“Her stepdad kicked her out last summer. She’s on her own.”
“Can’t say I blame him. She’s been out of control for years.”
Hunt stares me out of it. “You are such a fucking hypocrite.”
“It’s not the fucking same,” I hiss. Anger claws at my insides. “I thought you wanted to help? It’s why I came to you. Why I haven’t said a fucking word to Anderson about what we’re doing.”
The other reason is Kai is all loved up, and I don’t want to drag him or Abby into this. They’ve dealt with enough shit to last a lifetime. They deserve to be happy, and I know if they knew what I had planned, they’d want in. I don’t want that for them. Which is why only Hunt and I are in the know. It’s why we’re using fucking Jamison to help and not Xavier.
If Hunt is having second thoughts, I’ll need to revisit my strategy. I’m not holding back this time.
Atticus fucking Anderson—Kai’s dad—dropped the truth on me just before we moved to Rydeville at the start of senior year. He made me promise to keep that intel to myself and not to take matters into my own hands.
The bigger picture was more urgent.
Taking Michael Hearst down had to happen first.
I understood, but I hated it. However, Atticus promised Christian would be our next priority, and I stupidly believed him. The selfish asshole was lying to all of us. Now, he’s fled overseas, and Christian is MIA too, and I’m kicking myself over all my lost chances.
I could have taken Christian out on any number of occasions, but I didn’t, and now, I’m full of regret and brimming with hatred.
“Don’t pull that shit on me.” Hunt slams his mug down, coffee spilling over the edges. “I loved Dani as if she was my big sister too. I want vengeance as much as you do.”
I know that’s the truth. Sawyer is an only child, and he spent a huge amount of time hanging out at our house when we were kids. Our parents have been friends for years, and we did most things together. Sawyer looked up to Dani the same way I did. What happened to her killed him too.
But she was my flesh and blood.
My sister.
I should have protected her and kept her safe.
And after she died, I should have taken my revenge. Instead, I spent years wallowing in grief and self-pity, wasting the opportunity to take care of that bastard Montgomery. Now, he’s hiding overseas, a wanted fugitive, and I’m only one of a number of people searching for his ass.
“He needs to pay,” Hunt adds.
“So, what’s the fucking issue?” I shout, throwing my hands in the air.
“I don’t want you taking any of this out on her. That’s my issue.”
“I never fucking said that!” I’m fudging on purpose. Truth is, I have realized the last couple nights that the best way of getting to Christian Montgomery is through her.
I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.
I couldn’t care less about Vanessa Breen.
She’s a means to an end.
And if she gets trampled on the way to my end goal, I sure as fuck won’t lose any sleep over it.
CHAPTER TWO
Vanessa
“I HATE BEING cooped up inside on days like this,” Chloe says in between puffing on her cigarette.
“I used to spend most of my summers at The Hamptons,” I admit, leaning my head back against the wall and bathing my face under the beating hot sun.
The small diner I work at, in the heart of the city, is situated on a corner, and there is only a single-story building at the back of us, so there’s no looming monstrosity towering over us, blocking out the light. This tiny alley serves as our meeting point when we’re on a break. Paul, the owner, is a really good guy, and he even put a few tables and chairs out here so we can eat our lunch outside if we want. “So, I basically lived on the beach. I miss it,” I add with a sad smile. “I didn’t properly appreciate it until it was gone.”
Truth is, I was usually hungover on my lounge chair most days, hiding behind huge sunglasses to mask my bloodshot eyes.
“Lucky bitch.” Chloe throws her cigarette butt to the ground, stomping on it. “I’ve never been to The Hamptons. I’ve heard it’s wild.”
“It can be.” Taking a swig from my bottle of water, I reminisce about summers past.
“What was it like?” she asks, tucking her short red hair behind her ears as she glances at me.
“The Hunts, and the Lauders, and a whole host of other wealthy families mixed in the same circles as my parents, and it became an unwritten rule that we would spend our summers together,” I start explaining. “Everyone congregated at The Hamptons during summer break. The men would leave during the week to attend to work while the women and kids stayed in their vacation homes. When our teen years hit, the partying started hard. Money was in endless supply. As was booze, weed, prescription pills, and hardcore drugs. I spent most summers high, drunk, or hungover.”
“Sounds fun.” She waggles her brows.
“It was, and it wasn’t.” I take another sip of water, not wanting to elaborate. I’ve blocked a lot of it out for a variety of reasons.
“And you can’t repair things with your folks?” Curiosity lingers in her tone.
Chloe is the first real best friend I’ve had in a long time, and while I’ve opened up to her a little, she doesn’t know anything about my past, and that’s the way I want to keep it.
I vigorously shake my head. “It’s complicated, and trust me, it’s for the best.”
This past year has been tough but liberating. I stayed at a hostel the first few nights until I found this job and Paul agreed to rent the small studio apartment above the diner to me. After I sold my car, I had enough money to cover my rent for the year, and my salary and tips cover everything else.
I expected the funding for my private school to be cut, but I wasn’t hugely surprised when it wasn’t. My despicable stepmonster is on the board at West Lorian High, and it wouldn’t look good if I didn’t finish my schooling there. I graduated with a three-point-five GPA which I’m proud of, because my academic record is patchy, to say the least.
“Ladies.” Paul pokes his head out the back door. “We’re swamped in here.”
“We’re coming,” Chloe says as I recap my water and follow her back inside.
The next couple hours go by in a blur. The diner is popular with locals, and it’s pretty much always tourist season in New York, so we have a constant line out the door.
“Couple hotties at the end booth are asking for you,” Mara says while I fix drinks for the family at table ten.
I raise a brow. “You sure they were talking about me?”
“They asked for you by name, sweetie,” the older waitress says, placing a hand over her heart. “If I was only younger, I’d make a play for them myself.”
Chloe nudges Mara with her hip. “Get over yourself, old woman. We both know you’ve already hit on them.”
I smile when Mara shrugs. “Can’t blame a gal for trying.” She winks at me. “When you get to my age, you’ve got to take your thrills where you can get them!” She walks off, cackling.
“She’s crazy.” Chloe shakes her head, her lips twitching.