“I dunno, Scar, why don’t you show me what you got and I’ll see if you’re worth enough to earn anything.”
Motherfucker.
Pissed, I tried to snatch the clothes from his hand, but he just laughed and held them out of my reach. “Oh! T.W. thinks she’s slick!” he laughed.
I lost my balance, falling onto my hands and knees, and Bonham, Godfrey, and Luis all laughed. “There she goes! Right where she belongs.”
I saw red.
Before I could open my mouth to say anything, Rogue’s voice broke through their laughter. “Cut the shit and give her the clothes. The sooner she’s dressed, the sooner we can dump her.”
I flipped him off, since I knew he was watching me through the rearview mirror, even if I couldn’t see. Luis relented and tossed me the clothes, then I quickly pulled them on, trying to ignore Rogue’s choice of words about “dumping” me, no doubt to remind me that they just dumped that body into the lake.
The oversized sweatpants and hoodie smelled like Luis. I breathed in his scent, hoping they couldn’t see how pathetic I was being. “So who was that guy?” I finally asked, earning a satisfied smirk from Godfrey. I watched him bite his lip, like he wanted to spill a million secrets just for the fun of watching my shocked expression. But of course, he didn’t.
“None of your concern,” Rogue answered. “Everyone out of the car.”
Luis finger waved at me in that mischievous way I used to love about him, before exiting. Bon, however, lingered long enough to whisper something in Rogue’s ear. Godfrey was the last to leave. He chanced a look at Rogue before leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. My skin burned where his lips touched me, but it still felt oddly comforting. I leaned into his lingering touch, and when he pulled away, I caught Rogue staring at us. It was all for show. For what, I really didn’t know. But I let Godfrey kiss me nevertheless.
Rogue got out of the SUV to open the trunk. “Get up front, Scarlett,” he ordered. Something about the way he said my full name made me go tense.
I looked around at the crowds of people. Where was Rogue going to take me? What was he going to do? At least here, in front of the club, someone would see me and hear me scream. If I got into the front seat of this SUV and let him drive off, I could easily find myself just as dead as that mystery man.
“No,” I replied warily.
“Get. In. The. Front. Seat.”
“Promise me you won’t kill me,” I blurted.
Maybe it was bold, bargaining with a killer. But the reality of my situation had started to sink in. I allowed myself to be distracted by the hope of being an Heir girl again, but the truth was like a slap to the face. Rogue slit a man’s throat. He chased me down and tackled me in the woods.
He kissed me. He kissed me. When he still had blood on his hands. And I liked it.
“It depends on how well you cooperate,” he finally said, deadpan. A group of women dressed in tight skirts walked by us, eyeing my outfit with a sneer.
“I’ll scream.” I was clinging to the hope that he wouldn’t hurt me if I stayed here. Rogue turned to look behind him and sighed. He then thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a phone.
“Call your mama.”
“What?”
Rogue snarled before dialing the number himself. I tried not to preen at knowing he still had my number memorized. But...it was close to two in the morning. What the fuck was he thinking?
“Hello, Mrs. Livingston, it’s Rogue Kelly.” I couldn’t hear my mama on the other end of the line, but I could just imagine her angry,but curious screeches flowing through the phone line. “Listen, I’m so sorry to call this late, but Scarlett broke her phone and fell asleep during the movie we were watching. I know it’s been a while since you let us have a sleepover, but I was wondering if you could make an exception?”
I should have screamed. I knew I should have. I should have opened my mouth and let out a yell, begging her to save me. But of course, there was the issue of me being fucked up.
Rogue nodded at whatever Mama was saying. “Yes, of course. She just seemed so stressed about Switzerland, and we wanted to spend some quality time with her before she left. You know Scar was always an honorary member of our little group.”
I couldn’t see Mama, but opportunity was like a bright light, and she was a dumbass moth. “Thank you, Mrs. Livingston. Sweet dreams,” he said in a tender tone before hanging up the phone.
