Ryan Scout is first. He has his Armani suit jacket unbuttoned and pulled back to allow his hands to rest in the front pockets of his black dress slacks. The soles on his Hermes slap the floor. He doesn’t even look my way, and my already tight chest aches even more at his dismissal.
Van Rellik is right behind him. He’s dressed almost identical to Scout, except he has a white dress shirt on. He’s got his dark curls slicked back. He’s laughing with Law.
Grayson Law wears a Tom Ford light gray suit jacket with matching slacks and a white button-down shirt. He has that pretty-boy look with blue eyes and a sexy smile that just screams fuck-boy. But that couldn’t be further from who he is—that saying “looks can be deceiving” has never been truer when referring to Law.
Lastly, Dax Monroe. He looks over his shoulder, and my heart stops when he winks at me before following his friends and their parents down the hallway, then disappearing around the corner. Reporters flock to them like paparazzi to a celebrity caught out dining at an exclusive restaurant, calling his name.
A few choose to stay back and turn to me. Lights flash in my eyes, momentarily blinding me. “Henley? What do you have to say?” one asks, shoving a camera into my face.
Ducking my head, I’m glad I chose to wear my hair down today, so it gives me somewhat of a shield to my tear-streaked face.
“Get back!” my brother shouts, pushing the woman away from us.
“Henley, would you have testified …?”
Another reporter shouts over the other. “Why did you lie, Henley …?”
“I said get the fuck away.” My brother grabs my upper arm and yanks me down the hall before shoving me into the women’s bathroom. My hands shake, and I try to calm my breathing. “It’s going to be okay, Hen. I promise.”
He’s wrong. Nothing will be okay ever again. He doesn’t know what all I’ve done. How much those four boys meant to me. I hate that I ever gave Monroe something that I can’t get back. Any of them, for that matter. I hate that he’s walking free. And I hate that I did everything right, and it still wasn’t enough. He deserves to spend the rest of his life behind bars, but it won’t be that way.
I saw him. He looked right at me that night. I heard his voice. He spoke to me. He said my name. I felt his hands. It was him. He did it.
The tears run down my face, and I lick my wet lips. I had been drinking. That was what made my testimony laughable. A young underage girl partying where she shouldn’t have been didn’t hold a fucking candle to the Monroes and their connections. But I had to do what was right. The evidence? The lack of it is what kept him from a conviction. I taste the bile begin to rise.
“Henley …”
“Stop,” I choke out and push around him, my Gucci heels clicking on the tile while running into a stall. I drop to my knees and hug the toilet. He comes up behind me and grabs my hair.
“It’s okay.” He runs his free hand over my forehead.
I close my eyes tightly. It’s not. Nothing will ever be the same again. Scout tried to warn me. He told me that this would happen. I didn’t listen.
I lie down in my bed, trying to keep my eyes open. I’ve been so tired today and slept most of it. My body aches, and my chest feels tight after what I saw last night.
“Henley?”
I sit up in my bed when I hear Scout calling out my name. What is he doing here? Looking back down at my cell, lying on the sheet, I see it’s almost midnight.
“Henley?” It’s louder, letting me know he’s already coming up the stairs and about to barge into my room.
Jumping up from the bed, I run to the door, swinging it open just in time to see him standing in the hallway. His clothes are soaked, showing me every curve of his muscular body. Lifting his hands, he runs them through his dark hair to knock off the excess water that lands on the marble floor. He’s breathing heavily, and he stares at me with a mixture of emotions. His dark brows pull together, and he parts his lips and then closes them. He lets out a deep breath while narrowing his eyes.
My heart picks up at the accusation in them. He knows. “Scout—”
“Henley,” he growls, interrupting me. “What the fuck is going on? I got a call. Dax has been arrested. They said they had a witness.” He shakes his head, clearly confused and thinking he doesn’t have all the information yet. “I … I don’t understand.”
I lower my head, too ashamed to look at him. I did it. But will he understand why? Is he as loyal to me as he says?
“Hey.” He grips my chin softly and forces me to meet his green eyes. They soften. “Talk to me. What’s going on? Did he hurt you?” He looks me up and down, and hope blooms in my chest that maybe he cares about me. Maybe it hasn’t been an act.
“I did call the cops,” I say softly, mustering up the courage to tell him what I saw. What one of our best friends did.
He lets out a long sigh and pulls me to his chest, hugging me tightly. His clothes wet from the rain instantly soak my T-shirt and lounge pants. I grip the material in my hands, the water running through my fingers while I cling to him. Tears burn my eyes.
“What happened, Hen?” he asks before kissing my hair.
I look up at him, and he removes his right arm from around me so he can wipe the tears off my cheek. “He was there last night. At Death Valley.”
“Hen …”
“I saw him, Ryan. After you walked away from the table, I found him on the second floor in the chapel. He was with Brenda Nash. And …” I trail off, my throat closing up on me.
“And what?” he urges.
“He had her pinned down.” His eyes widen. “She was trying to push him off her. She told him to stop …”
“Wait.” He grabs my arm and walks into my room, shutting the door behind us as if no one else in this house needs to hear what I’m saying. But it doesn’t matter. We’re here alone. My father is away on a business trip for the weekend, and my brother is at college. The staff has all gone to bed for the evening. “I told you, Henley. He was out of town.”
I shake my head and argue. “I’m telling you …”
“That he raped someone?” he snaps.
I take a step back from him, swallowing nervously.
“Jesus Christ.” He lifts his arms and runs both hands through his hair again aggressively, knocking off more water in the process. “This is serious.”
“I know,” I choke out. “Why do you think …?”
“You have no clue what you’re talking about, Henley.”
“I know what I saw!” I shout, getting irritated. Tired of him not believing me. “He raped her. Then he killed her.”
His green eyes look down at me, and I hold in a breath. I think he’s about to yell at me again, but then he throws his head back and starts laughing.
I blink, confused as to how this is funny. A woman is dead.
He continues to laugh at me while I just stand here like an idiot with doubt flooding my mind. Had I seen him actually kill her? Were they role-playing? Some people are into that kind of thing. I push the thought out of my mind as quickly as it entered. It’s not right. To justify what he did. He raped her, and he killed her. I saw it.