Riot House (Crooked Sinners Book 1)

by Callie Hart

  ELODIE

  One Week Later

  The invite's black, flocked with a plush velvet design that feels like sin beneath my fingertips. The gold scrollwork etched into the thick card is gorgeous. I hold it up to the light, wondering when he slipped this under my door. Wren made no mention of inviting me to the party. There’s chatter all over the academy about it, but for some reason it hasn't even come up between us.

  The residents of Riot House cordially invite Miss Elodie Stillwater to their fancy dress party, this Saturday at their humble home. 8 pm. Prizes for most creative costumes.

  No R.S.V.P. required.

  I hide the flocked card underneath a book on my desk when I hear Carina wailing my name down the hall. “Elodie Stillwater, let me in immediately!”

  I open the door, and there are dark circles under her eyes, which look puffy like she's been crying. She marches into my room and slumps onto my bed, groaning as she throws herself back against my pillows.

  “Hey. Whoa, what's going on?” I clamber up onto the bed beside her, stroking her hair back out of her face. She screws her eyes shut, whimpering.

  “Andre. He—we're through. He dumped me.”

  “What the fuck? What happened?”

  “I don't know. Everything seemed to be going so well, and then yesterday he bailed on dinner. And then this afternoon I get this weird, vague ass text, telling me that he can't hang out anymore because his workload just tripled at college. Hang out anymore! Like we were just screwing around. He told me he was in love with me a week ago, Elle. How can a person fall in love and out of love in such a short space of time? That's a motherfucking record.”

  “That’s so weird. He didn’t seem like that kind of guy.”

  “I know! He isn’t that kind of guy. Which is how I know Dashiell had something to do with this. I know it, Elodie. It’s so like him, to interfere and meddle in other people’s affairs. He can’t stand anyone else being happy.”

  “Have you confronted him? Asked him if he said anything?”

  “No.” She sniffs. “It wouldn’t help. He’d just deny it, anyway. That asshole! And all I wanna do is binge Netflix and eat pizza, but I have so much work to catch up on,” she moans. “I'm gonna have to pull an all-nighter if I want to get my English and my Science projects completed for tomorrow.”

  “You want me to come work with you? I'm really good at the whole moral support thing.”

  She drags a pillow over her face, moaning again. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not the type of girl who wants to be around other people when she's hurting. I'm about to descend into a shame spiral of epic proportions. It's better if there are no witnesses.” It's surprising how well I can understand her with the pillow covering her mouth. “If you come and hang out in my room, all I'm gonna do is cry and rage, and that won't be a fun time for either of us. And I really have got to get this work done.”

  I take hold of the corner of the pillow, attempting to tug it down so I can see her face, but she slaps a hand down on top of it, pinning it in place. “I came to see if you have any spare highlighters. And Post-Its. And Valium.”

  “Yes, on the stationary. No, on the prescription meds, I'm afraid.”

  She groans even louder. The pillow gets thrown across the room. “Why does no one in this school have any good drugs? Fuck recreational use. You'd think at least half of us were medicated for our very real anxiety disorders.”

  I can guarantee that someone at Riot House has the kind of chemical relief she's looking for. No way in hell am I suggesting she go knocking on their door, though. “It's gonna be okay, babe. Andre's a fucking fool if he doesn't want to be with you. And you're gonna ace these assignments. You're a bad bitch. No doubt about it.”

  She wrinkles her nose, teetering on the verge of tears again. “You're a good friend, Stillwater. Hand over the highlighters before I lose the will to live.”

  I give her what she needs, and she goes. I close my bedroom door, knowing that she was wrong on so many levels. Hating myself for it. I'm keeping so many secrets from her now that I feel like a goddamn monster. And short of telling her that I'm in love with Wren Jacobi, nothing's going to change that.

  WREN: You awake?

  ME: Just about. You?

  WREN: Nope. I text in my sleep. It's a problem.

  ME: Funny.

  WREN: You get the invite?

  ME: Yeah. It was under my door when I came back to my room. You didn't feel like waiting for me?

  WREN: Pax left it for you. I told him not to.

  I stare at the message, the words stark and painful. I told him not to. Wren’s been tight-lipped about the whole party, and I figured I was over analyzing the situation. He doesn’t want me at the party, though? After everything we’ve been through of late, that doesn’t make any sense. Even if we had to steal kisses in dark rooms, where no one would find us, I still would have thought he’d want me there. Something withers and dies inside me.

  ME: Wow. Well, that stings.

  WREN: I don't even wanna go to this thing, E. Believe me, it's gonna be a nightmare. I didn't want you to come because these things get fucking messy.

  ME: What do you mean, messy?

  WREN: We play these stupid games. I'd love to say I'm innocent, but I'm not. I used to enjoy fucking with people just as much as Dash and Pax. Sometimes things would get a little out of hand. We've hazed people pretty hard in the past. That's what they're expecting from me this time, too.

  ME: From you, specifically? Just don't participate?

  Eventually, he replies.

