by Smoke , Lucy
"Clouds have just as much power as the sun," she used to say. I always thought it was weird. Her little beliefs and quirks. I thought she was weird. Still do.
I shake my head as tears start to prick at my eyes. I don't know why I'm thinking about her in the past tense. It's not like she's dead. She's just gone. And she left two stupid words as her goodbye. I'm sorry … like a fucking bitch.
I crumble the note in my hand and stomp out of the house and down the porch steps, not caring about the rumble of thunder overhead or the rain quickly soaking into my clothes and hair. I drop the note on the ground, and immediately, it's drenched in the water that's already started to collect in puddles. Those two words grow gray and blurry as the paper disintegrates, but my eyes can't leave them. It's like they're mocking me. It's like she's mocking me.
Well, fuck her, I think. I don't need her. I never did.
I take off again back down the gravel road, and I never glance back. Instead, I turn my face up, letting the rain wash away the tears—masking them as they continue slipping down the sides of my face.
40
Avalon
My phone rings, jerking me out of the old memory, and without looking at the screen, I answer it. “Dean, I told you I’m—”
“Avalon?”
I draw up short at the familiar voice that is most definitely not Dean. “Corina?”
“Hey, yeah, um … sorry, not Dean.”
“It’s fine, what, uh…” I shove a hand through my hair and drag it out. “What’s up?”
“Where are you at right now?” she asks.
“On campus,” I say. “Why?”
“In front of Havers?”
My head pops up, and I glance around. “Yeah, how do you—”
“I’m right across the parking lot!” she says excitedly. “I thought that was you.”
I stop scanning when I spot her on the far side of the lot with her hand pressed to her ear and the other up and waving. “It’s late,” I say with a frown. “What are you doing out here? Don’t you live off campus?”
“Yeah, I came because—oh, Jesus, do we really have to talk on the phone when you’re right there, come over here. I’d come to you, but I wore new heels today. The backs of my feet are totally blistered, and I had to take them off and—”
“Yeah, yeah, fine,” I huff out a breath, cutting her off. I glance up at the yellow light in Rylie’s room. “But I can’t stay long. I need to be somewhere.”
“That’s fine,” she pipes up. “I just want to tell you what I found out about Kate.”
“About Kate?” I frown and then sigh. “Fine. I’ll be right there.” No doubt she’s going to tell me about Luc and Kate’s break up, but I continue towards her anyway, curious to know if there’s more. I don’t need Kate trying to come back to stab me in the back—I doubt she will, considering our last encounter, but who the fuck knows now? I never expected my own mother to sell me to her drug dealer, much less for Roger to ever get as far as he did. Not that it matters for him now.
Even as I make it to Corina, stuffing my phone back into my pocket, I glance around the parking lot. There’s no one else around but the two of us. "What do you want to tell me about Kate?" I ask.
She smiles at me. "I heard that Luc broke up with her," she says quickly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "He kicked her out, and she's back with her parents. I also found out why she really got engaged to him. She's—"
"Poor," I supply. Of course. Why did I expect her to have new information? I shake my head. "Yeah," I say. "I know. Luc told me."
Corina's smile dims, and she frowns. "He told you?" She tilts her head to the side. "You two talk?"
"It's complicated," I say. There's no way I'm telling her the issues between the Sick Boys and Luc and the break in at the Kincaid mansion. I feel a tingle along my spine, and I turn my head, scanning the parking lot again. Something doesn’t feel right. "Don't worry about it,” I continue absently, taking a step back. I should go inside, I think. I need to get back to Rylie. “Listen, if that's all, I gotta—"
"Wait!" Corina snaps out a hand and grabs my wrist as I'm about to turn to leave. I stiffen and look back, arching a brow. Usually, that's enough to get her to let go, but this time she doesn't. "Are you and Luc..." Her voice trails off as if she doesn't want to speak the question aloud. Her eyes remain fixated on my face.
I reach down and pry her hands from around my wrist. "Luc and I are nothing," I say, eying her. "But that's none of your business anymore. Our business is concluded. We're done."
