by L V Chase
The rest of the night, Eric doesn’t look over at us or at Grayson. He keeps his head down. I try to catch Grayson’s eye, trying to figure out what he said, but he doesn’t look at me either. I’d hate to think too deeply about it. I know the worst possible torture in Hell would be to experience hope.
It’s late. My constant reflections and I are the only ones remaining in the dance studio. Dahlia took the music with her, so I try to recall the beat of the song in my head as I reenact the choreography for the first verse and the chorus. It’s easier without anyone around—they must have all finished dinner and retreated back to their dormitories by now—but that won’t be possible during the talent show.
I swipe at the floor. As I try not to hit the floor too hard, I nearly trip on my own feet. I sit down on the floor, my wounds pulsing under my skin. I pull up my shirt, checking them. They’re not bleeding, but they look a bit pink. I look up at the mirrors. A dozen guys stand behind me. I spin around.
Grayson leans against the mirror near the studio’s door. His perpetual reflection makes it seem like I’m surrounded by a pack.
“I thought you left,” I say.
“I did,” he replies. “I came back nearly seven minutes ago. You’re not very aware of your surroundings, especially in a room mostly made of mirrors.”
“Sorry, I’ll recognize a threat the next time I see one,” I say.
He smiles at me, securing his role as the Big Bad Wolf in a forest filled with our reflections. He crosses over towards me, his mirror selves moving in unison. He reaches for me. I pull away.
“You’d dance better if you weren’t so stiff,” he says.
His hands settle on my hips. He stares at us in the mirror in front of us, and I stare back. My shoulder blades are barely touching his chest, but the slightest reminder of his body on top of mine is an act of indulgence.
“You know how to dance?” I scoff, raising my chin like I’m still in control of myself. “I didn’t see you doing any dancing.”
“Oh, you were watching?” he asks, his hand gliding up the curve of my hip.
I concentrate on the smudge of paint on the knee of my sweatpants, desperately hoping he doesn’t see how easily he could bend me to his will.
“I know enough to help Hayden,” he says.
“He doesn’t seem like your usual group of minions.”
“Don’t be cruel, Cin. Appearances are deceiving.”
He tugs on the ends of my hair. At least this time it isn’t dirty. I turn around, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Did you forget something?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”
“You never came to dinner,” he says. “And you weren’t in your dorm. Since you don’t care, I needed to check if you’d fucked up your sutures and were rolling on the ground, bleeding out on the floor.”
His hand slides under my shirt, pushing it up. His thumb strokes the uppermost stitches.
I should pull away. I shouldn’t be so easily toyed with simply because he claims to be concerned for me. I’m not naive.
But the warmth of his palm and the rough texture of it brings back memories of our bodies twisted together. It takes me back to when I felt a shadow of trust for him.
“It’s just like fucking, and we know you can do that,” he says.
I try to turn around to tell him off, but he keeps his grasp tight on my hips.
“Breathe, Cin,” he says. “It’s not a battle. It’s a sensation. Go with it.”
He moves my hips in deliberate, small circles. As far as sensations go, this one certainly feels like a battle.
“Relax,” he breathes, his hot breath curling around my earlobe. “You’re stiffer than the stick up Demi’s ass.”
I snort. “God, I hope that stick at least hurts.”
“Aren’t you a little sadist?”
“I’m not a sadist. I’m simply hopeful that karma exists.”
“Relax,” he commands, smacking my left thigh.
It jolts me enough that I don’t fight against him. His grip loosens. His hands skim over my thighs. Heat spreads under my skin, surging through my body and up to my face.
Goddamn it.
He abruptly turns, his hands snapping away from me. I turn, too. Damian stands in the doorway, the door slowly snapping closed behind him.
“Hey,” Damian says, looking directly at me.
He doesn’t acknowledge Grayson’s presence at all. “I was waiting for you to finish up. If you need more time, I can come back.”
“No, no,” I say. “I’m ready.”
