THE DIRTY ONES

by JA Huss

  He was just trying to unravel our memories in a thoughtful way. Afraid that untangling things in the wrong way would lead to a total breakdown.

  We don’t know what triggered their suicides. Maybe they started remembering on their own that night? Maybe Connor’s father got to them first and made threats? Hell, maybe Louise showed up with her drugs and started planting new memories?

  Yes, we got answers. But we still have questions. And these mysteries will never be solved because the only two people who know what really happened are dead.

  I think Connor’s father wanted to kill me that night we witnessed the shooting. I think I was the wild card. Just some nobody. Some expendable nobody. Someone who didn’t belong in their world. Someone who couldn’t be kept quiet out of family obligations.

  But my mother was there. I think she stopped them. And if I’m being honest, I think it was her elaborate writer’s imagination that came up with this plan. But of course I’ll never understand that part. It’s just something I’ll have to live with and I keep my own imagination in check because I know how easy it is to believe the story we write in our heads.

  As far as The Dirty Ones go… I think Camille, and Sofia, and Bennett, and Hayes, and Connor—who were not my friends at that point in time—saw my death that night. Saw that they could save me with these lies.

  But I think giving us this story gave us power too.

  They wanted to divide us that night. Make us hate each other.

  But that’s not what happened. We fell in love. As a group, I guess. We grew closer. We became friends. These special people who were raised in privilege took my side and saved my life.

  That’s my story, anyway. That’s the happy ending I need to write.

  I have no memory of my visits to the therapist with Hayes. He deliberately told her to erase the revelations after each session because once he told me that he was looking for the truth I shut down and refused to see him again for months.

  It was a slow process. Once a month he’d take me to lunch and we’d meet up with the hypnotist. In these secret sessions they put a pen in my hand and told me to write it all down. Easy, for someone like me. Someone who was born to write stories like a person possessed.

  But it wasn’t easy. It was slow. Only a sentence or two each month for almost a year.

  But after my mother died I spiraled into a deep depression and the words came easier. Poured out of me like they were spilling out of the same dam. Like I knew I was free. Which makes me sick to think about, but still, it’s the truth. And it must be faced.

  And at the end of all that I wrote a book.

  Hayes is the one who took it to an agent. Set up a shell corporation and they shopped it, made a deal and eighteen months later it debuted at number three on the New York Times.

  He lied to me. Manipulated me.

  And I love him for it now. Because without Hayes we’d still think that nightmare was real.

  The truth must be faced eventually. It always finds a way.

  Hayes thought he could publish my new book and draw them out without involving the rest of us. Make them see that we held the power. But Connor stumbled onto the book at the airport and his plan came apart.

  It’s humbled him. It’s made Hayes cautious for the first time in his life. Allowed him to see that he is also fallible. That he is also human. But even though I don’t blame Hayes for Camille and Bennett—and neither do Sofia and Connor—I think it’s a good change for him.

  It’s good to know your weaknesses. It’s important to understand how one decision can cause events to spiral into something you no longer control. Especially for people like Hayes, who carry the weight of unimaginable riches and power on their shoulders.

  We have drifted apart these last few months, but in a good way. Paired up into something normal and safe. Sofia and Hayes. Connor and me.

  We left The Dirty Ones behind and maybe I don’t really know who we are now, but I know who we aren’t.

  And that’s enough.

  Someone, probably Connor’s father, actually had the gall to submit his candidacy paperwork. The entire state of New York still thinks he’s running for US Senator. He’s got a huge lead in the polls and it hurts Connor, I can tell. To see that happen. Because he knows his father is out on bail waiting for trial, just watching those numbers climb, smug with the realization that all his plotting and planning paid off.

  Connor pretends it’s not happening. We’ve been in Vermont since the day of his father’s arrest. He found the will in my attic and has hired a lawyer to sort it out.

  The house will be mine. Essex College was implicated in the deceit—that’s what they’re calling it in public. Deceit. As if that guy Connor’s mother was with ten years ago didn’t get killed. As if I didn’t take a bullet in my shoulder. As if Emily wasn’t locked up in a mental institution for an entire decade. The dean was arrested and is also awaiting trial.

  The college is not fighting the lawsuit Connor filed.

  Oh, yeah. I think people forgot Connor was a lawyer.

  Well, everyone remembers now.

  The delusional notebook I wrote back in senior year is evidence, but I have been assured that it will be returned to me.

  What a fantastic work of fiction that will be.

  I can’t wait to burn it.

  Meanwhile, The Dirty Ones has been on the New York Times bestseller list for almost six months. It’s got my name on the cover now. And Connor’s. And Hayes’. And Sofia’s. And Bennett’s. And Emily’s. And Camille’s.

  Because we are the Dirty Ones and this is no story.

  It’s the truth.

  EPILOGUE - CONNOR

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  The long plowed driveway leading up to the cottage is lined with cars. I have no idea how they’re all gonna get out after this thing is over, but eh. Not really my problem. They’re the dumb fucks who wanted to come to Vermont in the middle of January for a five-minute press conference.

