by S. M. Soto
“Seriously, if you don’t get laid tonight or at least get propositioned to, I’m losing all faith in mankind,” Kat deadpans, flipping her golden hair over her slender shoulder.
A grin spreads across my face as Vera and Kat slip their arms through each of mine. “Well,” I say with a conspiratorial smile, “there’s only one way to find out.”
Once we get to the club, my hands start to get clammy as nervousness rears its ugly head. I haven’t felt this level of anxiety in years. Downing one too many glasses of rosé in the limo with the girls didn’t help to ease the jitters. At all. If anything, I’m worse off than before.
I take in the multitude of limos and expensive cars surrounding us with wide, disbelieving eyes. I realize this club is a lot more prestigious than I originally thought. It’s as exclusive as it gets.
Don’t get me wrong, after seeing the photo, I went home and did my research. I searched the five names that have been burned in my brain for over nine years—Trent Ainsworth, Zach Covington, Marcus Whitehorn, Sebastian Pierce, and Vincent Hawthorne. Every search came up with something different. The only one I couldn’t seem to find any details on was Sebastian; he disappeared without so much as a trace, but it was clear the rest of the guys were still as close as ever, and I planned on using that to my benefit.
Our limo rolls to a stop right in front of the carpeted entrance, and of their own accord, my eyes sweep across the tastefully done sign.
The Kings.
Reading the name sends a chill down my spine. My chest expands as I inhale, trying to rein in my emotions. I shouldn’t still be angry after all these years, but I am. God, I am.
It’s just like them, the arrogant bastards, to name a club after themselves. It makes me sick. They make me sick.
We all file out of the limo and head toward the entrance, bypassing the long line of people waiting to get inside that wraps around the corner. Vera leads us past the overly buff bouncers, smiling at them cheekily when they allow us to pass without question.
The allure of rich girls.
The inside is everything I expected it to be yet so much more. From the moment you step inside, the atmosphere is … vibrant. That’s the best way to describe it. There are bodies everywhere; not too many that make you feel crowded or uncomfortable, but just enough to make you feel like you’re swimming in a sea of sharks. The color and ambience inside are dark and sexy, just as I predicted it would be. The Savages wouldn’t have it any other way.
In one section of the club is a lounge bar with red walls and velvet seats, and it’s a lot quieter than the rest of the place. Past the lounge room is a short set of stairs—well, about four steps really—that lead to a dance floor filled with writhing bodies. My eyes trail past the gyrating hips and up toward the dark glass windows above the dance floor. Whatever is up there, I’m sure it holds all the answers I’ve been looking for. My eyes drill holes into the double-sided glass. I’m so lost in my own head, I don’t even notice Vera and Kat moving until they grab my hand, startling me.
“C’mon, hot stuff, let’s go dance.” Kat does the shimmy while leading us toward the center of the dance floor.
The three of us create a sandwich of sorts and dance with each other. As I move my hips to the beat of the music that blares around us, I feel a smile spread across my face. It’s a real smile. Not even for show.
“I hate to admit it,” I yell over the music, “but I’m actually having fun!”
Vera and Kat toss their heads back and laugh at me. “With how hot you look tonight, you deserve it!” Katherine yells over the music. Her perfectly pale cheeks are already flushed.
We dance together for a few songs until Vera unceremoniously announces, “I’m off to get us some fucking drinks.”
Kat shoots me a look that makes me laugh because out of the three of us, Vera is the absolute worst at holding her liquor. If she keeps going at the rate she is, she’s going to have one hell of a hangover come tomorrow morning.
“Should we make sure she isn’t buying out the whole bar?”
Kat makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Let her be. She’s hell-bent on finding a man tonight, so we’ll let her.”
I laugh. “You’re probably right; once Vera has her mind set on something, there’s no changing it.”
Kat’s gaze drifts toward the glass above us, and I do the same. “I’ve heard rumors about the guys who own this place.”