I grab my bag, hurrying to leave with him. The heat stays with me as I walk home with Damian.
6
Grayson
Aurora and I are seated in a private room at the Republique, a French restaurant downtown. The room's big enough to seat a dozen, but it's just us plus Dad, whenever he gets here. Dark maroon cushions line the walls, and the soft yellow overhead lights are reflected off the polished black surface of the table. The carpet here is thick and also maroon. When I want to shift my chair, I have to get up slightly in order to move it.
Aurora's seated across from me, anxiously watching the thick sliding door that separates our room from the surrounding area. It has panels of frosted glass, and every time a blurry shadow falls across the door, Aurora sits up extra tall before the shadow moves on.
"You shouldn't have come," I say as I watch Aurora slump back into her chair another time.
She doesn't reply.
Aurora had ambushed me on my way to lunch before I could get into my car, insisting on know where I was going. She probably thought I was sneaking off to see Cin or something, because she wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to let her come along.
I gave Aurora the chance to walk away when she found out that I was serious about meeting Dad for lunch. She didn't back down, though. I don't know if she wants to prove something to me or herself, but it's her own fault if she wants to show up to Dad's lunch uninvited.
I don't mind. Aurora is Trisha's daughter, and Trisha is Dad's weakness. He's getting more difficult lately, with everything that's going on. Having Aurora here is my way of reminding Dad of his past mistakes. It's my way of putting him in his place.
I learned his lessons, after all.
The sliding door abruptly opens, and Aurora almost lets out a small squeak. I glance up to find Dad walking into our room, accompanied by a waitress. Dad frowns when he sees Aurora.
"Why are you here?" he demands.
Aurora hesitates. "I thought—"
"Never mind. It doesn't matter." Dad sits down. He's wearing a dark gray business suit with a light blue shirt. No tie. He motions to the waitress. "Bring me something to drink. Wine."
"Of course." The waitress asks the rest of us for our drink orders, then leaves.
Dad pointedly ignores Aurora and turns to me, his brows furrowed. "This damn mess is giving me a fucking headache." He rubs his temples with his fingertips. "The hyenas are out for blood this time. Fucking hyenas."
I catch Aurora's eyes and shrug, waiting for Dad to go on.
"Can you believe it?" Dad pounds the table, and Aurora flinches. "Of all the things they want to pin on us, this? All this shit over one dead whore? Jesus Christ, this is stupid. There are a million whores dying every day on the streets. Who the fuck cares about one more?"
I should say something, but it'd only make things worse. I had meant to use Diana to save Cin. The other girls weren't like Cin. They were eager. They were supposed to lap it up.
I had never meant for Diana to end up like this. I'd do it all over again, whatever it took, to keep Cin out of Brady's hands, but I can't shake the sense of guilt. I'm not a murderer. I'm not a monster, even if Cin thinks I'm one. I'm not like my dad, not yet at least.
The door slides open again, and the waitress arrives with our drinks. She sets them down and starts to ask what we'd like to order, but Dad waves her away.
"Just bring the usual," he says.
&nb
sp; When the waitress leaves again, Dad glares at me. "They claim to have pictures of you covered in blood. Do you know that? They have damn pictures."
I frown. I hadn't heard that. Aurora gasps.
"It's not like that," I say for Aurora's benefit. Dad already knows what happened, but I hadn't bothered to tell Aurora.
Aurora's giving me a wide-eyed look, the obvious question on her lips. Dad doesn't say anything, occupied for a moment by his glass of wine, so I decide to tell her.
"It was Diana's blood, but it's not what you think. I saw her near the health center. It was dark. I was going to tell her to fuck off, but when I got to her, she was bleeding out."
"Shit," Aurora whispers.
"It was obvious she wasn't going to make it. I called for an ambulance with her phone and left."
"Shouldn't have done that," Dad says. "You got your hands dirty with that filth, and now it's on me, too. I'm trying to squash it, but the insufferable pricks at Writing on the Wall won't let it go. They're doing their best to fuck with us." Dad looks at me. "You know anything about them?"
