My cheek throbs at the reminder.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” the driver comments as he drives along the cobblestone drive that curves in front of the house.
The area is covered in green grass, blooming flowers, and blossoming trees, cherry blossoms raining from the branches. This place looks straight out of a fantasy but I doubt the inside will match.
“Sure,” I reply, being evasive on purpose.
“You must be a tough girl to please then.” He chuckles as he parks the car and shuts off the engine. Then he hops out but ducks his head back in and pushes a button under the dash.
The back door clicks open.
Well, that explain the weird door-opening-on-its own-earlier thing, but that doesn’t help me feel less uneasy. Still, I hop out of the car.
Two other cars are pulling in from down the driveway and drive straight into the garage. The doors shut before I can get a good view of who’s inside, and I get a bad case of the get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here.
My gaze darts to the driveway as I contemplate bolting, running until I make it home. But do I even have a home anymore? I’m not even sure who owns the house or how I’ll pay rent next month.
“Please don’t try to run,” the driver says, slipping the keys out of the ignition. “If you do, I’ll have to chase you, and I pulled my hamstring the other day while I was jogging so I’ll probably end up hurting myself.”
I tear my gaze off the driveway, cross my arms, and lift my brows. “You know, it’s not a good idea to tell someone who’s considering running away that you’re injured. All that does is let me know you’re going to be easy to outrun.”
“Hey, I’m still fast, even with only one good leg.” He gives me a smile that I’m not certain how to decipher. “Relax, Hadley Harlyton, no one here’s going to hurt you.”
I sense a silent yet. “If you say so.”
“I do say so, and I never lie.” He winks at me. “In fact, that’s my nickname.”
“I Never Lie is your nickname?” I ask warily. When he nods, I gape at him. “Seriously?”
“Of course. I never lie. Remember?” He winks at me again then signals for me to follow him as he starts up the brick path lined with tulips and heads toward the red, overly large entrance door.
I have no idea what’s up with all the winking or the stupid nicknames, but decide this guy is super weird, in an interesting and also a creepy way. It makes me feel very uneasy and way off my cool, badass game. Usually, I’m a pro at pretending to be chill in even the most stressful situations. Right now, I’m a freaking step away from my heart flying out of my chest.
Take a deep breath. You got this, Hadley. You always got this.
But the instant I step over the threshold and into the house, I realize I don’t got this.
Not even a little bit.
Not even close.
And maybe I’ve never had anything. Perhaps I’ve been faking everything all this time. How could I have ever had anything under control? If I did, then I wouldn’t be standing in the most ginormous entryway with a painted domed ceiling, massive columns, and an overly polished marble floor.
“This place is …” I struggle to find the right word. “Shiny.”
“Shiny?” The driver muses as he shucks off his jacket. “Huh, I’ve never heard that one before. Most say it’s beautiful. Almost otherworldly.”
“It is, but it’s a little too fancy for me,” I admit, my gaze skimming across the weird abstract artwork mounted on the walls.
“Really?” Skepticism seeps from his tone as he hangs his jacket on the fancy ivory coatrack then removes his hat.
“Yes, dude, really.” I roll my eyes. “Not everyone in this world wants big houses and fancy cars.”
“So, you’re saying if I offered you a Porsche right now, you wouldn’t take it?” He observes my reaction closely—unnervingly.
I lift a shoulder. “Nope. Porsches aren’t really my style.”
“You’re a tough girl to please, aren’t you?” He tosses his hat aside and scrubs his hand across his scruffy jawline. “What about a 1969 GTO Judge?”
Weird. Rhyland has that exact car.
“Nah, not really my style either,” I lie, as chillaxed as can be.
“You sure about that?” A taunting challenge dances in his eyes.
What the hell is this dude up to?
“Yep, I’m positive.” I feign indifference, but inside, he’s frazzling me.
And I think that’s exactly what he’s trying to do
His relentless gaze is unwavering. “Huh, because—and correct me if I’m wrong—but I was under the impression that you were in love with Rhyland Porterson’s car.”
My stomach clenches. Who the fuck is this dude? And is he damn mind reader?
“It’s nice, I guess,” I lie with a nonchalant shrug. “But too shiny for me.”
“Hmmm …” He smiles amusedly. “So you’re not into shiny things, then? Good to know.” He moves toward the stairs, rolling up the sleeves of his black button-down shirt. “I know you’re lying about the GTO. No one who drives a Chevelle and drag races wouldn’t want a GTO.”
“How did you …?” Every muscle in my body winds tight.
“How did I what?” He peers over his shoulder at me with a smug smile. “Know that you like to drag race? Or that you secretly wish you could have my son’s car?”
Son’s car?
Rhyland is his son?
Fuck, then that means that this dude is Mr. Porterson, one of the most corrupt men in Honeyton. And I’ve been riding around in a car with him for the last fifteen minutes completely unaware.
Shock whips through me, but I manage to give an indifferent shrug. “I guess both.”
