Vote Then Read: Volume II

by Lauren Blakely

  I didn’t realize Theo was over my shoulder until his breath is against my ear. “Looking for picture evidence of how little people care about you?”

  I chewed my lip, putting my phone on sleep.

  It was nothing. Just a weird coincidence. Still, my gut won’t stop roiling.

  “Sad, lonely Reject. No one to love her, only people to loathe her.”

  I spun on Theo. “Even if I was pathetic, my pathetic life is still a thousand times more wonderful than yours could ever be.”

  He grinned. “If only you believed that.”

  I took a step, until I could smell his fresh, minty breath. So close to kissing once more. “You’ll never be anything more than a dog. An abandoned puppy crying out for its mother.”

  Suddenly his grin dropped, he pressed a finger to his ear, and his eyes narrowed on me. “Get behind me.”

  “What? Fuck off.” I tried to brush by him, but he grabbed my elbow, his finger to his ear again.

  “Get. Behind. Me.” He thrust me behind his body.

  Then I saw a commotion near the gates. Someone had tried to break into the party. It wasn’t uncommon for that to happen. Usually there were a few attempted party crashers every year.

  What was uncommon? Someone giving a shit about my safety.

  Once there was a bomb threat on Crowne Hall, and all guards went to make sure my mom, Gray, and Gemma were taken care of. They forgot I was even there. Even my own guard at the time rushed to save Gemma.

  Fear assaulted me. Could it be him? The guy who left the rose? I don’t know what he looks like.

  It was an odd mix of emotions I felt. No one ever saved me. Ever.

  I couldn’t help myself. I placed my hand on his arm, feeling the muscles cord beneath my touch. His back flexed beneath his tuxedo. I felt safe. I felt cared for. These weren’t feelings I was used to.

  Dangerous.

  Especially with the man who’d said he was going to destroy me.

  So I shoved him off.

  Theo ripped his hand away from his ear, all attention on me. “Why can’t you just fucking listen?”

  “I don’t want you saving me. Stop saving me! Stop acting like you fucking care. You’re not a hero. You’re cruel and heartless.”

  He ran a thumb along my jaw. “You’re right. I’m no hero.”

  “So why do you keep saving me?” It came out a plea, a whisper, when I meant it to be fierce and angry.

  He grabbed my jaw, dragging me close by his fierce grip. “Only I can hurt you, sweet girl. You’re mine to torment. Your tears are mine to free. Your heart is mine to break.”

  Whatever commotion was happening at the gates faded away. My eyes dropped to his soft lips, and his grip on my chin softened.

  I was certain he was going to kiss me.

  I wanted it too. I could still remember his bruising kiss, the way he’d worshipped me just last night. I even angled my chin closer, my body a traitor.

  Then early test fireworks popped, and we each came to our senses, separating.

  THEO

  There’s something Abigail isn’t telling me. I’d been picking up on it, but now I was certain. She’s jumpier, looking over her shoulder more. At first I thought it was because of me, but now I know.

  Abigail Crowne is afraid.

  There’s a lot Abigail doesn’t tell the world, truths she keeps hidden, but she isn’t someone to be afraid.

  A few party crashers won’t scare Abigail, especially when they’d been rounded up and sent to jail.

  I gently shoved her shoulder blade. “Hey, Reject.”

  Fuck, Abigail in her white dress looked like something out of a damn fairy tale. The sand interlaced with the confetti and glitter, and as she walked barefoot through it, I wondered if she actually was.

  A Crowne July Fourth is not your average backyard BBQ. Politicians, CEOs, and celebrities were among the attendees, and they all used it as a chance to network. You don’t just show up; you don’t buy a ticket to this thing; you get invited. Invites are some of the most sought after in the world.

  I don’t give a shit. I focused on Abigail.

  I shoved her again, harder. She ignored me, acting like she was so damn interested in her fucking phone. I reached over her shoulder and snatched it out of her hands, holding it high above her head as she tried to grab it back.

  A gold rose?

