The Rules of Being Friends (A Pact Between the Forgotten Series Book 2)
Jessica Sorensen
The Rules of Being Friends
(A Pact Between the Forgotten, Book 2)
Jessica Sorensen
The Rules of Being Friends
Jessica Sorensen
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2018 by Jessica Sorensen
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms.
For information: jessicasorensen.com
Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Jax
2. Raven
3. Raven
4. Raven
5. Raven
6. Raven
7. Raven
8. Raven
9. Jax
10. Raven
11. Jax
12. Raven
13. Jax
14. Raven
15. Hunter
About the Author
Also by Jessica Sorensen
1
Jax
I’m running through a dark forest, the moonlight shining down from the sky. I’m scared and covered with sweat, and I’m holding someone’s hand.
I’m holding her hand.
The girl with long, dark hair has quickly become my best friend. Well, besides Zay and Hunter. Normally, we have fun together, but not right now. No, right now I’m scared for the both of us.
“Where are we going?” she whispers as she glances over her shoulder.
“To the bridge,” I whisper back, my gaze skimming the trees, hoping I’m running in the right direction.
“Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?” I mutter under my breath.
A wave of relief rushes over me when I spot it.
“Come on,” I tell her as I run toward the bridge, pulling her with me.
When we reach it, she starts to slow down.
“We can’t stop yet.” I tug on her arm, my gaze flicking over her shoulder, worried I’ll spot one of them.
“I …” She looks down at the river flowing underneath the bridge. “I’m scared of water, Jax.”
While I’m freaked out, I know I need to calm her down or she’s not going to go over the bridge. She’s stubborn like that. But she’s also brave. I mean, she’s out here with me, trying to escape. How can she not be brave?
I level my gaze with her. “You trust me, right?
She nods.
“Well, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She hesitates. “You pinkie swear?”
I hurriedly hitch my pinkie with hers. “I pinkie swear on my life.”
She relaxes just a drop and lets me guide her over the bridge. Everything seems to be going great until we hear the dogs. They come barreling at us, so fast we can’t outrun them. We’re on the middle of the bridge when they reach us.
I clutch onto her hand and move myself in front of her, but the dogs knock me down and her hand slips from my grip. I hear her scream, and then I hear a splash. I don’t see it happen. I don’t even know how it happened. I just know she went over the bridge.
I start crawling toward the edge, preparing to jump and either die with her or save her, but the dogs begin to claw me apart—
My eyelids snap open, and I gasp for air, my skin drenched in sweat. I’m freaked out, but then that fear hastily turns to guilt. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that dream. I spent years being haunted by it until I found a way to block it out. Distraction was the key, and it’s been working for a few years now, so why the hell am I suddenly dreaming of her death again? Little Willow, the only girl I ever loved.
And the girl I killed.
2
Raven
The first time I realized my uncle Ben was a total nutjob was about a week after I moved in with him and my aunt. He had mostly ignored me until then, although my aunt and cousin were pretty verbal about how much they loathed the new edition to their “perfect” family.
Before I moved in with them, I’d met my aunt, uncle, and cousin a whopping two times. Once I was at my dad’s parents’ funeral after they had died in a car crash. My uncle and my dad were the only children they had, which left them only having each other. According to my dad, though, he never got along with my uncle. He never embellished on the specifics, but I figured he wasn’t a fan of my dad being a thief and a conman, since my uncle was—and is—a cop.
The second time my uncle made an appearance in my life was a couple of weeks before my parents were killed. He just showed up at our house, something my mom was really upset about. I can’t remember much about what happened while he was there, but my memory has always been pretty shitty.
I can always remember having gaps in my memories; tiny holes that I could never fill. I once asked my mom about it when I was younger and couldn’t remember how I got home after school.
She feels my forehead for a fever then looks at me worriedly. “You don’t feel warm, but maybe we should take you to a doctor, just in case.”
I shake my head. “No, I hate doctors.”
She crouches down in front of me. “Now, Raven, remember what we talked about. Doctors help us. There’s no reason to fear them.”
I know she’s probably right. My mom usually is. But every time I even think about going to see a man or woman wearing one of those creepy white coats, I feel like I’m going to throw up—
“Raven! Are you up yet?” My aunt pounds on my shut bedroom door, startling me.
I’ve been awake since before the sun came up, mostly because my side hurts and also because I’ve been overanalyzing everything that happened yesterday—
“Raven!” my aunt shouts again. “Wake up! You’re taking the damn bus today, and it gets here in twenty minutes.”
I sigh heavily. “Okay.”
She pauses. “You’re not going to argue about this?”
“Nope.” Because I don’t plan on riding the bus.
