HATE: MADISON KATE #1

by James Tate

  I was on a roll now. The floodgates had been opened, and this wasn't going to be over until I got it all off my chest. So, fuck it. Why not go the whole way?

  "Or maybe this was justified payback for the fact that your brother stalked and murdered my mom?" I shoved him in the chest as I said that and must have caught him off guard because he stumbled back a step. But I wasn't done, yet. "Oh, but of course the Reapers have enough cops in their fucking pockets that he was let go after just three weeks in holding. Now my mom's murderer is running around free to do whatever the hell he wants, like, oh I don't know, stalk me."

  Tears stung my eyes now, and to give myself something to do other than burst out crying, I ripped my mask from my hair and threw it at Archer's chest.

  "So, yeah, Archer," I sneered, "you fucking deserved a bit of steroid powder in your protein shakes. Be thankful that's all it was."

  I stooped down and swiped the key for the G-Wagen where it'd dropped out of Kody's hand earlier. I didn't know what my plan was. I hated driving, but I couldn't stay there.

  "Madison Kate," Steele said, his voice shocked, "Zane didn't kill your mom."

  His words were like a slap in the face, and I reeled back.

  "Excuse me?" Of all of them, I hadn’t expected Steele to be the one defending that psychopathic murderer. "What the fuck would you know? I was there. I saw it."

  "Did you, though?" My attention swung around to Kody, and I glared at him. He looked pained, but continued anyway. "I'm just saying, you were wrong about me planting that key on you last Halloween. Isn't it possible you're wrong about this?"

  My jaw dropped, betrayals hitting me from every side. "I'm not wrong. I saw it. He beat her unconscious, then shot her in the head." My body trembled as my mind dredged up those painful, long-suppressed memories.

  "You were locked in the closet, Madison Kate," Archer said, his tone low and cold. "You didn't see."

  I shook my head, denying what they were saying as the dark memories crashed through my brain. Pain and terror clawed at my throat, as fresh as it had been that night exactly seven years ago. Yet another reason for me to hate this stupid holiday... it was the anniversary of my mother's murder. A fact I'd managed to steadfastly ignore every year since then.

  Until now.

  "I saw," I insisted, ignoring the dampness on my cheeks as my eyes streamed. I was past the point of holding back the tears anymore. "Through the slats of the closet door, I saw everything he fucking did to her. I heard every scream of pain and plea for mercy. I heard her bones breaking and—" My voice hitched with a sob, and I swallowed past the bitter pain.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I gathered my shattered emotions up and wrapped them around me like a poison-dipped blanket. "When the closet was opened again, it was your brother standing there looking down at me like I was a fucking complication."

  If I could have killed someone with the force of my glare, Archer D'Ath would be a smoking pile of ash. All my pain and anger and hate that had been building for years now transferred to this bastard.

  Yet he just looked back at me with something dangerously close to pity in his eyes.

  "Why do you think that makes him your stalker?" Kody asked, his tone low and calm. It was the same tone he'd used when Archer was throwing his temper tantrum.

  I cast a scornful look over at him. He'd taken Archer's side, they both had, and I was fucking done with trusting them. Done.

  "Because I'm not fucking stupid, Kodiak. My mom was being stalked, too. That day she thought someone was following us, and..." I trailed off as the memories assaulted me, becoming confused as they mixed with the haze of time and the warped way an eleven-year-old's mind processed what had happened. "We were in a car crash. Both of us were knocked out, and when we woke up, taped to the steering wheel was a Polaroid of my mom, unconscious, taken probably only a minute before." I swallowed heavily, lost to the memory. I'd been so scared, my head bleeding and my wrist aching with blinding pain where it'd snapped. Mom had been terrified, too; I could tell by the way her voice had shaken as she’d called an ambulance for me. "She refused to go to the hospital with me, and no one could get ahold of my dad. Bree's mom ended up dropping me home hours later, but Mom was in a panic. She kept whispering that he was in the house. She shoved me in the closet and locked it from the outside. That's when..." I trailed off, swiping at my cheeks with my palms. "That's when Zane killed her."

