Broken Elites (The Vampire Legacy Book 3)

by Rita Stradling

  “I know,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster, even though when I considered the task before me, it seemed impossible. I had to break Justin out of his basement and find a way to escape the Hawthorn Group, Sebastian Holter, and a horde of strzyga demons—and I had to do all of the planning alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mitch’s black muscle car trundled down my road and onto the gravel, and I could practically feel his reluctance to be here wafting off his vehicle.

  When I wrapped my hand around the handle and pulled, his door was locked.

  “Mitch.” I knocked on his car window. The day was cooling fast, and I was seriously regretting coming out with wet hair.

  There was a loud click, and when I tried the door this time, Bailey came bounding out of the front seat. She jumped around the driveway, dragging her leash as she ran to pee.

  I ducked my head in. “Thank you for picking me up…” I trailed off as I looked into a thick pair of shades and a sour expression. Instead of asking what had crawled up his butt, I beamed at the guy and said, “Good morning, sunshine.”

  After letting my dog up into my nana’s over garage apartment, I slipped into the leather seats of Mitch’s passenger side, only to be met with a cold silence as Mitch spun around and peeled out of the driveway.

  When we were back on the road again, Mitch decelerated to a painfully slow pace, turning toward the highway in the direction of my mother’s rehab center. When Mitch finally spoke, he stared straight forward. “So, which version of Justin gave you a hickey, my cousin or the shapeshifter?”

  “There isn’t a shapeshifter.” I brushed my fingers over my neck, feeling a slightly raised oval there. Obviously, my boyfriend, the demon, had left me a little possessive souvenir of our time together. “That’s not what was happening—”

  “The guy who punched me and publicly humiliated your grandmother wasn’t a shapeshifter? Surprise, sur-fucking-prise,” Mitch muttered.

  “Mitch, there’s an explanation. You need to talk to Justin. It’s important.”

  “Fuck no, Dirtbag, I’d rather stick my junk in a meat grinder.”

  We fell into silence after that, but I couldn’t help from shifting back and forth in place and making the leather squeak every time I did. Mitch and Justin could be brothers in appearance, but there were distinct differences in their looks too. Mitch’s features were sharper and more chiseled. The indent on his chin was more pronounced, and his jaw was a bit larger. Their personalities made their appearances even more different. Mitch was direct to the point of being cruel, whereas Justin was always shrouded in secrets, deflections, and lies, and yet somehow, their differences made them as close as brothers. It broke my heart that Justin’s demonic transformation was unraveling that connection now, and it would only fall apart more now that Justin and I were making plans to run away.

  “I really thought you respected yourself more than this,” Mitch muttered darkly.

  Heat rose in my chest, and even though I knew I should let it go, I felt my defensiveness rise. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mitch. And you’re not really the model of self-respect.”

  “How so?” He turned to me.

  “Nothing.” I shook my head, immediately regretting engaging in this conversation. “Forget I said anything.”

  Mitch pulled off his shades and fixed me with his brown gaze. “No really, I want to know, January. Why shouldn’t I talk about self-respect? Because I respect the shit out of myself. You don’t see me getting back with someone who’s fucking flipping on me like a switch.”

  “Ha!” Oh, the irony was just too rich.

  “What?” He leaned closer. “Stop acting all fucking immature and spit it out. What?”

  I turned fully toward him and held up five fingers. “A-M-B-E-R.” As I spoke, I put down my fingers one by one, and then I raised the middle one back up. “Justin may have flipped like a switch on me a couple of times, but he’s always done it to protect me or because he loves me. Amber treats you like shit because she’d rather you be miserable than happy, and you keep falling for her conniving bullshit.”

  The moment I said the words, I wished I could take them back. Energy drained from me, and I slumped back in my seat. I knew what was coming. Mitch and Amber would get back together, if they hadn’t already, and my objections here and now were just ensuring that I was going to lose Mitch’s friendship.

  Mitch snorted and shook his head. “You’re fucking delusional on so many counts, Dirtbag. I don’t even know where to start.”

