by C. L. Stone
“I’ll go,” Raven said, though he was still bent over his doodling. “Give me a minute.”
Not what I wanted. “I’m not going to the beach yet. I just wanted to stretch. Going to walk around the inside of the hotel.” I waved them off. “I won’t be long. Probably won’t leave the hotel.”
“There’s an indoor pool somewhere,” Corey said. He turned to Raven. “Maybe we should have gotten a bathing suit for her.”
Raven shrugged. “We can go back out again. There’s a mall.”
“We’ve got some time to kill before the guys come in,” Corey said.
“Don’t buy me stuff,” I said. “I’m just walking around. Geez.” I went to the door, opening it and closing it in a hurry before Raven could finish his drawing.
FLIRT WITH DANGER
I double-checked where I was and started jogging toward the elevator. I got in, and smacked the lobby button a dozen times to get it to hurry along. I wanted to lose Raven in case he tried coming after me.
Where was Blake? Outside was a lot of space to cover.
When the elevator doors opened, there was a buzz of activity in a sitting area nearby. There was a group of women with shopping bags at their feet. Tourists. There were more of them standing by the restaurant. If Raven came down, they’d be able to tell them where I went.
My flip-flops slapped against my heels as I picked a direction, pretending to know where I was going. I wanted to find a side door. I ended up in an empty bar, no one inside but a hotel worker starting to straighten chairs and setting up for the evening. No exit.
I backtracked, trying to find the way to the pool. As I was walking around the main floor, past the hotel’s restaurant, a hand snaked out from behind a corner, catching my elbow.
I swallowed a yelp and slid sideways, bumping hard into Blake Coaltar.
A curse caught in my throat, and I slapped his arm at sneaking up on me. The golden flecks in his eyes sparked like he enjoyed catching me by surprise.
“Trying to run away without me?” he asked, his voice thickly Charleston, refined and southern. The start of a smirk played on his lips. His hair was blond perfection, long enough to frame his face. His was unshaven, in a magazine model-stylish kind of way. He wore a gray dress shirt, un-tucked with the sleeves rolled up his arms, and a pair of designer jeans. His clothes seemed to be custom made just for his body, fitting in places that made me buzz with excitement just from looking at him.
“Blake,” I said through my teeth. “Don’t do that.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were trying to ambush me again,” he said. He released me, and then leaned heavily on a cane. He had large dark shadows underneath his eyes and his lids were puffy.
I recoiled, taking a step back, feeling guilty for being the cause of him having to use a cane. “If you’re here to sue me,” I said, “you should know I’ve got exactly two pennies to my name.”
He smirked and shook his head. “I’d play, sweetheart, but we don’t have the time. Did you leave the cell phone?”
I raised an eyebrow. “No,” I said.
He tilted his head back, like he didn’t expect me to have it on me. He held a single finger to his lips. He made a motion with his hand. Give it to me.
I pulled the phone out, presenting it to him. “What?” I asked.
He took the cell phone from me and then walked over to the empty exercise center. He dropped the phone on a ledge near one of the weight sets.
I followed him inside and bumped into him as he was turning to leave again.
“I need that,” I said.
“Let’s go,” he said, and he captured my elbow and started hauling me back through the hall.
“Where are we going?”
He held his finger to his lips, urging me to be quiet. I was tempted to be loud and demand to know what he wanted before I did anything else he wanted me to do. I was already neck deep just by meeting with him.
He headed for a side exit. He limped as he walked, using the cane and his grasp on my elbow to hurry along. When he got to the exit, he released me, pushing with his back to open the door, holding it for me.
Still the Southern gentleman.
Outside was a shiny new black Mercedes, looking like the Batmobile amid all the other cars. He hobbled over to it, taking out his keys and hitting a button to unlock the doors. He held open the passenger side.
“Shouldn’t I drive?” I assumed he drove here, but his limping around made me think maybe he shouldn’t be driving at all. I stood next to him near the open door. I held open my hand for the keys, though I doubted he’d let me drive his brand-new car.
