“What do you want?” he asks, and I frown. Hard.
“You to stop being a prick. Why are you pretending you can still act aloof and disinterested when all you want is to tie me up and fuck the shit out of me?”
Oscar rises from his chair and moves over to me in an instant, slamming his forearms into either side of the doorjamb. The door is closed behind me, but I’m not trapped. I could reach back for the knob if I really wanted to. Of course, I don’t. I’m not afraid of Oscar Montauk and he knows it.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about it?” he says, and I’m not sure if he means the virgin thing or the serial killer comment that he made. “Don’t you want to know?”
“Either you’re going to tell me or you’re not,” I shoot back, but I really, really, really want him to tell me something about himself. His family, his dad, his virginity, anything. “Do you need me to tell you a horrible thing back, so you’ll feel better? Should I tell you about the time I got mad at Penelope for banging her headboard against the wall and keeping me up all night? How she cried and cried and cried while I was a total bitch to her?” Knowing what I know now, I understand what was happening to her, and it makes me sick. I want to die when I think about that memory.
Oscar frowns hard, like he can tell I’ve just laid something special out. If he rejects me now, he can never tell me the truth about the way he feels because I’ll always know that he’s such a good liar, he can lie even to himself.
“I’m sorry that I’m not good at this, Bernadette.” There’s something sad in his voice, a melancholy so deep and endless that it feels as if I’m staring into the depths of the ocean. “Vulnerability leaves a person open to endless pain.” He drops his inked fingers to the side of my face, stroking my cheek and leaving me with a tightness in my chest that makes me want to cry. He’s tragic, isn’t he? Oscar Montauk.
“Endless pain but also endless love,” I whisper back, which sounds cheesy enough to be printed on one of Sara Young’s coffee mugs. It’s true, though, that statement. One of my hands comes up to rest against the front of Oscar’s chest, right over that bloodred tie. He flinches slightly, but he lets me touch him.
“My father murdered my mother and my siblings, did you know that?” he asks, capturing my hand in his. The serial killer comment suddenly makes a hell of a lot more sense. “He tried to kill me, too, but I guess I’m just that hard to get rid of.” Long, tattooed fingers squeeze my own, warm and oh so human. He really isn’t as demonic as he thinks he is. “You know how he did it?” he continues, and I don’t dare interrupt for fear that he’ll never speak to me like this again. “He tried to strangle me. And now it’s become a fetish of mine. How fucked-up is that?”
I find myself enraptured by his eyes, their color so indescribably beautiful that only purple prose will do, only lines of that inane poetry I scribble in my notebook in the dingy classroom of a decrepit school. Oscar’s eyes are like wet fog on the morning of a funeral. They’re the color of that gray alley cat that lives by the dumpsters outside the high school, the one that was once a cherished kitten and now nobody loves. They’re the color of ashes in an urn or a gravestone with the name so worn off that it can’t be read by passersby.
“Oscar …” I start, but then he’s standing up straight as the door opens behind me. It’s Vic. I know without even turning around because our souls are twisted together and covered in thorns. If one of us pulls away, it hurts. Those thorns cut and make us both bleed.
In less time than it takes me to pull in a single breath, Oscar shuts down, his mouth thinning into a sharp line, his eyes darkening. Our moment is over, but somehow, even though what he’s just told me is unbelievably awful, I have hope for us both.
“We’re ready to go,” Victor says, but I can’t turn and look at him. We’re essentially going to a birthday party for his new girlfriend. I want to puke. When did I lose my ovaries and agree to this shit?
“Okay,” I say, feeling my stomach open up into a pit. Victor moves away without saying anything else and Oscar sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with two long, tattooed fingers.
“Christ, you two will be the death of me,” he snarls, opening his eyes again and then grabbing my arm. He drags me out of the room before I tear away from him and we go storming down the stairs together.
Everyone is pissed off by the time we pile into the car.
“I want my goddamn Camaro back,” Hael says, starting the Firebird and cursing as the engine makes a funny sound. “Son of a bitch.”