My heart rate spikes. “Oh yeah?” I try for nonchalance since I’m not sure what she’s going to say.
“Yeah. I heard there are five of them. They all went in on this place together. And up there is like some secret society shit. Super exclusive. You either pay your way up there, or one of them invites you.”
Interesting. My head tilts, and I stare up at the dark glass as if it holds all the answers.
“And what’s so special up there?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s true, but apparently, it’s some freaky, kinky sex club.”
My focus changes trajectory and darts back to her. My gaze narrows in disbelief. “I don’t know, looks kind of … small, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Those are just the rumors anyway—”
“Drinks for everyone!” Vera startles us with her yell, arms full of drinks.
I take one of the offered drinks from her and wrap my lips around the straw and suck. A burst of bitter alcohol and grenadine fills my mouth, and my face sours.
God, this is disgusting.
“And since I’m the good news fairy,” Vera says between sips of her drink, “I thought you would all like to know we’ve been invited upstairs. All three of us.”
My glass just about slips from my hand, and my gaze darts up to the glass box. I suddenly have adrenaline running through my veins. My heart does its best to pound its way out of my chest.
“Are you shitting me?” Kat yells in disbelief. “I was literally just talking to Kenzie about this!”
Vera nods eagerly. The smile on her face is just on the verge of being creepy. “Well, we don’t want to keep them waiting. Let’s go find out what all the fuss is about. Oh, and I call dibs on the hottest one!”
Both Kat and I roll our eyes.
As Vera leads the way toward the staircase that I didn’t even notice near the DJ’s station, a stocky bouncer brusquely appears out of thin air and escorts us up the steps. With each step up, it seems like the music blaring from the dance floor starts to fade a bit. When we reach the landing, another broad-shouldered man takes over and leads us down a dimly lit hallway; we follow him until he stops at a solid black door with ornate detailing. It’s large and formidable looking; yet, it’s sleek and, dare I even say, inviting. It makes you want to know what’s hiding on the other side.
The bouncer says something into his sleeve and raps his knuckles twice on the door before he backs out of the way to make room for us. I swallow noisily and wait with bated breath to see what’s on the other side. When there’s the distinct sound of metal unlatching and the door opens, I’m not disappointed. I’m not anything other than transfixed to the sight before me.
It’s been nine years since I’ve laid eyes on this asshole, and by looking at Marcus Whitehorn, as his eyes trek up and down each of us, I can tell not much has changed. He’s still an entitled, overly sexual prick.
“Well, well, well, is this who Trent chose for tonight?” he directs to no one in particular. “I can’t say I’m disappointed. Not in the least.” His roving gaze lingers on me, and I try to suppress the shudder that wants to work its way down my body. My skin is crawling with disgust.
There’s no way he can notice me, can he? No. No, it’s impossible.
Yet, why does it seem like his gaze lingers on me?
I grit my teeth together to keep from showing any outward emotion and force myself to look over his shoulder, so I can get a glimpse of who else may be in there.
I don’t really have a plan of action. I just know I need to
get close to one of them. Just one. Possibly earn his trust. Then and only then will I find the answers I’m looking for.
One of these bastards killed my sister, that I’m sure of. I just need to prove it.
“Come in, ladies. I promise we don’t bite.” Marcus’ tone is wolfish, and the grin on his face says otherwise.
He widens the door and steps aside for us. Vera, of course, is the first to walk through. As she passes Marcus, she makes a show of looking him up and down and says, “Some of us don’t mind being bitten.” Then she shoots him a wink.
Marcus chuckles and shakes his head as he watches her waltz right in. “Trent always knows how to pick ’em.”
The room, if you can even call it that, is a lot bigger than I expected. It looks like a hotel suite or condo. Not exactly what I was expecting when we were brought up here. After my brief discussion with Kat, I was kind of expecting chains and whips and one of those cross things people like to be strapped to while they have sex. To say I’m relieved that this is all that’s in here would be putting it mildly.