  I kicked off my spare, ratty sneakers and hugged my knees to my chest. “How about you start by not calling me Dirtbag.”

  “You fucking love it when I call you Dirtbag and don’t you even think about putting your nasty feet on my seats. It’s bad enough that your dog’s ass was on there.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Seriously, Mitch. I have socks on.”

  He glared down at my offending feet. “How long have you been wearing them in those shoes?”

  “Five minutes at most. I literally just put them on before running downstairs.”

  “Fine.” Mitch slid into a parking space, glided to a stop, and turned to face me. “I am never getting back with Amber—not even if my life depended on it. She didn’t break my heart. She latched onto me like a fucking barnacle when we entered high school. Amber told me that we were a power couple and the future king and queen of Brightside. Within a month, she hacked my phone and my locker and tried to manipulate and control me with the shit she learned about me. It was a nasty fucking mess, and I only went along with it because, at Amber’s house, no one was there waiting to kick my ass. Halfway through my sophomore year, Marissa died, and Amber broke up with me because I was too torn up about it. That’s what she really said to me, along with saying that Marisa wasn’t really my sister, and I should stand with my family and a whole lot of other bullshit. Two weeks later, Amber hooked up with Sebastian, and he of course, immediately made me aware of everything they did together.”

  “You’re not serious…” I couldn’t even believe it. Amber was a mess of a human being, but that was a low I couldn’t even fathom her sinking.

  “It happened. Turned out, Amber was spying on my family for her father, but she didn’t get all of the information her father wanted, so he pressured her into sleeping with my brother.”

  “What? That’s disgusting.”

  Mitch peered over at me. “That’s the Hawthorn Group for you. Amber doesn’t want to get back with me. What’s going on with her family right now is complicated, and she wants me to pretend like I’m stupid enough to let her spy on me, so she gets off the hook for her botched job with Mark.”

  “That’s where I’m going to have to disagree with you, Mitch.” I grabbed the door handle. “Amber is perfectly capable of using you to appease her father and hoping to pull you back into her destructive cycles.”

  Mitch squinted an eye at me, clearly unconvinced. “Look, January, as far as I’m concerned, Amber and I never had a relationship. What we had causes my fucking gut to roil, and the thought of ever starting something up like that again makes me sick. Even if she wasn’t working for her father, which I could never be sure of, it would revolt me. I gave my virginity to that girl, and it was fucking horrible. The fact is, I’m not attracted to her like that, and I never was. I just wanted someone outside of Marisa and Justin to give a shit about me, and maybe Amber wanted something like that too. I know about committing crimes on behalf of a family that doesn’t love you. I know what it’s like to be used and discarded, and I’m the only one in the world who can fucking help her out of the hole she’s in now, so I’m going to do it.” Mitch sucked on a tooth as his gaze examined mine. “Why do you care so much, January?”

  The abrupt change in conversation stunned me for a second, even though I immediately knew the answer to his question.

  “Because I care about you, Mitch. You have to know that. We’ve only been friends for a c
ouple of months, but we’ve been through hell together—and we know each other’s secrets. You don’t lie to me, ever, and I don’t lie to you. You’re pretty much the only person I can say that about in my life right now. I know it’s none of my business, but I don’t want someone to hurt you.”

  Mitch opened his mouth, looking like he was going to ask me something, but he remained silent.

  A strange tension filled the car as Mitch and I stared at each other, and I started to second guess my words. Maybe they could be misconstrued as that I was confessing feelings for him or something, and that would be seriously fucked up. It definitely wasn’t my intention, so I added, “I care about how Amber treats you just like you care about how Justin treats me… because we want what’s best for each other. We’re friends.”

  “Yeah.” Mitch shoved on his mirrored glasses. “Except it’s not the same situation because I could give a shit about Amber—except for the fact I don’t want her father abusing her and shit. You’re in love with my cousin, and he asked me to protect you, but the only danger I see you in is from him.”

