Not everything in the fire was destroyed, but they have definitely seen better days. We should really be getting tetanus shots after leaving here.
He pulls out a chair for me to sit at one of the rusty steel tables. I look over at the table next to us and see several lines of cocaine. Kids have hundred-dollar bills rolled up and held to their noses as they snort them. They rub what’s left on their gums. Everyone is accepted at Death Valley—the rich and the poor. It doesn’t matter; they all party just the same.
A guy by the name of Derek Sanders sits down across from me and holds out his right hand. I’m not friends with him, but he does go to our school. “Here, Henley. Have one.”
I look down at the circular pink pill and know I shouldn’t do it tonight. I’ve already drunk too much.
“She’s had enough for the night.” Scout pushes the pill away as his cell dings in his pocket, notifying him of a message.
And that’s all I need to hear. I snatch it from Derek’s hand and toss it into my mouth before stealing the guy’s drink and downing it. I look over at Scout and stick my tongue out to show I swallowed that bitch. He glares at me. “Better take me home before this kicks in.”
He shakes his head. Shoving his chair back, he stands and walks away. Mumbling to himself, he pulls his cell out.
I should never have swallowed it. I should never have taken a sip of alcohol that night. And I sure as shit shouldn’t have gone looking for Dax to prove he was there. I hate that I was right.
A knock on my door has me looking up. “Hey.” My father sighs heavily as he steps into my room.
I hate this for him. How much I’ve ruined everything. I can see the stress on his face—aging him too soon. “Dad, I’m—”
“Don’t do that,” he interrupts me. “There is nothing to be sorry for, Henley.”
I look down at my hands in my lap. I wish that were true. Looking back up at him, I see he’s standing there with his hands on his hips staring down at my unpacked suitcases. “I have to leave town tomorrow,” he finally says.
I swallow nervously, hating the fact of being here alone. But I remind myself that the staff and guards will be here at all times. “Okay.”
“It’s just for a couple of days. I’ll be back Friday morning.” He runs a hand down his face. He’s nervous, and I sit up straighter.
“Everything okay?” I ask. I haven’t gotten to speak to him much since he sent me packing on his private jet with little notice that I was to start a new life. But I knew he meant well. His eyes meet mine, and my spine stiffens.
“Henley, we need to talk …” His cell rings, and he looks down at it. He lets it ring a couple of times before he speaks. “I need to take this, but don’t bother with that.” He gestures to my suitcases. “The staff can take care of them.” Then he exits, leaving me alone once again.
CHAPTER TWO
HENLEY
I PULL UP to the school the following morning. It’s a Wednesday, middle of the week. I should have talked my father into letting me stay home until next Monday. What would three more days have hurt?
Thankfully, my windows are blacked out in my Ferrari California so I can sit here for a moment unseen while I gather my bearings. I didn’t get any sleep last night. Not because I’m afraid of them, but because of what everyone at school will say about me. They think I made it up or that I’m crazy. I went up against one of them, and they all banded together, taking me down and making me sound insane.
The prosecuting attorney told my father we had a good solid case even without the body. Because her missing made it look believable. I rolled my eyes when he told us that. As if he didn’t really believe what I was saying. Then her adoptive parents took the stand, and well, that went to shit. Brenda Nash was a year older than us but still a junior. Due to her being in the system in her younger years, she had fallen behind and was held back a year before she was adopted. Legally, she was eighteen, so if she wanted to run away, nobody could do anything about it.
The parking lot is packed with kids. Many stand by their million-dollar cars, not ready to go inside just yet, while others mingle in the courtyard. They’ll take any extra minute of freedom they can get.
I look out my passenger window and spot the four guys I want to avoid for the rest of my life. The Grim Reapers. AKA Reapers.
Each one of their cars is backed in, side by side, in the front row. They’re all the same color—flat black with blacked-out windows and wheels to match—intimidating just like them.
All four gather around Ryan Scout’s Bugatti Chiron. Girls crowd around them as though they’re all members of a rock band, and they have to suck their dicks to get backstage. One even stands between Dax’s parted legs, and he’s got his hands on her hips.
Fear sets into my bones like the weight of an anchor sinking in the ocean, pulling me down once again. I grip the steering wheel and drop my head. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “I can do this,” I chant.
The fact my father forced me to leave town after the verdict was announced made me look even more like a fool. The media took my departure as an admission of guilt, that I had lied, and when I lost, I was afraid to show my face.
Everyone thinks I made it all up. Girls and boys from our school took to their social media and spoke about how I was in love with Dax, and when he didn’t reciprocate the feelings, I tried to get him arrested.
I had to shut down all of my accounts and close myself off to the outside world. The case was heard all around, and there was no escape. Even the kids in New York whispered about me. I spent the summer in my room at my mother and stepdad’s house. Then when school started, my social life didn’t get any better. I had no friends and no life.
But one thing still remains. Brenda Nash has yet to be found. By the time the cops arrived at Death Valley, the body was gone. And as I found out while Dax was on trial, no body means no conviction.
They also argued that no murder weapon was present. I told them they wouldn’t find one because he used his hands. A man his size against her, she never had a chance.
But my argument went unheard. I might as well have been talking to a wall. Plus, my brother was right; money had to be involved. His father paid someone off—star football player at a 6A school with a bright future and a young Brenda being a product of the system. You take your guess who was treated more like the victim. Hint: it wasn’t the missing girl. Everyone failed her, even me.
Opening my eyes, I take another deep breath to slow my racing heart. Before I can chicken out, I reach over to grab my backpack and exit the driver’s seat.
The moment I round the front of my car, all chitchat comes to a halt, and everyone stares at me. It’s as if I’ve gone momentarily deaf; it’s so quiet. Not even a bird chirping. No wind howling, just deafening silence. My heart pounds, and my palms begin to sweat like they did that day in court when Dax Monroe was given a pass because of his fucking name.
Westbrook got so much attention that even the attendance at school went up by fourteen percent. Or so I read online.
I have sunglasses over my eyes, giving me the advantage to sneak a look over at them.
Ryan Scout leans back against his car in black jeans and a matching shirt. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his green eyes are on mine. The coldness almost makes me trip over my own feet. They send a shiver up my spine while also piercing my heart. He’s never looked at me like that before. They drop to my shoes and start their way up my jeans. I swallow when they get to my eyes again, and he smiles. It’s cold and deadly, like a promise of what’s to come.