Not to mention I didn’t have a license. I mean I knew how to drive, but I never went for the test.
Blake stared at me. He lifted his fingers, slipping them across his lips, considering.
Then he paused, eyes narrowing on my face.
He threw the cane into the passenger seat and then grabbed me around the waist. He pressed me, so that my butt was leaning against the side of the car.
I thought he was getting ready to yell at me for everything that had happened. I prepped excuses on my tongue, ready to fire off the reasons I had for every action I made.
He dropped his head until his nose touched mine.
His lips brushed against my mouth. It was a scouting kiss. No doubt testing to see if I’d reject him: smack him or bite his lip.
I tried to bring up all the reasons why I didn’t like him. He’d tried to poison people. He’d lied to me.
None of that worked. Instead, I got flashes of him saving me from gang members downtown. Wrestling in his hallway, he’d tried to help me then, in his own way. Later, we’d kissed, and I’d felt the pull inside me, drawing me in.
I felt that now. It was the feeling you have when you are about to pull a daredevil stunt. Excited, anxious, a little thrill of nerves all binding up into the pit of your stomach right before you take the leap.
He didn’t wait for me to figure out if I wanted to. Not slapping him was apparently enough of an invitation. He dove in, kissing me hard against my mouth. It was a long kiss. Slow. Deliberate. When I responded by parting my lips, he deepened it, even letting his tongue slip in.
I didn’t respond as much as let it happen. Maybe it was shock. It was like an overwhelming sense of relief when I realized he didn’t hate me for destroying his yacht and shooting him.
When he finally backed his head away, my mind screamed at me to be cool and show it didn’t affect me.
My body, however, released a sigh, a warm one, full of relief, betraying my deepest, secret thoughts I’d had since I last saw him. How I’d regretted shooting him, and how I hated the thought that he’d betrayed me, because I’d been through a lot with him, and I didn’t want him to be someone I hated.
He backed his head away, but only by an inch. “You’ve got to be the best sort of sweet devil, or one hell of an angel. I haven’t decided which, yet.”
“I thought you said we had to go,” I said. The kissing thing was getting out of hand. I shouldn’t have done that, or allowed it. I was neck deep in my own problems with the guys. Blake shouldn’t even be on the list. Still, I needed to know what he had on the Academy. I pushed at him. “Are we going or what?” I needed to get this over quickly so I could get back.
He smirked. “As you wish.” He motioned to the car.
I got in, sliding in the seat a little. The interior was leather and dark and there were gadgets all over. I started pressing buttons just to feel them click under my fingertips.
He closed the door for me, and then pressed his hand against the hood, using it to help him walk around to the driver’s side. He got in and started up the car, revved and pulled back, revved again, and started forward out of the lot.
“I can’t stay with you long,” I said. “I have to get back to them.”
“Sweetie, you can’t stay with them. You’re going back with me to Palm Beach. If we have to, we’ll hop a plane to Mexico. Or France.” He
turned his head, smiling at me, and then reached for the console, pulling out some aviator sunglasses and then putting them on his face. “Do you think you’ll like France? Most girls do.”
I jerked my head, shocked at how I bubbled with jealousy at the girls comment. I killed it with an eye roll. I shouldn’t care, but I did. I would never show it. Of all things to worry about right now, with Wil and everything else going on. “I just wanted to hear what you had to say. What do you know about this Academy?”
“What do you know?” he asked. His lips pursed, and his face was straight ahead, focused on the road. “You should tell me. You didn’t mention it before. What did they tell you about it?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’ve been trying to find out.” It wasn’t totally true. I knew certain things, but I didn’t want to relinquish any information. I thought about Corey, how he’d just promised to let me in. I couldn’t shake that feeling, of wanting to be part of something, when I’d felt so lost before.
Blake turned his head and studied me, as if trying to determine if I was telling the truth. After a moment, he looked back out the windshield. He took a road along the beach, having to slow down on occasion for people trying to cross the road to the restaurants and bars. “I didn’t learn about it until this morning, when Doyle called me.”
