by S. M. Soto
As gently as I can, I place the mirror on the floor, leaning it up against the wall. With a shaking hand and pounding heart, I run my palm over the safe that’s built into the wall. Only someone guilty of something would have a safe hidden in the wall like this. There’s a dial. I lick my dry lips and try different dates. I try Madison’s death.
Nothing.
I try to come up with random numbers, but none of them work. With a frustrated sigh, I bend, lifting the mirror back.
By the time I turn back toward the bookcase, I’m sweating and out of breath from the weight of the mirror and the strength it took not to drop it. I run my shaking fingers through my hair.
I need to find a way into that safe, but I don’t have enough time tonight. It’s too risky. Even now. Madison was right. I’ve been gone too long already. I’m just about to turn back around and slip out when something catches my eye.
My eyes gravitate toward the spine of a book on the shelf. The title has my stomach churning. My brows tug down as I cross the room. Carefully, I slip it from its place, and my nose and eyes burn with pressure.
Why They Kill.
I open it, and a picture drops to the floor. My breath catches when I bend to lift it. My hands tremble violently when I scan the photograph. It’s all of them again—in one picture. And where are they? At the kissing rock.
My sister is nowhere in the photo. There’s not even a date, but it makes me wonder when it was taken. How many girls did they take to that rock and kill? I study the picture. There’s a bottle of Jack resting on the rock. Baz has his arm slung around Marcus; Zach and Vincent are posing, and Trent is doing the same. The only thing I’m able to process is one more player. Who took the photo?
Who am I missing in all of this?
As always, my gaze finds its way back to Baz. Lingering on his younger, carefree self.
Has he always been a part of all of this?
I try to wrack my brain, my memories, for his part in all this, but he’s not in any of those memories. He was obviously part of something, this picture is proof of that, but why can’t I remember? He was gone, on vacation in Brazil for a while, that could be why, but something tells me it’s not it. I’m missing something.
My grip tightens on the photograph. This is proof. It may not be proof they killed my sister, but it’s proof enough. They’re there at the kissing rock. I just need to prove they frequented that spot. Maybe often drank at and brought their conquests there.
“Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”
My heart drops into my stomach at the voice. My eyes slam shut, and my body vibrates with fear. Slowly, I glance over my shoulder to find Zach closing in on me. I can’t make out his expression. I can’t tell how angry he is that I was snooping through his stuff. I expect him to stop, but he advances until his front is pressed to my back.
My swallow is loud. The sound of my heart is like an alarm blaring. Like steel drums in my chest. It’s a fucking siren, just begging to be heard. Fear climbs its way up my throat as I stare at Zach over my shoulder. He’s crowding me into the bookshelf. Way too close for comfort.
This is wrong.
So fucking wrong, but I’m too scared to move.
“Like snooping, do you, Scarlett? Finding anything of interest?” His words are ice. They cause a shiver to race down my spine. He must like that because his hips thrust forward a tiny bit, and I suck in a sharp breath. It’s as if he can smell my fear. He’s like an animal, closing in on its prey. His hand settles on my hip. It’s an intimate touch. Much too intimate for us.
“I … I was just … t-taking a call, and I-I needed privacy-y.”
Zach chuckles, bending his head near my ear. I feel his breath ghosting across my skin. I can also feel the tears threatening to escape.
This was stupid. Why did I think I could do this?
“Isn’t this cute?” he whispers, lips dangerously close to the shell of my ear. “You’re scared, aren’t you?” His fingers start to dig into my flesh, and I wince in pain, my tears blurring my vision.
“Interesting reading m-material,” I stutter, cautiously turning to face him. We both look down at the book, and Zach chuckles.
“I’m a connoisseur of all things, princess.” He takes the book from my trembling hands and slips it back onto the shelf in its rightful place. He does all this without taking a step back. I feel his erection prodding into me. He’s getting off on this. On my fear.
Zach leans in, placing his hand on the shelf above my head and his other hand that’s still on my hip suddenly drifts. My eyes widen.
No, no, no.
Acidic bile rises from my gut. I can feel Madison fading. Why is she leaving me? Why didn’t I listen to her?
He trails the tips of his fingers down my legs, under the hem of my dress. My breath gets lodged in my throat. Zach’s eyes are blazing, his head slowly leaning closer to mine.
“You’re a very naughty girl, Scarlett. But you know that already, don’t you?”
His lips are just about to touch mine, and I close mine, leaning into him. His fingers graze the edges of my panties. His breaths ghost across my lips, and right when I feel the impending kiss, the touch of his fingers against my pussy lips, I place my palm against his chest, and when he least expects it, I push.
With fire and disgust in my eyes, I grit out, “If you ever lay even one finger on me, I’ll kill you.”
He glares down at me and surprisingly takes a step back. “Well played, bitch.”
I smirk. “Hurt your feelings, did I? Don’t take it personally, Zach, but you don’t hold a candle to Baz.”
With that, I snatch my clutch off his desk, turning on my heel, my throat and eyes burning as I hurry out. I’m shaking. Scared completely shitless as I make my way back up to the top floor. I pause just before stepping into the billiard room when I hear my name.