“There. Now your mama knows where you are. So if you die or disappear, we’ll be prime suspects.”
Too bad my mama would rather let me die than risk ruining her reputation, but I didn’t say that out loud.
“Now are you gonna get into the front on your own? Or do I have to put you there?”
I shot him a smartass sneer and then made my way around the SUV. Opening the passenger door, I flung myself inside, and Rogue wasted no time slamming the trunk and getting into the driver’s seat beside me.
Rogue peeled out onto the street, and I watched out the window as we passed the historic district and the riverfront. Savannah was home to nearly one hundred and fifty thousand people, and it was no secret that the elites liked to flaunt their money like a prostitute flaunted her curves. The wealthy in this city were just as flashy and obnoxious—you could see it at every street corner.
Rogue took his phone out again and made a call, and even though I tried, I couldn’t make out the voice on the other end. “Yeah. Party’s over. Be back in ten. Cut ‘em all loose. No, I don’t want my shit messed with. Just handle it.” He hung up and flung the phone back down, and I half considered snatching it up and calling the police.
As if he could hear me thinking, Rogue looked over at me. “Fucking try it, Scar.”
My eyes snapped back to the window.
I wondered what would happen if I really did make that call. Not that I ever would. Even though they deserved it, and even though it would be totally justified, I could never implicate them like that. I just didn’t have it in me. But maybe that was my own sickness spreading out of some festering need to protect them. I didn’t know why. They certainly didn’t protect me anymore.
When Rogue rolled up to his house again, all the cars of the partygoers were long gone. The only evidence that there had been a party there was in the inflatable donuts sitting in the fountain in his yard and the red cups littering the lawn. He parked in front of the estate and got out, and I waited silently as he came around to my side of the car. A second before he could wrench open my door, I hit the lock.
His hand paused against the handle, and he cocked a brown brow. The arrogant asshole had left the keys in the ignition. We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us trying to talk through the glass, but there was plenty being said with our eyes.
He looked at me through my window, equal parts pissed off and challenging. That was one thing about Rogue Kelly. He was the dominating one. The controller. Even when we’d been friends, I’d always got off on challenging him. And I was pretty sure that he liked that about me. So when I hit the lock, my heartbeat quickened. It was like one of our old cat and mouse games that I used to love. His eyes dared me. Threatened me.
“Don’t fucking do it,” he said through the glass.
Which is exactly why I did.
Before he could blink, I jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the key. Rogue smashed his fist against the window, and though it was loud and powerful, the glass didn’t break. I slammed the gear into drive just as he was running around the front of the car. I barely managed to skim the wheel around him.
Kicking up pristine white gravel, I thundered out of the driveway, hearing him scream my name and swearing. The tires screeched when I made it onto the pavement on the street, and then I was gone.
I didn’t think. I just drove. And I drove. And I drove.
Chapter Twelve
This was not like another cat and mouse game of ours. This was different. But there was no turning back now.
Somehow, I ended up
at Clayton Hammond’s apartment.
Parking on the street, I realized that my hands were shaking when I finally let go of the steering wheel. I leaned my forehead against it, trying to steady my frenzied breaths as I replayed what I just did.
I was an idiot. A total fucking idiot.
Why did I have to push him? Why the hell would I do that now, when I just saw him kill a guy in cold blood? It was like I was just asking Rogue to off me. But for some reason, I just couldn’t keep taking the hits and doing nothing. I was sick of letting them punish me without fighting back. And you know what? It felt fucking good to drive away from him. It felt good to finally win one.
But it was a good thing I’d be on a plane Monday. All I had to do was hide out until then. Two days. I could make it two days. I didn’t really think he’d kill me. He would have already if he’d really wanted to. Once he realized I hadn’t gone to the cops, he’d calm down.
I hoped.
