Her stomach churned. It was all there, every word. Her gaze fell to the most incriminating part. If it turned out to be a hoax, and the entry wasn’t really pulled from Madison’s childhood diaries, Madison, or even Madison’s estate, could sue her for slander.
But of course, just as she feared, the words were now posted for the whole world to see.
. . . without further ado, I present to you the first installment of Madison Brooks’s journal.
Make of it what you will, but please note that I did not make this up, this is not a work of fiction, and it came to me via a reliable source.
As always, feel free to exit through the comments section on your way out.
October 5, 2012
I’m so over it!!!!
So over absolutely EVERYTHING!
Including my so-called friends, my family, my stupid fake boyfriend, but mostly, this stuffy, boring, stick-up-its-ass town.
Layla could hardly breathe as her gaze skimmed the words.
The Ghost saved me—spared me from a future too horrible to contemplate. . . .
I guess you could say I owe him my life.
Then again, he owes me his too. . . .
If I ever go down, he’s going down with me. Though I’m pretty sure that only works one way. Because if P goes down first, he’ll go down alone. And he’ll take all my secrets with him as well. He already proved it six years ago when he made a choice to save me. Which is why I guess, in a lot of ways, I consider him my real father.
Anyway, tomorrow is the day I board the bus to LA and never look back. . . .
It’s crazy to think how next time I write in here, I’ll be living an entirely different life!
☺☺☺
Layla’s hand flew to her mouth. “Omigod,” she whispered through trembling fingers.
“Everything okay?”
Her dad watched with concern from inside the garage.
“Mmm . . . Yeah. Of course.” She sank her phone into her pocket and followed him inside.
She’d been hacked, that much was clear. And though her first instinct was to delete the post, the chilling text convinced her to leave it untouched.
According to whoever had sent it, her failure to play along before had landed them all in jail, possibly even getting someone killed.
Her dad ushered her down the hall and urged her to get some rest. “Later I’ll make dinner. Or we can order in, up to you. Also, I spoke with Ira. He said not to worry about coming to work. He wants you to take some time—whatever you need.”
Layla gave a distracted nod, headed into her room, and sank onto her bed. Gazing at the portrait her father had painted of her as a child, she wondered if she’d ever be able to smile as genuinely, spontaneously, and unselfconsciously as that again.
At the moment, it seemed inconceivable.
As wound up as she currently felt, sleep seemed inconceivable too. And yet, there were long days ahead, and she knew better than to face them in a state of exhaustion.
After a hot shower, she pulled on an old Stevie Nicks concert T-shirt and slipped beneath the covers.
Briefly, she thought of Tommy and the night they’d spent together. The sex had been amazing, but they’d sworn to each other there would be no strings attached. They were busy pursuing their dreams and couldn’t afford the distraction. That would only amount to a mistake neither of them was willing to make.
At the time, Layla had been willing to agree to just about anything to ensure that Tommy’s lips continued to press against hers.
But now she was glad for the pact. No matter how much she missed him, no matter how much she longed to check in and see how he was doing, the note had sent a clear warning. And in light of everything that had happened, she was done playing stubborn.
When she woke, the mess would still be there, calling her name. But for the moment, she closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her.
THREE
CAN’T REMEMBER TO FORGET YOU
Aster Amirpour climbed out of Ira Redman’s customized Cadillac Escalade and strolled into the lobby of the W residences, only to find Ryan Hawthorne sitting by the elevator bank.
Beside her, Ira paused, acting as though he was equally surprised to find the former teen idol hanging around, which left Aster feeling even more off balance than she’d initially felt.
First there was Ryan: gorgeous, sexy Ryan. With his glittering green eyes, personal-trainer-honed body, and that damn perfectly tousled hair glinting under the lights.
And then there was Ira—domineering, commanding, all-powerful Ira—acting as though he wasn’t really at the controls of absolutely everything that went down in LA, including that very moment. It made Aster suspicious.
“Looks like you no longer need me.” Ira nodded toward Ryan, who pushed away from the bench and made a tentative approach. His expression shifted from warm and welcoming to cautious and wary as his gaze moved between them. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Ira gave Aster a perfunctory hug, and she returned it with two dutiful pats to his back.
Outside of a romantic relationship, Aster wasn’t much for hugging. She always found those moments when someone came at her, arms wide and teeth flashing, to be clumsy and embarrassing at best. But hugging Ira was always a double dose of awkward. She was never sure what to make of it. It never felt entirely paternal, and yet it never felt inappropriate either. Not to mention, he was usually so distant and imperious, it seemed wildly out of character that he’d even try such a thing.
Ira gave them each one last look. Then, with a sharp turn of his heel, he headed for his ride, calling, “Let me know if you need anything,” over his shoulder.
Aster studied Ira’s retreating form. So far, she’d chosen to trust him, mostly due to the fact that he was the only one who’d shown up for her precisely when she needed it most. Ira had given her a place to live when life with her parents became unbearable. And not just any old place—he’d generously handed her the keys to a luxury condo and had so far asked for nothing in return.
