Chapter 4
I clean up a little bit before I drive over to Maci’s, combing my hair and reapplying some eyeliner. Deep down, I know this might go over better if I dressed up in my old clothes, considering her address is located on the more lavish side of the city. The problem is, I gave my old clothes to the shelter. The lady in charge looked utterly confused when I handed over bags full of designer clothing, yet she gladly accepted the donations.
I guess I could run to the store and buy a new outfit. I’m not broke by any means, having received trust fund money from my grandma last year. I bought my electric house and a hover car with some of it and have been living off the rest while I work my way through school. Once I get my degree, I plan on attending design school so I can open my own clothing company. Or, at least I used to want to do that. Now I hardly think about my future. My past is too consuming.
Revenge.
Revenge.
Revenge.
The word is a chant in my mind as I head out the door, deciding to skip a trip to the store to avoid wasting time.
My heart is a nervous mess as I drive the short distance to Maci’s condo then make my way up the landscaped path toward her front door.
Sometimes I worry about it. My heart, I mean. That the stress will make it give out, yet it always keeps beating, seeming stronger than ever. I just wish the rest of me felt that way.
By the time I arrive at Maci’s door, the sun is lowering behind the mountains, the sky greying, the stars rising to shine in the night sky and reflecting brightly against the electric overcast. The air is a bit chilly for spring, making me shiver as I lift my hand and push the digital intercom
From inside my pocket, my handheld buzzes with a message, but I ignore it as the tinted glass doors glide open.
I try not to cringe at the sight of Maci. Long blonde hair, a pink sequin dress that I can easily recognize the designer, and glass heels to match. She’s practically the spitting image of me. Or, well, the old me. And the old me would definitely have a difficult time believing what I’m about to say.
Lovely. This is going to be a pain in the ass.
I at least have to try.
A pucker forms at Maci’s brow as she eyes me over. “Can I help you?”
I shift my weight. “Are you Maci?”
“Um, yeah …” She blinks at me, looking lost. “Who are you?”
“I’m Stella Anderbellinton,” I give her a fake name.
Recognition strikes her features. How, I have no idea since I didn’t even give her my real name. “I think I’ve seen you at the city club a couple times.”
I struggle not to make a face. I hate the city club. Always have. The sole reason of its existence is to give the rich and famous a place to hang out and throw parties where they don’t have to interact with the middle- and lower-class citizens. Before I turned eighteen, my parents would sometimes force me to go with them. I despised every second of it.
“Yeah, I think we have seen each other,” I lie with a fake smile.
She smiles back. “It’s a great place, right?”
My smile turns even more plastic. “Sure.”
Awkward silence stretches, so I decide to get right to the point.
“Look,” I start, “I know this is going to sound a little strange, but I overheard you might be going to a party with Travis Marilellie—”
“Oh, my God, please don’t tell me you’re, like, one of those girls obsessed with him.” She groans, her head bobbing back. “Seriously, this is getting ridiculous.”
“I’m not obsessed with him,” I protest with irritation. “Not even close.” No, I’m just obsessed with getting revenge on him.
“Yeah, right.” She rolls her eyes. “What exactly did you expect to happen when you came here? That you could just show up at my door and scare me into not going out with him?”
“That’s not even close to why I’m here.” Good hell, was I this stupid? “I came to warn you about him.”
Annoyance flickers in her eyes. “Of course you did.”
Anger simmers underneath my skin. “I’m not a stalker. I’m being serious. Travis is bad news, and so are his friends. And if you go to this party with him on Friday night, you might get hurt.”
“Hurt by him or you?” she challenges with an arch of her painted on brows.
“By him,” I grit through my teeth.
“Okay, well, thanks for the warning.” She moves to step into the house and the doors begin to glide shit.
I slam my palm against the doors, stopping them from closing. “You don’t believe me?”
“Why would I?” she sneers. “I’ve known Travis for a couple years, and I’ve known you for like what, a total of three minutes?”
“And during those years, you’ve never seen or heard anything that led you to believe him or one of his friends capable of harming or hurting someone?”
She hesitates for a heartbeat of an instant. “No, Travis is a good guy.” She straightens her stance, running her hands over her head to smooth her hair into place. “You need to leave before I call the squad. Or before Travis gets here and finds out what you’re up to.”
Fear freezes me in place. “Travis is coming here right now?”
She elevates her chin. “Yep. He’s taking me out tonight.”
“What about the party on Friday?” Did Travis change his plans?
“We’re going to that, too.” She rests an arm on the side of the door with an arrogant smile. “We’ve actually been on and off for quite a while, but we’ve been talking about becoming exclusive for months now, so back off, okay? He’s not even going to be available anymore.”
