This is war.
“I want them all to pay.” A slow grin spreads across my lips as I savor the anticipation of vengeance. “And Alec LeMarque gets a personal visit.”
28
Mackenzie
It feels like old times, Antony and I hanging out together. At least, it feels like the old times should’ve been, because after the coffin I really couldn’t be sure of anything. After a few hours, Queen Boudica is back to her usual self, and I show Antony how she loves to chase bottle caps and fuzzy mice toys around the ballroom. He laughs as he watches her skitter across the floor, skidding on the shiny surface as she pounces on her prey.
I call the school and feign a stomach bug, tell them I won’t be in for the rest of the week. I’m told I’ll have to produce a doctor’s note if I’m out for more than a day, but after everything I’ve done, forging a signature from some doctor isn’t going to weigh on my conscience.
I miss cheerleading trials. I can’t bring myself to care.
Both Gabriel and Eli text me several times, but I delete their messages unread. Every time I think about them, the memory of Queen Boudica lying on the blood-stained tiles makes me burn with anger so bright it blinds me.
“Don’t you have to go back to the club? What about the fight?” I ask on the second day, holding Queen Boudica while Antony stands over the stove, cooking his famous chicken stew. My mouth waters at the delicious smells wafting through the house.
“Tiberius will manage it for me.” Tiberius is Antony’s top fighter – and he’s terrifying. He has this feral look in his eyes like he’ll snap at any moment, and I am totally on board with that. “I’m here as long as you need me, Claws.”
I slide into a seat and dump a can of meat into a bowl for Queen Boudica. She eats with two paws on the table, from her own chair, like a member of the fucking family. Because she is. “Do we have to wait until next week for revenge? I don’t want to take your best guys out of the running.”
“After tonight, my guys are yours.” Antony flips pancakes into a stack and sets it down in front of me. I slather it with butter and maple syrup and dive in. “Write me a list. We’ll hit them all at once, so they’re in no doubt who’s behind it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You got enough people for that?”
“For you, Claws, I’m calling in my troops.”
Queen Boudica’s body rumbles with happy purrs as she licks her plate clean. I pull up the Notepad app on my phone and start typing names. Alec, for invading my home and hurting my cat. Noah, because it was probably his idea. I kicked him in the balls so hard he’d be swallowing. No way did he not have anything to do with this.
Eli, for telling them about my secret entrance. Cleo, because she’s a bitch and I hate her guts. I add all of their dumb jock friends and Cleo’s minions. Gabriel… I pause over his name, feeling a tiny stab of guilt as I add it to my list. This is for shoving me into the pool, for taking my first kiss and turning it into something ugly. I push the phone toward Antony.
“That will do. For now.”
Antony whistles under his breath as he reads the names. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
Appalled at the bare state of my cupboards, Antony sends his boys out for groceries. I notice him handing off a stack of cash to a fighter named Horace. For the first time in far too long, I study Antony with an objective eye, trying to see past my protective cousin filter into what’s going on with him.
The first thing I notice is that my cousin’s clothes are designer, and his suit hugs his cut body like he’s been poured into it. The second thing I notice is the outline of a pistol strapped across his chest.
I think back to our conversation after the cop came to the house, when I was panicking over what I’d said. Antony was the one who urged me to enroll at Stonehurst for real. “We’re in a position where this could work to our advantage,” he’d said, and he used his connections to make it happen. And I wonder now, too late, just what my cousin had been doing to get himself so connected.
Antony and I may have been family, but we aren’t immune to keeping secrets from each other.
“You sure you still want to be a lawyer?” I tug on his sleeve. “You’re doing pretty well for yourself as the owner of an underground fight club.”
Almost too well, I want to say, but I don’t. I want Antony to tell me.
“The club is a means to an end,” he replies, his voice easy. “I treat my fighters well. They’re loyal to me, which gives me immunity. Brutus is too chicken shit to get through them to me, so I’m untouchable for now. That means you are, too.”
