His face is very human, though, his expression conveying a roughness, a hardness, a wall. That wall is too familiar. I stare at it every time I look in the damn reflector mirror. It makes me wonder what this greystele is hiding. What he’s trying to protect himself from? The world? His past? I wonder what happened to him that made it so he had to give up part of his human body.
A small smile touches his half-bronzed lips as I make eye contact with him. “I know you, right? You hang out with Willow and Beck?”
I nod, eyeing him over. Tall with messily styled, sandy brown hair, dark eyelashes; and bronzed, thick gadgets cover his half-flesh, half-metal arms. He’s sporting a short-sleeved black shirt with a tiny hole in the hem, worn black jeans, and metal boots.
Back in the day, I would’ve checked him out—his body and face are too gorgeous not to notice, even for a greystele—but I wouldn’t have wanted to date him. Would’ve thought he wasn’t my type because he wasn’t flashy or fancy enough and because of what he was. I might have even seen him as intimidating and frightening, like a lot of people view greysteles. Now I find myself really staring at him and wondering who he is. Is he better than Travis and his friends? Is he as kind as his startling machine eyes portray? Or is anger and evil hidden behind that wall he has up? Is he wicked? Is his heart as cold as his metal flesh?
How am I supposed to be able to tell any of this simply by looking at someone? The truth is, I can’t. The truth is, I have to get to know someone to understand who they are. But then, by the time I realize if they’re good or not, it could be too late.
The greystele continues to smile at me while I openly dissect his appearance, but confusion flickers in his eyes. “Is everything okay?”
That’s the second time someone has asked me that in the last ten minutes.
Just how not okay do I look?
I let a curtain of hair fall to the side of my face as I nod. “Yeah, sorry. I was just trying to place your face to a name, but I can’t figure it out.” I offer him an apologetic smile, my lips aching against the foreign movement. “Sorry, I’m really bad with names.”
“Actually, we haven’t been formally introduced.” An easy smile graces his lips as he sticks out his hand. “Everette Averysen.”
I open and flex my hands a couple times before placing my palm against his. “Wynter Porterrsen.”
I hold my breath and wait for him to connect my last name to my father, like most people do. But he’s either clueless or doesn’t give a shit.
“It’s nice to meet you, Wynter.” He ducks his head to meet my gaze, and not because I’m short. No, apparently, my head has been tipped down and I haven’t realized until now. “And again, I’m sorry I barreled into you. I’m not going to lie, though. I’m not that sorry.” His smile grows as he winks at me. I suddenly question if maybe his eyes are real and simply startlingly pretty. “It’s not every day I get to catch a pretty woman before she falls.”
And that’s about where he loses me. Where any amount of comfort I felt with him fizzles and my guard slams up.
Wiggling my hand from his metal hand, I cross my arms protectively around myself. “How do you know Beck and Willow?”
His pierced brows dip ever so slightly. “I have a couple classes with them.”
“So, you don’t know them very well then.” I’m very aware I’m being a bitch, but that brief moment when he attempted to flirt with me has me irked for so many reasons, most of which I have a hard time deciphering.
Perhaps because Travis flirted with me so much, which was what led to me going to that party with him. Or because I flirted so frequently and invited guys like Travis into my life. Or maybe it simply has to do with the fact that I don’t want to flirt. I don’t want to date. I don’t want guys or good-looking greysteles looking at me like I’m some sort of shiny prize. Then again, I guess Everette hasn’t technically looked at me that way. That smile of his, though, usually leads to that look. That stupid look I’ve grown to hate.
Anger roars inside me as my imagination takes over and Everette’s smile morphs into Travis’s smirk.
“We’ve hung out a couple times.” Everette stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black pants, seeming uneasy. “If you’re asking if we’re close, the answer is no.”
I fold my fingers inward, my fingernails stabbing into my palms. “Then maybe you shouldn’t act like you know my friends just to impress me.”
He frowns. “That’s not what I was doing at all.”
“Then, why would you even mention them?” I step toward him, my lungs trembling against the invisible, constricting rope wound around my chest. “And better yet, how do you even know I hang out with Willow and Beck? Unless you’ve been watching me. Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Just like Travis did.
“I watched you for months,” he whispers as he grabs my hair. “I know everything about you.”
Everette fleetingly stiffens, then slips his hands out of his pockets, the gadgets in his arms spinning as he elevates his hands in front of him. “Relax, okay? I wasn’t watching you. I’m not a fucking stalker, despite what people think about my kind. I’ve just seen you around campus … with Beck and Willow.”
“Well, stop seeing me, okay? In fact, don’t ever look or talk to me again.” Blasting him with a glare, I brush past him and dash out of the communal area without so much as a second glance back, deciding to go home and let myself sink into the haze. Haze away this day.
If I turned around, I’m sure Everette would have been gaping at me like I’m a lunatic. Like I’m a bitch. Like a girl who probably judged him for who he is. That’s not what that was about. I don’t give a shit what Everette is. All I give a shit about is that, for a moment, he saw me. That’s not what I want.
I want to be the girl no one wants.
The girl no one smiles at.
The girl no one sees.