“Brittany is back from the slopes,” Oscar offers, because the little rat bitch has been in Vail, Colorado for weeks on a surprise Christmas vacay. We thought at first that she was leaving to have her baby in secret or some other weird, medieval type bullshit. But she’s back again, and we have to deal with her.
“Yeah, I was aware of that,” Hael says, pulling out of the driveway so fast that he leaves black skid marks on the pavement. He cranks up the music to inhuman levels and we hit the road at twice the usual speed limit. I change the song to one that I like and close my eyes, letting the rhythm take me as we hit the highway, heading right across the river toward the Oak Park neighborhood.
Fancy.
Makes Ophelia and Tom’s place in Oak River Heights look like shit.
Vic drives the Bronco with Aaron and Cal, leaving me with Hael and Oscar.
“You can admit that you’re jealous as fuck,” Hael explains, turning the music down when we get to the fancy neighborhood and he slows down substantially, rolling down the window and scoping out the houses. I don’t think he’s looking at the architecture though. Pretty sure he’s canvassing places to rob. “Just say it, so I don’t have to make fun of you so much.”
“Please stop.” I turn toward him with a sharp smile on my lips. They’re painted black today. Black. I’m channeling my inner goth girl. “I’d really appreciate not having to cut your balls off.”
“Fucking please,” Hael snorts back at me, pulling into a short driveway and pausing at a gold intercom. He leans out the window and presses the buzzer. “You’d much rather suck them into your mouth.” Hael glances back and winks at me while I flip him off. The intercom buzzes back at us, and the metal gates slide open.
We curve up the top half of a circular driveway, the Bronco right behind us. We park behind a black Maybach and climb out, finding ourselves in front of this two and a half million-dollar house that looks more like a cabin than the swanky palace of some rich girl princess.
“We’re going to die out here,” I murmur as Oscar gets out of the car and pauses beside me. “Mark my words. This is the beginning of the motherfucking end.”
“And you’re such the expert,” he fires back at me, following me up the wide steps. On either side of me, there are columns made of river rocks. It’s ridiculously rustic on the outside, complete with log cabin walls. Huh. More of those Southern California assholes who move up here and think of Oregon as their forested playground. I’m in a bad mood already. “That’s why you hired us, isn’t it? Because we know better.”
“And now I’m one of you and this is me knowing better,” I add, just before the door opens and I find Trinity in a bright pink party dress. It’s not as short as the one I wore to the museum, and it has little frilly bits on the very bottom. The top, however, is cut low enough to show cleavage.
“Welcome to the party,” she says, pushing the screen open and gesturing for us to come in. Vic comes up behind us with Aaron and Cal on his heels, and Trinity’s eyes go right to him. She moves over to a small wooden table lined with little booklets. There’s a basket next to them, filled with phones.
My hands clench at my sides and I feel bile rise in my throat.
“What are we doing here, Trinity?” Vic asks, tucking his hands into his front pockets in that way of his. “We all know we’re not friends. Shit, you knew I’d bring Bernie if you invited me. There must be something to that.”
The girl tucks her golden hair behind one ear and smi
les.
“Look, my father and my grandfather are well-respected businessmen. But we’re having money troubles. My family needs an influx of cash and quick. You need a way to keep your whore alive. It’s simple mathematics.”
“Keep calling me a whore and I’ll give you the answer to your little game right now: I will be the murderer at this party, regardless of what the cards say.” I gesture at the table, tempted to flip it over. “And if you think I’m giving up my phone while I’m here, you’ve lost your fucking mind.”
“So classy. Your profanity exposes your background. You should be careful with your choice of words.” Trinity stares right at me, like she thinks she has a right to make eye contact with me. This bitch … I think, forcing my black lips to smile.
“Some people think the F-word is uneducated and classless,” I begin and Hael groans. But it’s the kind of groan that says I know you’re gonna do bad things, and I can’t fucking wait to see what they are. “I say they better check their bullshit privilege. Demeaning others for their use of language is the first step on the ladder to classism. It sickens me.”