He eyes me over curiously. “You’re very hard to read. I find it both interesting and unnerving.” He stares me down for a slam of a heartbeat before starting up the stairs. “Come with me. There’s some business I need to discuss with you.”
I lift my hand to flip him the middle finger then take off. But before I get very far, the front door swings open and two muscular dudes with arms bigger than my entire body and a bodybuilder type woman with more muscles than most guys have stroll inside. They’re decked out in all black, a Porterson theme and the people that surround them apparently.
Instead of approaching Mr. Porterson, they linger in the entryway, blocking my path to the front door, my guess is on purpose.
“As soon as we have a chat, you can leave,” Mr. Porterson tells me firmly. “I’ll even drive let my driver take you home and call the school to excuse your absence from first period.”
“I can call the school myself.” I refuse to accept any favors from this guy. “I don’t need anyone’s help.” Especially yours.
His lips tug up into a smirk that reminds me an awful lot of Alex’s. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Hadley Harlyton.”
I grind my teeth. “Stop using my full name like that.”
He grins. “Like what?”
My lip curls upward. “Like I’m some sort of cartoon character.”
“My apologies.” His smile is genuine, but that doesn’t mean I’m buying into his kind act. “What would you like me to call you?”
I want to say something snarky, like the Queen of Honeyton or the Most Awesome Girl in the World, but then I note the holster strapped around his shoulder and the gun tucked in it.
This is so bad.
“Just call me Hadley,” I tell him in the politest tone I can muster.
“All right, Hadley, come with me.” He nods his head as he climbs higher up the stairway.
Glaring at his back, I stomp after him with my fists clenched. Thanks, Dad, for getting me into this. You really suck. You know that?
What I wouldn’t give to say that to his face.
And to spit in his face.
Mr. Porterson remains quiet as he guides me up the stairway, down a narrow hallway, and into an office on the far-left side of the house. The space is big a
nd lined with large windows so sunlight spills in from every angle. Bookshelves line the walls, gothic chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, and an antique rug covers the middle of the floor.
“You look confused,” Mr. Porterson remarks as he takes a seat behind a large desk.
“That’s because I sort of am.” I stay standing near the door.
There’s no way in hell I’m going into this room any farther. It’s already tucked away in a maze of winding hallways so far back no one can hear me scream.
He rests his overlapped hands on the desk, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “And why’s that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t picture a mobster’s office to look so… sunlighty.”
He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “That’s an interesting choice of word.”
I recall how, only hours ago, Blaise was teasing me about my interesting vocabulary. What I wouldn’t give to go back and keep joking around with him.
Huh, never thought I’d think that.
“You’re very odd,” he muses as he collects a cigar from a wooden box that’s on his desk.
“Most people think so,” I admit. Blaise being one of those people. “But I’m guessing that, compared to you, I’m probably pretty ordinary.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” He strikes a match and lights up the cigar. Then he takes a few puffs while resting back in the chair. “Just for the record, I don’t refer to myself as a mobster. In fact, the term isn’t accurate for what I do.”
I mentally roll my eyes. Sure he isn’t. And one day, I’m going to learn to sit with my legs crossed and say excuse me when I burp.
But I decide to play along. “Then what are you?”
He brings the cigar to his lips, smoke lacing the air. “I like to think of myself as an entrepreneur.”
“An entrepreneur who runs a bunch of illegal gambling clubs?” I mentally want to smack myself.
Stop saying stuff without thinking, Hadley! Your mouth is going to get you in trouble. Again.
Silence chokes the air as he puffs on his cigar with his interrogating gazed fixed on me. “You’ve done some research on me. I’m wondering why.”
“For kicks and giggles,” I say with a shrug, but my pulse races as fast as my Goddamn car when I’m drag racing.
His brow meticulously arches. “You sure about that?”
“Yep,” I say matter-of-factly. When he stares me down hard, my toughness starts to crumble. “Okay, fine. Honestly, I was trying to dig up some dirt on your sons and stuff about you popped up, too.”
He doesn’t appear the slightest bit surprised. “Well, you should know that not everything you read online is always accurate.” He stands with the cigar in his hand. “But your curiosity in my sons isn’t important nor relevant to why I brought you here.” He strolls over to a window and stares at the acres of land just outside. “As I’m sure you already know, your father has gotten himself into a bit of trouble.”
I swallow hard. Here we go. “Yeah, I’m aware of that.”
His gaze flicks in my direction. “Do you understand why he’s in trouble, though?”
While Blaise explained some of the details to me, I’m not about to tell this guy anything that might get my dad in even more trouble.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
He scrutinizes me closely. “I’m not sure if you’re telling the truth or not, and I find it unsettling.” He turns to face me. “Usually, I’m very good at reading people.”
“Sorry.” Not really.
No, right now I’m super grateful for my ability to act indifferent in the snap of a finger.
“I’m sure you are.” He walks back across the room, balances the cigar in the ashtray then sits down on the edge of his desk. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. I didn’t bring you here to find out if you knew about what your father’s been up to.”
“Okay… Then why’d you bring me here?”
