to keep the volume down. Cody immediately lowers his tone, whispering, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Five more minutes,” she utters, weaving her delicate fingers through Nico’s thick, black hair. “He needed a power nap.”

An emerald engagement ring that belonged to our grandmother sparkles on her ring finger. She’s been proudly wearing it for a week now, the message clear as day—engaged.

I never thought I’d see the day my brother popped down on one knee.

And I was right.

He didn’t.

At least not in the traditional, widely accepted way. The way Mia describes it, he fucking her to marry him.

Figures. Nico always gets what he wants.

Still, it’ll never cease to amaze me how he morphed from a robotic, fire-breathing, workaholic, A-grade asshole to this guy, currently asleep on Mia’s belly He’s still all those things but has a softer side exclusively for his girl these days.

She sits in the corner of the couch, toying with his hair while Nico lays on his front, between her legs, arms flush with her sides, face nuzzled into her waistline. It’s a common sight. Nico can’t last ten minutes without touching her.

Good thing they’re always fully clothed or I’d have to bleach my eyeballs.

I cast a brief glance around the room, admiring the final result. Cody, Colt, and I did help decorate, but Mia kept going, putting her own touch on this place long after we called it a day.

The entire ground floor level evokes a sense of spookiness. Streamers of cobwebs drift from the ceiling like gauzy curtains. Paper bats and spiders flutter on thin strands, their wings rustling in the draft wafting through the open windows.

Gargoyles, skeletons, and limbless porcelain dolls with wide, painted eyes leer from every corner of the room, adding to the already eerie atmosphere cemented by the orange candlelight glow casting shadows across the walls.

The air is thick with pumpkin spice and the finger food buffet waiting in the kitchen for Nico and Mia’s first guests. They’re throwing a separate party here, so I’ll drift between ours outside and theirs inside tonight to see my older brothers.

Our party scene in the garden is equally spooky. Gnarled tree branches dressed in cobwebs twist and turn, plastic tombstones poke from the grass in a miniature graveyard, carved pumpkins grin alongside the house, and more cobwebs cling to the makeshift stage.

It won’t be a typical Hayes College banger this time. After everything that happened with Mia earlier this year, we were very selective with the guest list. No Jake Grey’s friends, and—much to Cody’s relief—no Blair Fitzpatrick.

Although I won’t be surprised if she weasels her way over here somehow. It’d be better if she didn’t because Cody loses his shit whenever she’s nearby.

He still has that sense of higher purpose wherever Mia’s concerned, big-brother mode in full, over-the-top effect. It’s a good thing we don’t have an actual sister; she’d hate our guts.

“See? This is what you get for making him do manual labor, Bug,” I tell Mia, jutting my chin at Nico. “He can’t handle it.”

“Any excuse to get between her legs.” Nico rises on his elbows, maneuvering into a seat beside her, then pulls her legs onto his lap. “I let you throw a Halloween party and is what you’re wearing?” His finger wavers between Cody and me. “Since you’re trying to be funny, that gift tag should be on your dick.”

“What are you dressing up as?” Cody asks, entertaining the idea by sliding the tag over his groin.

“If you say you’re wearing matching costumes, I will not be held accountable for making fun of you all night,” Colt says, entering the room.

“Magic eight-ball?” Mia chuckles, eyes sweeping his t-shirt. He’s dressed in black, eight-ball emblazoned across his chest. “Let’s see…” She taps her pouty mouth. “Oh, I know! Will you fall in love this year?”

Colt forces an amused puff of air down his nose, turning to reveal a blue triangle on his back with ‘

’

written inside.

“This is no fun. You were supposed to take this seriously!”

“Other than you, and maybe Theo, no one’s gonna dress up properly,” Cody says, propping his hip against the back of the couch. “Girls will come as Harley Quinn, sexy cops, sexy nurses, or sexy… something, and guys will either low-effort this like us or go full Rooster.”

“Rooster?” Mia pulls her brows together.

“Yeah, from the new

. I bet we’ll see at least a few guys wearing pilot uniforms and fake mustaches.”

“Those will be the guys getting laid tonight,” Colt adds, adjusting his watch.

“Missed opportunity,” Nico muses, taking Mia with him as he gets up. “We should get ready.”

They head upstairs. Colt grabs three beers from the cooler in the garage on our way to the back garden, where we spend ten minutes checking everything’s ready.

Six arrives soon after, dressed as a glow-in-the-dark skeleton. Pretty cool for a DJ.

Ten to seven, the doorbell rings, so I head back inside, not expecting Nico and Mia to be ready yet. Whenever they go upstairs together, they’re gone for well over an hour.

It’s a miracle neither I nor Cody nor Colt caught them in the act yet. Mia moved in with Nico in June, so I expected a memory bank full of unwanted visuals by now, but nope. Nico’s uncharacteristically careful when choosing where and when they fuck.