"Done?" she repeats, sounding hollow as her arms fall back to her sides.
My brows lower. She's acting weird. I need to get back to Rylie. "Yeah," I say, taking a step back. "We're even. Thank you for getting Kate to your party, but that's it. We're not friends, Corina." Her lips part, and for a long moment, she just stands there, staring at me. "Okay," I say. "Well, I gotta go. It was—" The sound of screeching tires cuts into my goodbye, and I flip around as a white van careens into the parking lot. "What the fuck?"
The van shrieks to a halt right alongside Corina and me, and I jerk back when the side door is flung open, and two masked men step out. "Grab them!" the driver orders.
The first reaches for me, and without even stopping to think, I rear back and punch him in his face. The contact is muffled by the ski-mask covering his features, but his head snaps back when my fist makes contact. I turn to run, noting that Corina is just standing there, her eyes wide—blinking at them in utter shock.
"Fucking run!" I scream at her. She just stands there like a deer caught in the headlights of a car speeding right at her. Two sets of arms reach for me and wrap around my biceps, yanking me back towards the van.
My elbow goes flying back into one guy’s solar plexus, and I'm rewarded with a low grunt as it makes contact. The other locks his arm around my head, squeezing against my throat as I buck and fight. All the while, Corina stares, dumbstruck.
What the fuck is she doing?!
I bend over as the guy behind me tightens his arm around my neck, squeezing until there's no more airflow. I choke and scratch at his arms, slamming my elbow back into his abdomen once, twice, three times, but it seems no matter what I do, he's not letting go. He's fucking locked on, and I can't … breathe.
"Both of them!" The driver yells, and that seems to knock Corina out of it. She stumbles back and cries out as she trips over her own feet and falls to the ground. The second guy groans as he rounds me and his friend and lifts her up. My eyes bulge when I see him slip a needle out of his pocket. It plunges into her neck, and she slumps over.
Fuckfuckfuck. No. I'm not letting this happen again. I'm not going to let them drug me and drag me off to only fuck knows where. My struggles increase, but even as I stomp on the guy's foot and try to kick back and nail him in the groin, all he does is continue to hold my head in the same lock. I try twisting my body and stop when I feel my neck strain. I'm gonna break my own fucking neck if I try.
"Stop!" I manage to wheeze out as dark spots flicker in front of my eyes. The second guy picks up Corina's slack body and lifts her over his shoulder. I shove back against the male chest at my back until the guy behind me slams into the side of the white van. He grunts, his hold loosening ever so slightly so that I can gasp for air.
"I could use some fucking help over here!" he growls as his buddy dumps Corina into the back of the van. "Get the drugs."
My head snaps back, and I feel his nose crunch under the back of my skull, and suddenly, I'm free. I lurch forward, and with my throat finally open, I suck in lungfuls of oxygen. One foot slides across the pavement, and a hand wraps around my wrist, swinging me around as I'm about to take off. My front slaps the side door of the van, and a heavy weight presses me against the cold metal.
"Fucking bitch," he grits. "Broke my fucking nose. Stick her."
"Got it."
Tears prick at my eyes as a needle presses against my neck and slides in. The plunger goes down, and the bu
rn of whatever fucking medicine they're doping me with hits my system. Within seconds, my limbs lose their mobility. Even as my body slumps between the van and the man holding me down, my fingers skim down the metal, trying to find traction. My head turns, and I spot a familiar man—the same man that had passed me earlier on the sidewalk, watching on in the shadows. Through blurred vision, I see him move across the parking lot towards the van.
A good Samaritan? I think. No, I realize a second later as he rounds the three of us—me still struggling in vain as I’m manhandled towards the van’s opening. Good Samaritans don’t fucking exist.
"Finally," the first man says as he turns and tosses me at his second. The second drops his needle and catches me before I fall. Over the second man’s shoulder, I watch as the driver leans out of the passenger side—stretching as he hands the strange man who’d been watching me an envelope. This is so much more fucked up than I thought. This isn’t just a fucking jump, this is a goddamn kidnapping.