  I’m not even there. I’m looking out the attic window of the big house working on a project for Kiera. Her birthday is coming up next week and I have something special planned.

  We got married the month after my father was found guilty of second-degree murder. He’s serving a thirty-year sentence in a federal prison because it turns out he was implicated in a whole slew of election fraud charges as well.

  Louise was killed in a freak car accident three days before her trial began so she never served any time.

  I don’t even care. Can’t make myself care. Even if it was my father’s doing.

  Steven turned state’s evidence against my father and got out a couple months ago. We haven’t stayed in touch. My mother went to prison for eighteen months, but she’s been out for a while now. Boarded up tight in the family estate. Estranged from her children.

  Am I surprised that my brothers and sisters took my side?

  Yes.

  Pleasantly.

  I see them often, appreciate them more than ever, and do my best to be a good brother.

  I opened a law practice in Charlotte after I was admitted to the Vermont Bar. Kiera and I have lived here happily for almost five years. And even though I can see Essex College from my attic window, I don’t look for the tower that was never there. I see a steeple, and the various buildings, and sometimes I even watch the rowers from the back porch.

  It can’t hurt me anymore.

  I don’t give it that kind of power.

  “It’s starting!” Kiera calls up from the first floor. “Come down here!”

  “One sec!” I call back.

  I miss Bennett every day. So much. He wasn’t the kid who was ever gonna do great things, but he was a guy with a big heart. Someone who took care of Camille and did his best. He always did his best.

  They never proved their suicides were murder and I live with that regret in my heart. The regret that we didn’t save him and Camille. I even miss Camille. I read her book out loud to Kiera and stream it live for the
fans every year on the anniversary of their deaths.

  It’s called A Bunny In The Oven. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as cuddle-kink—I laugh every time I say that word. But there is. It’s a crazy-stupid, crazy-funny, crazy-sexy Camille version of a middle-aged New York City transplant who now owns a rabbitry—another thing I didn’t know existed—and solves weird erotic mysteries in this little country town.

  Fuckin’ thing has sold like ten million copies in the last five years since Camille died. Super crazy.

  And also super cool.

  It makes me feel good. Because Camille was loved and they won’t let her die, even when she’s dead. They remember her. They keep her words alive. They send us cards, and flowers, which we put out on the back porch of the cottage, and if the lake isn’t frozen near the shore there’s a boat parade. If it is, people set up ice-fishing huts and dress up like… middle-age New York transplants who now own a rabbitry.

  Fucking shit is weird.

  I love it.

  “Connor!” Kiera yells. “Come down now! It’s starting!”

  “Coming,” I say, picking up the present I’ve been up here wrapping. It’s not her birthday yet, but I’m gonna give it to her tonight anyway. Because it’s a special day. That’s why we called the news conference.

  I walk down the two flights of stairs to the living room and find her sitting on the couch wearing leggings and a too-big sweater. Her shearling boots are really slippers, but I won’t tell.

  “Oh, my God. Hayes is looking so smug. You gotta see—” She stops when she sees the present. “What’s that?”

  I hold up a finger. “Wait,” I say. “Just let me look at you for a moment. Write a little story in my head about this day.”

  She giggles.

  She’s so beautiful when she giggles. Her long hair is messy. She didn’t bother brushing it today, just swept it up into a hair tie with no fucks to give. No makeup. Not a single thing about her that isn’t original, and natural, and perfect, and true.

  “I’m Hayes Fitzgerald, representing Connor and Kiera Arlington, and I have two important announcements today.” Hayes’ voice comes from the large flat screen above the fireplace. He’s standing out on the shoveled front porch, red, white, and blue streamers hanging all over the place. There’s people in the yard holding signs that say, Run, Connor, Run!

  He and Sofia married right after we did. They already have two kids who don’t have nannies and share a bedroom with a bunk bed they got at Sears when they’re at our house. They live at the cottage house in the summer and her New York penthouse in the winter.

  Hayes turned his family estate into an actual museum. People have weddings there and shit. Parties and corporate events. One year a group of Girl Scouts camped there for a week. Two kids actually got lost for a day but they eventually found them in the bowling alley having the time of their life, half dazed from a sugar-high and sick to their stomachs after raiding the fully-stocked snack bar.

  Fuckin’ Fitzgerald monstrosity.

  Sofia still writes, but she and Kiera write together now and Sofia uses her real name. They have a long-running erotic mystery series about two female bounty hunters trying to round up a half dozen sexy assassins for the CIA. It’s called The Broken Ones and it’s pretty good too.

  And pretty hot. Sometimes Kiera reads them out loud to me before bed but she never gets far. I usually throw the book at the wall and just tackle her under the sheets.

  But it’s all her fault. I can’t help that my wife is a damn good erotica writer.

  Emily got her life back. She comes to stay with us a couple times a year. Got a boyfriend and shop on Esty making some artsy shit she learned how to do in the hospital. She even had her own gallery show in New York last year. Sells a buttload of… whatever it is she calls that stuff. Sculpture? Maybe? With a side of weird?

  She was always weird but now she’s just New York artist eccentric weird. i.e. All the right kinds of weird.