My heart raced. It was Doyle. I pictured he was at a computer late at night snooping around like how he’d found me. “What did he say?”
“When you crashed my yacht and then disappeared, we had some footage of the guys you were with. It took a whole lot of searching to figure out who they were. We’re lucky Brandon used his real name. That’s how we managed to make sure.” He reached back into his pocket and then pulled out his cell phone. He drove and tapped at the screen with his thumb at the same time.
His eyes stayed too long off the road for my comfort. I grunted, reaching out for his phone and ready to take it. “Did you need to text someone? I’ll do it. You drive.”
He tilted his head at me, looking confused. Slowly, he surrendered his phone into my hands. “I was going to show you. Check the images.”
It took a minute to get oriented with his phone. During that time, I was edgy, wondering how long I had before the boys noticed I was gone. I wondered if Raven was looking for me yet.
I found Blake’s image gallery, and a collection was in the download folder. I opened the file.
There were photos, possibly taken with a cell phone, of a computer screen. Doyle took pictures of his computer? That was supposed to be interesting?
Then I spotted Raven’s face. At first, I wondered if he was showing me the footage of the yacht that they’d captured.
Then I realized it didn’t fit. Raven was looking right at the camera. He was so young. Fifteen? Maybe younger? His hair was longer than I’d seen it. He didn’t have a lip ring. He wore a ratty T-shirt, glaring at the camera. He was holding something, a sheet of paper in front of his body.
I had to zoom in to read the paper.
There were letters, in Russian, and below it, numbers.
A mug shot.
My heart stopped in that moment. Was it real? It couldn’t be.
Raven had deflected once when I asked him if he’d been a bad guy. He didn’t answer, and for some reason, I just assumed maybe he did some minor things when he was younger, like maybe pickpocketing like I’d done.
“The next one,” Blake said quietly. He was stopped at a red light, looking over my shoulder. “Check the others.”
I froze. I didn’t want to. I was afraid of what I’d see. It felt wrong, diving uninvited into Raven’s past. If I had been in jail, I don’t know if I’d tell anyone.
I had to remember the boys did the exact same thing to me. They’d snooped into my life and checked my history. They’d checked on Wil, too. Wil and I might not have too much on our records, but still, it was information I didn’t want to share.
Why did it still feel wrong to slide to the next photo? Like I was stooping to their level?
I held my breath, turning to the next one.
It was Marc.
The photo was him when he was younger. His hair was cut close to his head. A cut on his jaw was bleeding. His T-shirt was ripped and stained with blood. One of his eyes was swollen shut. He held up a Charleston Police Department sign with a number.
His name was printed on the front: Marc Weiland. In a flash, I felt stupid, because I hadn’t known his last name, and I was angry I had to learn it from a stupid photo provided by Blake and Doyle.
A mug shot, of all things.
Axel was next. Axel Toma. The only thing I had was his name. The kid, maybe thirteen, in front of the camera smirked, like he was enjoying this. Dark hair, intense dark eyes. The deep tan on his skin and the poor quality of the camera made him look almost completely different. It was the wild look in his eyes that stole my attention for so long. It seemed impossible this was the same Axel.
The next one was Axel again, but he was slightly older. This one was more like him now, stoic. Severe. Something changed in him since his last mug shot.
Two mug shots.
The next two were of Brandon and Corey. Brandon Henshaw and Corey Henshaw were holding up signs for the Charleston Police Department. Mug shots, again. These were from maybe a couple of years ago. They had told me before they were turning nineteen soon. So maybe they were sixteen in the photos. Brandon had his hair longer, and Corey wore a pair of glasses. Corey looked terrified, his eyes wide as he looked off beyond the camera.
I swallowed back a pit of emotion. Not Corey, too. Those eyes made me want to rip him out of the phone, out of his past, and help.