“Good job,” the driver says. “Keep your phone on in case we need anything else.”
The gray-haired man nods once, taking the envelope and stuffing it into his coat before glancing my way. I bare my teeth at him as I fight to grip onto the clothes of the man holding me up and use my hold to head butt him. My fingers can’t seem to find any holds, though, their grip too loose.
My lashes flutter, and hands grip under my legs, lifting and thrusting me into the back of the van. I slump against Corina's prone body, and with the last of my strength, I push up to my elbows and jerk my leg up, slamming the sole of my boot into the second guy's stomach, sending him flying out of the van.
The first guy—the one I'd punched—steps into the opening before I can try to force my deadened limbs to move any further. He whips his mask off and tosses it into the back of the van before cracking his knuckles. I'm pleased to see that I did, in fact, give him a bloody nose. If it's not broken, it's certainly not gonna look pretty anymore.
Cold eyes settle on me as he steps up and grins down at me. "I'm gonna fucking enjoy this," he says right before he pulls his fist back and punches me in the face. My head snaps back, and I feel cartilage break as blood pours from my own nostrils.
The darker creeping edges of my vision take over, and I fall backwards—into the van, and into fucking blacked out oblivion.
41
Dean
"Where else would she go for information?" Abel points out as we pull up in front of Havers. "She's gotta be here."
She better be, I think. My bones are practically vibrating with need. There's a wave of energy sliding beneath my skin. Violent. Angry. Hungry. I used to wonder what I wanted more—to kill Avalon Manning or fuck her. Now that I've had her in my arms. Had her under me, soft and willing and so fucking insane she makes me crave her brand of craziness with each breath I take, I know the answer.
I'll fuck her and only her for the rest of my life if she lets me.
Yet, every once in a while, when she drives me to the brink, I imagine my hands wrapped around her throat as I fuck her in her gorgeous ass. A punishment. A reward. Hell, everything I do to her feels like it's too much and not enough. She's the type of bitch who'd smile even if I ripped her open and dove into her insides. But she's pushed me too far this time.
"You're right," Brax comments, pointing across the lot as Abel parks a few spaces down. "There's the car." Unfortunately, there's no sign of the driver—no sign of Avalon.
My phone starts to ring right as we get out. I glance at the screen and scowl. Of course, she waits until we're here to call. I press the green button and put the phone to my ear. "You better have a good fucking reason to wait so fucking long to tell me she's with you," I growl.
"She's not," Rylie's voice on the other end of the line overlaps with her real one, and I realize that the door behind me—the front door to the dorm is opening. I turn just as Rylie spots me and the others. Her brow creases.
I hang up and storm towards her. "Where is she?" I command.
Rylie's eyes widen, and she puts her hand up. I grab the phone hanging loosely in her grip and toss it. It lands on the pavement, skittering several feet away, and stand over her, my fists clenched at my sides. Something wicked curdles in my gut. I have a bad fucking feeling.
"She's not here," Rylie says quickly. "I mean, she was here, but ... she stepped outside to get some air. I think she was going to call you—I just called you because I found something for her, and I figured she'd call you as soon as she knew." Abel moves alongside me and glares at the girl. She sidles to the side, furthest away from him, her eyes darting to his face before rising to meet mine. "I swear to you, Dean, I don't know where she is. She was up in my room twenty minutes ago, but she..." Rylie's head turns, and she scans the lot. "Where is she...?"
"What did you find?" Abel asks, pressing forward.
The girl stiffens and shoots him a glare. "I'm not telling you before I tell her," she says. Brave words for a girl who will soon be staring at the wrong end of a bullet if she doesn't fucking realize who the fuck she's talking to.
"Oh, you're going to fucking tell us," I say, stepping close, and when she moves to back away, I grab her throat and squeeze. Her eyes widen, and the familiar hint of fear that I usually only see on men's faces when they're in my grasp skitters across her features. "I don't like hurting women," I tell her, "but you were the last one to see her, Rylie. So, you're going to tell us what you found, and then you're going to help us find her." I can feel Abel's eyes on my face as Rylie reaches up and clutches my forearm. I press down on either side of her throat with meaning, arching a brow.
