Puppet: Ridgeview Prep Book 1

by Quinn, Londyn

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Yeah, you are.” He rolls his eyes and walks back into the expansive granite-and-marble-adorned kitchen. “You’d better not have let those idiots in on anything that we discuss. They look way too interested in what we’re talking about.” He cranes his neck, and when they see him focusing his menacing glare on them, they quickly avert their eyes.

  “They’re fine. They don’t know anything about this.”

  “I’m serious, Xander.” A strange expression shadows his stubbled face. “You really fucked up by going to that club the other night. You exposed our hand. You showed them that we’re vulnerable, that we need something. You made us look like we’re floundering.”

  “We are,” I say through gritted teeth. “So why not try to find the bastard we’re looking for before he annihilates us first?”

  “First, don’t you dare tell me what to do, you little prick. Second, this goes way beyond slicing off some fingers.”

  “I think I’ve proven I can go beyond slicing off fingers.” I quirk an eyebrow, and his nostrils flare. Good. I knew that’d piss him off.

  But he must decide to swallow whatever is festering in his throat. I can see him struggle not to spew it out, and I love that he’s waging this inner battle. Saying anything just makes it more real, and Jase needs to make sure it stays buried, never to be uttered in the company of outsiders. Never to be spoken of again. “Let me give you a little bit of advice,” he says in a terse voice, changing direction. “Just remember to keep your friends close but your enemies closer. It might save your pathetic life, Xander.”

  “I’m pretty clear on both, so yeah. Thanks for the brotherly advice. I hope you don’t choke on your dinner, asshat.”

  Enemies.

  Who’d have ever thought my own brother would top that list?

  Chapter 9

  Charlotte

  “Mom?” I mutter, walking into my parents’ study.

  She’s sitting on her favorite recliner with a martini in one hand and a hard-cover book in the other. Her eyes are slits as she stares at the same page for at least a minute.

  And that’s only the amount of time I’ve been standing here. Has she gone deaf? What in the fuck is wrong with her?

  “Mom!” I bark a little louder.

  Her gaze lazily meets mine. “Oh, Charlotte. You’re home early.” Her remark is labored and slurred.

  “Dad didn’t talk to you yet?”

  How in the world is that even possible?

  Without warning, the menacing presence of my father floods the room.

  “Charlotte, your mother and I need a minute,” he snarls at me. His chest is puffed out. His face is blaring red. His hands ball into fists as his jaw clenches tightly.

  “I’ll be in my room.” I hightail it out of there. I know that nothing good is going to come from their discussion. I wanted to stay. I wanted to try to explain again, but it isn’t worth it. They have their opinion of me and I can’t blame them for it. I fucked up in London. I went down a rabbit hole of partying and rebelling. But what else was I supposed to do? I’m a teenager just trying to fit in. And now I don’t know how to fix it. How to fix us.

  All I want is to make them proud. Prove to the Hawthornes that I am worthy of the name, worthy of being their daughter.

  Sinking onto my bed, I feel the sting of Xander’s eyes. The raking of that burning stare as hatred oozed from every pore on his massive body.

  The malice that laced his words as he told me to fuck off. The stiffness of his spine as he turned away from me again.

  My stomach tightens.

  Fucking ridiculous.

  I hate how my body reacts to him. How after all of this time he can still evoke so much emotion. Love and hate battling so feverishly in my brain. We used to be everything to each other. Now we’re everything the other hates.

  “Xander, I love you! Please don’t go! Don’t leave me!”

  My own words assault me. They were so real, so pure. Everything to me. And Xander just threw them away, threw them back at me. He tossed me aside in one swift motion like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to do. How could he not fight for me? Fight for us? We had been best friends since we were five years old. From the very second that we first met. And in an instant, it was like none of it ever happened. I didn’t matter to him. To anyone. I was discarded like an old rag over and over again.

  Not anymore.

  Never again.

  I don’t know the person he’s become, but it’s definitely not one I want to associate with anymore.

  I cock an eyebrow, staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror. With a swift shake of my head, a frustrated sigh escapes my mouth.

  Bitch is a liar.

  Grabbing my phone, I dial Abby.

  Please don’t be asleep.

  “Hello?” I hear her yawn into the receiver.

  “Did I wake you?” I ask, feeling like a complete asshole.

  “Just getting some reading done. What’s going on?”

  “I wish I never left,” I admit.

  “Char, you know that you’ll always have a place here, but I think you need to give your home another shot. I mean, can it really be that bad to be home. I’d give my left tit for my folks to want me to be around.”

  Yep. I am an asshole. Abby doesn’t know anything anyway. I never let her in. And maybe we were never friends, well, real friends. She only knows the Charlotte Hawthorne I let her know. The party girl who didn’t have a troubled past or a broken heart. I had reinvented myself in London because it was easier than dealing with my reality.

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Thanks, Abbs.”

  “Don’t mention it. I need to get to bed.”

  “’Night.”

