by Leia Thorne
She shrugs. “Spying isn’t enough anymore, then,” she continues. “Or are you still peeping around corner lockers?”
“Enough, Sawyer,” he snaps.
“No. I’ll tell you when it’s enough. This has to end, Roland. You’re…” She trails off, tapping her chin while she thinks. “What is that stupid saying? Beating a dead horse? Oh shit. That’s probably pretty insensitive.” She leans over the table, getting closer to him. “You’re obsessed with a dead girl.”
He puts his face closer to hers. “You’re obsessed with your step brother. Who’s more twisted here?”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Touché.” As she slips back into the seat, she smiles. “But, what you two should really be asking is this: why Remi?”
My chest prickles with alarm. “What are you talking about?”
Her green gaze swings my way. “Why did Gage select you? Haven’t you ever wondered?”
I have…all the time. But somehow, over the past couple weeks, I’ve come to accept that—maybe—he saw beneath all the fear and uncertainty to the girl I could become.
I shake my head. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
Roland glances between us, then says, “She resembles Lesley. That’s why he picked her. He’s just a sick fuck that likes to toy with people. He saw it as a challenge.”
Sawyer shrugs a shoulder dismissively. “Possibly. But, if you knew Gage the way that I do, you’d know he never does anything he hasn’t plotted all the way through.” She raises her hand to get the waitress’s attention. “Coffee. Black.”
My stomach sinks. A part of me wants to lash out at her, to deny her trivializing my place with Gage. But then there’s a part buried beneath the need to retaliate that recognizes it as the truth. She’s known Gage her whole life.
“Why are you here, Sawyer?” Roland asks outright.
“To shed some light on your quest.” She accepts the mug from the waitress and takes a sip before setting it on the table.
Roland’s eyes narrow on her. “Why now?”
She matches his glare across the table. “I have my reasons,” she says. Then: “Lesley de Pont wasn’t murdered.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Because I was there,” she admits. “Before…it happened. Gage and I both were. See, a few weeks before homecoming, Lesley was… I don’t know. Going through something. She was depressed. Withdrawn. She came to us and said she wanted to leave the society.”
Roland sits back against the booth seat. “Gage didn’t like that.”
Her laugh is mocking. “No. Society is for life. Gage is an avid secret society disciple. He takes it very seriously. The only religion he believes in. So…he used what he knew against her to convince her leaving wasn’t in her best interest.”
Roland and I share a look. Her secret. “Which was what?” Roland forces the subject.
Sawyer swallows, her hands cupping the mug for warmth. “Lesley was adopted.”
I tilt my head, confused. “Okay. But, how did that factor in?”
“You don’t get it,” she says, finding my eyes. “Bloodline is everything. It’s status. And the de Pont bloodline…? It’s practically royalty.”
Roland crosses his arms across his chest. “Gage threatened to make it public.”
Sawyer nods sagely. “Lesley’s whole world was flipped upside-down in those few weeks when she discovered the truth.”
I think about her letter to Roland, and I’m sure he’s thinking about it also. How she professed they could ruin her life… She was talking about Gage. How if he revealed the truth of her heritage, it would devastate her.
“I went to the Leighton Tower penthouse to try to convince her to stay in the society,” Sawyer says. “Then Gage showed up, and Lesley just lost it. He’s always been fixated with her. Obsessed.” She looks at me. “The same way he is about you, actually. So when she threw her ring at him and told us to leave, Gage was infuriated. He threatened to expose her secret. She said she didn’t care if he told the world anymore, because she was done with Brighton, her mother, the de Pont name…all of it. So I left, thinking she would calm down eventually. That I just needed to give her space and let her come to terms with everything. And, I made Gage swear to me that he wouldn’t reveal her secret.”
“You’re leaving something out,” Roland says.
“We’d only gotten to the garage level when I heard… God. I heard her scream. It was the most sickening sound I’d ever heard. And I just knew…”
I touch her arm, trying pointlessly to console her.