  “You need to talk to Justin, Mitch. That’s not what’s happening…” I trailed off as Mitch climbed out of the car and shut the door behind him.

  We said nothing as we passed through the security at the front of the state-run rehab facility. Herbert, the drug-sniffing German Shepherd, ignored me as his police handler pawed through my purse, pushing two-year-old emergency tampon packages aside. I no longer even needed them since my death and transformation, and like every Saturday while the police inspected my old period supplies, I considered that I really needed to throw those away, but I didn’t. My sneakers squeaked with every step I took on the gleaming marble floor all the way to my mother’s room, and by the time I was pushing her door open, a headache was pulsing at the back of my skull.

  “January and Mitch,” My mother said as soon as we stepped into her room. As always, the room reeked of paint thinner, burning my throat and making my headache pound all the harder. Mom reached for me with a wide smile on her face. “Sweetheart, would you mind if I talked to Mitch for a minute in private?”

  “What? Why?” I spun to find Mitch towering at my side. He looked almost as taken aback as I felt. When I turned back to my mom, she was staring at me intently. “Mom, that’s weird.”

  “No, honey. I just wanted to follow up with him on something he told me in confidence while you were in the bathroom last week. It has nothing to do with you. How about he and I go on a walk around the courtyard, and you stay here?”

  Leave it to my mother to enter into a tense situation and make it all the more uncomfortable. Heat rose in my cheeks, and I had to clear my throat a couple of times to speak, “Mom, Mitch is just here as a favor to me…”

  “It’s fine, January,” Mitch said as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Seriously, Mom,” I muttered as I stepped into my mother’s room. “I could just stop coming, and you two could hang out.”

  “Don’t be hurt, honey. I have plenty of attention to share between you and your friends,” she said, clearly meaning it, as if the only thing that could be motivating me was not wanting to share my mommy’s attention with my friends. Mom kissed me gently on my forehead and grabbed the doorknob to her room. Before closing the door, she paused and said back, “I set up a canvas for you, sweetheart. I noticed you haven’t mentioned painting since you started attending that fancy school of yours.”

  It was true. I had gone from painting on the daily to not even thinking about it, but when I stepped in front of the stretched canvas that my mother had primed for me, exhaustion swept over me, and I ended up curling up on my mom’s bed instead. As soon as I closed my eyes, sleep took me. It might have been minutes or hours later when my bladder woke me, and I rolled off my mother’s stiff bed and rushed to the women’s restroom.

  All of the stalls were occupied but one, and the moment I stepped in and slid the lock closed behind me, there was a clattering in the courtesy stall trashcan. I crossed my legs and shook my head until I felt fully awake.

  In small metal trash waited another letter and pen, and when I pulled them out, I found another note from Gabriel. Ignoring my screaming bladder, I scanned over the words of the werewolf leader of Alderwood’s Pack. First, he told me that he looked into the information he provided, as he assumed I did as well, and everything checked out.

  Then, the note said words that squeezed my gut so hard, I almost released my bladder while standing in the stall, but I managed to hold it. Gabriel’s father, Jason Dawn, the alpha of Brightside, was planning to assassinate Sebastian Holter. The Brightside Pack received intelligence that I was attempting to escape the Hawthorn Group and flee Brightside. Jason Dawn could make that happen. In exchange, he needed me to give him several pieces of intelligence, including an exact time and place of a private speech Sebastian was giving on Halloween night.

  The words blurred in my vision, and I realized that my whole body was shaking. This note was asking me to help werewolves plan a murder on a high-ranking member of the Hawthorn Group. That was how everyone would see it anyway. If Sebastian Holter was murdered, I’d be the prime suspect. Then the werewolves would get me out of Brightside—making it clear that I was damn guilty.

  I pressed the note to the stall door, feeling the cold of the metal through the thin paper. With a shaking hand, I wrote my response.