  The phone call ends and my heart sinks. I knew that it was my last call with her. People always say that they will keep in touch when someone moves away. That’s bullshit. Everyone just goes on with their lives and move on. In today’s society, social media is the only connection left, the last little string that is attached to former friends. A like here, a comment there. Facebook and Instagram are it. No one just picks up the phone anymore to check in. they stalk social media, trolling around. But, oh well. That’s life and now I need to move on. Abby was right, I need to give Ridgeview a little bit of a chance. At least Ellie seems real, like a person who won’t ask too many questions. I clicked on the newest saved contact.

  “Hey, girl,” Ellie answered quickly.

  “I need to get out of here tonight. Wanna go out?”

  “Music to my ears. Heck yes, I do.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Name the place and time and I will be there with bells on and some good stuff that I’ve been saving.”

  “Pick you up around nine?”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you my address.”

  Glancing at the time on my phone, I realize that there are a few hours to kill before I am supposed to meet up with Ellie.

  I dive into the top of my closet and retrieve my old riding gear. Damn, I hope it still fits. Maybe a bit of wind in my hair and an open pasture and I will start to feel better.

  “Rolland!” I holler through the foyer with my breeches and riding boots already on.

  “Yes?” he asks, stalking out of my father’s study.

  “Would you mind taking me for a little ride. I think it is high time I jump back into the saddle before my next lesson. I don’t want to be completely rusty on Sunday and make a fool outta myself.” I bat my eyelashes at him as he digs his keyring out of his pocket.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  * * *

  “Hey, boy,” I coo to my jet-black steed as I walk up to his stall.

  The whinny that he lets out as he presses his nose to my cheek is absolutely adorable. It was palpable how much he had missed me.

  “Same here,” I whisper, leaning my forehead right onto the middle of his long face. “I missed you, too.”

  His dappl
ing was perfect. It made me feel so much better knowing that someone has been looking out for Midnight Jewel while I was gone. The best that the Hawthorne money could offer. My father probably thought of it as an investment. I know people would kill to get their hands on the bloodline that is coursing through Midnight’s veins, but he was all mine and I needed to start being grateful for that.

  How could I have forgotten how nice it was to be greeted by Midnight for my lessons. We had a connection. We were a team. And damn, it felt nice to be reminded of that fact.

  I feel so foolish for fighting my riding lessons for years. Maybe I just needed to be away for a little while to learn to appreciate what I did have in Ridgeview. My life wasn’t perfect, but there were some perfect parts in it.

  After getting him tacked and ready to go, I walk Midnight out of his stall, over to a deserted pasture just waiting for us.

  I smile as the wind whisks by perfectly as Midnight starts to break into a cantor. The subtle glow of the beginning of sunset sets the stage for a perfect evening for this. My heart is still heavy, I am still a little jarred from how crappy of a first day I had at Ridgeview Prep, but it was getting a little better now. Once I hang out with Ellie and wash this day down with a little bit of liquid-forgetting potion, I am going to be right as rain. Or at least I hope so.

  * * *

  With a pair of sky-high heels clutched in my hand, I snake the keys to my father’s prized white Bentley Coupe, with the custom black and wood interior, out of the dish next to the front door. I would have just climbed for the trellis and gotten an Uber, but my legs were dead from the ride I had taken. I couldn’t believe that only an hour on Midnight’s back could kill me like that, but I guess that is the price I am going to have to pay for taking a year-and-a-half off from riding. Besides, I’ll have the Bentley back home before Daddy Hawthorne even has the chance to realize that his precious Delilah is missing.

  Who names their cars anymore? My father. That’s who. He loves that damn thing more than anything in the entire world. It’s the child he always wanted. She’s perfect, doesn’t talk back, dripping with class, and always pristine.

  I trot in bare feet out of the front door, into the detached garage that has our fleet of vehicles. None of them are mine. My parents don’t believe in women driving themselves anywhere. It was a fucking fight to get them to let me get my driver’s license. Which I had to get in London. After pleading for it over and over, they finally caved. That was the only battle I have ever won to date with the Hawthornes.

  I suck in a deep breath as the engine purrs to life. The gentle hum vibrates through my hands. I plug Ellie’s address into my phone’s GPS and pull out of the massive driveway.

  Freedom. It pulses through me as I weave through the quiet streets. It’s weird to be driving on the right side of the road, but I manage just fine for the short trek to Ellie’s.

  Rattling off a message, I let Ellie know that I am parked out in front of her home. It is an adorable Tudor that could fit inside one wing of Hawthorne Manor even though it’s damn huge on its own. I am jealous of how cozy it seems. It looks like a real family resides there. Not a fucked-up illusion of one.

  Ellie scampers over quickly in fuck-me heels, a short plum dress, and gorgeous long curls. Diving into the passenger’s seat, she beams at me.

  “Nice wheels,” she giggles.

  “Borrowed her from my dad. Doubt he’ll even notice.” I shrug, staring at the detailed wood grain on the dashboard.

  “Doing drugs in style,” she remarks, pulling out a couple of pills from her gold clutch.

  “Is there any other way,” I tease, taking the tiny blue-stamped tablet from her.

  “Have you ever done this before?” she asked through her red painted lips.

  I eye the little pill. “MDMA?”