“Anyway.” She tosses her hair back, lifting her face in a show of strength. “Now that you have the truth, stop wasting your time trying to pin Gage with a murder. That will never happen. I’m his alibi. For better or worse, it seems. Start asking the important question.” She glances between us. “Why Remi?”
As she stands to leave, Roland rises and grasps her wrist. “For what it’s worth, I believed you when you told me you didn’t harm her.”
Sawyer nods listlessly. “Thank you. But I did hurt her. I was the one who told Gage her secret to begin with. I have to live with the part I played.”
He releases her as she walks off. As he sits down, he shakes his head.
“What is it?” I’m not sure I can take any more at this point. My head is swimming with too much information, and I feel ill.
“Nothing…just…” He tilts his head as he watches Sawyer trek to her Lexus through the diner window. “She didn’t actually see her jump,” he finally says.
I throw my hands in the air. “God, Roland. Really?”
He eyes me seriously. “Really.”
Resigned, I ask, “What are you trying to get at?”
“What if someone else was there?”
I lick my lips, my mouth dry. I stand and shoulder my handbag. “Seems to me that, with all the lavish wealth, the penthouse would’ve had a security system with cameras.” I move out of the booth, then stop to add, “I’m almost sure it did, in fact, and that the detectives just don’t hand that information out. So, I feel like this all has been a waste of time.”
“Where are you going?”
“To get ready for the dance,” I say, decided. “Are you going?”
He gives me a look like that’s a dumb question, and I shrug. “You care about Sawyer,” I say, and his mouth opens to deny it. I hope up a hand. “I see the way you stare at her at school, and all that anger is just to mask your feelings for her. Come on. Roland. You’ve fought this hard for her to just give up now?”
Deflated, he looks away. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, it’s not for me.” Not anymore. “In the end, I don’t care why Gage chose me,” I say. “I choose me. I can decide for myself the life I want to live, and I’m going to homecoming.”
Chapter 14
Remi
The seed of doubt Sawyer planted inside me can only sprout if I nurture it. I don’t know who said it first, but someone uttered a phrase that’s been repeated throughout history:
There are no coincidences.
An accident brought me to Brighton Saints.
Chance put Gage Astor in my path.
And it’s happenstance that Lesley and I share similar physical traits.
The plot doesn’t go deeper than that. During my short seventeen years on this planet, if I’ve learned anything at all, it’s that we’re all just pantsers in this life.
Either Sawyer truly believes Gage has a hidden agenda when it comes to me, or she wants me to question his motives. Either way, there’s only one way to nip this festering little seed in the bud.
Ask him.
My mind is clear and decided when I walk into my house. I have a couple of hours before the Town Car or limo or whatever Gage said would be arriving to pick me up for the homecoming dance arrives. I need to get ready.
I cross the living room and notice a wrapped package on the ebony table. “Dad? Are you here?” I call out. He’s been immersed in a
case the past few weeks. He commutes to the city, which means we’re practically roommates that barely see each other lately.
I notice my name written on the card atop the package. Lifting the top half of the box, I gasp. “Oh, my god.” I flip back the wrapping paper and lift out the dress.
“That arrived a little while ago,” my dad says, as he appears around the hallway corner.
The A-line princess gown is a vintage sweetheart design with a long champagne and nude skirt. Silver sequins and rhinestones line the heart at top and trim the waist like glimmering diamonds. It’s breathtaking. It’s made for royalty.
I know before I read the card that it’s from Gage.
Wear your hair up. The gown is designed to show off your sexy back.
Heat flushes my face, and I turn the dress around to view the near transparent lace backing that will allow my cross tattoo to be visible. Somehow, it complements the design, making the two elements—that should clash—a flowing work of art.
When I look up at my dad, his face is pale. He doesn’t look well, and he grips his mug of coffee with a trembling hand.
“Dad, are you all right?”