  None of the three guys spoke, all just staring at me, but I refused to meet their eyes. I wasn't done.

  "A year later, I visited her grave and someone had left a doll." I spat the word out like it burned my tongue. "A replica of how my mom died, covered in bruises, wrists bound, and a bullet hole through the side of her head." I flicked my gaze up to Archer's face. "So yeah, I'm pretty confident your fucked-up brother is the one stalking me now."

  "Madison Kate," he said, his voice rough and low. "Zane didn't kill your mother."

  I curled my lip, ready to snarl back at him, but Steele spoke first.

  "He's right. Zane didn't do that. He couldn't. Madison Kate, your mom was having an affair with Zane. She was—"

  "No," I barked. "No. No way. Are you shitting me right now? This isn't a fucking telenovela. My mom wasn't sleeping with a gang member ten years younger than her."

  Steele blew out a breath, scrubbing his hands over his face and looking helplessly at Archer.

  The big guy just tightened his jaw and folded his arms. He was still pissed. Maybe even more now that I'd accused his brother of stalking and murder. "It's true," he said, biting the words off.

  I shook my head, not wanting to believe them on this. It was too insane, like the script of a daytime soap opera. Or a slasher flick. But now that they'd said it, more and more long-forgotten memories crept into my brain. Memories of Zane visiting our house while my father had been away on work trips. Of my mom laughing at something he said while touching his arm. Of her dancing around the house like she was deliriously happy... but only when my father wasn't around.

  "That doesn't mean he didn't kill her," I finally said, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw hurt. "She probably broke it off, and he killed her out of rage. It's typical domestic-abuse escalation."

  Kody snorted a bitter laugh, and I shot him a furious glare. "Sorry, babe. If anyone was abusing your mom, I'd look a hell of a lot closer to home. Zane fucking loved Deb."

  It jolted me to hear them use my mom's first name, but they were a few years older than me. If she really had been having an affair with Zane, they might have spent some time with her.

  "Look, Madison Kate," Steele said, his voice coaxing like he was trying to harness a wild horse, "think about it logically. Don't rely on the memories of a messed-up, scared eleven-year-old. Analyze it with detachment. You'd been in a car accident, one that hurt you enough that you'd been knocked unconscious. That's a head injury, babe. You probably had other injuries too?" He paused, and I gave a jerking nod as I thought of my broken wrist. "So they would have given you painkillers at the hospital. When you got home, it would have been late. Your mom was freaked out, and that would have freaked you out. She shoved you in a closet and locked you in." He was listing these things, and I could sense he was coming around to a point. I wanted to shut him up. I wanted to stop him from getting to that point, because if he did...

  "It was late at night, too, right? And the lights were off?" He didn't need my response; he clearly already knew this much. "Did you actually see his face? The man who murdered Deb?"

  I couldn't speak to answer him. Cold horror washed over me in waves, and my stomach rolled with bile. Could he be right? Had there been someone else in the house that night?

  "You were in that closet for hours, MK," Kody told me softly. "We've all seen the police reports. The time of death was some six hours before Zane found you there."

  I shook my head over and over, refusing to hear what they were saying. Because if what they were saying was true... if Zane wasn't the one who murdered my mom... t
hen her killer was still out there.

  He was still out there and stalking me, and I had no clue who it might be.

  "You don't believe any of this, do you?" Archer scoffed at me, his eyes hard and cruel again. "Well, maybe this will help you gain some clarity, Princess Danvers." He sneered that nickname at me with something that smacked of hatred himself. "Deb was pregnant. That car crash you were in? She was running away. She'd just gotten the DNA results proving it was Zane's baby, and she was scared."

  That was the last straw.

  I laughed. It was a cold, bitter sound, but it helped me draw up my defenses again.

  "You almost had me," I told them, frigid fury dripping from my words. "You fucking almost had me." I shook my head and stalked back to the G-Wagen. Fuck this shit, I could push past my dislike of driving if it meant getting me the hell out of there.

  I yanked open the driver’s-side door before turning my derisive sneer back on the guys. "My mom wasn't pregnant. She couldn't get pregnant; she had her tubes tied right after I was born."