She swallows reflexively, her throat moving against my palm as her eyes flit from Abel back to me. "She asked me to look up her mom's activities for the last few months," she starts. "She didn't know what she was looking for, but she said she suspected that her mom had something to do with what happened to her in Plexton."
My grip tightens. "You know about that?" I demand.
"She told me," Rylie squeaks out, flinching as her nails sink into my arm. I don't even feel them. Her gaze hardens for a moment, and when she glares up at me—her small frame barely anything compared to me—for a brief moment, she looks just as fierce as my Avalon. "I know what she went through, Dean," she tells me. "I know what she did."
It's a risk on her part—telling me she knows one of our secrets. Because whether or not she realizes it or not, if she means what I think she means, then she knows that Avalon didn't just kill her rapist but that we helped bury him.
"Are you trying to say you're on our side?" Abel's disgust is evident, but I don't give a fuck. If Rylie wanted to hurt us, she could've done so months ago. She's been on our payroll at least that long.
She scowls at him, and her hands drop away from mine. "No, dumbass," she snaps. "I'm saying I'm going to help you because I'm on her side."
His eyes widen, and his brows shoot up. Even so, I release my hold, and she coughs when I do, reaching up and smoothing her palm over her freed throat. "What did you find?" I repeat my earlier question.
"Her mom was paid a hefty sum by an unknown account—something foreign, but it's a lot of money."
"When Avalon was raped?" There's no use fucking prevaricating now.
Rylie turns her head. "No," she says. "She's been getting regular funds for years." Her arms cross over her chest, and she glances behind us, frowning even as she continues speaking. "Enough that she didn't have to live in the gutter. Hundreds of thousands of dollars—collected each month over the last nineteen years."
As long as Avalon has been alive, I realize. Who the fuck was paying her? What the fuck was going on?
"Dean, you need to come look at this." Braxton's voice, sharp and dangerous, catches my attention, and I lift my head. The three of us turn towards him.
Across the parking lot, Braxton is squatting on his haunches, hands holding up something from the ground. A needle. No one at Eastpoint does fucking drugs in the parking lot of a dorm—not ev
en the program dorm. We don't allow that shit. I leave Abel and Rylie, and my stride eats up the distance to Braxton.
"What—" I pause when I catch a glimpse of the heels overturned on the side of the pavement, one looking flat and squished as if a car had run over it. That's not the odd thing. The odd thing is how fucking new they look. My chest is on fire. What does this mean?
Two sets of footsteps slowly approach from behind. "What did you find?" Abel asks as he and Rylie stop on Braxton's other side.
"Those shoes..." All eyes flit to Rylie and then back to the heels on the ground.
"You know who they belong to?" Braxton's voice rumbles as he stretches to his full height, staring down at her.
"They're Corina's," Rylie answers. "I saw her on campus earlier. She was wearing those."
"What the fuck would Corina's shoes be doing in the middle of the parking lot?" Abel blurts.
For the first time in a long time, fear rises in my throat. "Avalon," I hear myself say her name. "Something's happened to Avalon." My limbs tremble with the urge to hit something. She's gone, and someone's taken her. I jerk my phone out of my pocket, take two steps forward, and shove it into Rylie's hands. "Put out a reward for anyone who has any information on Avalon," I order her. "I want her found. Do you understand me, Rylie?" I lean down and glare into her wide eyes. "No one fucking sleeps until we find her."
With that, I turn and take off back towards the Mustang, hearing the sounds of Abel and Braxton's footsteps following me. I get to the passenger side door, but instead of opening it, I find my hand pressing flat against the red paint. My gaze meets itself in the mirrored image of the dark window, ignoring the two reflections of Braxton and Abel on either side of me. My jaw is clenched. My brow is tight. My face looks pale and sallow and ... scared. I look fucking terrified out of my fucking mind.
"We'll find her," Abel says quietly, settling a palm on my shoulder.