“Who are you anyway?” Trinity asks, gesturing at me before turning to the other boys. “Victor has blue blood in his veins; he has money coming. The rest of you are gold-digging trash as far as I’m concerned.”
“Are we supposed to be afraid of you?” Oscar asks, looking at her like she’s lost her damn mind. She must, if she thinks her money or her security systems will protect her from Havoc. “Let me know, so I can make a note of it.” He takes his phone out like he’s going to write something down.
“You might want to consider it,” Trinity says, gesturing at the table. I hold her words inside and lock them in a cage. When I let them out, she’s going to be so motherfucking sorry she just said what she did. I glance sidelong at Victor, but he’s as unreadable as ever and a million miles away from me. “But that’s okay. We have activities planned for tonight.” She smiles, and the expression reminds me of Ophelia. My first thought when I saw this girl was that she was an empty shell, ready to absorb anything around her that someone might find remotely interesting. She recycles it, looking for approval. The flavor of the week for her must be Ophelia Mars, but why? I can see why Trinity might want to marry Victor, but why would that matter to his mother? “This game can accommodate up to twenty players. Take a card and let’s get started.”
She taps the table as I exchange a look with Callum. He’s hunched over, but he’s looking at me from the safety of his hood. Our eyes meet and he raises his brows while I frown. We’re both wondering what the actual fuck we’re doing here.
“I’m not giving up my phone,” I repeat as Vic drops his in the basket and my mouth drops open. He glances over at me with a slight smirk resting on his lips. His face says come on, Bernadette, play along. But I can’t figure out why and it’s pissing me off. “Goddamn it, Victor,” I snarl, shoving my phone into the damn basket loud enough to crack the already cracked screen in a new place.
“If you need to use your phones, they’ll be right there on that table,” Trinity says, ever the consummate host. She pushes a barn door open and takes us down two steps into a sunken lounge area. This place really does look like a cabin. “Everyone, this is Victor Channing.” She pauses for dramatic effect, so long that I feel my eye twitch. “And some friends of his,” she tacks on haphazardly as a few people in the room wave at us, and the rest take one look at us and hide their fear in their drinks.
I’m trying to think up a witty retort when another door opens and a teenage guy slips inside.
When he lifts his gaze up to look at me, I startle a bit.
It’s fucking James Barrasso, from the club, the gang leader’s son.
I can feel Victor tensing up beside me. He knew the guy was going to be here. James’ father might be the leader of a gang, but he’s wealthy as fuck, too. Anyway, I’m sure their sordid family fits nicely into this den of wolves. Despite the fact that the Barrassos’ legitimate businesses have been raided several times, their casino checked over by forensic accountants, Maxwell Barrasso has never been charged with anything.
It’s like looking into a crystal ball and seeing what Victor might turn into one day.
Successful, dangerous, completely untouchable.
And here’s that guy’s son, a whole fifteen years younger than him. Yep, they’re that kind of family, like one you’d find in my area of town. Like Pamela, who got pregnant with Penelope when she was sixteen.
“The girl from the club,” he says with a disarming smile, as if he didn’t know who I was when he asked to dance with me. “Your husband killed a bunch of my dad’s men. He’s pissed.”
“Not just her husband,” Aaron says, staring straight at the guy. I’m surprised to see that he’s even more protective over me than Vic is at the moment. Let’s just say, I’m not my husband’s biggest fan at the moment.
“Oh, you have a thing?” James says, pointing from me to Aaron. “I see how it works.”
Aaron’s jaw clenches, but he stays where he is, murder in his eyes. I ignore James, focused more on Vic and Trinity. James is a character type that I understand well, the privileged, cocky toxic masculine type.
It’s Trinity that’s really freaking me out.