“So, were you on or off when he held his annual party?” My voice trembles.
“I was actually on vacation with my family.” She frowns confusedly. “Why?”
I swallow hard. “Let’s just say I heard a rumor that a couple girls were hurt at the party and that Travis and his friends were behind it … And I’ve heard it might not have been the first time they’ve done it.”
Please, please, just believe me. Because this isn’t only about getting revenge. It’s about making sure Maci doesn’t go through what I did.
Her face pales, and for the most relieved instant, I think she might believe me. Then her worry alters into anger.
“You need to leave,” she snaps. “Don’t ever talk to me again. And stop spreading lies about Travis.” She steps back and the doors glide shut.
“Fuck,” I grit out, my hands balled into fists. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”
Oxygen slowly starts to slip away from my lungs as the rope around my chest tightens and tightens and tightens. I stare at the door, contemplating if I should press the intercom again and demand she hear me out. Maybe I will even tell her how I know Travis and his friends hurt a girl that night.
“Don’t you dare fucking tell anyone about this,” he whispers in my ear. “You’ll regret it if you do.”
I scream through clenched teeth, causing an older woman across the street to stare at me in horror. Sucking in a breath, I then stomp down the stairs and back to my car parked across the street.
I’m about to duck in when a shiny, silver, very expensive hover car appears at the end of the street. Not too unordinary of a car for this neighborhood, but the frosted bell silver color definitely is.
On our date, I spent over an hour listening to Travis tell me about the custom paint job he ordered on his hover car.
“Frosted bell silver isn’t even a color normally used on hover cars.” He grins so proudly, as if he made the damn car himself. “They created the color just for me.”
I was bored to death while listening to the story, yet I faked interest because that’s what I did.
Fake.
Fake.
Fake.
I was plastic.
Travis is plastic.
His friends are plastic.
That fucker is going down.
I duck into the driver’
s seat of my car, shut the door, and line my palm to the scanner. Once the engine clicks on, I steer forward and park a ways up the street, hoping he doesn’t recognize my car. He’s never seen me near it, not that I know of.
After I turn off the headlights, I sit back and wait for Maci and him to walk out to his car, hoping she doesn’t tell him I stopped by. Thank God I gave her a fake name. Still, what if Travis puts two and two together? What if he saw and recognized my car?
Fuck, why do I have to be so afraid?
I wish I could just stop.
Wish I could just let this go.
Wish I could tell someone who will actually listen and believe me.
I wish that night never happened.
Chapter 5
I sit in my car for about an hour, watching the house before the two of them waltz out. They look like a stupidly adorable couple, laughing and smiling, his hand on the small of her back. He even opens the door for her, putting on a façade that he’s a real gentleman. And people believe him. Believe the illusion. I wonder why. Why do they believe so easily that he could be good, yet have such a hard time accepting that he hurt me? What makes him so much more believable than me? Or do people just believe him because it’s easier?
My mind is on overload by the time Travis pulls out onto the street. I wait a handful of seconds before reactivating my headlights and tailing him. This isn’t my first stakeout; I know to keep enough distance so he doesn’t catch on that he’s being followed.
Once they exit the neighborhood, he drives toward the far east side of the main section of the city. “The better section of the city,” as my mother loves to call it. Filled with fancy stores and flashy shops; glittery, overpriced restaurants; and bedazzled, towering skyscrapers that stretch tall and light up the night sky. An entire street is dedicated to exclusive clubs, which just so happens to be where Travis is heading. And not just any club, but The Silver Glass Box.
Of course.
The Silver Glass Box is a popular club that a lot of people my age talk about. The building is made up entirely of silver-tinted glass, hence the name, and reflects light at every angle, making it look as flashy as a disco ball. To get in, you have to have the right last name. I’ve never been, but I’m sure I can get in with the flash of my ID and resident code. That doesn’t mean I want to go in.
While I used to not be opposed to clubs, the idea of going into a crowded room with flashing, blinding lights and the stench of electric shots tainting the air makes me want to throw open my car door and puke all over the asphalt.
I park across the street in an unmarked lot and stay in my car, trying to figure out what to do. Walk away? Go inside and keep an eye on Maci? What does it matter if I keep an eye on her anyway? It’s not like I can stop them from attacking her. I learned that night that I’m not physically strong enough to take on a group of guys, at least while drugged.
As I watch Travis climb out of his car and usher Maci toward the building, I take a few hits of savor glimmer haze. When they reach the front of the line, Travis approaches the bouncer, a taller guy with dark hair, dressed in all black with silver cuffs around his wrists, walks up to him. He looks familiar, yet I can’t place his face.