Chapter 3
I have this list of names written in blood underneath my pillow. Yes, it’s as morbid as it sounds, but blood is really hard to erase, and I wanted to stain their names with my pain. Stain their names with blood.
The names consist of every person I can link back to the night of that party.
Every night before I fall asleep, I take it out and read over the names. Repeatedly.
Each letter is branded into my mind like the scars they left on my chest. I see the names when I shut my eyes and when I open them.
Beside each name, I have a vague list of details I’ve scourged up about each one of them. The details are limited since I haven’t been able to get close enough to any of the suspects to find out more about them. If I approach people who know Travis and his friends and start asking questions, I’ll probably be viewed as a stalker. If I approach the guys personally—if I can even manage that without vomiting—they’ll assume I’m up to something and make good on their threat of destroying me and everyone I care about. They have the power to do so. Just like they have the power and money to make every bad deed and crime they’ve ever committed disappear. That doesn’t mean I’m going to allow them to keep getting away with hurting people or—I reach around and trace my fingers along my back where vertical scars brand me—hurting me.
As I lay on my bed with the list in my hand, I try to come up with the best way to get revenge without getting myself killed. Revenge can be dangerous, and maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about it because it’s dangerous and risky and may not be the right thing to do. But I can’t stop thinking about making them suffer like I am.
“If you so much as tell a single soul,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ll fucking end you and every goddamn person you care about, got it? And you know I can, Wynter. Just like your father, I’m capable of just about anything. Unlike your father, I can get away with it.” His lips brush my ear, his scent nearly drowning me. “And you want to know why? Because I’m a fucking god around here.”
Tears spill from my eyes, blood running down my chest and waist. I feel broken inside. I
feel helpless. I want to die.
Then, deep in recesses of my mind, another emotion sparks to life. An emotion I never felt before.
I want to fucking end him. Rip his life away with my bare hands …
I blink from the memory as tears burn my eyes. When they were hurting me, I imagined, if I survived, tracking them down and killing them one by one. I soon learned I’m not a killer, though, and don’t possess killer instincts. So, I settled on revenge.
Revenge.
Revenge.
Revenge.
The word consumes my mind so much that I barely think about anything else. I just wish I could figure out a way to find out more about these guys. Since I haven’t come up with a solution to that yet, I decide to start by finding out who this Maci is so I can warn her to stay away from Travis Marilellie.
Collecting my handheld off my nightstand, I open the voice activation to send Ari a message. Normally, I’d video call him, but lately, like with Beck and my other friends, he’s sensed something’s been off with me. If he hears my voice, he may ask if everything’s okay, and I don’t think I can hear that fucking question again today.
My mind wanders back to when Everette asked me that question. How he smiled and winked at me, as if I wanted him to flirt with me.
“Stupid fucking asshole. He’s just as bad as them,” I attempt to convince myself, but the truth is, Everette didn’t really seem like Travis or the rest of his shithead, psychopathic friends.
I frown, remembering how big of a bitch I was to him and how he thought it was because of what he is.
I should find him and apologize …
I quickly shake the thought from my head. “No, I have bigger things to worry about.”
I restlessly tap my fingers against the side of my handheld until I calm myself down. Then I lean against my headboard and finish putting together a message for Ari.
“Hey!” I say after I hit record. “I need a favor. Can you get me a list of all the Maci’s who go to our school?”
In typical Ari form, he doesn’t respond right away. Not that he’s flaky. He just gets caught up in things.
To kill time, I take a few more hits of haze and try to take a power nap. Though I loathe closing my eyes, I need to catch some z’s.
Rolling over, I kick off my boots, rest my head on my pillow, and shut my eyes. But every noise, every tick of the clock, the neighbor’s dog barking, a scratching noise that’s coming from God knows what, it all throbs against my brain. The images come next. The sharp fragments of that night.
Music surrounds me, along with laughter and chatter. The lights are so bright. So blinding. So dizzy.
Or maybe I’m dizzy.
Why does it feel like my head’s spinning?
Hands settle around my waist, fingers digging into the sliver of skin between the bottom of my shirt and the waistband of my name brand jeans.
“You okay?” a guy whispers in my ear.
His voice sounds familiar, but through my hazy brain, I can’t put a face or a name to it. Maybe Travis? But his scent doesn’t match Travis’s.
Where did Travis go anyway? Why am I here—wherever here is—alone?
My head bobbles back, and I squint against the lights as I try to get a good look at him. “I’m … not … sure …”
His face is a blur, but his toothy smile stands out against the flashing lights above. Or maybe it’s the stars. I’m not even certain anymore if I’m outside or in.
Did I drink that many electric shots?
When I shake my head, the blurriness amplifies, my surroundings shifting into a giant blur of bright lights that sting my eyes.
“Come on; let’s go get this started.” The guy loops an arm around my waist.
Although I have no desire to, I lean into him, unable to hold up my own weight. “Where … are we … going?”
“Somewhere fun.” He drifts his fingers downward from my hip, winding around and cupping my ass. “Fun for me anyway.”
Chills break across my skin as my stomach ravels in nauseating knots.