I shake my head. "No, but one of their fucking fans moved into my villa on campus." It sounded like Damian knew something about them, although I wasn't sure what exactly.
"What?" Dad stares, showing a rare moment of surprise. "Christ, even there? You losing control? That's your school. You supposed to own it."
“It's fine." I take a sip of my water. "I can deal with it."
"Deal with it? You’re the reason for this whole mess, or rather that girl of yours. Cinnamon was it? If she hadn't made you soft, none of this would have happened."
My fist clenches around the glass in my hand. It cracks, but I let go before I cut myself. A thin stream of icy water begins flowing out of the crack and onto the table.
Dad snorts. "See? You can't even control yourself, let alone that bitch."
"She thinks she's better than us," Aurora says with a smug smile. "But I put her in her place." She glances at Dad for approval, but he just ignores her.
There's no reason for me to put up with this shit. I push away from the table and stand up. "I've got to go. I'll leave you to lunch with your lovely daughter."
"Sit the fuck back down!" Dad growls. "I asked you to come to lunch. What do you think you're doing?"
"Taking control." I lean over to Dad and whisper in his ear before I leave. "Don't forget who you're talking to. I'm not one of your little bitches. Never was, never will be."
I straighten up and pat him once on the shoulder before leaving. I hear Dad yelling, then Aurora nervously chattering, but I'm too far away to make out the words.
I end up skipping lunch and heading straight back to school. I'm walking through the middle of campus by the Circle, when a familiar redhead appears. It's Ally McCulloch. She's in a plain gray dress with a black wrap over it, looking out of place here, not like Cin, but in her own way.
Her pace slows slightly when she spots me. We're not exactly on friendly terms, not after all the shit her site's been publishing. I watch her, seeing if she'll cower and run, but she walks up to me.
"Grayson," she says. "I was just thinking about you."
"Were you." I frown at her, wondering if I need to deal with her. What the fuck is she going to print now?
"I heard Damian's your new housemate." Ally gives me a fake smile. "Must be tough having him live with you."
She obviously knows about Damian and Cin's history. She's prying for gossip, or trying to get a reaction. I'm not giving her anything.
"Fuck off, Ally. I'm done with Cin." I shake my head, about to step away, but her confused expression makes me stop.
"Cin? What?" Ally's face scrunches up. "I'm talking about Damian White. You know, brother to Nathan White, owner and founder of Writing on the Wall."
Owner and founder of Writing on the Wall...the pieces click together. Fuck! That dipshit is the one behind everything at the company? And he has the nerve to move in on my turf?
This changes everything.
Ally stares. "Wait, don't tell me you didn't—"
I immediately turn around and head back to the villa. I nearly break the doors as I make my way inside. I stop when I reach the common lounge. He's there. Damian White. The fucker's reclining on one of the sofas typing away at a silver laptop. My first impulse is to walk over to him, grab the laptop, and bash his head with it until one or both of them break.
But if everything Dad's been complaining about over the last month or so is true, I have to be careful. He's a fucking snake.
I stand in the doorway. Damian finally looks up from his laptop and stops typing. He doesn't seem surprised to see me there.
"Ah, Grayson," Damian says. "Always good to see you. You look like you want to talk."
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Damian smirks. "Didn't you already ask—"
"Fuck you. Your brother owns Writing on the Wall. What the fuck are you doing here? What the fuck are you shits up to?"
He bares his teeth. I want to punch them.
"Honestly, I was disappointed you didn't understand earlier." He gestures towards his laptop. "To answer your question, though. I'm working on a story. I'm also tying up some loose ends. And I'm rather enjoying myself. Satisfied?"
Dad already told me that Writing on the Wall's mixed up with the whole Diana mess, but I want to hear it from Damian directly. See what the fucker is all about.
"What story? What's that have to do with me?" I ask.