Harlow told me yesterday that I could ride with her, so I’m going to. Then again, Hunter, Jax, and Zay sort of implied that I could ride with them, too … I think anyway. Honestly, I’m confused at this point if I have a ride to school or not.
Sighing, I sit up and scoot to the edge of the bed. “Crap, what am I going to do?” I mumble to myself. “I mean, I could just text one of them and see, but …” What if this is all a prank?
No matter how nice the guys and Harlow have been to me, that worry plagues my mind. And I can’t help thinking of all the times in the past when I’ve been pranked by people pretending to be my friend only so they can humiliate me.
“Well, hurry up,” my aunt snaps, “or you’ll miss the bus. And I’m not driving you to school if you miss it. Dixie May’s car arrived last night, so I have no reason to go there.” She grows quiet then, and I assume she’s left.
I get up to leave my room and use the restroom so I can get ready quickly, so you know, I won’t miss the bus, because yeah, I’m a big old chicken and can’t bring myself to text anyone.
And when I open the door, my aunt is still standing there.
Her blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she’s wearing a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeved shirt—her usual morning look.
She eyes me over suspiciously. “Why are you being so cooperative about this?”
I elevate my brows. “Do you want me to argue with you?”
“No,” she snaps. “But it’s unlike you to be so agreeable.”
“Yeah, well, I’m tired,” I mumble. Exhausted really. Of her. Of my uncle and Dixie May. Of having to live in this house.
“Probably because you’ve been doing too many drugs,” she sneers. “Just like your mother.”
My blood burns underneath my flesh. My mother wasn’t a drug addict. And even if she were, my aunt wouldn’t know since she didn’t know my mother.
My lips part, and I’m probably about to spit out words that’ll get another word carved into my flesh, but my uncle interrupts me.
He steps out of the room across from mine and into the hallway. He’s dressed in his uniform, buttoning the top button of his shirt.
“Honey, remember what we talked about,” he says to my aunt.
“Right.” My aunt’s lips twist into a malicious grin as she looks at me. “The bus gets here in twenty minutes. If you miss it, you can walk.” She tosses me a smirk then spins around and walks toward my uncle. When she reaches him, she places a kiss on his cheek, but he doesn’t even so much as glance at her, his eyes fixed on me like a hawk.
Well, this is new. Usually, my uncle only acknowledges my presence when he’s punishing me.
“Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes,” my aunt tells him then whispers, “Last night was amazing.” She gives him this lustful look that makes me want to puke then struts off toward the stairs.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” My uncle approaches me as he readjusts his belt.
“I’m not looking at you.” I step back into my room and move to shut the door.
He slams his hand against the door and holds it open. “You better start being more respectful toward me. I’ve got a whole list of words waiting to be carved into that pretty little flesh of yours.”
So many words burn at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down, too tired and too sore to get into it with him this morning. Besides, if I decide to help Jax, Zay, and Hunter spy on him, maybe I can get some sort of revenge. That sounds nice. Although, I’m still a bit wary that what they told me last night is real.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He grins, but a trace of disappointment reflects in his eyes. Still, he seems pretty damn chipper as he turns around and whistles while walking away.
Flipping the middle finger at his back, I close the door. Then I grab a pillow, press it against my face, and scream. I scream until my lungs are about to burst, until my chest aches. I scream until I have nothing in me. Then I lower the pillow from my face, drag my ass off the bed, and start getting ready for school.
I decide on a black, short-sleeved shirt, with shorts, fishnet tights, and clunky boots. Then I put on a choker, my leather jacket, tie a plaid jacket around my waist, and call it good. I don’t even bother doing my hair, just combing it to the side with my fingers. Then I dab on my usual minimal makeup—kohl eyeliner and lip gloss.
I wander over to my computer chair, pick up my bag, and dig out a joint, deciding to take a hit or two before I head out to the bus stop. Hopefully, that’ll keep me chill during the bus ride to school.
As I’m heading over to the window, I receive a text.
Harlow: Hey! So, I was going to give you a ride to school, but I have a doctor’s appointment this morning, so I can’t. But don’t worry! I messaged Hunter, and he said he can pick you up!
Okay, so I do have a ride to school. And while Harlow is super nice, and I want to hang out with her, I also am sort of glad Hunter is picking me up so I can talk to him more about this whole … spy thing or whatever the crap it is that they want me to help them with.
Me: No worries. Are you sure Hunter doesn’t mind, though?
Harlow: Ha, does he mind? Trust me, new BFF, he totally wants to give you a ride.
Me: Okay, cool. Thanks for that.
Harlow: No worries. Tomorrow, though, I’ll pick you up!