  “First,” Hayes says. “And most importantly, Connor Arlington would like to announce—”

  People begin cheering. They have no clue.

  “—that Kiera Arlington is pregnant and they’re expecting their first child in April.”

  Everyone stops cheering. There’s the usual whispers. “What did he just say?”

  “Oh, and second. He won’t be running for the Senate. He humbly asks that you please do not write his name in on the ballot. Thank you for coming.”

  Hayes turns and walks back into the cottage and closes the door.

  The camera pans around the disappointed crowd. The reporter begins to talk to her news station anchors with a confused look on her face.

  “I love it!” Kiera yells. “That was the best.”

  They keep thinking I’m gonna run.

  But I’m not. Ever.

  I would never give up this simple, perfect life for a job that would suck my soul dry and leave me dead inside like my father.

  I made a decision that day back at Dr. Louise Livingston’s mansion. A vow, of sorts. To the truth.

  And that vow is at odds with what these people want from me, so I’m just gonna have to continue to disappoint them.

  “Now tell me,” Kiera says. “What’s that?”

  I look down at the gift, perfectly wrapped in navy blue ribbon and gold paper. “Open it and see.”

  She squeals and runs over to me, taking the present from my hand.

  She has no use for ribbons and paper, so she tears them off and opens

  the box. Holds up the book.

  A hardcover version I had specially made just for this. Because Kiera’s writer heart would be broken if I ever gutted this book to make her the notebook she holds now.

  “Oh, my God. I love you.”

  “I know,” I say, pulling her in for a hug.

  “A Bunny in the Oven notebook with handmade pages. Did you—”

  “I did,” I say. “For you both.” I rub her swollen stomach under her too-big sweater.

  Because I have learned two important things since the truth came out five years ago.

  One. I know how to make a decision. I can commit. I have committed to Kiera in every way imaginable but I’m constantly challenging myself to think up new ways.

  And two… our dream world is gone. The parties we thought we went to, the good times we thought we had, the illusion we thought we lived… all fake.

  But it doesn’t matter anymore.

  Because our reality is so much better.

  Kiera might not think she likes the happily ever after, but she does.

  And we’re gonna write it together.

  WHAT’S UP NEXT?

  IN TO HER

  BY JA Huss

  Romantic suspense, ménage, reverse harem

  Releasing February 19, 2019

  How she came to us doesn’t matter.

  Why she’s here. Doesn’t matter.

  Yvette Nightingale has something we need. We were not meant to be soul mates. We were not meant to be lovers, or friends, or partners looking for answers.

  We were just going to use her up, throw her away, and leave her behind.

  But we made a mistake. We fell for her. We fell for the way our bodies move as one and the way we come together at night. We fell for her smile, and her eyes, and the soft moans spilling past her lips when we take her together.

  We’re in to her.

  But will she be in to us once she learns the truth?

  A thrilling, sexy trip into the mysterious world of ménage.

  PRE-ORDER HERE

  END OF BOOK SHIT

  Welcome to the End of Book Shit. This is where I get to say whatever I want about the story and you get to listen. Or not. You can skip if you want. These are never edited so please excuse my typos. I usually have a few of those.

  So I just wrote an EOBS about how I was sick of standalones and then I go and write a standalone. Figures. Someone who thought they knew me once said I change my mind a lot. I thin
k it was an insult but I didn’t take it that way. Because who cares? Right? Who gives a fuck if you change your mind? And anyway, I was thinking more along the lines of standalone series. This book here is 100% standalone.

  So The Dirty Ones. I’ve been holding on to this title for over a year. I wanted to write the book that whole time but I didn’t have a story that would live up to it. I knew I wanted it to be something very twisted and very mysterious, and I’m always up for a good conspiracy theory. But I didn’t want this one to be “Company”. I started one of those with Johnathan McClain (The Triangle). That’s the only thing I knew for sure (Not Company) until… one day… I’m watching the last episode of the final season of Gossip Girl (yes, you heard me right, Gossip Girl) and I loved that ending. The whole Upper East Side thing. The whole too rich thing. The whole outsider writes a book about being an insider. And it had a Gatsby feel to it.

  And right then is when this story came to me. Someone wrote a tell-all book and sold it as fiction, but it was a true story.

  How the hell I got from that to… THIS? lol I’m still trying to figure that out. It’s just that dark, twisted daemon inside me, I guess. Begging to be let out.

  But I literally got up, went into my office, and made this cover. And from then on the muse just dictated. Oh, there were bumps along the way. Any time you let the daemon take over your art it’s gonna be messy as fuck. So I had to step in a few times and say, “Whoa there, asshole. Let’s make sure all the puzzle pieces fit, K?”

  He was cool with that. (My muse is a guy. I know most muses are beautiful women, but fuck it. Mine’s a sweaty, shirtless hot dude in hell.)

  The most important thing to me in this story was the world. Which is not common for a romance, but fuck it. I don’t care for common. And when I sent the first draft to Johnathan to read he said something to me about how he can tell I love world building. (I think he actually said I like describing places and it showed.)