  WREN: It's not that simple. I owe Dash and Pax a lot. I wasn’t alone in Tel Aviv, remember? I've put them through hell in the past, and they know so many of my secrets. Things I haven't told you yet. Maybe we should meet...

  Now it's my turn to tap out and erase my responses. I'm suddenly anxious. What kind of secrets can he possibly be talking about? And how bad can they be? My mind goes from naught to sixty in three seconds flat.

  ME: Are you supposed to hook up with girls at this thing? Is that why you don't want me there?

  Nothing but dead air.

  I clutch my phone to my chest, struggling to breathe around the sharp pain that's stabbing me in the ribcage. What the hell kind of party is this? Eventually, my phone chimes.

  WREN: Can you just meet me in the gazebo in an hour? It'd be easier to explain this in person.

  ME: Okay.

  My heartbeat's hovering somewhere around the one-thirties. I can't believe...fuck, I can't believe after all of the time we've spent together, and Wren telling me that he's in love with me, and all the promises we made to each other in that stupid fucking country inn, he's pulling this shit on me now. Horrifyingly, it feels like I'm about to get broken up with or something, and I don't think I can take hearing that right now. I get up from the bed where I was watching TV on my laptop, and I begin pacing the floorboards, back and forth, back and forth, back and—

  I stop in front of the window, peering out into the darkness. There's already a light on out there in the maze—just the faintest glimmer shining through the boughs of the live oaks, but it's there. I see it plain as day. Which means Wren's already at the gazebo. So why, then, did he tell me to wait an hour to meet him? Jesus fucking Christ, I'm probably blowing this way out of proportion, but I’m not waiting a goddamn hour to find out what’s going on if I don’t have to. So help me, I’m going down there and I’m finding out what the hell is going on.

  Unlike the first time I ventured into the maze, tonight the air is calm and still. It's even warm enough that I've come outside without a jacket. It's much brighter, too. The sky's clear and the moon is almost full; it casts so much light down onto the grounds of the academy that I'm able to navigate a path through the high walls of the maze without losing my way at all. My ears roar from the silence as I approach the gazebo. I've planned a litany of abuse that I'm gonna hurl at Wren if I find him sitting in here with his nose in a book. I haven't let mys
elf consider what course of action I’ll take if I find him in here with another girl. I know he wouldn't do that. I know it like I know the sun will rise in the morning, and the world will keep spinning on its axis. This awful feeling that keeps churning around in my stomach won't give me any peace, though.

  Why didn't he answer the question I asked him in that text message? If he's not planning on messing around with other girls at this party, then why wouldn't he just say so?

  I'm five feet away from the gazebo when I'm finally close enough to see inside. And it's not Wren inside, after all.

  It's Dashiell.

  And Carina.

  Fuck!

  I duck down, and the taste of copper floods my mouth; I've bitten my damn tongue. My eyes water around the pain, but I don't make a sound. Crouching down in the bed of rose bushes outside of the window, they can't see me from inside...but now I'm stuck here. It's a miracle they didn't see me marching toward the building. Even if I squat down low and scurry back towards the entrance of the maze, there's a very real chance that they'll spy me. I am well and truly screwed.

  Voices float out of an open window into the still night air.

  “You don't have any right!” It's Carina's voice, and it sounds like...ahh, shit, it sounds like she's crying. Fuck, this is the last thing I need—to get busted eavesdropping on this conversation. At least it sounds like she’s giving him hell for messing in her relationship with Andre.

  “You're right. And I'm sorry,” Dashiell murmurs. The acoustics inside the gazebo must be ridiculously good. His voice is low and deep, but I can hear him perfectly. I have really gotta get out of here. “I just don't want any of this coming back to hurt us down the line, okay?”

  Hah. Dick. He's got a funny way of showing her he cares. If he didn't want anything coming back to hurt him down the line, he shouldn't have arranged for Carina to walk in on him while he was getting his dick sucked by another girl. That would have been a great start.

  “The cops need to know,” Carina says. “This...what you're asking me to do. It isn't fair, Dashiell. There have got to be consequences. He can't just...” She's crying now. Crying hard enough that she's choking on her emotion. “He can't just be allowed to get away with it again. What if...what if he hurts someone else? What if he hurts Elodie?”

  Everything stops.

  My heart.

  My brain.

  All cognitive thought.

  What the hell did she just say?

  “He's dangerous, Dash. You know he is. We can't allow someone else to suffer because of him. Not because we're too chicken shit to speak up, for fuck's sake.”

  “Look, you have no idea what you're talking about. How can you know she wasn't high when she wrote that? She was out of her mind ninety percent of the fucking time. Mercy saw to that. Just throw it into the fire and let's just wash our hands of this whole thing.”

  “But Elodie—”

  “I know she's your friend, Carrie, but I don't know the girl. If you care about her so much, then make sure she stays the hell away from him. Shouldn't be too hard. He'll forget all about her soon enough, and then you won't have to concern yourself with her safety anymore.”

  “How can you be so cold? How can you be so detached from this?”