My heart starts to pound even harder for other reasons now. Halting my steps, I peek around the corner, listening in on the conversation in the billiard room. I know I shouldn’t be trying to spy on him, but if I want info on Madison, I need to listen to these conversations, even if it jeopardizes my relationship with Baz.
“You can’t possibly be serious, Seb?” Marcus asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because something’s off with her. No bitch, and I mean no fucking bitch is as perfect as she is,” he replies coldly.
Baz scoffs. “She’s not perfect.”
I place my palm over the center of my chest, rubbing along my sternum. That one hurt. Hell, I know I’m not perfect, but I didn’t realize it would bother me that much to hear him say it. I’ve bared parts of myself to him I never have to anyone else. Even through the deceit, I wanted him to see the real me.
“Fucking hell, man, that doesn’t change the fact that none of us trust her. She’s hiding something.”
“Because she declined to fuck you guys?” Baz shoots a pointed glare at Trent, and he shrugs, a smirk twisting the corners of his lips.
“That’s not it, and you know it,” Vincent suddenly barks. “Don’t you find it strange that we don’t know anything about her? She just suddenly pops up at your resort, gets you to fuck her, then she just so happens to be at the club opening? It’s too coincidental. She’s hiding something—and my bet is it’s the fact she’s a fucking gold digger. She’s gonna wipe you clean, bro.”
Baz sighs, rubbing one of his temples. “It wasn’t like that. I pursued her at the resort.”
Vincent laughs. “You sure about that, buddy? Gold diggers are all the same; when they want to bag a billionaire, they find the right ways to do it.”
My heart hammers against my chest, and I try to control my breathing as I process his words. His friends aren’t necessarily wrong, but I’m not a gold digger. I’m not doing any of this for the money. It’s for the truth. It’s for justice to be served.
Iciness settles in my chest when I realize I don’t want Baz to think I’m a gold digger. If things were different,
I’d fight tooth and nail to get him to understand and show him the real me—the Mackenzie I’ve been sharing with him in pieces—but things aren’t different. I can’t risk any of them finding out the truth. I owe Madison this much, and if that means sabotaging this—sabotaging myself—I’ll do it.
I’d rather have Baz think the worst of me than to find out the truth. But that still doesn’t mean I don’t want him to see the good in me. Because despite whatever this is, whatever I’m doing, I care about Baz. Even when I know I shouldn’t.
I wait with my heart in my throat for Sebastian to answer. To come to my defense against his friends.
Please don’t think the worst of me.
Please don’t see me for the fraud that I am.
I’ve shared parts of myself I never intended to with him, and that’s what I want him to focus on. Not the lies.. Just the real Mackenzie who’s been trying to shine through all along.
“All right,” he says after draining the contents of his glass. “I’ll be careful with her. She’s leaving soon anyway, and it’s not like a long-distance relationship is in the cards for either of us. You all won’t have much to worry about her when the time comes. I’ve made it clear this is all I’m willing to give her. It’s all I can give her.”
My heart cracks inside my chest. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Baz. He is one of the Savages, after all.
Any idea of going back on my original plan is now wiped away. With a renewed sense of determination, I silently turn on my heels and head back down the stairs, already pulling up the Uber app. I have things to do tonight. I can’t let a broken heart get in the way of everything I’ve worked for.
I lean back in the chair, glancing over my shoulder again, looking for Mackenzie—Scarlett, whoever the fuck she wants me to believe she is. For whatever reason, she wants to keep her identity a mystery, but I’m not buying the story about her ex-boyfriend. Mackenzie doesn’t strike me as the type of woman to ever let a man put his hands on her and willingly stay. She’s too strong for that—or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
She still hasn’t come back from the bathroom, and it’s been more than a while. I look around the table, keeping a careful eye on Trent and taking stock of the rest of the guys. My back suddenly straightens when I realize who’s missing.
I start pushing away from the table when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Fishing it out, I glance at the screen, brows drawn together in confusion when I see who the text is from. I swipe the message open, reading it.
Mackenzie: So sorry. There’s an emergency with Kat and Vera. I need to head back to the penthouse. I took an Uber back. Enjoy the rest of your night with the guys. Xo
I reread it a second time, the frown plastered on my face deepening with each second. Why the fuck didn’t she just tell me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Zach walking back into the room with Noah, our lawyer, patting his back and laughing about something conspiratorially.
Marcus calls for another game now that everyone is back, and I slip my phone back into my pocket, ignoring her hasty departure. Something isn’t sitting righ tin my gut, though. I can’t tell if it’s from the conversation I just had with the guys or her abrupt departure.
“Where’s your plaything?” Trent asks. There’s an edge to his tone, but I let it roll off my back.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I’ve known these guys my entire life, and out of all of them, Trent and I have always bumped heads the most. His need to be on top—to be the leader of the pack—rivals his common sense. He tries too hard. He’s fucking idiotic. It’s one of the reasons we always end up exchanging blows.
The difference between my father and Trent’s father is my father made me work for my success, so I wouldn’t end up a spoiled rich brat. Trent’s father? He handed everything down to him on a silver platter with a silver spoon in his fucking mouth. He’s a child who causes a ruckus when things don’t go his way. And the fact that I had Mackenzie first drives him insane.