Since we moved here three years ago, we walked in on him nailing countless random women. Not surprising since, save for his ex, he never took any of them into his bedroom. Always got his dick wet in the living room, the kitchen, the garage, even the stairs.

Since he got together with Mia, Colt, Cody, and I made it a rule to be extra loud whenever we get back home. We take our sweet time closing the door, and crossing the hallway, in case they need a quick minute to get dressed, but so far, no life-changing, psyche-scarring encounters. Fingers crossed.

I saw all my brothers in action at some point in my life, but I hope I’ll never see Mia. She’s my little sister by choice. It’s fucking wrong to even think she’s having sex.

I jog across the garage and up the stairs to let in whichever of my brothers arrived with ten minutes to spare. Definitely not Logan. That guy doesn’t understand the meaning of punctuality.

It’s not any of my brothers, though.

“Oh, hey,” the girl outside says as I fling the door open. “You must be one of the triplets.” She narrows her black eyes at me. “Conor, right?”

“Yeah, and you are…?”

We didn’t invite any freshmen. They’re too wild—just finished high school and getting their first taste of college parties. And this girl is a freshman, for sure.

If that. Maybe she’s still in high school.

She definitely shouldn’t be here, but she’s dressed for a party, so someone invited her. What’s more, she’s dressed as Wednesday Addams.

Bold, considering it’s not a sexy version.

It suits her, though. Perfectly. Jet-black hair in two braids, fringe, and a black dress complete the look, contrasting her skin. She’s not as pale as Wednesday, but it doesn’t detract from the look.

“I’m Rose,” she offers, rocking on the balls of her feet.

Cool… this doesn’t fucking help me whatsoever.

I comb my hair back, growing uncomfortable. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I’ve no idea who you are or what—”

“Mia invited me,” she explains, unfazed by my obvious exasperation, her genuine smile crinkling the corners of her big eyes. “I guess you’d call me her student. She gives me piano lessons three times a week.”

Ah, right. Mia mentioned this girl, but I don’t spend much time at home these days, and neither do Colt or Cody We’re mostly out partying or aimlessly driving around town, so we’ve not had a chance to meet Rose.

I step from one foot to the other, opening the door further to let her inside.

She turns on her boot, waving at the driveway my eyes inexorably follow her line of sight. A death trap sits parked at the bottom of the concrete steps: a Mercury Cougar, a relic from another era with at least thirty years under its belt, if not more.

The car’s battered like it rallied over the Himalayas, and no one bothered fixing the dents. The front bumper only just clings on by untrimmed zip ties, the side mirror is taped with packing tape, and I have no clue what color all that rust hides. Plus, it’s belching out this huge black cloud of thick smoke that could stop your lungs working in a heartbeat.

“I’ll pick you up after eleven,” a girl in a stripy black and yellow top—or maybe a dress—shouts from the driver’s seat. “Don’t drink!” The bee antennae glued to her headband happily jiggle about.

Rose gives her a thumbs up, beaming from ear to ear. Before I take a better look at the girl behind the wheel, she puts the car in motion and rolls down the driveway, leaving a cloud of poisonous emissions in her wake.

“Eleven? The party will only just start getting good then,” I say, stepping aside to let Rose step over the threshold.

“I bet, but I have little choice. She’ll pick me up on her way from work.”

“Hey, you’re here!” Mia cheers, click-clacking down the stairs with Nico close behind.

“No. Fucking.

,” I boom, looking them over.

She’s cute as always, wearing a sparkling crown and a black, red, and white tutu dress with a big Q and heart printed on her chest. The soft fabric swishes around her legs as she moves, but Mia’s not why my jaw hangs open.

It’s Nico. He’s wearing black slacks and a shirt, a red K and heart displayed on his muscular pec. A long red cape flows over his broad shoulders, a matching crown atop his big head. He looks like a regal superhero. A deadly king ready to save his queen from imaginary danger.

“King and Queen of Hearts,” Rose muses, closing the door behind her. “So fitting.”

“My God you’re whipped, bro. Wait till Colt sees you. This will be fun.”

“Wait till ’s whipped,” Nico shoots back with a smirk.

I want to say , but I said that about Nico, so… yeah. I’m not making the same mistake again.

We’ll all end up whipped at some point.

Mia pulls Rose into the kitchen, and Nico follows suit, a snarling Rottweiler, always at his girl’s side.

Nothing here to see, so I join my other brothers in the garden, where people are finally flocking through the side gate.

As expected, most girls arrive wearing sexy, barely-anything-to-them costumes, while the guys put in minimal effort, although some are hilarious.