  I hear Dashiell sigh. “The only person I care about is you, Carina. I think I've made that abundantly clear. If you don't wanna hear that, then that's your business. I get it. I fucked up. We can deal with that another time, though. Now give it to me.”

  What the hell does he want from her? And what the actual fuck are they talking about? I risk a peek over the top of the rose bushes, but all I can see is the tops of their heads. Carina's crying grows louder. “Fine. Here, Lord Lovett. You always get your way, don't you?” I've never heard such bitter hurt in her voice. Not even earlier, when she told me that Andre had dumped her via text.

  “I have no idea why you're protecting him like this,” she says. “He's not your friend. You know that, right? He might act like it, but he just uses people to get what he wants.”

  “Maybe you're right,” Dashiell agrees. “But high school's nearly over, Carrie. We'll all be going off to follow our own paths in life. I'll probably never see him again. Until then, I have to see him all the fucking time, and I'm not risking him opening his mouth and blabbing to everyone about what went down that fucking night.”

  “Oh my god, what are you going to—” Carina's startled gasp cuts short. She whimpers, and the sound is so heartbroken and mournful that I want to run in there and comfort her. I can't, though. This exchange between them is most definitely private. And I'm worried that it also might be somewhat illegal. I'm so confused, but Carina mentioned my name, and—

  The door to the gazebo flies open.

  Carina races out into the night and I see that her face is streaked with tears. She wraps her arms around herself like she's doing her damnedest to keep herself together.

  Thank god, mercy of mercies, she's facing away from me and doesn't see me scooting back into the bushes like a fucking criminal.

  “Carina, wait!” Dash emerges from the gazebo, slamming the door closed behind him. He goes to my friend, placing a hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “We've all made mistakes, okay. Big ones. I don't think we should have to keep on paying for them like this.”

  She sniffs, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Are you talking about what he did? Or what you did to me?”

  For a moment, Dash doesn't say anything. I think he's going to let her walk away without an answer from him, but then he stumps up the courage, looking up at the sky, and he nods. “Yeah. I'm talking about what I did to you. I hate it, okay. I hate that I hurt you. I let things spiral out of control and I took a wrong turn. I've regretted it every single day since then. When are you going to forgive me?”

  Carina.

  Poor Carina.

  She blinks at him, her profile painted in silver by the moonlight. “When are you going to learn that your position in life doesn't automatically entitle you to a do-over whenever you fuck up?” She looks like the saddest person in the world as she walks away from him. That is until Dashiell's shoulders slump and his head drops, a weary, dejected sigh working free from his lips. Then, he claims that title for himself.

  He goes, too, disappearing into the opening of the maze, leaving me alone, my thighs burning from my awkward, contorted position in the bushes. It hurts like a motherfucker when I stand, straightening out my legs one at a time.

  What the fuck did I just witness?

  They might as well have been talking in code; there was so much I didn't understand. I did gather quite a bit of information, though, and troubling information at that.

  Something bad happened. Something that Carina and Dashiell were involved in. And Carina is worried about it happening to me, too.

  A cold, dead fist closes around my heart.

  I go into the gazebo, pins and needles prickling all over my body. It takes all of a second to see the book sitting on top of the burning logs in the fireplace, flames licking over its tan leather-bound cover. I singe my fingers pulling it out.

  It's only when the book flips over, landing with a flat clap onto the floor in front of me, that I realize what it is.

  It's Mara Bancroft's journal.

  37

  MARA

  June 5th.

  Words can't describe this feeling. If someone held a gun to my head and forced me to explain what's going on inside me right now, I'd tell them that I'm happy. And scared. Really, really fucking scared. Mom called and told me I shouldn't be getting involved with boys right now. She wants me to focus on my work, keep my head down and concentrate on my grades. Hah! Yeah, right. What the fuck does she know about real life? She's so caught up in her own shit that she doesn't have a clue what it's like to be here, trapped in this place, with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Poe understands. Poe knows exactly what I'm going through. He's been here far longer than I have. He's the only one
who listens. If I didn't have him, I don't know what I'd do.

  Carina thinks I'm crazy for getting involved with him. She thinks he's too broken to feel anything at all, but I've experienced things with him she can't even begin to imagine. The closeness. The way he makes me feel when he tells me that he loves me. He's not who people think he is.

  There are times, though. Times when he looks at me like he wants to pull my soul right out of my body. Those are the times that make me panic. He'll be at the party, of course. We have to pretend like there's nothing between us. He'll drink and have fun with those stupid fucking Riot House boys, and I'll have to fake it. Make out like he didn’t meet me this morning in our secret place and fuck me senseless. I know he's troubled. I know he's not a safe bet and nothing good can come from this thing between us. But it's so hard to remember that when he's inside me, kissing my neck, whispering my name.

  If Carina knew how sweet and gentle he was with me, she wouldn't say the stuff she does about him. She'd be on my side. She's my friend. She's supposed to be on my side. That's the most infuriating thing about this. You're supposed to be able to tell your friends anything.

  I just hope he doesn't hurt me. Sometimes, when I'm lying in his arms, I feel like he might do something crazy. His mood swings can be frightening.

  June 8th.