I power the engine off and walk the last two hundred meters to the abandoned warehouse Xavier uses as his offsite base. I stand at the paint-chipped corrugated-iron double doors, sticking my tongue out at the overhead camera, chuckling as the doors open and I steer my bike inside.
After depositing my bike and helmet, I walk toward the back of the structure, where I know Xavier is waiting.
“Welcome, partner in crime,” he jokes, as he always does when I step into the sealed room. The door automatically locks behind me with a subtle click. You’d never guess this place exists from the dilapidated exterior, but Xavier has spared no expense fitting out his high-tech lair. “Take a pew,” he says without looking at me as his fingers fly across the keypad.
“I like the hair,” I say, surveying the spiked blue peaks sprouting from the top of his head. Xavier is a chameleon, and he likes to experiment with his style.
He lifts his head, grinning and showcasing a new piercing in his left brow. “I like the tatas,” he quips, and I scowl as my eyes dart to the frozen image on the screen—the one of me standing topless in my bedroom.
“Please get rid of that.”
“Your wish is my command.” He stabs a couple of buttons on his keypad, and the screen dies. “I’ve removed every trace,” he voluntarily adds. “And if anyone tries to upload it again, I’ll receive notification, and the workflow I’ve just embedded will delete the source file and infect the originator’s system with the latest Trojan virus.” He leans back, wiggling his brows. “You’re welcome.”
“Thank you. And how did you even know?” I was planning on asking him to do just this, but he beat me to it. Not that I’m hugely surprised. He’s not one of this country’s best hackers for no reason.
“You mentioned a hidden camera, and it didn’t take much to put it together.”
“Did you trace the source?”
He shakes his head. “Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They used some sap’s email account to cover their tracks, and they triangulated it on a continual loop from there. I could follow the trail, but it’ll lead nowhere.”
“It was Sawyer Hunt or someone from his father’s company.” I don’t need proof to know that.
He nods slowly, swiveling in his chair. “Why do these dudes have you in their sights?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that.”
He pushes the sleeves of his black hoodie up to his elbows, showing off the impressive ink covering both arms. “I haven’t found anything you can use yet. You need to give me more time.”
“I don’t have time. The bastards are blackmailing me.”
“With what?” His tongue flicks against his lip ring as he arches a brow.
“I can’t say.” No one in my circle knows what happened with Camden Marshall, and I want to keep it that way. In recent days, I’ve thought of confiding in Xavier, but I don’t fully trust him even if he appears to be on my side. But a niggling doubt suggests if I can buy his loyalty with cash then so can anyone else.
My statement displeases him.
His eyes harden, and his lips thin. “I would if I could,” I add, deliberately softening my tone and gripping his arm.
“It’s a fucked-up world when you trust no one,” he quietly says, pulling up a file on the screen.
“It is,” I agree, leaning forward. “What’s that?”
“Some shit I dug up on the Marshalls, but you were right. They have a tight control on this stuff, and it wasn’t easy compiling the little I discovered.”
“Let’s hear it.” I remove my jacket, hanging it on the back of my chair, glaring at Xavier when I find his gaze fixed on my chest. “Seriously? You’re not even into boobs.”
“I could be into yours. They’re perfect handfuls, and they looked nice.”
“Eh, thanks?” I say before shaking my head. “This is weird. Forget about my tits, and tell me what you found.”
“So, we know Camden’s father is Wesley Marshall, CEO of Femerst and a notorious recluse who barely ventures out of his office or his estate in Alabama. He married his childhood sweetheart, and they had one child, Camden Everett Marshall. Camden was homeschooled until two years ago when his parents enrolled him in West Lorian Academy in New York where he met Sawyer Hunt and Jackson Lauder. The media had a field day as Camden hadn’t been seen in public since he was a little kid. The trio quickly made a name for themselves as the playboys of the academy and frequently hung out with other wealthy brats in New York. Gossip sites and private blogs are awash with recounts of their escapades, but there is no physical evidence. No photos. No eyewitness accounts.”
