Sisterhood of the Traveling Pranks

Chapter Seven

Genevieve

Whore.

Tramp.

Slut.

I try to push aside all the words being tossed our way as I fiddle with my phone. Pretending not to hear them, I tap out the opening strains to a new piece of music I’m working on. Some old as f**k piano concerto in D minor.

I smirk as I think how not minor Jeremy’s D really is.

Ugh, he’s nauseating. Dribbling down the court like he owns the place. I keep hoping he trips and the ball meets very hard with his nuts, but no such luck so far. The only thing he’s done to make me cheer—internally, mind you as I still want our team to win—is miss a few free throws and commit a couple of fouls on the other team.

Hoping that the next shot will miss—and yes, I know how contradictory that sounds, but blow me—I listen to his teammates snicker as they point towards us.

I glower down at them before lifting my middle finger to flip them off as I hum a tune to myself. It only riles them up even more, and they start to call us more names, sniggering and coughing to cover up their chants of cunt, cocktease, and my all-time favorite, trollop.

Nice to know these assholes cracked open a dictionary before they got benched on the sidelines, not even good enough to be first string for the stupid game I’m watching.

Low’s sitting on the other side of Ivy, who’s perched in the middle so she’s guarded by us. It’s more of a statement than for her protection. Mess with our sister and get thoroughly f****d, and I’m talking thermos-sized dildos to every orifice, stretching these fuckwits to max capacity until they’re needing stitches to sew their gaping holes up.

Yes, I’ve come a long way on the rage-o-meter since this afternoon when Jeremy had the gall to try to rape our sister. The only thing that baffles me was the way he was thrown off her body with such force from something none of us could see.

I try not to think about it too much and just be grateful that whatever it was interceded at just the right time.

Well, my mind is also on the ring that refuses to come off Ivy’s finger. Another mystery to all three of us. It’s like it’s superglued to her skin.

“I’m bored,” Low complains. “This is stupid. Jeremy’s out there hogging the ball like that b***h is Ivy’s pussy.”

I laugh, trying to bite back the sound as Ivy elbows Low in the ribs.

“Shut up. I still feel dirty. I literally tried scrubbing my body raw.” She shivers as I throw my arm around her shoulder and pull her in.

“The second quarter—or whatever it’s called—is only half over,” I mutter over to Low. “Then no one will even notice if we blend into the crowd and head out to the parking lot. We’ll be just another face in the crowd going to get concessions. It’s the perfect cover.”

Not that we’d need it for long. I was perfectly okay with getting caught, and we had a foolproof backup plan. We might be down and out for a little while, but we’d rise above it once we got kicked to the curb and then sent off to our uncle’s place in Imperium.

As much as I dread having to deal with the aftermath of our stunt, I couldn’t wait to leave and start over anew. Somewhere without Jeremy and his i***t sidekicks.

Someplace far, far away.

Blowing out another breath when Jeremy gets all net with a three-pointer, I check my phone once again before seeing a text message come in. Low and Ivy get similar texts, and that’s when I realize everyone around me is taking out their phones and start pointing to their screens.

Pretty soon, no one’s watching the game and we’re all staring at the school’s student chat system on an app on our phones.

At first, the video that pops up is fuzzy, but I recognize the form coming into view in a few moments. My mouth drops open and forms the name Jeremy as I watch him move into view of the camera.

Whispers become mutters all around me, and I’m hooked at watching what’s on my screen. It’s like a train wreck—one I’m all too familiar with.

A naked girl is on a bed, one I can only imagine is Jeremy’s. His face is obscured and blurry—obviously to mask the person’s identity, but I would know that tattoo on his chest anywhere. All I would have to do is look up to see it peeking out of his uniform as he’s dribbling across half-court and aiming for the basket.

“Do you see this?” I ask Ivy quietly as she watches in horror.

“Oh. My. God,” she whispers. “Is…is that Jeremy?”

She nearly squeaks out the name as she starts to tremble.

Steadying her with my arm, I continue to watch the video as Jeremy climbs onto the bed.

I think I recognize the female, whose face is not obscured, as a junior that left town without notice a week before. I remember distinctly wondering where she was when I had walked into my trig class on Monday. She usually sat a couple of rows ahead of me and always seemed to blend into the crowd. I couldn’t even remember her name right now if I tried.

