I try to ignore the tightness in my chest and lick my dry lips. “He did it, Scout.”
His laughter comes to a stop, and he straightens his shoulders. “No, he didn’t. You were drunk. Fucked up. You were confused …”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I growl. “I know what I saw.” How can he not believe me? Why would I make this up? Dax is my friend too, but that doesn’t excuse what he did.
He steps into me, his body towering over mine. “You’re wrong. And you’re going to tell the police that. Retract your statement. Tell them you made a mistake.”
He can’t be serious. “I will not.”
He grabs my shirt, yanking me forward. “Scout!” Spinning us around, he shoves my back into the closed bedroom door, making it rattle. My body begins to tremble, and I suck in a breath as he pushes into me, pinning me in place.
A muscle tightens in his sharp jaw, and he takes in a deep breath as if to calm his temper. “If you do this, there will be consequences.”
My body relaxes against him at his words. Finally. “Good. He deserves …”
“I think you misunderstood what I said.” Letting go of my shirt, he runs his hands up my chest to wrap them both around my neck. I lean up on my tiptoes, and my hands grip his arms, trying to fight him off when he takes away my air. “For you, Henley. Not Monroe.” Letting go of me, he takes a step back.
I rub my neck, looking up at him. “He’s going to pay for what he did, Scout.”
He fists his hands as if he’s thinking about wrapping them around my neck again when he finally nods. “You made your decision.” Ripping open the door, he runs out of the house as fast as he entered.
I begin to dry heave. I didn’t heed the warning and refused to retract my statement. Instead, I testified. I’ll be the one thrown into the inferno. They’ve already taken that oath. And the four of them keep their promises.
I guess a part of me knew that I’d lose them. But I thought Dax Monroe would get punished for his crimes. Instead, now I’ll be the one to suffer.
_______________
No one has spoken a word since we left the courthouse. My father types away on his cell next to me while my brother sits across from us in the limo, staring at me. Waiting to see if I’m going to break down again like I did before.
I’m not.
At this point, I’m numb. My mind’s still trying to process the events that have led us to this moment.
Pulling up to the gate of our home, we find reporters standing outside with their camera crews. Their hands hit the glass as they shove each other to get as close as possible. I start to duck my head but then remember they can’t see me through the limo tint. My father’s guards push them back, allowing us entry.
I turn around to watch the gate close, giving myself a sense of peace that no one got onto the property.
The driver rounds the entrance, pulling up to the front of our fifteen-thousand-square-foot mansion, and I get out. I’m on autopilot. It’s kinda like when you’re driving, and your mind isn’t paying attention, but somehow, you still arrive at your destination. That’s how my body is right now.
We enter the house, and the staff flocks to us. My father speaks to them, but I tune them all out. I was born into money. Our town is built on billionaires and fucking crooked bastards. Westbrook, Texas, has a population of two hundred and fifty thousand. It is full of the one percent, but not all of them live here full-time. Most of them own vacation homes here on Lake Miles, a manmade lake covering over nine hundred acres. The elite take their yachts out on sunny days before returning to their penthouse apartments overlooking Central Park in New York and mansions tucked back in the California hills. I once asked a man why he kept his yacht here instead of in the ocean. He said it was too rough for such a treasure.
The founders of Westbrook go back generations, to the eighteen hundreds. They consist of four families—the Monroes, Laws, Relliks, and, you guessed it, the Scouts. Like I said, my four best friends own this town. They are known as the Grim Reapers—they will fight you to the death on and off the field. I should have known that Dax’s father would never let him go down for raping and murdering an innocent girl.
“We’ve got three hours.” My father turns to me as we stand in the foyer.
My mouth feels like I swallowed sandpaper, and my chest feels like it’s being squeezed by a vise. I’m not even sure how much longer my shaky knees are going to keep my heavy body standing.
“For what?” my brother asks.
“Before the jet leaves. It’s being fueled as we speak.”
He’s talking in riddles. Nonsense. The verdict has left him just as confused. That’s what hurts the most. The fact that I pulled my family into this. They told my father to ship me off to boarding school to finish my high school education, and my brother—well, thankfully, he’s never here. It’s not their fault, but I know if they had seen what I did, they would have done the same thing. We were raised to do what’s right. My father taught my brother to respect the word no. And I was taught to help those who need it. Having money does not mean you can’t have morals.
“What do you mean?” my brother growls. “Where are we going?”
“I spoke to your mother yesterday, and we decided this is what’s best for your sister,” my father answers, still typing away on his phone.
“What are you talking about?” Clearly, my brother is as confused as I am.
Our parents never speak to one another. They had a very bad divorce when we were younger. My mother was having an affair and chose to take the settlement my father offered her, leaving the three of us behind.
My father places his phone in his pocket and turns to face me with an apologetic look in his soft blue eyes. “You can’t stay here. Not after that verdict.” He lets out a long breath.
“Where is she going?” my brother demands, stepping between our father and me. “Dad …” He lowers his voice. “Dad, you can’t ship her away to boarding school.”
I pull on the blazer once more. It feels so constricting. I just want to get out of these clothes, take a shower, and go to bed. I want to wash this horrible day away.
“To stay with your mother.” Dad answers.
RYAN SCOUT
“Cheers, motherfucker!” Law hollers, lifting the shot glass and clinking it against ours. We throw them back and slam the now empty glasses on the marble countertop in his mother’s kitchen. “I told you that you had nothing to worry about.” He slaps Monroe’s back.
Monroe nods a few times and lets out a long breath, undoing his black silk tie. The stress of the past month has been wearing on him. Even when there was no evidence to prove he did anything to Brenda Nash, it still cost his father a small fortune for him to stay innocent. The system saw an opportunity, and they will always take it. Money talks louder than any girl screaming rape. “Yeah.” He grabs the bottle and pours another round.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text.
Her daddy’s jet just took off. Your girl is on the run.
I don’t respond. Instead, I lock my phone and set it on the countertop. “She’s running.”
“Of course, she is.” Law laughs, but it holds no humor.