I picked my head up to look around the street, just to make sure I hadn’t been followed. This was the college part of town, with dorms and apartments littered over the city. So even though it was late, there were still people walking around and I knew Clay would be up since it was a Friday night. I then grabbed an old napkin on the floor of the car and started wiping at the dried blood coating my neck, from when Rogue grabbed me. Red flakes fell from my skin, and once I was sure there wasn’t more I could do, I threw the napkin on the floorboard.
Opening the car door, I made my way toward the student apartments. I punched the code into the gate and it slid open, then passed some people at the pool that were drinking and smoking. I got a few sarcastic catcalls at my oversized sweats that smelled of Luis Salvador, but I ignored them as I made my way up the stairs to knock on apartment 3B.
It took a bit longer than usual for him to answer, but since I could hear music coming through the door, I knocked again.
“Yeah, hold your fuckin’ balls in your sac! I’m comin!”
A second later, I heard the lock flip and then Clay threw open the door. His mouth was open and ready to yell, but when he saw it was me, he stopped himself.
“Scarlett fuckin’ Livingston. What the hell are you doing here at this hour?”
“Can I come in?”
Clay stepped out of the way to let me pass, and I walked inside his apartment. It was a total college-guy bachelor pad, but Clay liked to think of himself as eclectic. Which was just a fancy way of saying he hung a lot of nude photographs on his walls and grew weed out of his guest bedroom.
I perched myself on the barstool at his countertop and Clay wasted no time opening his fridge and grabbing a couple of beers. He passed me one, and I took it gratefully. When I popped the lid on the edge of his steel counter and downed a third of it in one go, I found Clay staring at me incredulously. “Who are you, and what the hell have you done with Scarlett?”
“Ha ha,” I said dryly.
“No. Really. I’ve offered you about a hundred beers. Not once have you ever taken one.”
I shrugged and started peeling the label off the cold bottle. “Everyone is entitled to change.”
Clay toasted silently to that before taking a swig himself. He watched me, his nearly black eyes pausing on the very masculine and ill-fitting clothes that I was wearing. His dark skin was smooth over his taut muscles, and he rubbed a hand over his short black hair as he studied me. When he leaned over, seeing that I was barefoot, he cocked a brow. “You in some kind of trouble?”
I laughed bitterly, but caught myself before I could say something stupid. “No. Just...needed to get out of the house. My mama was driving me crazy.” It was true often enough that it didn’t feel like a lie.
Clay nodded slowly and then reached into his cupboard and pulled out a bag of chips. Dumping them on the counter, we started munching on them between sips of beer.
Clay was a Sophomore at Savannah State. I’d met him last year, when my mama had dragged me to some art exhibition. Clay was there to buy, since it featured nudes. He said it was his one rich-boy indulgence. Clay’s family was loaded. On the flip side, Clay liked to get loaded. Which goes back to the room full of marijuana plants. He was well-known for supplying most of the college parties. Not because he needed the money, because he didn’t. He just liked a good party.
I came here for two reasons. One, Clay didn’t ask questions if I didn’t want to answer them. And two, the Heirs didn’t know him. It was perfect. Our friendship was fairly new and lacked the history I had with the others, but he was refreshingly honest and laid back. Just what I needed since getting dumped by my old friends.
“Now, you know that I don’t make a habit of critiquing a woman’s appearance,” he began, before shoving another chip past his full lips. He started talking with his mouth full. “I’m a fucking feminist. I don’t think you have to look like the pretty doll your Mama dresses you up as all the time. But damn, Scarlett. You look like you’re trying to see how long you can go without showering. Is that pink food coloring on your cheek?”
I reached up and touched the spot where Steph’s slushy drink was still coated on my skin. “Oh Clay, don’t ruin this. We’ve had such a good thing going,” I replied with a coy smile, looking him up and down before rolling my eyes.
“And what good thing would that be?”
“You don’t ask questions. You don’t pry. You’re probably my only friend, and I like that you know nothing about me.”
Clay leaned forward, resting his arms on his countertops while appraising me. “I know more than you think.”
“Oh, really now?”