Mind is like a sieve sometimes, I swear.

When was the video taken? It had to have been before last week, right? There was no time stamp on the video, not that it would have mattered. We all knew that Jeremy is a d**k, but now we were seeing just how big of one he was.

And has.

“Holy…” Low gulps loudly as I nod my head.

“If that thing was attached to anyone but that shithead, I’d be tempted,” I mutter under my breath. I hear Low snort.

As he startes to f**k the girl on the video, I find myself cringing. It’s like watching a really badly acted porno. Some of the s**t Jeremy is saying to the girl as he slams his c**k into her has me wanting to half-vomit, and half laugh wildly.

‘f**k yeah, girl. Damn that p***y’s tight, baby.’

I notice Ivy is looking away from her screen, but Low’s shoulders are shaking with laughter.

“D-damn, that p***y’s tight?” she snickers lowly. “Does he think he’s in a porno?

“Oh God, I can’t watch,” Ivy murmurs and stares intently at the game.

I have to concur in my head, but it’s half-curiosity and half awe-inspired shock that keeps me riveted to my screen.

After the three-minute clip is over, the screen goes blank, and we all look at each other as people start to laugh and clap. No one on the basketball court thinks anything of it as we just scored another basket, but Jeremy flashes a grin to his teammates on the bench who give him a series of thumbs-up and go back to snickering. Probably watching the video over and over again.

I hope they all get hard-ons and then have to play in the game with a woody. It would serve the assholes right.

“You know what they’re saying about all the females that have gone missing, right?” Ivy’s voice quavers as she sucks in a breath. “They’re stating that it’s all part of a human trafficking ring to enlarge some the wolf packs that are waning. Giving them new blood.”

“You mean someone’s selling human females to shifters to impregnate?” Even Low is shocked by that, and she’s the one with a fixation on the wolf species—well, Lycan, to be exact.

Ivy nods her head, her voice growing even softer so that we have to duck our heads closer to her.

“The girls that have gone missing—they’re all Jeremy’s ex-hookups. Every single one of them.”

We’re hushed as people continue to babble all around us. I think about that. It is damning evidence to be sure, and I’m pretty sure my sisters are with me on what it points to.

Jeremy is trouble. With a capital T.

All the Sinclairs too, possibly.

“You think the Sinclairs are behind it, don’t you?” I ask. “Not just Jeremy, but the whole family. Maybe that’s where they get the money from.”

I figured it probably wasn’t a stretch that the Sinclair’s wealth came from dirty money, but this was beyond the pale. It was illegal. You couldn’t just steal a girl and sell her to the highest bidder, not even after the supes came out and the world changed. The supes weren’t cruel—at least I didn’t think they were—but I hadn’t met any to be certain. Not many of us had.

The rest of the quarter goes by slowly, time seeming to creep by as I start to get more and more anxious by the second. When the bell blares loudly, I stand up immediately and start heading down the bleachers, bent on getting outside before I chicken out.

Ivy and Low follow me quietly, making it look like we’re heading to the bathrooms near the door before slipping outside when a line starts to form at an already packed concession stand that was rolled in at the start of the game. I flash a look at a bewildered-looking teen that’s trying to take down orders, but everyone is too engrossed in getting food to see the three of us exit out the door and head toward the parking lot.

Since it’s night and everyone is too engrossed in basketball or getting a drink and a hot dog, there’s no one but us outside.

Like thieves in the night, we head to our vehicle and open the trunk quietly. Two baseball bats and a crowbar sit next to each other, and I immediately defer first choice of weapon to Ivy. “Choose your poison.”

She drums her fingers across the side of the car, thinking. Silently, she reaches into the trunk and picks up just what I thought she would—the crowbar. I grin, and both Low and I pick up the bats and swing them to our shoulders like we were old-hat at baseball.

Personally, I wouldn’t know a foul ball from a fly, and I couldn’t care less so long as my aim was accurate and directed at Jeremy’s most prized possession.

Well, the one not attached to him anyway.

Slowly, we saunter over to Jeremy’s gleaming 2301 Rolls Royce and regard it with distaste.