  "Madison Kate," Archer snapped, taking a few steps toward me, "what are you doing?"

  I slid into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, so instead of replying, I just flipped him off through the windshield and turned the engine on.

  Archer rushed to the driver’s door and tried to yank it open again, but I'd already hit the automatic locks.

  Steele was closest to the other side—the one with a shattered window—but I gunned the accelerator before he could reach in and unlock the door.

  Fuck this.

  Fuck all of this.

  They'd tried to gaslight me, and they'd almost succeeded.

  Tears clouded my vision, and I frantically scrubbed them away so I could see the road. My whole body was tense, and I nervously buckled my seat belt while clutching the steering wheel for dear life. I knew how to drive; I'd forced myself to get my license so that I'd always have the option should I want to drive. But fucking hell, I was not experienced, and in my current emotional state...

  Something flashed in the trees, and I flinched, jerking the wheel, then narrowly managed to straighten out before I crashed into a ditch.

  "Slow down, MK," I whispered to myself. "Just slow down. Slow the fuck down."

  But as many times as I told myself to slow down, I couldn't force my foot to ease up on the accelerator.

  Memories and flashes of images kept assaulting me, making me flinch and jump. It was like Pandora's Box had been unlocked, and the repressed memories wouldn't go away until they'd all been seen.

  Flashes of my mother, happier than I'd ever seen her, and a pair of heavily tattooed arms around her waist, his inked hands resting on her belly as I spied on them through the half-open door of her bedroom.

  But then darker images, too. Her leaving me in the car for ages while parked outside a shady bar in West Shadow Grove. Me sneaking around, peeking through the dirty windows, and witnessing a skinny, ink-covered gangbanger on his knees, a gun to his head.

  A blue-eyed boy, older than me, yanking me away from the window and yelling at me to get out of there.

  Tears clouded my vision again, and my chest ached as I sobbed.

  Headlights lit up my car, and fear flooded through me. I was speeding, and the car behind was rapidly gaining on me.

  Could it be the guys? Maybe. I could imagine one of them probably had the necessary skills for hot-wiring a car, and there had been plenty to choose from parked outside the warehouse.

  Except the car following me had its high beams on, momentarily blinding me when I tried to look in the mirror. The heavy revving of an engine, audible thanks to the smashed-out passenger window of the G-Wagen, was the only warning I got before the car behind me hit my bumper.

  I screamed as my vehicle lurched forward, knowing I was about to lose control. I clung to the steering wheel, fighting to stay on the road as my back end started to fishtail. Another ram from the other car sealed the deal.

  The wheel wrenched out of my stiff fingers as my wheels caught on the rough surface of the shoulder, then the car hurtled out of control into the ditch.

  A deafening bang sounded, and my whole world went black.

  37

  Sound came back to me first. A high-pitched ringing in my ears that made me dizzy and disoriented. I blinked my eyes a couple of times, clearing them of white powder.

  What had happened? All I could remember was a loud bang and then... nothing.

  "Shit," I groaned, touching a hand to my nose. Blood trickled from my nose and the bridge ached, but amazingly, it didn't seem broken. Pretty lucky, considering how many airbags had gone off inside the G-Wagen when I collided with the huge ass tree directly in my line of vision.

  The whole front end of the car was crushed, and if I'd been in a smaller car, I would be dead for sure. As it was, the worst of my injuries had come from the airbags deploying and the seat belt cutting into my chest and waist.

  It took four or five solid shoves with my shoulder to open my door, thanks to the buckled metal, but when it finally popped free, I tumbled out into the dirt with a cry of relief.

  My ears still rang with a high-pitched whine, and my balance was all over the place. Those were lessening by the minute, so I didn't think I'd ruptured an eardrum. Hopefully. There was blood on my neck and ear, but that could have come from the gash at my hairline.

  Pushing my sticky, bloody hair back from my face, I sucked in a few breaths and looked around. The car that had pushed me from the road was nowhere to be seen, and the woods I'd crashed into were dead silent. Of course.

  I needed to call for help. I needed...