He gives a long, heart-faltering pause. “You’re kind of bold for someone so young. Or stupid, depending on how you want to look at it.”
“Maybe a bit of both,” I offer with a shrug.
“Perhaps.” He taps his fingers against his knee. “The question is: how can I use that trait to my benefit?”
I curl my fingers inward. “Why would you need to use the trait at all?”
“Because right now your father owes me five years worth of labor. And if I don’t get those five years of labor, I’m going to be very upset.”
“Well, I wish I could help you, but I don’t know where he is.” I inch toward the door, more than ready to get out of here.
“I figured as much.” He stands up and stalks toward me. “But again, that’s not why I brought you here.”
“You keep saying that.” My back bumps against the door. Shit. “But you still haven’t said why you brought me here.”
He stops just short of me. “Because your father also double-crossed me.” His calm voice chills into iciness, his expression hardening. “Do you know what I do to people who double-cross me?”
“Give them a citation?” I offer, sticking my hand behind me and wrapping my fingers around the doorknob.
I’ve got to get out of here.
“Unfortunately, no.” He has the audacity to sound apologetic. “Unfortunately, the punishment has to be more severe or else no one who works for me will respect me. And you can’t run a successful business without respect. Remember that if you ever start your own business.”
I relax a smidgeon. He just referred to my future, which means that maybe I still have a one.
“Okay,” I manage to say evenly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He assesses me with too much interest. “You’re an interesting character. Bold and either clever or stupid—I can’t figure out which. I think I can use that to my advantage, which is a good thing for both of us.”
“And why’s that?” I ask as he crosses the room back to his desk.
“Because if you didn’t have any useful traits, I’d have to punish your father another way.” He picks up a small, black box from off the desk that’s about the size of a shoebox and holds it out to me. “I want you to take this and hold onto it for me. When the time is right, you’re to open it. Understand?”
No freakin’ way am I going to take a mysterious box from some mobster dude in question.
I start to shake my head, but he cuts me off, lifting his hand in front of him.
“This isn’t up for discussion. Either you take the box, or I’ll have one of your sisters do it.”
He knows my kryptonite.
Swallowing down a shaky breath, I hurry across the room and snatch the box from him. “How will I know when to open it?”
“You just will.’ He gives me the most vague answer ever. “Until then, do not look inside it. Understand?”
Okay, what the hell is in the box? Drugs? Money? Someone’s freakin’ finger?
“Sure, I understand.” I resist the urge to shake the box, but dammit, I want to.
“Good.” The phone on his desk rings. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take this call. If you go down to the entryway, my driver will be there to take you to your car.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, then whirl around and haul ass for the door, beyond ready to get the hell out of here. And if I’m lucky, I’ll never have to come back.
As if sensing exactly where my thoughts are at, Mr. Porterson calls out, “This isn’t completely over yet. I’ll be in touch, Hadley Harlyton. Very soon.”
Dammit!
I slip out of the room without uttering a damn word, wanting more than anything to throw the box at the wall and sprint out of the house without looking back. But since Mr. Porterson threatened to go after my sisters, I don’t have a choice but to remain cool and cooperative.
What I’d really like to know is how he found out my sisters were my weak spot. In fact, he seemed to know a lot about me. So, who has he been talking to? My da
d? Maybe. Or maybe one of the Porterson brothers has been feeding daddy dearest information about the girls next door.
“Wait just a second.” Mr. Porterson’s voice abruptly echoes from down the hallway. “There’s a couple of things I still need to talk to you about.”
So damn close.
Grinding to a stop, I reluctantly turn. He’s standing in the doorway and the first thing I notice is his holster is empty.
I swallow the fear welling in my throat. “Like?”
He curls his finger at me. “Not out here. We need some privacy.”
I damn near vomit on the floor, wishing I had my phone to call for help.
Wishing my father wasn’t such an asshole.
Blaise
When I arrive at school, I search for Hadley’s car in the parking lot, but I don’t spot it anywhere. I tell myself not to text her yet. That she’s probably still out driving and blowing off some steam. That I can wait a little bit before I start texting her like a paranoid freak.
I wish I wasn’t like this, so worried all the damn time. It kind of comes with the territory of the environment I was raised in. My siblings and I had no stability and never felt safe. Because of that, I turned into a worrier.
Just calm down. Give her a minute to get here, I tell myself as I make my way to my locker to collect my books.
Hadley and I have first class together and by the time the final bell rings, she still hasn’t shown up. Jaxon is in the class too and is seated in the desk across from mine. He’s two grades below me, but the kid is smart and takes advanced classes. He also spends all the time he doesn’t talk with his nose in a book, which is a lot of effing time. I wish I could send him to the elite school over in Sunnyvale, but that’d mean asking our dad for money. And while I’d swallow down my pride and do so, Jaxon refuses to ask my dad for anything. None of my brothers or sister are fans of my dad. Even Alex hates him, which is why it makes no sense that he’s always spending time with the lowlifes who work for our father.
“Have you seen Hadley?” I whisper to him.