He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I never should’ve moved us here.” He takes off toward the kitchen, leaving me reeling and confused.
I follow after him. “What are you talking about?”
Hands anchored to the edge of the counter, he stares vacantly at the kitchen backsplash. I ask him a second time, demanding he talk to me. “It’s nothing, kiddo,” he finally says, looking my way. “Sometimes, it’s just hard to watch you grow up.” He smiles ruefully. “Have fun at the dance tonight.”
I do something that we haven’t done in a long while. Maybe not since the funeral. I wrap my arms around him. There’s a moment of hesitation where I fear he won’t return the hug, but then his arms surround me in a comforting embrace.
“We’re going to be okay,” I say, but I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince more; him or me.
By the time I’m ready, I’ve paced my bedroom repeatedly, have retouched my makeup four times, and texted Palmer pics of me in the dress to make sure every detail is perfect.
I’m nervous.
I shouldn’t be—it’s just a dance. But then, that’s not true.
It’s the first school dance I’ve attended since my mother died. And it’s Brighton. And I’m wearing a dress that I honestly do not want to know the cost of. And there’s so much more to be apprehensive about, but I just don’t have the head space.
A text pings my phone.
Gage: Come outside.
I inhale a fortifying breath as I grab my clutch and check my makeup for the fifth time. My dad opens the door for me, and I give him a reassuring smile. Holding the gown up as I cross onto the sidewalk, I finally look up. A black stretch limo is parked along the curb.
My heart knocks anxiously against my chest wall as I walk toward it. The driver standing beside the car nods once before he opens the door. Gage climbs out, and I swear my heart stops beating altogether.
The tailored tux enhances every delicious part of his body. His hair is gelled back, highlighting my favorite features of his gorgeous face; those dimples that pop at his sinfully, sexy smile. Those pale-blue eyes that ignite my blood.
He takes my hand in his and brings it to his lips. “You look ravishing,” he says.
I suck in a breath. “Ditto.”
He helps me into the backseat of the limo, and I realize that we’re alone. “Are we picking up the others now?”
Gage straightens his lapels as he situates himself in the seat beside me. “They’re not riding with us,” he says. I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
I accept his hand as he links our fingers together. He kisses the back of my hand again before he reaches for the small box across from us. He removes the corsage and my mouth parts.
“A simple corsage just wouldn’t do,” he says, linking the diamond tennis bracelet around my wrist. A solitary pink rose is threaded around the band in nude ribbon. A perfect accessory to the dress.
This is not real. This is not my life. Who wears a diamond corsage to homecoming?
“It’s… Wow…” I trail off, literally at a loss for words.
“You’re welcome.” Gage moves closer and kisses me tenderly, stealing what’s left of my breath.
Everything is so surreal; I feel like I’m floating, as cliché as that sounds. This side of Gage is impossible to deny. This Gage makes me believe I could completely, utterly fall in love with him…and it’s a little terrifying.
He leans forward to grab an open bottle of champagne from the console, and like everything else in my life that is not like this suspended, perfect moment, reality crashes through.
I twirl the bracelet around my wrist, and I look at the ring. I placed tape on the backside to hold it in place tonight. Sawyer’s words hit me like a punch.
Why Remi?
I squeeze my eyes closed and blurt: “Why did you pick me?”
Gage pours two flutes of champagne. “I feel like you’ve asked me this before.”
I suppose maybe I have, in one of the many moments of disbelief in this new life. But now, I’m serious. “Please tell me, Gage. Why me?”
“Because you’re special.”
A smile curves my lips. “That’s not an answer. Why am I special?”
“Because I picked you.” He winks.
“You’re infuriating, you know that?” I laugh playfully, but I still want to know. I raise an eyebrow at him expectantly. “Who’s ring am I wearing, Gage?”