Brutus. At the sound of his name, my blood runs cold. The echo starts in my ears – my screams bouncing back on me from inside the coffin.
I hadn’t thought about him for so long. Too long. It’s easy to forget in this glittering palace of lies and secrets that Brutus is still breathing air when my parents were—
No.
To think of him now will be to give over to the rage. And I’m not ready. Antony and I… we have a plan. We’re playing the long-game, and we are so, so close to winning.
I have to keep a clear head, because there are other assholes much closer to home who deserve all my attention.
Queen Boudica will have her revenge.
We have hours before showtime, and Antony doesn’t want me too agitated. We curl up in the movie room. I set the popcorn machine running, and Antony spreads out a feast of junk food. We watch a stream of horror films. Blood flows down the screen, limbs fly everywhere, and Antony giggles. I laugh, too. We’re both sick in the head, probably because of all the horror we lived through for real.
That’s Antony and me in a nutshell, laughing as the world drowns in blood.
Antony gets a message on his phone. He grabs my hand. “Let’s go.”
Reluctantly, I hand Queen Boudica off to Horace, who’s guarding the house while we’re out. As Boudica wraps herself around his thick neck, Horace’s features soften into something like awe. He strokes her with his giant hands, and Boudica closes her eyes in blissful repose.
“You give ‘em hell for both of us, Claws,” Horace growls.
I nod. We exit the garage and climb into Antony’s car. The windows are tinted and made of bulletproof glass, and I can barely see outside as we leave the tunnel and roll toward our destination.
We park down a side street, underneath overgrown oleander bushes that will help hide the car from the view of the mansion beyond. We walk toward the house, through the open gates, and down the drive like we own the place. I expect Antony to slide open a window, but he walks right up to the front door and kicks it open. His boys have cleared our way.
This inside of the house is a brilliant, glaring white. Every surface is either white or glass or gold, except for two bright pink heart-shaped chairs facing out a set of French doors to a heart-shaped pool beyond. Greek revival columns stretch through the central atrium, holding up a large circular skylight. As we move up the staircase, lights inside the columns flash through a series of garish colors, illuminating our path.
“What a delicate and understated interior design,” I smirk. Antony cracks a smile. He holds his fingers to his lips as we emerge on the upstairs landing.
From deeper in the house, there’s a sound like wet flesh slapping flesh, and a strangled cry. I follow Antony beneath more garish columns. Tiberius steps out of a room. Antony’s top fighter is an ugly mofo with half his face caved-in. “He’s all yours.” Tiberius grins at me, the smile all the more sinister because it never touches the ruined half of his face.
I follow Antony into the suite. The windows are thrust open, leading out to a Juliet-style balcony overlooking the house’s internal courtyard and that ridiculous pool. The breeze flutters the flames on a fire glowering in the hearth – the orange flames a spark of color in the strange room. Beneath a white canopy bed with the same blinking purple lights as the columns, Alec is tied spread eagle. He looks bad already – his face and naked chest a me
ss of purple bruises from Tiberius’ attention. Blood runs from a cut above his eye.
When Alec sees me, his eyes widen. He thrashes wildly, but the chains around his wrists and ankles hold him firmly in place.
“I heated this up for you.” Tiberius passes me an object. The handle is already warm against my fingers.
I moved toward the bed. I’m going to enjoy this. “Hello, Alec.”
“What the fuck are you doing here, slut?” He tries to sound indignant. He fails.
I hold my hand behind my back, and I don’t think he can see my gift for him. I don’t answer him. Instead, I slide off my shoes. With my free hand I slowly, slowly hitch up the hem of my skirt. It’s split down the leg and the split slides further up my thigh, exposing more flesh. Alec’s eyes watch my movements, and there’s a sickening hunger in him that makes me so happy because he thinks he knows what’s coming and I still have my beautiful gift to unveil.
I rest my knees on the bed, pressing my fingers into the sheets. “That’s what you say I am, isn’t it? A slut who wants to sleep with anyone and everyone, even people who were cruel to her. Especially them.”