Justin Montgomery has purple cardboard wings growing out of his back, the words ‘

’ written in fluorescent green marker on his t-shirt. Another guy’s chest is covered in gray paint samples, so I assume he’s ‘

’ and…

Low and behold, we have a winner.

The one red-haired guy in our circle of friends has five loaves of bread strung around his neck, a sticker with ‘

’

written in black ink across his forehead.

No way anyone can top that.

Many toilet paper mummies, guys in black shirts with Superman t-shirts underneath, and scary rubber masks later, Brandon Price arrives. The king fallen from grace.

He’s been on his best behavior since Nico threw him out of the house the night Mia was assaulted.

He’s lost his pompous attitude somewhere along the way, working hard to earn our forgiveness. To prove he’s not an incurable dipshit.

The jury’s still out on that one.

Mia overheard me, Colt, and Cody debating whether to invite him a few days ago. The good-hearted little Bug she is, she said we should. We excluded him from the year-end and homecoming parties already. Other than a couple guys from the team, he’s lost every friend he ever had.

Meanwhile, cred is due where it’s due because he’s been walking on water the past few months. I guess we’ll see tonight how much he changed.

He enters the garden, the only guy to put effort into his costume: a green onesie covered in hundreds of tiny white plastic thorns. He must’ve cut up a whole box of plastic forks for the spikes.

“A cactus?!” Cody questions, shaking Brandon’s hand. “What the hell, man? Why cactus?”

“Dig deeper,” Brandon says, patting my back as I stop beside them. “What are those?” He touches a thorn.

“You want the technical term? Fuck knows. Spikes?”

“Kind of, yeah, but not what I’m looking for,” he admits, shaking his head. “What do they do?”

“They hurt,” Cody supplies, brows drawn together. “Is this a game? A rebus? I better win something if I guess.”

“They’re called prickles,” Colt says. “He’s a prickly cactus, so you could say he’s a…” His eyes jitter between our clueless expressions, waiting for it to click. “He’s a massive prick, you idiots.”

I burst out laughing, but it takes Cody a few more seconds to catch on and join in. “Well, that sure is fitting. At least you know.”

Brandon nods, looking up at the living-room windows, features pinched. He thinks it masks the pain in his eyes. It doesn’t. “Will she sing tonight?”

“Yeah, but only a few songs. They’re having their own party up there. Our brothers are coming over, and our parents too, so you better behave.”

He’s been pining over Mia since he saw Nico exit holding her in his arms. It’s as if seeing with his own eyes she was no longer available made him realize he didn’t just want to fuck her but keep her.

“Right, I need a beer.” Brandon squeezes the back of his neck, heading for a table bending under the weight of kegs.

“Could I have one?” a familiar voice asks.

I turn to see Rose—aka Wednesday—a few feet away. “I thought that chick told you not to drink.”

“That chick is my sister.” A cheeky smile punctuates her words. “What she doesn’t see won’t hurt her. So? Would you like me to beg?”

“No need, girl,” Brandon says, leaping back to wrap his arm around Rose’s shoulders, a slight curve to his lips. “Come on, I’ll hook you up.”

Oh, hell no.

I don’t know where this sudden, intense, aggressive jolt zapping down my spine comes from, but the thought of allowing his hands anywhere near Rose has me on the brink of bursting into flames.

I’m not the Hayes who loses his shit for no reason (not pointing any fingers), so this is surprising.

Brandon might be trying to redeem himself, but he’s still a fucking prick. There’s no way I’m leaving Rose under his supervision. Mia would have my balls for that, I’m sure.

“Not your party, man,” I say, breaking Rose from his hold. “Grab a beer and have fun, but don’t try anything, or you’ll be out the door in five seconds.”

Brandon holds his hands up in defeat, no longer prone to arguing with us. He’s gone from a show-worthy Doberman to a lapdog in the last six months.

“A beer, huh?” I ask, leading Rose across the lawn to the beeline at the drink table. “How old are you?”

“It’s rude to ask a woman her age.”

“When she’s fifty.” I elbow our way to the Bud Light keg, grabbing a solo cup from the stack. “You’re at least eighteen, right?”

“Yes, since last week,” Rose admits.

“Fine. You can have one.”

She pinches her lips, biting back a smile. “Yes, Dad.”

“Call me again, and you won’t even get a sip. And Wednesday doesn’t smile, Rose. Lose the grin.”

She snatches the cup from my hand, fills it until it’s almost overflowing, then gulps half of the contents. “Oops. Too late.”

“Oops, you’re ,” a voice snaps behind us. We both turn, standing face to face with the bee antennae girl.

Damn… busted.

“Wha-what are you doing here?” Rose wails, slapping the half-empty cup into my chest. “You’re supposed to be at work!”

“I lied. I had to check I could trust you. Guess what? I . And you!” Her face grows red, bee antennae jiggling harder.