  Fuck.

  I wanted to call the guys. But I couldn't. Not after how I'd just left things with them. Not after the bullshit they'd just tried to spin with me.

  Besides, I didn't have my phone. It had been in the pocket of my jacket, which was probably still under the speaker at the warehouse party.

  "Fucking hell, MK," I muttered to myself, watching my breath fog in the cool night air.

  Wobbling and stumbling, I made my way back up to the road. I still had my high heels on, but I'd keep them on as long as I could so I didn't tear my feet up on rocks or gravel. The road looked quiet, and I had no idea how long it might be before someone came along. Hell, I wasn't even sure where I was. I hadn't paid attention when I left the warehouse, and now I was paying the price for my own stupid decisions.

  One thing was for sure—I couldn't stay there. What if the person who ran me off the road came to finish the job?

  Decided, I hurried along the road. Maybe if I got my blood pumping, it'd help me keep warm. Then again, it would also make my head wound bleed harder. Such choices. Die of hypothermia or die of blood loss.

  Around the next corner I spotted lights through the trees. I needed to get off the road because walking along the road was just as bad as staying with my car if someone wanted me dead, so I made a quick decision. I'd head for those lights and pray to all the celestial beings it was a diner or police station or something equally useful.

  For the next few minutes, I carefully picked my way through the thick undergrowth, heading for the bright lights ahead. The closer I got, though, the deeper my unease grew. When I finally emerged from the tree line, I just stood there for a long time, hardly comprehending what I was seeing.

  It was the Laughing Clown. I was at the goddamn, fucking Laughing Clown. Except instead of the dark, abandoned park we'd seen after Bree's party—when we'd left Skunk beaten and bloody under the clown face—it was fully lit up.

  Everything was still shitty and run down, debris and weeds everywhere, but someone had reconnected the electricity and the enormous clown mouth was fully lit up and flashing. Creepy music tinkled from ancient speakers on tall poles, and a deep shudder ran through me.

  I'd just walked straight into a trap, tailor-made for me. There was no doubt in my mind.

  "Fuck no," I told the huge clown face over the entrance. "No way in hell
."

  I turned to retrace my steps, but a dark figure silhouetted on the ridge I'd just come down made me freeze. Terror flooded through me, triggering my fight-or-flight reflex. I was no idiot; I fucking ran.

  Choosing the lesser of two evils, I kicked off my heels and sprinted barefoot under the psychotic laughing clown face and into the dark park. There had to be hundreds of places to hide within the park itself. Places that didn't involve getting lost in the stupid, fucking fun house again.

  Note to self. Don't run into the damn fun house again, MK.

  I was so focused on not being an idiot I did what every slasher flick heroine ought to be slapped for. I looked behind me.

  There, in the middle of the clown mouth, backlit by the newly fixed entryway lights, was the same broad, shadowy figure from the trees.

  It was surreal in a completely terrifying way. I wasn't sticking around to appreciate the drama of the whole setup, even though this prick had clearly put a lot of effort in. Instead, I bolted for cover, ducked behind a line of sideshow booths, then crouched down to hide my progress as I wove through busted-up old rides until I ducked behind the operation booth for the old Tilt-A-Whirl. If I could wait him out... if I could stay hidden and silent until he passed me by, I could run back to the entrance and...

  And then what?

  I had no car, no phone, no shoes. I was still bleeding from my head, and I was so cold my teeth had started chattering. I clenched my jaw to prevent the noise, but needed to keep a hand in front of my face to stop the puffs of fog from my breath from giving away my location.

  A slow scrape of boots on concrete reached my ears, and I tucked into a tighter ball, huddling out of sight and desperately praying he passed by. The footsteps drew closer, slow and unhurried, like he was supremely confident I wouldn't get away.

  Was that classic bad guy arrogance? Or had he thought ahead and blocked the exits? Fuck, I hoped it was the former.

  His steps slowed, then seemed to stop directly beside my hiding place. My heart thudded so hard I worried I might have a heart attack. But a moment later, the steps started again—slow but steadily moving away from the Tilt-A-Whirl and me.