Alec’s eyes lap up my flesh as I swing my leg over, straddling him. I expect touching him like this to make me feel sick, but instead, a rush of power heats my veins. Mmmmm, yes. I’ve forgotten how fun it is to be the master – or mistress – of your own destiny. To take what you want and to dish out the very best kind of justice.
“Hate sex is the best, isn’t it?” I grind down on his crotch. He groans, and I can feel him going hard.
“If you wanted to ride my cock, you didn’t need this charade—” Alec’s words cut off as I whip my hand from behind my back and he sees the instrument I’m holding.
An iron.
A brand.
Hot from the fire.
Alec’s eyes bug out of his head in a pleasing way. I climb up his body, crawling over his skin, holding the iron close to him so he can feel the heat begging to meet his flesh.
“I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice.” I press my hand on his cheek, shoving his head back against the pillows. “You think you’re fucking untouchable because of your wealth and your fame. You and every other fucker at Stonehurst Prep. It’s time you learned who you’re dealing with. No one hurts my friend and gets away with it.”
“What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch? Get that thing away from me! Help, help—”
I tut. “Pathetic boy. No one’s going to hear you. Now hold still, unless you want me to accidentally get this in your eye.”
Alec bellows as the brand touches his forehead, but that only makes me press it harder. He thrashes against his bonds, but I clamp my thighs tight and hold on. I imagine it’s like riding a mechanical bull. His bellow turns into a scream and his scream into high-pitched cries, a cascade of gibberish sounds seared with agony as the brand leaves its mark. There’s a smell like roast pork, like a home-cooked holiday meal with all the trimmings.
When it’s done, I crawl off the bed to snap a couple of photographs of my handiwork and upload them to the school’s Facebook group.
Burned into Alec’s flesh is two letters – MM.
My initials.
My mark of triumph.
Alec’s body is streaked with sweat, and he’s murmuring under his breath. His eyes barely register me.
“This is so you never forget your place. Stay away from me and mine, Alec, or I’ll cut your dick off.”
Antony takes my hand and leads me from the room. Alec’s sobs follow us as we move back through the garish house. I savor each one like it’s the finest square of Belgium chocolate.
On the front step, Antony leans in and kisses my cheek. “Any time you need me, little sister.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing into the night, back to the shadows where he belongs. He has other work to do tonight.
I think about the long walk back to Harrington Hills under the moonlight, with the sound of Alec’s scream echoing in my ears – the sweetest music I’d heard in a long time. But I’m not ready to go home yet.
I have one last visit to make.
29
Eli
I trudge up the stairs to my room, peeling off my sticky workout gear and tossing it in the vague direction of the laundry chute. Noah made me stay behind for three hours after track practice finished to train with him. My own damn fault for assuming he’d let up once he made the team – he’s freaking out more than usual because our first meet is coming up and he knows he’s the weakest link.
When Noah says “I’m going to train night and day,” he means that shit literally. We only quit tonight because the groundskeeper came out to turn off the lights on the field. The locker rooms were locked up for the night, so I had to drive home in my sweaty clothes and peel my ass off the leather seat of my Porsche.
Noah’s obsession with being a track star will kill me. Or him. Or I’d kill him. One way or another, someone will pay for the hell he’s put my body through.
I tiptoe past my mother’s suite. I can hear her simpering on the phone with one of her boyfriends, but I don’t want to risk an encounter. As I round the corner of the hallway, I notice the door to my room is shut. Weird. I never shut it. After my parents found out about me and Mackenzie all those years ago, they made sure I never kept any secrets from them again.
So why is it shut now?
There’s a chemical scent in the air that sets my teeth on edge. It reminds me of being at the funeral home in Tennessee, back when Dad had a more hands-on role in the business, back before we had the big house and TV cameras everywhere and the shitty defense lawyer to pay.
Mom must’ve shut the door. Probably Gizmo was annoying her.
I hope she hasn’t peed on my bed. I’m too tired for this shit. My shoulders ache in protest as I reach down and turn the handle.