She’s got a tight, black and yellow dress to match and even a stinger attached to her butt. She’s shorter than Rose. Paler in complexion, eyes a striking silvery grayish color, hair like warm caramel up in a high, messy ponytail swinging side to side, tickling her bare shoulders.

“What the hell is so funny?” she demands, cheeks on fire as she pokes me with her finger.

I don’t know what’s so funny. I’m laughing, but it doesn’t stop the girl tearing the cup from my hand and tossing the contents in my face.

Feels like I’ve seen this before…

“You’re enabling a minor!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Cody leaps between us. “What the hell are you doing? Who are you?”

“I’m nobody.” She shoves Cody aside, then grabs Rose by the wrist, pulling her toward the house.

I don’t know why she shoved him. He wasn’t in her way.

Both girls take five steps, and then Little Bee halts, spins round, and her eyes lock on mine, growing wide in horror like it only just clicked what she did.

“I’m so, sorry.”

Now I laugh, using the hem of my t-shirt to wipe the beer off my face. “You ruined my costume, Little Bee.”

“It’s Vee,” she snaps, rolling her eyes. “My name. It’s Vee. Well, technically, it’s Vivienne, but no one calls me that. Just Vee.”

“I was referring to your costume.”

She looks down like she fucking forgot what she’s wearing. The red hue leaves her cheeks almost as quickly as it appears. With a new sense of determination glimmering in those striking, silver eyes, she snatches off her antennae. An exasperated exhale later, she shimmies out of the stinger, which, I now realize, was on a rubber band around her waist.

She comes closer, a walking contradiction. Every one of her moves is gracious, confident like she comes from old money, but she sure doesn’t act it, throwing beer in my face.

Every look she sends my way sears right through me, forcing the rhythm of my heart into a higher gear. She’s really pretty. The kind of girl I’d turn to take another look at.

The kind I’d openly stare at all night.

Her light brown hair works perfectly with the freckles peppering her nose and cheeks. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. An entire freckly constellation.

Her black, laced, heeled boots stop an inch from my Jordans, and she peers up, angling her head to meet my gaze. She’s not Mia-short but can’t be taller than five-three. I’m naturally drawn to the perfect, well-defined cupid bow of her lips.

A faint scent of fresh linen and soap fans my face when she lifts her hand, weaving those delicate fingertips through my curls. My scalp and spine erupt in tingles that travel lower until the stimulating waves reach my dick.

I don’t stop to think.

To be perfectly honest, I’m in an alternate dimension right now, blind, fucking to everyone but this girl. I act on impulse, dip my head and take her mouth.

Don’t ask why.

There’s no rational or even irrational explanation for why my insides tie into knots when she touches me or why my chest turns to molten rock when our lips connect.

A bone-chilling pause settles over us. A mounting heaviness grows in the air before the temperature jumps a few degrees. A second ticks by. Maybe two at a stretch. The sheer surprise of this moment dawns on both of us, I’m sure, but I don’t move away.

Her lips twitch under mine like she’s about to kiss me back.

She doesn’t.

She pulls away.

And I don’t get a chance to fucking blink before her open hand strikes my cheek so hard my head wrenches to the side.

Ouch.

I don’t know what stings more: my cheek or my ego.

“You’re unbelievable!” she snaps, arms akimbo, eyebrows scrunched together. “I throw a beer in your face, and you think I want a kiss? Read the room.” She drops her hands, stepping closer again. “Don’t move. I’m fixing your costume.”

I’m too stunned to say one word. All jokes evaporate from my head, and I do as instructed while she pushes her headband into my curly mane, then wraps the elastic band around my hips, before hooking it in place, and adjusting the stinger over my dick.

“Before you say it’s not as big as yours,” she muses, admiring her handiwork, “at least you’ve got a proper costume now.”

“So I’m a hornet?”

“I’d say you’re a hoverfly but have it your way.”

“Hoverflies can’t sting,” Colt supplies, standing somewhere on my right, the resident encyclopedia.

I was so preoccupied with Vee I hadn’t noticed him join the show.

More people crowd around us since Rose and I got here, but no one’s talking or elbowing their way to the kegs lining the table.

“No, but they follow you around if they like you,” Vee admits, flashing a beautiful smile.

She throws beer at me, then gives me half her costume, slaps my face, and now she’s…

.

At least, I think that’s flirting.

I’m so fucking confused my head is throbbing.

“Now would be a good time to ask me out,” she adds impatiently, glancing at her wristwatch: one of those novelty watches you win at the arcades. Hers has Donald Duck on the face.

“Dinner,” I blurt out like we’re playing .

I’m on the clock here. No time to think. “Tomorrow.”

“

, nine-thirty,” she confirms.

With that, she spins around, pulling Rose behind her.

What the hell just happened?