“I can already see you’re going to give me trouble,” Victor says to her, and she throws a smile over her shoulder that makes me feel murderous. Her friends are drab and dull as beige curtains. There’s a guy she introduces Vic to named Nick, your stereotypical super gay bestie type, but he’s annoyed and preoccupied by something. Most of the girls in here are looking at my collection of men, sizing them up and trying to calculate their chances.
Everyone—even rich Oak Valley Prep girls—know that Prescott boys are the best fucks. Shit, they look even thirstier than I am, and I am one thirsty fucking bitch.
I’ve already got a headache brewing.
“I invited James because he’s the best at these games,” Trinity explains to Vic, lifting up her own booklet and then shaking it in our direction. “We have a full bar and some coke that my dad gave me for my birthday. Help yourselves.”
By coke, Trinity Jade does not mean soda by the way.
“I fucking hate this girl,” I murmur to Aaron, and he smiles. He’s been acting so differently since Kali, but I can’t seem to shake him out of it. I just keep telling myself he needs time when what he probably needs is a kick in the ass.
“I’ve hated this girl since I heard her name,” Aaron agrees, exhaling as he opens his booklet and I do the same.
It’s a character card, detailing my role in the murder, my behavioral traits, and my job.
I’ve been given the card of the French maid.
How insulting.
Looking up at Trinity, I can tell this card was not given to me at random. She handed this card to me on purpose. She’s not looking at me though, so she can’t see the death glare I’m throwing her. James can, though. He’s staring right back at me and smiling.
He may as well be Donald Asher with the word rapist carved into his forehead. My inner female animal bucks and hisses and spits, claws out, teeth bared. This is exactly the sort of guy I do my best to avoid.
“So, what the fuck do we do now?” Hael asks, moving over to the proffered bar and browsing the whiskey selection until he finds the one worth the most money. He doesn’t bother with a glass, taking the bottle by the neck and swigging a generous mouthful.
“First, I’m going to read you a list of basic character traits for every person in the room. Then, we mingle and talk, try to find out who the murderer is.” Trinity takes a seat in one of the leather chairs, a glass of wine in her hand. She’s turning eighteen today, I believe. She looks much older, the way she commands the room. “When we’re done, you can find costumes in the ground floor guest bedroom. Just simple props and whatnot but try to have some fun.”
Most of the partygoers ignore Trinity as she reads aloud the character information to a small circle
around her, leaving the rest of us to do our own thing.
“God, this is fucking ridiculous,” Victor murmurs, turning to look at me with a tight smirk on his wicked mouth. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Marlene, the French maid,” I say and Hael nearly chokes on his whiskey, pulling the bottle away from his lips and looking at me with a completely different expression on his face. He looks much happier than he was a few minutes ago. “Did Trinity say something about costumes?”
“No on the costume,” Aaron says, looking at James. The boy isn’t anywhere near us, nor is he looking at me anymore. But the way Aaron stares at him, I feel like he’s sensing some type of primal male competition. He turns gold-green eyes back to me. “That James guy is so full of shit. He’s scoping you out, Bernie.”
“This could be a good thing,” Oscar says as Callum turns to him with an expression that probably mirrors my own. It quite clearly says what the fuck, man? “Go talk to him, in the name of the game. See what information you can dig up. We didn’t get bombarded by gangsters at a high school after-party for nothing. And we haven’t been left alone because Maxwell is lazy. Obviously, Ophelia had something to do with the GMP being present. Kali didn’t seem surprised to see them either.”
“Should I flash him my tits while I’m at it?” I quip and Oscar smiles tightly.
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
“You fucking prick,” I snap back at him, waiting for Victor to put a stop to this shit. He doesn’t. He’s still looking at Trinity like if he stares hard enough, he’ll figure her out. I’m so jealous I can barely breathe, but I’m also too prideful to say anything right now.
“I don’t want you to talk to him,” Aaron says, his voice hard. “Not at all. What good will come of that? Bernadette isn’t our whore; we’re not here to use her on weak men.”
Anarchy at Prescott High Page 23