“No …” I lift my hands to shove him away, but they remain limp at my sides.
His lips touch my ear. “Try all you want, Wynter, but you aren’t getting out of this.”
Tears prickle my eyes, blurring my vision even more. “Why?” I manage to get out.
His laughter is hollow and sends a chill down my spine. “Because you’re Wynter Porterrsen, Walter Porterrsen’s only child.”
My stomach clenches, the electric shots I drank earlier threatening to come up. I may not understand everything my father does for his job, but he does do some sketchy drug dealings with a lot of terrifying, powerful people. If this guy is after my dad and is using me to get to him …
I swallow back the vomit. “Who … are … you?”
His breath is against my cheek. “The guy who’s about to destroy you. You can thank your daddy for that.” He kisses my lips, the taste of electricity filling my mouth. “Make sure to pass that message along to him. Make sure he understands what happens when he double-crosses us.”
I open my mouth to scream, but no sound passes from my lips.
I’ve lost my voice. I can’t speak. This guy, he took away my ability to use my voice—
My eyes pop open, and I let out a blood-curdling scream. Thank God I don’t live in an apartment anymore or my townhome. However, the nice, two-story electric homes that make up the city section I live in are rather close. Hopefully none of my neighbors heard my scream and decided to call the Electric Station City squad and report the disturbance. Maybe if they did, though, I could convince myself to finally report what happened to me, and then Travis and his hotshot friends will get in trouble for what they did to me.
But that’s not how it would go down.
To remind myself of how this city works, I grab my handheld and type in “Electric Station City” along with “Marilellie.” The first handful of pages that illuminate in front of me are articles boasting about Travis’s family, his dad’s inventions and businesses, and then of Travis and his sibling’s achievements. Then it’s his family charity donations, and their public good deeds.
And that’s just the start of why I fear going against Travis and his friends.
Tapping the next section of results, I skim-read the article titles declaring how many times the Marilellies have been accused of a crime, some of which are very similar to what happened to me, but somehow, the incident gets turned around so the victim gets accused of lying or of breaking the law. In the end, the Marilellies come out looking better than they did going in, whereas the victim usually ends up either in jail or ridiculed by the city.
“I hate this fucking city and its stupid politics,” I grumble as I clear my search history, toss my handheld onto my bed, and reach for my pipe, deciding it’s time to let the haze ease away my pain.
I take a hit, the smoke saturating my lungs. Then I sit back and wait for the drugs to take over, to calm me, to take away my racing thoughts, but a few manage to snake through the hazy smoke.
“They won’t do anything,” my father tells me after I told him what happened to me. “In fact, if you tell the squad officer who brought you to the station, Jack Marilellies will more than likely find a way to get you arrested.”
“But I haven’t done anything!” I sob, the fresh wounds on my back aching, along with my withering soul. “I’m the victim here.”
“No one’s a victim, Wynter,” he says with a drop of remorse. “Everyone’s done something bad in their lives, and anyone who says differently is a liar.”
Tears spring from my eyes as he practically calls me a liar, as if he’s accusing me of lying about what happened to me.
“I’m not a liar,” I whisper as tears stream down my face. “And the only reason this happened … was because of you. What did you do to these people, Daddy?”
He doesn’t even so much as flinch.
Doesn’t react.
Doesn’t care.
The scars on my back throb, reminding me that they exist. That I’m not a liar. That my dad is wrong. That that night did happen. That those guys broke me to get back at my father.
Sometimes, I fucking hate him.
Hate or not, my dad may not be wrong about me having done bad things. Or, at least he won’t be in the future once I get my revenge.
Revenge.
Revenge.
Revenge.
My pulse pounds, red hot anger scorching through me so potently I nearly go blind. My fingers curl inward as I imagine what it’d be like to hurt the guys who hurt me, the anger consuming me, blinding me—
Ding. A message pings, startling me so badly I jump.
After I calm the fuck down, I pick up the handheld and play the message
“Hey, Wynter!” Ari says. “There are only two Maci’s in city, one of which is a forty-year-old woman who lives over on the east side, and the other goes to the university. I’m assuming she’s the one you’re looking for. She’s a sophomore and her last name is Princingten. She lives in the east section condos.”
Her last name rings a bell, but I don’t think I’ve ever met her. That may complicate getting her to believe me. Still, I have to try.
I record a voice message to send to him. “Thanks, Ari. You’re the best.”
“Anytime.” He sends one back. “Just glad I can help. If you need anything else at all from me, please let me know. We haven’t hung out in a while, and I really miss you. I hope you know that.”
His words make me feel a bit sad. I wish I could be the old Wynter for him, the bubbly girl who loved to hang out and party, but just thinking about socializing like that, of trying to have fun, makes me feel sick.
“Thanks. I miss you, too,” I whisper.
I wish I could say more—I really do—yet I can’t bring myself to do so.
Pushing down my guilt, I sit up and lower my feet to the floor as I debate the best way to get ahold of Maci. I could just send a simple message, but that’s so impersonal. No, if I want her to take me seriously, I need to see her face-to-face. I just hope she’ll listen to me.
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