He taps another button on his keypad and the screen changes. “The cops arrested Lauder for illegal street racing this one time, and the media jumped all over it.” I press my nose up closer to the screen, spotting the flirty, smug grin on Jackson’s face as he’s led into the police station with his hands cuffed behind his back.
“I found that in an old archived file on one of the media corporations servers,” he continues, “but within twenty-four hours of the story initially breaking, all reports had disappeared, all charges were dropped, and restraining orders were issued to all media outlets to restrict them from reporting anything connected to the incident.”
“They have a lot of power,” I muse, instinctively knowing them showing up here is some play for ultimate control. My father is planning complete world domination, and if the new elite is preparing to challenge him for control, it could explain why the kids of some of the most powerful men in America today have suddenly materialized in Rydeville. The more I think about the conversation I overheard in my father’s study, the more I’m convinced they were talking about Jackson, Sawyer, and Camden.
“Not as much as your father and his associates,” Xavier supplies. “But they’re snapping at their heels.”
“Anything else?” I ask, checking my watch. It’s late, and I have to drive back.
“I found one tidbit that’s interesting.” He prints off an old black-and-white photo and hands it to me. “I found this on a local historical society site by pure coincidence. Recognize anyone?”
I squint at the blurry photo, my eyes popping wide. “That’s my father with Trent’s and Charlie’s fathers,” I confirm, pointing at the three boys at the end, attired in Rydeville High uniforms. They were young when it was taken, only fifteen or thereabouts if I had to guess. “Oh my God.” I clamp my hand over my mouth, and a boulder-sized lump wedges in my throat. “That’s my mom,” I whisper.
Xavier squeezes my shoulder. “Yes, and that’s Wesley Marshall standing beside her,” he says, pointing to a lanky guy with glasses. “That is Atticus Anderson,” he continues, prodding the photo with the tip of his finger. The guy who used to be one of my father’s closest friends has his hand resting on Mom’s shoulder, as he shares a grin with a girl in front.
“And that’s Emma Anderson,” I cut in, recognizing her instantly. She was my mother’s best friend, and a permanent fixture in our house growing up. Until they fell out when Drew and I were four or five. Emma died about six months before my mother did, and I’ll never forget her anguished cries as she sobbed herself to sleep night after night, pining for her lost friend.
“No.” Xavier’s eyes light up. “That’s Emma Marshall.”
My brows knit together. “What?”
“Emma Anderson was Emma Marshall before she married Atticus. Wesley Marshall was her brother. So that means—”
“Emma Anderson was Camden Marshall’s aunt.” Xavier bobs his head. “You think that has something to do with them showing up?”
Xavier shrugs. “You’re the detective. I’m just the paid lackey who digs up the dirt, but I’d follow every lead, and something tells me this is a juicy one.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m exhausted the next day at school, and I can’t stop yawning. “All your booty calls catching up to you?” Rochelle sneers from across the table as I’m forced to sit through another unbearable lu
nch with her planted on Camden’s lap.
“Someone has to keep your clients entertained now word’s gotten out about your loose vajayjay,” I retort, and Jane almost chokes on her soda.
“I think you two should slug it out in the ring,” Jackson quips, leaning into my side. “Or do naked mud wrestling. That’d be so hot.” His eyes glaze over. “Man, my dick’s already hard at the thought.”
I roll my eyes as he grabs my hand, pulling it to his crotch, pressing my palm flat against the bulge in his pants. I yank my hand back, hissing at him. “You’re vile.” And permanently horny, it would seem.
“Aw, is the little virgin scared of cock?” Camden sneers, eliciting a few snickers from the gathered audience.
“Maybe your whore can teach me a few tricks,” I bite back.