  It had the stupid hashtag they’d used for this party. I handed the phone back to her, suspicion creeping up my spine. It was the same jumpiness Abigail had yesterday. Was she hiding a boyfriend?

  “What’s this?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know—”

  “A guest has made the request I send this to you, Ms. Crowne.” A server appeared, interrupting her. He held up a fucking gold rose on a silver platter.

  “Got some boyfriend I don’t know about?” I asked.

  Abigail froze, then slammed the thing out of his hand. The platter and the rose fell to the sand.

  I didn’t have a chance to ask her what the fuck she was doing, because a moment later she fell to the ground with it.

  A few heads turned to look.

  I bent down. “Not getting enough attention?”

  Abigail turned into me, grasping my tuxedo lapels. Shock stunned me. She shook, fucking shook. Abigail didn’t shake.

  Her skin is sheet white, breath raspy, but it’s her eyes I was locked on. Wide yet far off. I’d seen this reaction before, in the eyes of every employee at Crowne Industries when the building was under lockdown for an active shooter.

  The beach faded out. The people watching us disappeared.

  Whatever black blood existed between us vanished.

  “Abigail,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”

  I covered her hand with mine, slowly lifting her up with me as she held my lapels for dear life. I placed my shoulder over hers, shepherding her from the beach into Crowne Hall. The smell of sparklers and pastries and salt air was at our back as we climbed the stairs up to the alcove, where she would be safe from prying eyes and cruel hashtags.

  I was too aware this was where we’d come as teenagers. Where I’d comforted her before, when she’d cried about her mother and first dropped her walls.

  “Abigail, look at me,” I said evenly.

  She was shivering uncontrollably, whatever terrorized her about to consume her entirely.

  I gripped her chin, lifting her violet red-clay eyes to mine. The fear in them filled my gut with acid, just as much as the utter helplessness I felt. I was supposed to protect her.

  “Focus on me,” I commanded.

  She searched my eyes, fear fading as she locked on me like a magnet.

  “Take a deep breath,” I said.

  She did.

  A barely-there smile broke. “Good girl.”

  Fear lingered in the air, muggy and choked. As long as Abigail focused on me, stayed anchored to my gaze, I knew she wouldn’t dissolve into fear.

  The words I was planning on saying were, Who did this? Who are you afraid of?

  “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Abigail.” My grasp on her chin tightened. “Do you believe me?”

  A pause passed like an eternity.

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  ABIGAIL

  Theo ripped apart my room.

  “What’s going on?” He tore silk and satin pillows off my bed. Outside fireworks had begun to pop, lighting my window in shadowy glows of red, white, and blue.

  Theo flipped over my mattress, reached down, and lifted up his suit leg, pulling out a knife. A harsh rip sounded as he dragged it down the middle. Then he laid waste to my satin and quilted pillows.

  He’d thrown off his jacket, and it lay as a casualty in the middle of my floor.

  Sufficiently satisfied I was hiding nothing in my bed, he turned to me. Feathers floated as snowflakes and fairy dust around him, and he looked like a conqueror amidst them.

  “What’s going on?” he repeated.

  His hair was
wild and messy and I wanted to push it out of his eyes. His glare was somehow even more wild. Theo folded his arms, and I ignored the way his biceps popped, how with his shirt rolled to his elbow his veins bulged.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Then who gave you that, Abigail? Why did it freak you out?”

  “No one. I mean, I don’t know.” Technically that wasn’t a lie.

  The muscle in his jaw popped with anger in a much too delicious way. For a minute, I thought he was giving up. Instead, as if suddenly remembering, he took a sharp left. I realized he was heading for the spot. The one spot I kept all my secrets, desires, and fears.

  Only one person besides me knew about it.

  Of fucking course it was him.

  I should’ve changed it.

  Panic gripped my stomach, so I did the smart thing…I jumped on his back. He was too wide. I was too small. My legs spread out behind his back, and I clung to his neck. We must have looked ridiculous, me in my bespoke white party dress, him in his suit, utterly ignoring my existence.

