ḾṎᕍ⁅ᖇṈ ℄Ṏv⁅ | The Lost Boys

ᏨᏲᾀᑬt⁅ᖇ ᖴṎᙈᖇ

Skunk-Face, or Greg, glowers at the interruption. "Get off of my beach."

"Last I heard, the beach was public property, ay boys?"

The bleach-blond—the boardwalk punks leader—exchanged glances with his boys. It's full of mirth and something else. I take a step back, lest I get in the middle of a brawl.

Greg takes a step forward. "I'll fuckin' kill you, man. Don't test me."

I step back again, falling in stride with the punks. Greg's eyes flit between me and the group. And then—the strangest thing happens. He takes one look at the boys, and his eyes widen.

The expression is gone in a flash, and Greg shakes his head, scoffing. "None of you deserve my time."

The punks don't speak until the surfers are halfway down the beach. I turn to face them, hugging my sandy towel against my midsection. I feel disgusted and violated and are tempted to lose my cool at the punks, but their presence likely prevented a worse outcome. For that, I was grateful.

"Thank you." I push my hair back, holding it in place as the wind blows hard. "I appreciate your help."

"Not a problem, baby." The taller blond smiles, tongue between his teeth.

There it is again, that long, drawl bay-bee. I clamp my jaw. Maybe I should've run off.

"Believe it or not, those guys are bigger assholes than us," said the leader. "What are you doing out here this time of night? Don't you know there are weirdos around?"

"I'm here with my brothers." They deign to look about the beach. No one is around, save for the five of us. "They're up there, packing up."

"Wasn't very smart of them to leave you alone. This isn't exactly a safe place, you know?"

"Yeah," says the curly-haired blond. "Just last week, a bunch of body parts washed up on the beach. They dunno if it was murder or an animal attack."

I frown. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would we lie about something like that? Do you think we like scaring innocent girls like you for fun?"

"Uh, yeah."

The leader cocks his head, sizing me up. His eyes burn as they trail over me, taking me in from head to toe before he speaks. "You left before we could properly introduce ourselves. I'm David. That's Paul, Marko, and Dwayne."

I vaguely note who is who, but my focus is entirely on getting out of there. "Have a nice night."

"What? Can't hang, baby?" Paul snickers, reaching out to ruffle my hair. I smack his hand away.

"It's not that—I have people waiting for me." Once again, I glance over the ridge, praying they haven't somehow forgotten about me. "Plus, I doubt I'd be much fun."

My words elicit a new wave of laughter. Marko punches Paul on the shoulder, but Paul traps him in a headlock. "I think we'll be the judge of that."

My face burns. "I didn't mean—not like that, you pervert."

"I dunno, Paul, that seems like the only way to take that," says Marko.

A hand reaches out—too fast for me to identify which boy, but I assume it's one of the terror twins—and snatched my silver framed glasses from my face.

I react a second too late. "Hey!"

"Wow—" says one of the boys, I'm not sure which. "You're pretty blind. How can you see?"

"I can't, you idiot! That's why I have glasses."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Someone thrusts a hand in my face.

"Give them back!" I lunge at where I thought the boy was but only met air.

I stumble until one of them helps steady me. "What's the magic word, baby?"

I bit my cheek. I wouldn't cry in front of them. "Please?"

"Actually, it's da—oof!" Someone punches his side before he can finish.

"Here."

Someone pressed them into my hands. I take the glasses and quickly put them on, ignoring the smudge marks from their fingerprints.

The one who handed them to you was the taller brunet who—until this point—hadn't spoken a word. Dwayne, maybe?

"Thank you."

Maybe there was a decent one among them. Dwayne's lips twitched upwards into an almost smile. Fuck, he could be on the cover of a serial romance novel.

My eyes are drawn to his chest, but I quickly look anywhere else. He's shirtless. I pinch my lips, heat flooding my cheeks. Look anywhere but at him—there's a neat seagull, a kite, some trash...

"What are you reading?" Dwayne gestures towards my bag, the tip of my book peeking out.

My lips part. You blink. To be completely honest, I hadn't expected a single one of them to know how to read.

"Oh, it's called—"

"BORING!" shouts Paul. "Do you wanna party or not, babe?"

Dwayne glares in his direction but doesn't say anything.

"Do you wanna catch a ride?" asked David, the with us an unspoken addition. "Seems like yours ditched you."

"No, it's not that. They're waiting for me."

On cue, I see Michael leaning over the dunes. "Hey! C'mon, what's taking you so long?! Sammy's about to have an aneurysm."

Followed by a squeaky, "Am not, Mike!"

"Coming!" I take a step, half-turning to the boys. "Um, thanks again."

David tilted his head, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "The offer still stands."

I'm not sure which he meant—the ride or the lewd suggestion. Either way, I pretend not to hear it and jog off of the beach to the beat-up car.

Michael is standing at the edge, eyeing the group. "Are you okay?"

I don't feel like getting into it, so I simply say, "Fine."