“Windows first?” Low asks as we all stroll quietly around the perimeter of the vehicle.

“Yes. Ivy, take the lead.”

She wrenches her arms back, both of them clasping the metal tightly before bringing the gleaming metal down on the windshield. Glass shatters and I let out a whoop before clamping my hand over my mouth.

“Sorry,” I mouth to them, grinning. “It just startled me.”

Then it is on, Low battering the side windows while I use my bat to obliterate the back window and bang a few nice dents into the trunk.

I use my bat with precision as I break out all the lights in the back.

“Won’t need your brake lights when you can’t drive a car, Jer,” I hiss as red plastic splinters and falls to the ground. I see Ivy destroying the front lights as Low makes a series of dents on the quarter panels of the car and then brings her bat down on the top, making it concave with a heavy, decisive grunt.

“Woohoo! This is fun!”

I smile back at her before making sure that Jeremy can’t open his trunk ever again. Not that it resembles anything but a heap of metal anymore. Even the dreary Toyota next to it looks like a Porsche compared to the dented, overpriced monstrosity now.

After we’re all done and gasping for breath, we smile at each other and stand there, Ivy hunched over and sucking wind, but looking more normal than she did this afternoon when she was shaking and looking like she would collapse. So pale. Pale and fragile.

Now, she’s smiling.

“That felt better than I thought it would,” she admits through her pants.

“Yeah, and we have just enough time to hit the concessions before the third quarter begins.”

With that, we place our bats back into the trunk of our car and slip back inside, standing at the back of the line of a bunch of noisy, irritable teens that are clamoring for grub.

The third and fourth quarters drag by agonizingly slowly, and when everyone starts heading out the doors of the gym to the parking lot, we’re pushing past a bunch of them heading toward our car. We want to get a bird’s eye—or in this case, a car’s eye—view of the situation. Since Jeremy and his sweaty teammates will probably shower before heading home, it gives us an ample amount of time to relocate our car in a shadowy portion of the tree-lined parking lot with enough of an opportunity to record his reaction.

And laugh maniacally for years to come.

I am so looking forward to that.

We sit in the shadow of the largest oak at the far end of the parking lot, and thankfully I have killer zoom on my cell phone.

God, I love me some 24th century technology.

Cars start to exit the lot, forming a line and driving by while honking their horns at another victory for Amon High. Low flips some of the jocks the middle finger as they pass by, but none of them are paying attention enough to see. I am sure they are heading to the nearest party to get drunk and wouldn’t have even remembered it if they did catch her flipping them all the bird.

There are only a few cars in the lot left, most of them belonging to the basketball team, though some of the guys all pile into one vehicle as Jeremy struts his way out of the building before going stock-still.

“Here it comes,” Ivy mutters from the backseat.

I watch as everything goes perfectly. Jeremy starts walking fast to his car, then running, and finally sprinting as he yells something out that I can’t understand. I giggle wildly as I watch him take in every inch of his battered car. We didn’t leave an inch untouched. Already my arm and shoulder muscles are aching in sympathy from bashing his stupid, opulent car in, and I try to quell my laughter as Low shushes me from the side.

“I wanna hear this,” she hisses as she elbows me in the ribs.

It doesn’t help, and I try my best to stifle my glee and keep my hand from shaking too much as I record every second of Jeremy’s anger.

It takes only a few minutes for him to pull out his cell phone, and when sirens flood the area, I think we’re caught. Thankfully we’re too far away and shaded that the police don’t even come near. Still, we hunker down in our seats so that if they do happen to come by, they won’t see anyone in our car.

Hopefully.

An hour ticks away as they take photographs like it’s some sort of murder scene. I snort as they try to take fingerprints and pick up pieces of debris. A tall officer speaks with Jeremy, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder as Jer nods back at him. The police cars pull away and another car drives up a few minutes later.

I didn’t think Jeremy would have a problem getting home. He is, after all, the mayor’s son, and people would move mountains to get in his good graces.

Well, everyone except us.

“Bye, Jeremy,” Ivy whispers as his friend’s car pulls out of the parking lot and drives away.

We all burst into laughter as we catch sight of his face in the dimly lit interior.

He’s livid, and I have to say, I like that. I like that a lot.