  He laughed darkly. “Nothing to hide?”

  It was useless trying to stop him. I was literally on his back, and he carried me like I was a backpack, digging through my room without pause. He bent down, and I climbed higher, looking for leverage. Absently, I noted how tight the muscles on his back had become.

  He paused. “What is this?”

  I knew what he’d found by the tightening of his muscles even though I couldn’t see.

  Oh, just my collection. So many photos of me. Some of them harmless, and many of them public, but somehow so sinister.

  Like the tabloid upskirt photo, but zoomed in at an obscene angle.

  The picture of me topless, again zoomed in and with the man in the photo’s eyes crossed out in red.

  My stalker went into great detail about exactly what he would do to me when we were finally together, but they were all signed off beloved, as if he didn’t know he was being creepy.

  As if… we were a couple.

  It was nausea inducing. It was a strange motivation that moves you to keep things like that. Fear that if you don’t, no one will believe you when it happens.

  When.

  “It’s nothing,” I said quickly, even though I couldn’t see what he’d grabbed.

  He shucked me off him without effort. I fell to my ass with a minor thud. My heart hammered as Theo thumbed through each one with a torturous meticulousness, pausing occasionally to reread a letter or examine a photo. He gave nothing away in his look.

  Slowly, his eyes found mine.

  Theo bent down until we were eye to eye, suit stretching across his knees, a kindness in his pale green eyes that made my gut tighten.

  “What is this?” he asked again, holding up the stack of papers and photos. His voice was like earlier, as if I were a frightened doe he had to soothe off the road.

  I was more terrified of that than any of his cruelty.

  I stood up, dusting nonexistent items off my dress. “I’m a Crowne, Theo. Death threats and stalkers kind of come with the package.”

  I stared into Theo’s eyes, acting as if fear wasn’t strangling my chest. He got an odd look across his face before folding something and shoving it in his pocket.

  I looked at his pocket. “Theo, you can’t tell anyone. Especially my mom.”

  His brow furrowed in pity. “She could help, Abigail.”

  “We’re both thinking of the same person, right? Tansy Crowne, the woman who told me my incessant need for attention was exhausting, you know, that one time I had the gall to start my period during the annual Christmas party?”

  His nostrils flared, but he nodded. For a moment I thought that was the end of it.

  “How long?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” Over a year. No one checked my mail the way they did my grandfather, mom, and siblings’. They didn’t think anyone cared about me. And at first I didn’t think it was a big deal either. By the time I realized it was too late. I’d tried desperately to keep my last guard, but in the end, he ran when I needed him most.

  I had no one to blame but myself.

  Theo leaned forward, clear eyes shadowed under his hard brow. “How. Long.”

  Like I’m going to tell you— “A year.”

  Theo’s eyes softened, and I lived for that moment.

  I could forget myself, forget Theo was just as much a threat as the man planting dangerous, lascivious promises atop the hood of my car and in my mailbox.

  “You’ve been dealing with this for a year?” Theo asked softly.

  I shrugged and played it off like I always did. “Yeah. Sorry, Theo. Someone beat you to the punch. It’s not a big deal.”

  Just like that, he was rough again. “Not a big deal? Are you fucking kidding me, Abigail?”

  “Careful, Theo, it sounds like you might care about me. Are you actually taking your bodyguard duties seriously?”

  His glare returned. “You’ve been keeping this from me?”

  “Fuck off, Theo.”

  The fireworks were reaching their crescendo. Pop, pop, pop one after another, until brightness eclipsed the sky, illumining my entire bedroom.

  He grabbed my elbow, eyes searching. “What else are you keeping from me?”

  Theo didn’t mean it that way, but my heart pounded, a liar about to be caught. I struggled in his hold. This was too real, too close.

  “Let me in, Abigail. Let me protect you.”

  Time froze, the deafening pops faded, and all I saw was Theo. His earnest eyes, blazing by the colorful fireworks’ light.