“I know you’re running from something tonight,” he said before straightening. I hadn’t realized that I’d already finished my beer. He grabbed another one from the fridge and popped off the top before handing it to me. “I know you’re lonely. I know you come bother me cause it’s easier than facing whatever shit’s going on that’s got you mad and depressed all the time.” Clay was digging at everything, and it was exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid. “I also know you’re batting your running eyes at me, so I’ll stop for now.”
I took a swig of beer, hating the bitter taste but not really caring. “Running eyes?” I asked.
“Yeah. That pretty look on your face you get right before feeding me some bullshit excuse for why you have to leave.”
We were quiet for a moment longer, and I didn’t bother to explain myself. What more could I tell him? That I’d witnessed a murder tonight? That the boys I thought I knew were the murderers? That I had every opportunity to go to the cops and I didn’t? Nope. Talking would only get me into trouble, and get Clay involved. I couldn’t have that.
There was also the little fact that I’d kissed the murderer, and I’d wanted to do a lot more than just kiss. I probably shouldn’t admit that out loud.
There were a bunch of bitter little pills I needed to swallow, and I wasn’t sure where to start. My throat was dry, and my stomach was sick. I just wanted to forget for a little while. I took another sip of my drink. “Can I sleep on your couch tonight?” I asked.
Clay didn’t even hesitate.
“Your spare toothbrush is in the bathroom cabinet. I’d tell you to make yourself at home, but you already know the drill. Don’t wake me up before noon.”
Chapter Thirteen
I woke him up before noon.
I brought him breakfast, though, so he wasn’t too upset. I just couldn’t sleep. Every noise made me worried that the police were going to barge through the door to Clay’s apartment and arrest me. I tried watching TV, but the crime shows had me wondering if we were thorough enough in covering our tracks. Would the police track down the car I stole? What if we got blood on the seats? What if someone found the body in the lake? Was I an accomplice now? Was I bringing down Clay, too? The questions and the worry just wouldn’t stop.
I started making pancakes at four in the morning. I just kept making them, using up every last bit of ingredients in Clay’s kitchen to try o
ut different versions. Banana. Chocolate Chip. Peanut Butter. Cinnamon. Potato chips. I barely stopped myself at mixing in some weed, just because he had so much of it.
I cooked until six, then piled two hundred pancakes on a platter before padding barefoot into Clay’s bedroom. I didn’t eat any of them myself. Mama’s weekly weigh-ins were tomorrow, so the process of compulsively cooking would have to be enough.
Clay ate three of them, all while staring at me and muttering, “Crazy bitch,” under his breath, in an endearing, yet irritated, sort of way. After I took a long, hot shower, we turned on cartoons and spent four hours vegging out.
“Shouldn’t you call your mama soon?” Clay asked.
He’d seen firsthand how controlling she could be. He’d also seen firsthand that she was an opportunist bitch. The moment she realized he was a Hammond, she pounced. He wasn’t an Heir, but she liked to remind me how important it was to have back-ups. But Clayton and I weren’t like that with each other. It was purely platonic, even though he was super hot. What was it with me befriending attractive guys?
“My mama is about to ship me off for good, so I doubt she cares if I’m a few hours late.”
Clay looked over at me curiously. “What’s that mean?”
I let a bitter laugh escape me. “It means that I finally embarrassed her one too many times. Principal Livingston can’t have her daughter skipping class, smoking pot, and getting beat up. I’m off to live life as a Swiss.”
Clay’s black brows shot up in surprise. “She’s actually sending you to that boarding school?”
“Yep.”
He whistled. “Damn. No wonder you bailed.”
I stood up and brushed myself off, still wearing Luis's clothes. “Yeah. I should probably call her, though.” I wasn’t about to do it from my phone or Clay’s. I’d turned mine off last night and refused to turn it back on, just in case Rogue and the others would be able to track it.
I started walking toward the door, and Clay’s confused voice followed me. “Umm, where are you going?”
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