He’d also supplied the top-notch team of lawyers who were set to defend her in her upcoming trial. And while she tried to be grateful, she never deluded herself into believing that when it was all said and done, his generosity wouldn’t come with a very hefty price tag attached.
Ira Redman wasn’t the altruistic type. But Aster was so far gone, all she could do was wait and see and hope against hope he’d wind up proving her wrong.
She watched as Ira was whisked away by his driver, then shook her head and trained her focus on Ryan’s stupidly beautiful face.
He had stupid long-lashed eyes.
Stupid sculpted cheekbones.
An absurdly stupid square heroic jawline.
And the most stupid part of all was that ridiculously stupid smile he now wore that seemed so disarmingly genuine that Aster defensively crossed her arms against her chest.
She frowned. Waited for him to make the first move. He’d said some unkind things about her to the press just after Madison had gone missing, and yet Aster had still taken a leap and decided to trust him after he’d pleaded for a chance to do better.
The way he stood before her now, hesitating to speak, reminded her of an actor waiting for someone offstage to feed him his lines so he’d know what to say.
She let out a weary sigh. She really hoped he didn’t turn out to be yet another mistake on what was becoming a very long list.
“You okay?” Ryan took an uncertain step forward, followed by another.
Aster lifted her shoulders in reply. She had no idea how to put her conflicting thoughts into actual words, so she didn’t bother to try.
Despite her growing doubts, she felt supremely lucky just to be standing right in that spot. Occupying that square of red carpet in the lobby of her luxury building felt like some sort of small miracle had been worked on her behalf.
Although the State of California had done its best to keep her locked up throughout her upcoming trial, through a bit of magic
(or more likely, knowing Ira, through the weight of his considerable influence, with a pinch of dark sorcery), Ira had managed to spare her that fate. And so far, all he’d asked in return was that she stay in touch and not flee the state.
Ryan reached forward and traced a finger along the curve of her jaw. The move was so comforting, so tender, before Aster could stop herself she was falling into his arms.
She pressed her body hard against his, as he clinched her tightly at the waist and whispered into her ear. “I’m so glad you’re okay. . . . I was so worried about you.” He pulled away, sweeping her hair from her temple to better study her face. His gaze was brimming with such warmth and concern that Aster could barely bring herself to meet it. For a girl who’d been richly rewarded for her stunning good looks, she wasn’t sure what to make of Ryan’s admiring gaze.
She hadn’t had a proper shower in days. Couldn’t even remember the last time she’d brushed her teeth, popped a breath mint, or even glanced in a mirror that wasn’t spiderwebbed with cracks. Her long dark hair was greasy and unkempt. Her normally flawless complexion was mottled with zits. Her brows were an unruly mess. And she refused to take a closer look at whatever remained of the intricate nail art manicure she’d once rocked. She was at her absolute most unglamorous, and yet, Ryan looked at her as though he saw something far beyond all that.
It made her feel weird, and she wished he would stop.
She didn’t have time for this nonsense. Maybe later, after the trial, if somehow the verdict managed to work in her favor, but certainly not now, not . . .
She struggled against him, did her best to pull away, but Ryan only tightened his hold.
“Don’t.” His gaze deepened, demanding she meet it. “Please don’t. You have no idea how good it is to see you.”
Her laugh was derisive, but again, he stopped her cold.
“I mean it. You have no idea how much I . . .”
Don’tsayitdon’tsayitdon’tsayitdon’tsayit—Don’t you dare say it!
To stop him from speaking the words she was neither ready nor willing to hear, she kissed him.
The move was reckless. Yet another promise she’d made to herself now broken.
And yet she pressed hard against him, no longer caring that she was standing out in the open, kissing Ryan Hawthorne as though she had no intention of ever doing anything else.
For those few glorious moments when his lips were sealed against hers, his arms clasped snugly around her, Aster felt safe, secure, protected, and wholly insulated from a hostile world.
Then the elevator doors swooshed open and a group of gawkers stood staring at her.
Instantly, Aster broke the embrace, ducked her chin low, and marched past the group and into the second elevator waiting beside them.
Seconds before the doors closed, Ryan slipped in and joined her.
“Aster—” Ryan started, but Aster nodded toward the camera pointing down from the corner and discreetly shook her head.
While it was definitely a relief to be out of jail, she was under no illusion as to how the rest of the world viewed her. As the most hated girl in America, she knew there was no shortage of people who were willing to sell her out to the nearest tabloid. Kissing Ryan in an elevator was out of the question. Talking was too.
She turned her back to the camera, waited for the car to arrive at her floor, then strode purposefully down the hall, keeping a safe distance from Ryan, who slowly followed along.
Tears stung her eyes as she let herself inside. How much longer would she have to live like this—overly cautious and paranoid?
One look at her apartment told her there was no end in sight.
The cops had gone there right before she’d been arrested in Joshua Tree. They’d found her little brother Javen and hauled him in for questioning; then they took the opportunity to ransack the place. Though Ira had assured her the maids had since cleaned up the mess, the thought of that creepy detective Larsen picking through her belongings left Aster uneasy.