The sound of lilting laughter has me circling toward the source, where I easily spot two gorgeous, giggling idiots. I guess we weren’t the only women invited here tonight. Surreptitiously, my eyes devour every fine detail of the room. My gaze drifts from the décor, to the scantily clad women, then to the corner, and that’s when I see them.
All of them.
My heart bangs against my chest violently, and my breathing accelerates as I stare at them in all their murderous glory. Anger and disgust percolate through my veins.
My eyes home in on Vincent and the two gorgeous women who are hanging off his shoulders. I look him up and down, and the familiarity makes me feel like we’re back in high school. Back in Ferndale again. I rake my gaze over each of them as they regard us appraisingly. Like we’re pieces of meat. Like we’re just a quick fuck for the night. Little do they know, I’m their worst fucking nightmare.
When my eyes fall on Trent, bile rises in my throat, and I startle once I realize he’s already been watching me. My stomach churns, and I work to school my features and not give way to the alarm written all over my face. When he pushes up from his position that overlooks the dance floor and slowly stalks toward me, I stop breathing, and my mind drifts. I’m suddenly back in Ferndale, only it’s nine years ago when my life fell apart.
“All right, Mackenzie. Can you tell me, word for word, what you told me this morning about Madison, those boys, and the kissing rock?”
I nod my head slowly and swallow loudly. For the third time, my eyes shift toward the red blinking light on the video recorder that’s aimed straight at me. My palms are sweating, and I can’t seem to stop shaking. My body feels foreign—as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.
God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.
“Mackenzie?” Sheriff Keller prompts.
“Right.” I take a breath and nod resolutely. Closing my eyes, I force myself to repeat those words from earlier. “Last night, at the bonfire, Trent approached me. His friends were there, standing right there with him. He, uh … well, he was the first guy to really show interest in me, so when he suggested we move away from the fire, closer to the trees, I followed him.”
“Go on,” he urges, folding his hands on the cool table between us.
I wipe my hand over my forehead, ridding my skin of the excess moisture there. “We kissed. Then, um, Madison saw, and she was angry. She demanded I go home with her. We argued a little, but I had a feeling I’d already pushed my luck with her as it was, so I didn’t want to make her angrier. Before I left with her, Trent told me to sneak out and meet him at the kissing rock that night. And I said yes.”
Sheriff Keller’s lips thin, just as they did when I told the story the first time.
“Did you ever meet Trent at the kissing rock?”
I shake my head.
“Words, please, Mackenzie.”
“Oh, sorry,” I mumble meekly and clear my throat, “No. I never made it to the kissing rock.”
“And why is that?”
“While I was arguing with Madison, I let it slip that Trent and his friends would be there at the kissing rock, waiting for me. She wasn’t happy about it. For years, she’s been trying to get on their radar, and I think … I think when she saw me with Trent, she felt as though I’d betrayed her somehow. So she went instead. She told me to stop pretending to be something I wasn’t. Instead of going to the rock to meet Trent, I let Madison go in my place. I didn’t really have any choice.”
“And you stayed home the rest of the night? Didn’t sneak out to meet anyone else?” he quizzes, brow raised in question.
“No, sir, I didn’t. I showered, went to bed, and was woken up the next morning when …” I trail off, my throat growing tight with emotion and cutting me off. Moisture burns my eyes, and I wipe at my lids angrily, not wanting the camera to catch my tears. “After you came … a-after the news … I-I … well, I ran out of the house to the courts.”
“What made you go to the courts?”
“I knew they would be there. They always are. And I wanted answers.”
“What happened when you got there?”
My chin quivers, and I trap my bottom lip between my teeth as I try to keep it together. I close my eyes and replay every horrible detail again and again.
“I begged Trent to tell me what happened with Madison last night. They acted like I was … a nobody. They yelled and told me to leave.”
“And did you? Leave?”