“The girl’s a fucking problem,” Vincent grits.
“Speaking of problems,” Noah says, looking at me, “is she still here?”
I shake my head. “She had something to take care of.”
He nods as if it’s for the best, which it probably is. Whenever Noah Hastings makes a house visit, it usually means he’s about to deliver bad news.
“I just want to make sure you all are being careful. The file clerk at the Humboldt Records branch contacted me about two weeks ago. I missed the message while I was in London on business. Someone asked for those files.”
Everyone suddenly freezes. The air in the room becomes stifling, and a knot tightens in my gut.
“What fucking files?” Trent growls, smacking his hand on the poker table. The neatly stacked chips jump and scatter from his wrath.
Noah shoots him a worried glare. “You know which ones. Whoever it is, is looking over the case again. Don’t know why. It’s been over nine years.”
“Who the fuck is it?” Zach asks, ice dripping from his tone.
“Don’t know. The man used a fake name. It could be someone from the family, law enforcement from the town, or any journalists in the Humboldt area.”
“That was fucking nine years ago!” Vincent barks. “Isn’t there a fucking statute of limitations or some shit? They can’t do anything anymore, can they?”
Noah glances warily at me. That knot tightens. “I’m looking into it.”
I’m just about to tell everyone to chill the fuck out when my phone vibrates again. With a frustrated sigh, I dig it out of my pocket again.
I grind my teeth together when I see exactly what it is. My fingers tighten around my empty glass of bourbon, and I suddenly have the urge to drink more. So much more.
The alerts I get for surveillance at all resorts usually come in biweekly reports. Only the truly important alerts get sent to my phone. This is the third one I’ve gotten in just a few weeks—something that has never happened until recently.
The details are there. The video attachments with the time stamps.
After an issue a few years prior, I made the decision to add more surveillance throughout the properties, so I’d be able to keep an eye on things at each resort, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it if I was away on business.
Clicking the link for the footage, I watch it. They only send me particular clips when something or someone is out of place. An employee not doing what they’re supposed to be doing, any illegal activities, or more than that, intruders. The feed starts to play, and when I realize what I’m watching, my grip on my phone tightens. I grind my teeth together so hard, my jaw aches, and I swear I hear a crack. With narrowed eyes, I watch the individual ride up to the penthouse floor with no issues, but where they slip into next, I know they certainly don’t have any business in there. Especially tonight.
All my suspicions have suddenly been confirmed.
Every weird, unexplainable instance suddenly makes all the sense in the world.
I watch as Mackenzie rifles through the drawers and cabinets in my office. Once again, I already had my suspicions. I had an inkling she was up to something after the first time I caught her sneaking around on surveillance a few weeks ago. She was creeping around the resort, asking employees about me. Sneaking into the surveillance room on the first floor, convincing workers of her bullshit story about an old boyfriend. Everything out of her mouth has been lies. One fucking lie after another.
It was part of the reason I’ve kept her around and gotten so close to her. It was easier to keep an eye on her that way.
I never let on that I knew anything or brought it up because I wanted to see what she was up to. I’m sure she believes this is all a cakewalk. That she’s five steps ahead of me—the idiot who is so infatuated with her that he doesn’t notice all the red flags. She hasn’t caught on to the footage or cameras. She thought she was hidden in the blind spots, but what my employees don’t know is, I h
ave discreet backup cameras on another server through a separate company in case they ever try to delete anything for this exact reason.
I’ve played my part—the part of a fucking idiot—and let her think she’s succeeded in pulling a fast one on me. The guys were right. Something was off with her, even though I didn’t notice it until the club opening. I didn’t have idiotic notions about fate or coincidence—and her being there? It was neither.
I haven’t brought it up to the guys, not wanting to jump the gun just yet. She could be harmless, after something like money, or she could be an even bigger problem, and I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want her to be guilty of being anything other than a broke woman, looking to make ends meet.
I realize I’m giving her chances because I’m invested in her. I’ve invested in every part of her, her personality—whichever one is truly hers—her heart, her shattered armor, and her fucking pussy. None of what she’s done changes the fact that I’m more than attracted to her, just as I know she’s more than attracted to me, too. Whatever it is she’s after, whatever she wants from me, it’s obviously weighing heavily on her. I see it in her eyes, the way they gleam with sadness and guilt. She gets up in the middle of the night when she doesn’t think I notice and sneaks her way around, always looking for something, mumbling to herself incoherently. Or she cries silently on the balcony when she thinks I’m sleeping.
I’ve let her do it all and turned a blind eye. She has no clue I know her intentions aren’t as true as she’d like me to believe. I haven’t stooped as low as to turning on the feed in her room, though. I haven’t broken her blind trust in me by rifling through her stuff like she’s obviously been doing to me.
Ice-cold fury shoots through my veins. It’s so at odds with the fire brewing in my gut. Mackenzie suddenly moves from my desk to the pictures on the walls. When she stops in front of the map of Los Angeles, I stiffen. I watch intently, the way she pauses in front of it. Her arms raise, clutching onto the sides. She suddenly pauses.