Rochelle is off Cam’s lap so fast it’s almost a superpower. Plates crash to the ground as she climbs across the table, yanks me up by my shirt, and head butts me. My chair falls backward, bringing me along for the ride, slamming noisily to the ground, as pain splinters up my spine, and the world tilts. Black spots flitter across my eyes as a heavy weight presses down on my upper torso. My head whips sideways as her cast collides with my cheek, sending shards of pain dancing across my skin and rattling my teeth.
Anger builds, like a tsunami, inside me, and even though my skull throbs and my vision is unclear, I will not lie here and be a punching bag. Acting on instinct, I swing my balled fist around, satisfied when it connects with her jaw. She screeches, and I swing again, wanting to pound her face to a bloody pulp, when the pressure on my chest lifts, and she’s pulled off me. “Babe, there’s no victory in winning if your opponent is virtually comatose,” Cam says, and I force my eyes open at the sound of his voice.
“I’m not comatose,” I snap, willing my blurry vision to correct itself.
He hands Rochelle off to Jackson while pinning dark eyes on me, his gaze traveling lower. “Nice panties, but the lacy red thong is my favorite.”
I flip him the bird, struggling to sit up unaided. Chad and Jane are being restrained by Sawyer and that asshole Wentworth, who has appeared from whatever hole I told him to climb in to and switched allegiances. I push my skirt down, cradling my throbbing head in my hands, as I struggle to my feet. No one is permitted through to help me, and I’m forced to grab onto Cam’s leg to pull myself upright. A teacher hovers on the outskirts of the crowd gathered around our table. “I’ll escort you to the nurse’s office,” he says, glancing warily at Camden.
“That won’t be necessary,” Cam says. “I’ll escort Ms. Manning.”
“No,” I grit out, trying to ignore the pain scuttling around my skull. “I don’t want to go with him.”
“You’re dismissed,” he says, eyeballing the teach, and I watch in horror as he walks away after a brief inner debate.
What the hell is going on around here? Why are people listening to them and blatantly flouting the rules?
Cam takes hold of my elbow, yanking me unceremoniously out of the room. People automatically move out of our way in the hallway, whispering and pointing as Cam drags me to the nurse’s office.
“Oh, my,” the soft-spoken gray-haired nurse says as we enter her room. “Whatever happened?” she asks, putting her book down.
“Bitch fight,” Cam explains, daring me to disagree. Considering I’m the only one in need of medical help, I’d call it more of an assault, but I’m not getting into it with him because he enjoys pushing my buttons.
She sends a disapproving look my way but says nothing, patting the bed and gesturing for me to climb up. “Tell him to leave,” I say, refusing to look at him.
“I’m going nowhere, sweetheart.”
The nurse looks between us, her features knotting in confusion. “You must leave,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction. “It’s against HIPPA rules.”
Cam smirks. “Does the school board know what you get up to in your spare time, Marilyn?” He arches a brow, and the nurse pales. “Didn’t think so.” He waves his hands about. “Continue.”
“Get. The. Fuck. Out,” I hiss, wincing as a fresh wave of pain attacks my skull. I don’t care what shit he has on the nurse. I just want him out of this room.
“She hit her head hard,” Cam says, ignoring me.
“Let me look, sweetie.” The nurse gently prods my skull and my forehead and takes my temp and blood pressure before announcing I could have a mild concussion and I should head home to rest up for the remainder of the day.
“Do you have any pain pills?” I ask, struggling to open my eyes under the harsh glare of the overhead lighting.
She hands me some Tylenol, and I swallow them with water before swinging my legs around and sliding off the cot. She’s already writing up a report as I exit the room, blatantly ignoring Cam when he follows me out.
“You’re going the wrong way,” he says.
“I think I know my way around the school.”
“The exit’s back there.”
I harrumph. “I’m well aware.” I pierce him with a scalding look. “I’m not leaving.”
“You could have a concussion.”
“I just have a bad headache, and why the fuck do you care?”
“I don’t, but I need you fully functional. At least for the time being.”