I’m about to put my phone away, feeling slightly better, when I receive another message.
Hunter: Hey, so Harlow told me you needed a ride to school.
Me: Yeah, she text me and said you’d give me a ride, but you don’t have to. I can ride the bus.
Hunter: No way! You’re riding with us.
Us?
As in Jax, Zay, and him. I’m assuming, anyway. Not that they’re totally bad. Jax seems nice anyway. Zay … I’m still on the fence about.
Me: Are you sure? I don’t want to make you drive out of your way or something.
Hunter: It’s not a big deal. Besides, we’re already almost to your house.
Okay then, I guess I’m riding to school with them.
But now I feel nervous for a whole new set of reasons.
I lock my bedroom door, open the window, and duck my head out. It’s cold as balls outside, so I need to make this quick. I pop the end of the joint between my lips, light up, and suck in a deep inhale.
Smoke laces in front of my face as I sit down on the windowsill, holding the joint outside while staring out at the scenery. The house I now call home is located in a small neighborhood of about ten houses, each spaced apart by at least five acres, so the chances of someone spotting me are pretty low. Just below my window is an inclined roof to the porch, and just in front of that is the dirt driveway lined with trees.
I’m taking my third hit when I spot a car cruising down the driveway, leaving a trail of dust in the air. And not just any car, but the prettiest Chevelle I’ve ever seen.
My dad used to be into cars. Up until he died, he drove a 1969 GTO Judge that was this really pretty light-blue color. This car is a similar shade but has a black hood. I’m not positive about the year, but I’d guess either a ’68 or ’69.
But seriously, whose car is that?
I watch as it pulls up to the house and parks next to my uncle’s patrol vehicle. No one gets out right away, but my bet is one of my uncle’s new police buddies. Or maybe a neighbor. But then the passenger door opens and Jax climbs out.
So, apparently, this is one of their cars.
“Jesus, they have a Camaro and a GTO,” I mumble as I observe Jax. “Lucky.”
Jax is dressed in a black shirt with a matching hoodie and jeans. Leather bands ornament his wrists, his facial piercing glint in the sunlight, and his inky black hair hangs in his eyes. He doesn’t notice me as he stares at the lower section of the house. Then he turns toward the car, makes a signal with his fingers, and Hunter climbs out of the passenger side from the back seat.
He’s wearing an all-black outfit, too, but his pants have pockets on the sides and a chain dangles from his belt loop. He’s also sporting a short-sleeved shirt and has a knitted cap on his head, strands of his blond hair dangling out from it. Even from up here, he still looks too gorgeous to be real.
I shift my gaze across them and to the driver’s seat as I take another hit. The windows are too tinted to see inside, but I’m betting Zay is sitting there—
My phone rings.
I startle then move to answer it, noting that Hunter has his phone pressed to his ear.
Sure enough, Hunter flashes across my screen.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hey, so we’re outside your house, waiting on your pretty little ass to come out,” Hunter says in a cheerful tone, and I can see the smile on his face from all the way up here. “One of us can knock if you need us to. Not sure how strict your aunt and uncle are.”
Part of me wonders if he’s just asking to ask or if he’s trying to get more info about my aunt and uncle from me.
“I can just come down,” I tell him. “But why’re you and Jax just standing outside the car
?”
“How did you know that …?” He trails off, his gaze straying to me. Then his smile widens. “Aw, are you admiring the view? Or just playing spy again?”
“Neither. But I am rolling my eyes at your cheesy view remark,” I quip.
He chuckles. “So damn cute.”
“And that’s me rolling my eyes again. But, for reals, why are you guys just standing out there?”
“Well, for starters, we’re waiting for you,” he replies amusedly.
“Right.” My stoner mind is making me an idiot.
I put out the joint on the side of the house.
“And also, Jax and I are having a little bit of a disagreement,” Hunter adds.
“And that requires you to stand outside the car?” I duck back inside and put the joint up. Then I shut the window and douse myself with some perfume.
“Well, the disagreement is who gets to sit in the back seat with you,” he explains. “I think we’re about to have a rock, paper, scissors throw down.”
“That you’re going to lose,” Jax remarks in the background.
“So, what? The loser has to sit in the back seat with me?” I ask as I collect my bag.
He gives a short pause. “Nah, the winner does.” Another pause. “Hey, Raven, I know you said you’re new to this whole friendship thing, but we do want to be your friend. And friends don’t okay rock, paper, scissors because they don’t want to sit in the back seat with you. It works in the totally opposite way.”
For a moment, I sort of just stand there, trying to process his words. Then I try to be cool and say nonchalantly, “Okay,” like it’s no big deal that he’s saying all this stuff about wanting to be my friend.