"Well, since you asked nicely. I'm here to make amends to Cin. And, as a bonus, to take down Lawrence Voss' company." He's still smiling as if he hasn't just declared war in every way possible.
"What makes you think you can do that? Cin's too fucking good for you."
"Oh, I'll get to that, but let's talk about your father first. See, I know all about your father's dirty dealings. The blackmail, trafficking, the corruption and general debauchery. Does the name Robert Brady ring a bell?"
Shit. What the fuck are you doing, Brady?
I shrug. "No. You two butt buddies or something?"
"Please. I have Brady by the balls. He'll spill everything to save himself. The grooming, the sex slaves, the underground sex ring—everything." Damian shifts position on the sofa to face me, then folds his hands in his lap. "It's lovely, really, how everything's falling into place now. We'd been working on the Voss case for ages after we caught wind of it. You know, blackmail isn't exactly the best motivator. It breeds resentment. Desire for retaliation."
I lean against the door frame, trying to act like I don't care. "You're full of shit. I don't know what kind of fairy tales you spin at your company, but Voss is a legitimate media company. Print that, and we'll sue you for libel."
"Will you?"
"If you're so sure about all that, why haven't you done anything? My father, Brady, this mythical trafficking ring—everything would already be plastered all over your desperate little site."
Damian laughs. I stare at the prick, thinking of how many different ways I could end his life right there.
"Come here. Sit down." Damian pats the spot on the sofa next to him as he works his laptop with the other hand. When I don't move, he chuckles. "Oh, don't be like that. You'll want to see this, to report to your father, if nothing else."
I slowly approach Damian, standing behind his sofa. I have a clear view of his laptop. Damian navigates through several folders and clicks on a file. A video begins playing. I can't see what's happening in the video, but then Damian maximizes it, and I recognize the lone figure in it. Brady.
The camera angle is skewed, and the recording is from a distance, as if the camera was hidden and Brady wasn't aware of it. It sounds like Brady's talking to someone else.
"...so, yeah, Lawrence needs to hold all the cards," Brady says in the video. "He needs to know that you've got skin in the game, that you're committed. It starts out simple, a little guilty pleasure here and there."
Brady stops talking. He wipes his
face down, then scratches at his thick neck. He mutters something under his breath and looks to the side.
"Go on," another man's voice says. "What services did Lawrence Voss provide?"
Brady wipes his face again. "He said he was going to bring me this girl. Off the books. All clear. That I could do anything to her."
"Who?" the voice asks.
"A student. Some high school senior. Her name was Cinnamon."
I stare at the video, but I can barely make out the rest of the words. All I can hear is the sound of Brady saying Cin's name over and over again in my head. My eyes bore into the back of Damian's head as he watches the video. I'm pissed that he's dragging Cin into this, pissed at Brady for daring to go after her, and pissed at myself for not doing enough to keep Cin safe. I never wanted Diana to die, but I can't say the same for those two bastards.
Damian eventually stops the video and closes it before turning to face me. "We'll keep sitting on this as long as we think there's more to uncover. Bigger fish to catch. Oh, and as long as you behave."
I can't let that video get out. It's not just that Damian has enough evidence to tear apart Dad's empire. If that were the only outcome, part of me would be willing to gamble my future by wiping the smarmy smile off Damian's face right now. Permanently. But Cin would get dragged into the whole mess again, and I can't let that happen.
So, I grit my teeth. "What do you want?"
"Which brings us back to Cin," Damian replies cheerfully. "See, I want Cin. I need her to trust me. She has to believe that I'm her knight in shining armor. Her Prince Charming. Her salvation."
He makes it sound like he's playing a game, like Cin's a trophy or toy to him. The fuck is this about? Is he trying to compete with me? I don't buy that he's still pining after Cin, not the way he talks about her.
"Get to the point," I say.
"You, Grayson, will be her tormenter. Her bully. I will be her comfort. Her savior. She’ll be mine."
"That's fucking stupid. You think you can swoop in and snag Cin? She's not dumb, not like you."