I slam to a halt, turning around to face him. “Why?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He crosses his arms around his chest, and I fight the urge to ogle the way his biceps bulge with the motion. It’s not like I’m remembering how it felt to run my hands over every inch of his taut, ripped body.
His smirk says he knows where my mind has gone, and I narrow my eyes, glaring at him. “Oh, I’ll find out. Trust me. I have ways and means.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and my heart speeds up as he dips his head, moving his face closer to mine. “How did you detect the camera so quickly? What other secrets are you hiding, Abby?”
“Haven’t you heard of Google?” I stare into his dark brown eyes, noticing tiny gold flecks for the first time and hating how much I want to drown in their hypnotic depths.
“You didn’t turn the shower on to disguise your internet searching.” His warm breath fans across my face, chasing tingles all over my skin. He presses his delectable mouth to my ear, and a shiver works its way through me. “We know you had help, and we’ll find out who.”
I step back, gloating as I flip him the bird. “Knock yourself out, douche. See if I care.”
Somehow, I survive the rest of the day, and I fall into the car after school ends, curling into a ball and craving my bed. Jane deflects Oscar’s ten million questions, coming back to my house and helping me to bed. She procures more pain pills from Mrs. Banks, gently rubs arnica cream into the swollen lump on my forehead and the smorgasbord of bruises spreading up my back, and informs Drew of what happened with Rochelle when he calls for his usual daily update.
I’m woken early the next morning by her soft snores, and I chuckle quietly to myself as I tiptoe out of the bed and into the bathroom. While my back throbs and the lump on my forehead is sore to the touch, my head is clear, and I’m grateful I don’t have a concussion.
Jane is awake, yawning and rubbing her eyes, when I emerge from the bathroom after my shower. “Thank you for looking after me last night.”
“You’re practically my sister,” she says, hopping up. “Where else would I be?”
I pull her into a hug. “I hope you know how much I love you,” I whisper. “How grateful I am to have you in my life. No matter what happens, never forget that.”
“Ditto, chica,” she says, hugging me back before holding me at arm’s length. “How are you feeling today?”
“Head’s fine. Back less so, but I’ll live. I’ll just pop another couple pills after breakfast, and I’ll be fine.”
“Lemme see.” I turn around, and she gasps. “That fucking bitch will pay for this.” She doesn’t realize that my back was already in bad shape thanks
to the crap with the guys in the theater the other day.
“I already broke her wrist, so I figure we’re even.” I shrug out of my towel, removing clean underwear out of my drawer and pulling it on. “Besides, Trent will go apeshit on her ass when he returns and finds out how cozy she’s been with the enemy.”
“She’s not the only one. What’s with that?”
“I don’t know, but I’m determined to find out.”
“Why are they sitting over there today?” I question Chad from our usual table in the cafeteria, staring at Cam, Jackson, and Sawyer as they sit at the head of the long table across from us. The empty seats beside them are rapidly filling up.
The fawning girls with googly eyes I understand to a point. Wentworth too, because I tossed him aside and he’s always been a sniveling idiot with little between his ears. And now that Sawyer is our new QB, the cheerleaders and jocks make sense. But the few deflections from the inner circle don’t, and I can’t fathom why everyone is so blatantly defying the rules for a bunch of newcomers.
“I heard they’re bribing people,” Jane says, licking Greek yogurt off the back of her spoon.
“With what?”
“They’re promising to break the code, end the elite’s rule over the school, and give everyone freedom to do and say as they please,” Chad interjects.
“Is everyone that unhappy?”
I know people resent obeying the code that’s been in place for centuries, and they hate bowing to the arrogance of the elite, but there’s no denying things run smoother in school with strict rules.
Fights rarely break out, and disruptions in class are minimal, because they aren’t tolerated.
Everyone loyally supports the football team and all extracurricular events, because if the elite tells you to be there, you go or face the consequences.
Parties are planned to perfection, and all the booze and drugs on offer have come from reliable sources and are the best quality.
Cruel Intentions Page 10