  Before I get this information, I need you to agree to three things. First, no one aside from Sebastian Holter gets hurt. Second, I want a promise that you’ll help one other Blackburn Academy student escape with me to Phoenix. Third, there will be a large pack of demons chasing us, and I need you to help defend us from them until we get to Phoenix.

  Before I could think better of it, I shoved the paper in the trashcan along with the pen and slammed the lid shut.

  I stood there, still having to pee but too anxious. The trashcan rattled, and when I opened it once more, a torn slip of paper sat at the bottom of the can. Two words were written on the form: terms accepted.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I poked Mitch’s big, beefy shoulder with my pencil eraser, earning a side-eye glare. We sat in the Supernatural anatomy lab Monday afternoon, labeling the parts of the vampire blood ingestion system based on a much-too anatomically correct chart.

  “I’m not telling you what we talked about, January, so stop asking,” Mitch grumbled as he tapped his pencil on the counter.

  Mitch’s chart had one label on it, and that was the word “dong” with an arrow to the vampire’s artistically rendered nether regions.

  “You and my mom talked for hours, and you’re not going to even hint at what that whole thing was about? That’s just too weird.”

  “It’s not weird.” He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “We talked for like twenty minutes when I returned to get you, but you’d passed out. Instead of watching you sleep like some freak, I went to the buffet with your mom and ate lunch while she introduced me to every person that works at that shithole rehab center.”

  “It’s actually pretty decent for a state-run facility.” I ran the flat side of my pencil lead over the spinal cord. Drawing a flat line to the edge of the page, I labeled the brain stem with the words, “the brain stem controls fang release.” My letters came out shaky, and I pressed my pencil harder into the paper to hide my nerves.

  “January?” Mitch called out.

  I startled and spun to face him. “What’s up?”

  “You can stop stabbing your paper now.” His brows shot up. “I think you killed it.”

  Crap. I’d pushed straight through my anatomy chart and broken the lead from my pencil, all without noticing.

  “What’s going on with you today?” Mitch asked.

  “Midterms next week,” I lied.

  The truth was that ever since that moment in the stall, anxious energy had flowed through me, putting me on edge. I hadn’t given out any information. All I had done was say that
I wouldn’t help the werewolves kill Sebastian unless they agreed to certain terms. They accepted the terms, but I hadn’t actually given them anything yet. I might not have anything to give them.

  The bell rang, and almost as soon as Mitch and I headed into the hall, someone called out, “January.”

  We slowed our pace as Professor Sharp rushed up the hallway toward us, accompanied by Principal Chambers. Both wore such grave expressions that I stumbled a step before catching myself.

  “Yeah?” I looked anxiously between the two women.

  “Come with me, January. If you want Mitch to come, that’s fine. But we need to hurry,” Professor Sharp said, her voice clipped. “To my classroom.”

  “I’ll try to delay the soldiers until Mr. Walters arrives,” Principal Chambers said as she jogged past in her high heels.

  “Soldiers?” My stomach dropped.

  Professor Sharp beckoned. “Right now. Run.”

  The Mystical Arts classroom was empty when we got there. Professor Sharp threw on the lights, and they blinked on over the small lecture hall. As soon as we were inside, Professor Sharp locked us in. She spun to face me and bounced in place while she asked, “January, where were you Friday night?”

  I took a step back. “What?”

  She paced across the room and back. “Where were you? And please tell me you have some witnesses to where you were. There’s no record on the video cameras of you leaving your room, but you returned Sunday evening.”

  Mitch stepped up close to my side, crowding me, though I wasn’t sure he even noticed. “She was with Justin.”

  Professor Sharp shook out her hands. “Justin isn’t a reliable enough witness. Please tell me you were with someone else Friday night who can testify to that fact.”

  “Please, tell me what’s going on,” I said.

  Her gaze came up to meet mine, and she stilled, but she was still bouncing on one hip. “The Elite team was tracking a threat last Friday. We followed them to a clubhouse controlled by a faction of the demon population that call themselves the Pitchforks. Sebastian Holter claims that he felt January nearby while we were there.”