  She nods.

  “Only once, but I remember it being ah-mazing,” I sing out, my lips finally pulling into a genuine smile. They were so few and far between for me these days, I always took notice when my face contorted into a grin.

  “We’re going to have a great night,” she chortles before tossing the drug into the back of her mouth.

  “I know just the place.”

  I narrow my eyes, put the car in gear and head back to the club that I had been to the night before.

  Because sometimes I think I’m just a glutton for punishment.

  “You have a fake, right?” I should have checked before we started our little adventure but I felt like everyone had them. It wasn’t hard to get one, and in our town they were necessary to go anywhere fun.

  “Of course I do,” Ellie scoffed, fixing her tits so they popped out of her plunging scoop neck more.

  “Let’s do this.”

  I toss the keys to the Bentley over to the valet with a fifty-dollar bill once we roll up to the front of the club.

  “Keep her close, please, handsome,” I coo, batting my long lashes at the scrawny pimple-faced parking attendant.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He eyes the car like it is a stripper on a pole.

  I roll my eyes dramatically. Men and their lust for expensive cars. I’ll never understand the allure. As long as it is comfortable and can get me from point A to B, I am good to go.

  Ellie starts to head for the back of the line. Grabbing her hand, I chuckle. “We don’t have to wait in that line with the peasants,” I tease into her ear. “Follow me.”

  Walking straight up to the same bouncer from the night before, I lick my bottom lip. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”

  Pulling out my fake ID, I hand him Ellie’s and mine with a C-note tucked underneath.

  “Two nights in a row, lucky me,” the bouncer growls with a husky breath as he glances at our IDs. “Have fun, ladies.”

  “Come have a drink with us if your shift ends early.” I puff out my chest, retrieving our IDs. I know he is looking down the front of my dress. It’s the point. We weren’t jail bait. Fresh meat of eighteen is legal. He just would never know that we weren’t twenty-two.

  “We’ll see.”

  I let my fingers brush over the back of his hand before he lifts the red rope for me once again.

  Ellie follows me as we weave through the sweating, gyrating bodies packed like sardines on the dance floor.

  The pounding bass thumps in my chest while we shove our way to the bar.

  “What do you want?” I yell into Ellie’s ear over the loud electronica.

  “Whiskey, ginger.”

  I order two of them, handing the tattooed bartender some cash. “Keep the change.”

  She smiles at me with a little nod. One thing I learned quickly over in London—you always tip a lot on the first drink. It ensures that you’re taken care of all night.

  “Let’s dance!” Ellie elates. The ecstasy is soaking our blood. The alcohol is about to enhance it. We were in for one wild ride tonight, that’s for sure.

  My mind fogs in the best of ways as the music erupts inside of me. Dancing our hearts out together in the middle of the dance floor is the best ever. I needed this. I don’t even notice how tired and sore my legs are anymore. A welcomed little addition to the little mix of elicit substances that were soaking my bloodstream.

  After a few songs, Ellie points to her drink. “Be right back. Want anything?”

  I shake my head, bouncing along with the rhythm of the song.

  Closing my eyes, I let everything melt away. It’s just me, my intoxication, and the music.

  My Zen is interrupted by a hand on my hip and lips next to my ear.

  “Charlotte Hawthorne. Does Charles know his precious daughter is out of her cage?” The snarl stiffens my spine as my eyes pop open.

  The scar is the first thing I see. The same one that was at the airport. The same hollowed eyes piercing into my soul.

  “Excuse me?” I try to take a step back, but there are too many people for me to retreat.

  “You heard me,” he rumbles at me through gritted teeth.

  “Do I
know you?”

  His thin lips purse as they lift into a sinister smile. “I know you.”

  “I need to find my friend.”

  His fingers tighten around my wrist. “You really need to be more careful. You wouldn’t want to find yourself in a situation that you don’t want to be in, now would you, Miss Hawthorne.”

  His lips linger on my cheek as I try to wriggle away from him.

  “Get your slimy hand off of me. Fucking creep.”

  “You have no idea” he snickers. “Have a good night, Lottie.”

  My nickname burns my ears. How does he know that? My father is the only person on this planet who has ever called me that.

  Thank God, because it is the worst nickname on the planet.

  With his eyes still glued on me, the stranger slithers through the crowd.

  My heart is pounding. My buzz is fading.

  What just happened?

  Who the fuck is that?

  “Going somewhere?” Xander howls, his arms folded over his wide chest.

  Is it douchebag night at the club or something? What in the holy hell is going on? I am not in the fucking mood. All I wanted was to have some fun. Was that too much to ask?

  “Shove off, Xan.” I try to elbow past him, but he cements his feet in my path.

  “Not so fast, Puppet. We didn’t even have a chance to have a drink together.” His voice is low as he bends down to whisper in my ear.

  Instantly, cold liquid and ice go rushing down my cleavage.

  “Oops.”

  “What in the fuck, Xander? Have you lost your damn mind?” I yell, pushing him to the side.

  “What the fuck were you doing talking to that guy?”

  An icy sensation glides through my insides. “What guy?”