  He didn’t know how much I wanted that. That was all I wanted, but he’d already taken so much from me. I couldn’t give him more.

  I yanked my arm free with one final, painful tug, stumbling back into my double doors.

  Outside my window, drunk girls stumbled on the pier, holding each other for leverage, bottles of champagne gleaming gold beneath the fireworks. Boys with their backs to the massive white yacht also held champagne, but theirs had sparklers shooting white and gold from the bottle.

  “The after party is starting,” I said instead.

  Theo narrowed his eyes. “You hate after parties.”

  I shrugged. “A lot has changed, Theo.”

  With my arms behind me, I opened my double doors.

  Theo moved to follow me, so I put a hand out. “I don’t need a bodyguard to go on my yacht. I don’t need anything from you.”

  Because you can’t give me what I need, your heart.

  Theo’s jaw clenched, grinding his teeth, watching me until I disappeared out of my wing.

  13

  ABIGAIL

  One word to describe a Crowne after party? Opulent. Wealth and excess were flaunted like the Louis Vuittons we used once then never again. We were kids raised without any worries or rules, and we stanched our boredom with debauchery.

  To my left, three girls hooked arms and jumped off the boat, still in their glittering party dresses. Probably more than some people’s entire house payments… but that was the fun of it. In boarding school, I’d once seen a classmate use the back of a MacBook to write his notes, because he’d run out of paper. Now, one girl held a bottle of Cristal in her hand, and their laughter disappeared with the splash.

  I kicked off my heels, wishing I’d had time to change. You didn’t wear your party clothes unless you planned on ruining them.

  “Who let Reject on the boat?”

  I paused at my “name,” turning to see the First Daughter doing a line of cocaine as one boy I recognized from some new teen drama did a line off her naked back. She stood up, pressing her nose, and shot me a glare.

  Never mind it was my family’s boat; she never did get over the whole ripping out her extensions thing.

  “I really like what you’ve done with your hair.” I did a circle with my hand, gesturing to her hair. Her glare dropped, uncertain. “It’s so brave to use rat hair for extensions.”

  Her hair was
a long, luxurious auburn. The best extensions money could buy.

  She flipped me off, then leaned in as the teen heartthrob held his phone up to take a selfie, boobs out and all. She stuck her tongue out, holding up a bottle of Cristal. It wouldn’t go anywhere save our finstas. There was always an unspoken rule at these parties: never share publicly.

  Because as long as we didn’t end up on the news, our parents let us do anything.

  If we did… well, I served as the cautionary tale.

  I moved through the party, noticed and unnoticed at the same time. The Crowne shadow. The thump thump thump of electronic music pulsed an upbeat, luxurious music. Designer shoes hung from a chandelier. And a fear twisted in my gut that maybe I should’ve let Theo stay. What if my stalker was here, somewhere?

  No. It was impossible.

  He couldn’t be here. I eyed the guards at our docked yacht’s entrance. The after party to the Crowne Fourth of July was the most exclusive party in the world, even more so than the party that preceded it. Even if he’d somehow gotten into the Fourth of July party, he wouldn’t get here. Still unsettled, I headed toward the balcony to hopefully watch a drunk idiot make a fool of themselves.

  “Abigail…”

  I nearly jumped at the voice, then I settled.

  “Khalid,” I said.

  “Call me Prince,” he said with a gross smile.

  I barely stifled my laugh. “No, thanks.”

  Real-life prince and princesses from places like Dubai and Denmark often attended our parties. Maybe somewhere else that would’ve been impressive, but in Crowne Point they were just another douche.

  “Your hands are empty,” he said, noting my lack of drink.

  I stared off the balcony toward the horizon. Below us, someone was lighting off what looked like anti-tank weapons, by the rattling boom and accompanying tangerine flash in the sky. A sign everyone was getting drunker, and the night was getting darker.

  “I see you’re putting that Yale degree to good use.”

  He laughed, but it was empty. The kind people like him use to try and butter me up, as if I wasn’t raised around his kind, as if I can’t see right through him.