“Yeah, I ran back home, but halfway there, I just … collapsed. And that’s where you found me.”
“Thank you, Mackenzie. I think that’s all we need for now. We’ll give your parents a call if we need another statement or any other information from you. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, pushing to my feet.
I walk home from the station in a daze. Since I’m a minor, Sheriff Keller had to get permission from my parents before my interview, and with everything going on, I was the last thing on my parents’ minds.
For the whole trek home, I stare at everything with a fresh set of eyes—as if I haven’t seen it before. Nothing in Ferndale will ever be the same. No more family visits to Jan’s Famous Pie Company. No more walking down Main Street after school with Madison. We wouldn’t—no, I—I wouldn’t have those shared moments ever again.
When I finally make it home, I’m not surprised when I open the front door and am greeted by silence. My parents are nowhere to be found. Rather than dwelling on it, I drag myself up the stairs, and instead of pushing through my bedroom door, like I know I should, I push through my sister’s. Her room is immaculate and so … mature. Very Madison, through and through.
The silk sheets on her bed are still rumpled from her getting up the previous morning. No matter how many times I stressed to her the importance of making her bed every morning—to prevent spiders, insects, etc.—she never listened. I take in the entirety of her room without her scolding me for invading her privacy or yelling at me to get a life. I reach my hand out and place it on her pillow.
My face crumples, and a broken sob rips out of my chest, echoing around the stillness of her bedroom.
“Oh, Mads,” I whimper, letting the tears carve hot trails down my cheeks. “Why didn’t you just let me go to that stupid rock?” I whisper, almost angrily. I wait for her to answer with a smart remark, but she never does. The realization that she never will, ever again, hits me full force. I fall onto Maddie’s bed and cry. I cry until I have nothing left.
“What are you doing?”
The horrified voice has me jolting upright on the bed. I feel disoriented. My hand shoots to my forehead as a wave of dizziness slams into me from moving so quickly.
“Get up. Right now. Go before he sees you.” The urgency in my mom’s voice slams into me. I look down and flinch when I see where I fell asleep. I must’ve cried myself to sleep on Maddie’s bed. I didn’t even hear my parents come home. My m
om stands stock-still in the doorway. Her skin is paler than I’ve ever seen it. As though she’s just seen a ghost.
Slowly, I push up off the bed and try to rearrange the sheets back where they were, but her words hit me like a lash from a whip, freezing my movements and sending me into a world of pain. It’s a slow leak that seeps into my chest, dripping incessantly. I have the urge to rub it away, but I can’t seem to move.
“Stop it! Just…stop touching her stuff. Please.”
My lungs squeeze with distress. “Mom, I—”
“What the hell is going on in here?”
My stomach folds in on itself in anguish at the sound of his voice. I risk a glance in his direction and flinch at the anger painted on his face as he takes in my form still hovering over the bed.
“I asked a question.” He raises his voice, eyes darting from me back to my mother accusingly. “Well?”
“I was upset earlier. I just needed to feel close to her. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on the bed. I must’ve lost track of time. I’m sorry.” I gnash my teeth together to stifle the sob building.
Mom already has fresh tears streaming down her face, and what’s more surprising is the wetness I see pooling in my father’s eyes. His next words are like a shot through the heart.
“One day, Mackenzie. You couldn’t give your sister one goddamn day?” The anger and sadness with which he regards me break my heart. He’s looking at me as if I’m the problem. As if I’m the reason this happened. And though he would never say it out loud, I know he wishes it was me instead of her.
“I’m sorry,” I choke.
“Get out. Both of you.” The whole time he says it, he stares at me. Eyes that are identical to mine and my sister’s regard me with such disgust before he’s turning on his heel. His heavy footfalls thud down the hallway until they disappear into his office. The door slams shut.
I’m about to apologize to my mother again when the doorbell rings. We share a look, and I can see the fatigue written all over my mother’s face. She looks like she’s aged ten-plus years in the span of a few hours.