Brandon only displayed his anger. He was baring his teeth, like he was yelling at the guy taking his photo. He was barely holding up his sign. His hair was all messed up. His shirt was twisted, bunched up into his arm and around his neck. I wondered if he fought with the police that brought them in.
From the dates, they were brought in together.
“This is what you found?” I asked once the initial surprise was over. I tried to tell myself this was just to shock me into going with him. Mug shots didn’t say anything. Hadn’t I faced getting arrested? Did that make me someone to be feared? This could have been me. “A couple of mug shots? That’s supposed to scare me away? Because technically, you and I should have a couple of mug shots of our own for some of the things we’ve done.”
Blake laughed, shaking his head. “Good times,” he said. He pointed to the phone. “Check the next one. There’s a list.”
Doyle had taken a photo of a list he’d written down on a notepad. Why was he taking photos like this with his camera? It was an odd thing, but I studied his writing, trying to read his chicken-scratch handwriting.
Axel Toma: arson, assault and battery, grand larceny. Only spent a year in jail on an arson charge when he was younger and was taken out early.
Marc Weiland: theft, assault, resisting arrest, drug charges. Spent only three months in a local jail for the assault.
Corey and Brandon Henshaw: initially arrested for larceny, computer fraud. Brandon—resisting arrest charge. Neither spent time in jail.
Ravenstahl: Rough translation from Russian, only a partial list: served prison time for theft. Arrested for assault, assault, assault, assault, accessory in a theft, assault.
Recent crimes for all: Trespassing, assault, B&E. All released on bail, and the charges get dropped. No conviction ever made after joining Academy.
My heart shifted, revving about as high as the Mercedes’s engine.
Recent crimes. How recent?
“Don’t you see?” Blake asked. He pointed at his phone. “They’re a bunch of criminals.”
“We don’t know what happened. And it looked like a long time ago for some of these mug shots.”
“It wasn’t that long ago,” he said. He pointed again. “They’ve been brought in multiple times in the last couple of years. They get brought in for something, and they wait an hour or t
wo while a lawyer comes in and later, they walk out and we can’t find out how it happens.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said. It was hard for me to picture any of them getting arrested, but here it was. The contrast to the boys I’d been getting to know, helping me and Mrs. Gunther and others, and seeing things like arson and larceny on the list of charges didn’t fit. “If the charges were dropped, maybe it was the wrong place, wrong time sort of—“
“Kayli,” he barked at me. “Open your eyes and stop carrying on like you know. They’re dangerous criminals. They’re not with the FBI or anyone else. They don’t even know who these guys are, except maybe having access to their arrest records. I don’t know how you ended up with this group but you’re probably in a lot more danger with them. When Doyle checked for you, you weren’t in any records and I remembered you said you hadn’t known them long. I thought maybe you were different. And I was right. You don’t even know who you are running around with.”
“How can I trust you?” I asked. “You lied to me before.”
He huffed. “Who are you going to believe? I’m risking my own neck even just coming to get you. They were the ones poking their noses into my business, bringing guns onto my ship. I’ve got the clean record. They’ve got a list of arrests. Now look me in the eyes and tell me you trust them over me.”
It was an odd feeling, but I still wanted to snap back at him with some sort of rationality. Did I feel a need to defend the guys? Yes. I wasn’t sure why. I simply couldn’t believe any of this, even with the evidence right in front of me. I couldn’t picture Corey being a bad person. Maybe the others had been, at one point, but now? They seemed concerned with keeping me out of jail by getting me to stop pickpocketing. They made a big deal about it before.
But they did ask me to pick pockets for them, under their control.
Then they broke into Blake’s office.
I had been a part of it, though. At the time, I had my reasons and felt like I needed to defend my own decision for joining the guys in the first place. “You were dealing,” I said quietly. “Or they thought you were. They didn’t know exactly what you were up to, and instead of going to the police, they took time out to find out the truth. That’s why they asked me to join them. Then when I went with you, you showed me what you were involved with. If anyone else had seen what we were doing, they wouldn’t understand.”