He sighs and takes a sip of champagne. Turning toward me, he says, “At first, I was intrigued with the new girl appeal. I won’t lie. Everything and everyone at Brighton is carved in stone, decades of tradition and consistency. Then…I realized you were vital for the society, just as you are vital for me, Remi.” He touches my face, his thumb grazing my jawline. “I picked you because I’m irrevocably bound to you. I had to make you a part of my world because I can’t see myself ever being without you. There are no secrets between us.”
My breath stutters past my lips. That’s a damn good answer.
“And,” he continues, “the ring you’re wearing did once belong to Lesley. But she gave it back.” He rubs the nape of his neck roughly. “I only had six rings made. The Broken Saints are supposed to be for life. Six people who can depend on each other no matter what. But, honestly, when I selected Lesley, I was wrong about her. That ring on your finger belongs more to you than it ever did her.”
I swallow hard. Sawyer’s explanation of that night plays through my head, and I speak up; I have to know. “Were you in love with Lesley?”
His brow furrows. “No,” he says, shaking his head emphatically. “It wasn’t like that.” He groans and shrugs, giving in. “I have a difficult time admitting to my mistakes. I invest a lot of time and effort into our society, and…I don’t know. In the end, I was more enraged with myself that I failed Lesley. I should’ve listened to her. I shouldn’t have let my pride get in the way.” He rests his hand atop mine on my thigh. “Maybe if I had been a better friend to her, she’d still be here.”
I believe him; I feel the truth in his words. It’s possible that Gage and Sawyer are both suffering some form of remorse, guilt, for their actions where Lesley is concerned. Both may want to point the finger at the other, but in truth, it was no one person’s fault. Lesley made the choice to end her life.
I’m done with Roland’s conspiracy theories. I’m done with holding back.
I set my champagne flute aside and take hold of his lapels. I kiss Gage, savoring these last few minutes we have alone.
The limo stops before the academy, and we exit the cab. Gage helps me out as he holds my hand secure in his. I look up at the grand arch. The academy appears the same as it always does, and yet I can sense the transformation as Gage leads me into the school.
I’m not the same girl who first entered these cold, g
othic halls.
Gage links my arm through his as we ascend the central staircase. The silver-and-black memorial banners that have blanketed the school leading up to the event have been replaced by homecoming banners, though Lesley’s face is still the main theme.
She’s wearing a long white princess gown in the black-and-white photo. If not for the youth that rounds her face, she could be a bride. I overheard Sadie and her crew talking about how the school council selected her prom picture because she never made it to last year’s homecoming.
Music reaches my ears, and my nerves fray as the bass hits my chest. The sound is so out of place here; this institution of tradition, as Gage described. My mind wanders, and I let him lead me to the doors of the auditorium.
Breathe.
It’s just a dance.
I call up my mother’s voice and hear her words as if she’s standing right beside me.
One who smiles rather than rages is always the stronger.
I slip into an easy smile. No matter what happens next, even if I want to crumble, I remind myself that I’ve been through the worst thing imaginable already. I can fake strength until I feel strong enough to make it real.
From here on out, the only way to survive Brighton and Gage and senior year is to become more dangerous than the other sharks in the water.
Before Gage reaches for the door, I touch his arm. I pull him into the alcove beside the auditorium and press his back to the wall.
His mouth crooks into a sexy grin. “Or we could skip homecoming altogether.”
“We’re going in there.” I press up against him, making sure he knows how badly I want him. “But first, you’re going to kiss me savagely, giving me something to look forward to later.”
He cocks his head, his eyes sparking with carnal lust. “You’re everything I ever wanted,” he says, then his mouth is on mine, tempting me with a sultry kiss that sears my skin.
When we finally make it inside, the auditorium has been transformed into a night club. I honestly wasn’t expecting a Brighton homecoming to feel so normal, but the elite students and faculty spare no expense. A DJ takes up the corner stage, playing the latest hip-hop single. Strobe lights dance over the gyrating bodies on the dance floor—a square stage that has replaced the chairs which usually fill the room.