Had he gone through her underwear drawer?
She briefly considered burning everything she owned and starting over.
“You okay?” Ryan regarded her with concern, but Aster had no idea how to answer. Her only real goal was to remain upright and breathing. Aiming for okay seemed like too big a reach.
“I think I’ll take a shower,” she said, heading for her bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable, order from room service if you want. I’ll be out in a bit.”
With the bedroom door shut, she tugged off her clothes, eager to rid herself of any physical traces of her time spent in jail. She removed her jeans and kicked them into the far corner. They’d once been her favorites, but no more. She was busy pulling off her T-shirt when she noticed someone had written on the mirror that hung over her dressing table.
From a distance, the words were a scrawled pink blur. Her heart racing, she made a tentative approach.
Someone had used her favorite Charlotte Tilbury lipstick and left the empty gold tube discarded on the dresser.
At the sound of her scream, Ryan barged inside her room and stared in confusion.
Aster gazed down at herself. In her panic, she’d forgotten she’d stripped down to her bra and underpants, but there was no time for false modesty now.
Wordlessly, she pointed at the mirror. She had no idea what to make of it, much less who might’ve done it. There was no telling how many people had been there while she’d been in jail. Even Ira had a key that allowed him to come and go as he pleased.
It was a rhyme—like the ones in the threatening notes Layla had received. Only instead of a cartoon cat, someone had drawn a circle of broken hearts all around it.
Aster heaved a tremulous breath and began to read.
Your friend wouldn’t play
So you all had to pay
Now I’m counting on you
To see this thing through
As a show of good faith
Take a look in your safe
If you abide by my rule
All will be cool
Where you ultimately land
Now rests in your hands.
The second she finished, Aster raced for the closet and punched in the code to unlock the safe. When the door sprang open, she was met with a spray of confetti.
Undeterred, she rummaged through it. As bits of pink cellophane hearts spilled to the floor, she removed her jewelry, an envelope filled with cash, her laptop and iPad. So far all her valuables were exactly as she’d left them.
When she reached the bottom, she found a plain manila envelope that hadn’t been there last time she’d checked.
She met Ryan’s gaze, then slipped her hand inside, retrieving a DVD with a note taped to its side.
Yes, it’s exactly what you think
The sight of it probably brought you to the brink
There is only one more out there
As you might’ve guessed, only I know where
If you do as I say
There’ll be no price to pay
There’s an artist you need to meet
She lives on a flower-named street
She knows Madison’s secret
So don’t let her keep it
We both want the same thing
For justice to ring
Don’t share this with Javen or your mates
Or you’ll all meet some very sorry fates.
Aster stood unsteadily, her mind a whirl of all the horrible possibilities. She didn’t have to watch the DVD to know what it contained. She’d been secretly filmed while she was in a blackout state the night Madison went missing. She’d performed an embarrassingly awkward striptease that would no doubt set the internet aflame if it were ever released.
The thought of that was bad enough, but Aster’s real fear was for her family. Javen had been threatened, and if her parents ever learned about the tape . . .
She hugged herself at the waist and shivered. She couldn’t bear to think how they’d react. T
hough they’d definitely disown her, of that she was sure.
It was hard to be around them knowing how much she’d shamed them, so she’d done what she could to distance herself. On her last visit, they’d surprised her with their show of support. But when they tried to talk her into accepting a plea bargain, she’d left in despair.
Aster was adamant about not pleading guilty to a crime she hadn’t committed. She’d take her chances with a jury. But now, with only two weeks left until trial, she sometimes wondered if she’d made the wrong choice.
If they didn’t find Madison soon, there was a good chance she’d go away for the rest of her life.
She was so busy spiraling into the abyss of her thoughts, she’d lost track of what Ryan was saying.
“You know, the ones in Madison’s house—near the stairs?”
Aster blinked and tried to catch up. But she was too upset to follow the thread. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The photographs. The ones with the old couch and the gun on the coffee table?”
Aster paused as she fought to recall them in detail. “Layla thought they seemed odd,” she said. “Like they might be a clue pointing to Madison’s past.” She shook the note in her hand. “Do you think that’s what this is about? The artist on the flower-named street who knows Madison’s secrets?”
Ryan shrugged, his face setting in a way that made him look older. “Do you remember the name of the artist?”
“Layla might.” Aster frowned. “But I won’t contact her. I’m not taking any chances.”
“I’ll look into it while you shower.” Gently, he removed the DVD and the note from her hand and propelled her toward the bathroom.
“But you’re not going to contact Layla, right?” Aster gave him a searching look. “I’m worried about even you knowing. The note made it clear that—”
Before she could finish, Ryan said, “Trust me. And when you’re done with your shower, I want you to pack a bag.”
He met her gaze, and Aster, suddenly remembering she was half-naked, was overcome with embarrassment. But Ryan was a gentleman and kept his focus firmly on her face.
“Until we figure out who’s behind this, you’re staying with me. It’s not safe for you here.”