The door flies open. Rough hands grab me and yank me inside, slamming my body against the wall.
What the fuck?
My muscles scream as I lash out at the intruder. But the guy holding me is a tank, and my fists glance off him. I try to get a grip on his ape-like neck, but he twists my arm behind me, leaning into it enough that I know he’ll snap it in two if he feels like it.
“This is a message from Mackenzie Malloy,” he rasps in my ears. “Don’t fuck with her again, or I’ll do my painting with your blood.”
Before I can react, the figure slams my head into the wall and drops me. Pain erupts across my skull. I sink to the floor, my vision blurring. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the blobby shape of him running for my open window.
I crawl across the floor toward him, but my head is made of cotton, leaking out my ears. He leaps over the side of the balcony. By the time I crawl to the balustrade and pull myself up, he’s escaped through the garden. But there is a figure down there, standing under the floodlights surrounding the pool. Strands of golden hair circle her face like a halo.
Mackenzie.
This is the first time she’s ever come to me, and I don’t understand. Is it about the party? I arrived late because Dad’s incompetent lawyer needed some papers copied. When I got there, Noah had already stormed off and Gabriel was wasted on some concoction of alcohol and pills, so I had to get him home. Then she hadn’t been to school and she wouldn’t answer my texts, and now she’s here, at my house, with some thug?
Mackenzie lifts her chin, her head tilted to the side, watching me. “Did you like your present?”
“You mean my new boyfriend?” My voice cracks as fresh pain blooms across my skull. “Oh, sure. He’s lovely. We had a tea party.”
“Tiberius wasn’t your present. You’d better turn on the light, Eli.”
Panic hits me. What’s she done?
I slam my fist against the light switch, bathing my room in light. The walls – usually a calming blue and covered in sports posters and college flags – are now decorated with red paint. It drips down the walls onto my bed and furniture, and over
the decapitated head of Mr. Buttons, the stuffed bear I’ve kept on my nightstand ever since Mackenzie gave him to me for my eighth birthday. Under my bed, two wide saucer eyes stare at me from the darkness – my cat Gizmo trembling in terror.
Nausea gathers in my stomach as the red paint coalesces into words. The same sentence repeated over and over.
YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT ME.
Fuck.
“She’s a fucking psycho!” Noah screams down the phone.
My heart rate rockets up again. Gizmo whimpers as my fingers tighten in her fur. I’ve done nothing but hold her and stroke her and feed her treats for the last hour, but she’s still terrified.
I’m pretty rattled myself. That guy broke into our house without a trace – Mom didn’t even notice. I can’t believe Mackenzie would do this and yet… Noah had a visit from a masked stranger, too. “This guy broke into my room and wrote all over my walls in red paint. Grace found it, and she freaked out. The police are swarming all over the house.”
Poor Grace. “What did they write?”
“‘This cat has claws’!” Noah yells. “What’s she talking about? What cat?”
I pull my phone from my ear as Noah screams curse words, and scroll through my messages. It’s already blowing up. Callum, Daphne, Cleo, Brandy… everyone’s had a visit from one of Mackenzie’s shadowy men.
“Alec’s in the hospital,” Noah says. “She burned her initials into his forehead.”
“Fuck me dead.” That’s dark. But also… I can’t say I felt sorry for Alec.
Why did Mackenzie do this? Because of the party? Because of the things that had been happening at school? It’s a little crazy and yet… Mackenzie was always a law unto herself.
I open a drawer in my desk and rummage around until I find what I’m looking for. It’s a strip of Polaroids we took in a photobooth at Disneyland when we were… eleven, I think? I remember the day well. Mackenzie came to school late and ready for a fight. She sat at the back of class and refused to participate. She called the teacher a bitch to her face, then said, ‘what are you going to do about it?’ because she knew she was untouchable. A girl offered Mackenzie a cupcake, and Mackenzie pushed her into a trash can.
My Stolen Life: a high school bully romance (Stonehurst Prep Book 1) Page 14