I squint to get a better look at his eyes, but he’s either too far away or I’m too high at this point.
Blazed or not, uneasiness prickles inside me as Travis greets the familiar stranger then turns to the bouncer and exchanges a few words with him. Then the bouncer scans Travis’s resident number branded on his wrist before letting the three of them through. As they step forward, Travis motions for Maci to go in first.
Everything appears normal up until Maci steps inside and Travis lets the stranger go by him. As he passes Travis, the stranger leans in and says something. Travis nods, and then the stranger slips something small into Travis’s hand before strolling into the club.
I rub my lips together, questioning what the hell I just witnessed. A drug exchange? Wouldn’t be that surprising. What sort of drugs, though? Drugs for himself or …
The room is so blurry, so hazy, spinning and spinning and spinning. I can barely grasp reality anymore as I keep dancing back and forth between consciousness.
What is happening to me?
Why do I feel so drunk?
I only had one mixed drink that Travis gave me, and he said it barely had any alcohol in it.
Rage ripples through me.
I put the pipe away, grab my Taser, and climb out of the car before I can even process what I’m doing. Halfway across the street, though, my gaze drifts to the line in front of the club. All the women waiting to get inside are dressed up in sparkling dresses that I’m sure had pretty little price tags on them. I glance down at my jeans, boots, T-shirt, and leather jacket getup.
“Shit.” I flip a bitch and hurry to the nearest clothing store.
Before that night happened, I used to spend hours putting together the perfect outfit. I loved shopping. Loved searching through the selections of dresses and shoes. Loved the final outcome of being able to look in the mirror and admire my handiwork. Now I spend a whole whopping two minutes logged into the store’s system, selecting a black dress and a pair of glass heels with straps and diamonds on them. Once I’ve made my selection, I toss the saleswoman, a burly looking cyborg with a neon green bob, my scan card to pay for the purchase and start toward the back doors that lead to the changing rooms where my outfit should be ready to put on.
But she doesn’t allow me through the doors.
“I’m going to need to ring up your items first and make sure the card goes through before I can let you into the changing rooms,” she tells me in a robotic tone.
Guess not wearing flashy clothes makes me appear untrustworthy, even to a cyborg. “Fine, go ahead.” I motion for her to hurry her ass up.
Giving me the fakest smile ever, she scans my card. When the transaction goes through, her smile turns genuine as she hands it back to me and buzzes me right on through.
Rolling my eyes, I hurry back into the room made of reflective mirrors and quickly peel my boots, pants, jacket, and T-shirt off, then slip into a velvet dress. I instantly hate it. Hate the way it makes me feel, the softness of the fabric, the way it hugs my curves, the shortness of the hem. I almost take it off and ask the saleswoman for a lighter so I can burn it, but I remind myself that I need to get into that damn club. Not just to keep an eye on Maci, but to figure out who the hell that familiar stranger is who gave Travis something.
Sucking in a breath, I put on the damn shoes. Then I pull on my leather jacket and, without looking at my reflection, leave the store. I toss my extra clothes into my car then head across the street to the club.
As I stride up to the front of the line with my head held high, I try not to think about what I’m doing. That I could run into those guys in there. That I may have to endure their stupid fucking smiles.
Don’t think about it, Wynter. You need to warn Maci.
I roll up my sleeve to make my resident ID visible as I near the entrance.
As the bouncer, a large man with more chains on his clothing than fabric, notices me walking up, his gaze sweeps up and down my body. I envision punching him in the jugular, but outside, I’m the epitome of cool.
“Hey,” I greet him with a flirty smile that makes vomit rise in the back of my throat. Honestly, I’m a bit surprised there’s not a cyborg in this man’s place, but that just makes flirting easier—seriously, cyborgs can’t flirt for shit. “You letting people in?”
His lips quirk. “That all really depends on who you are, sweetheart.”
God, I hate when guys call women sweethearts. It’s a new pet peeve of mine. Seriously, how would they feel if we called them sweetheart or hon or baby? One day, I’m going to find out. I swear I am.
I fake smile past the irritation and flash him my wrist. “I’m Wynter Porterrsen. You can scan me, though, if you need to check.”
His smile curves into a frown. “Sorry, but I can’t let you
in.”
I lower my arm. “Why not?”
“Because you’re on the list.”
“What list?” My voice quivers with fury, along with a bit of embarrassment as the people in line turn to stare at me.
He turns around to grab a handheld off the podium behind him. “Every night I get a list of names of people I’m not supposed to let in.” He shows me the screen and, sure enough, my name is on a list. “Yours has been on here for a couple months now.”
A couple months? Since the time the party happened? Is that purely coincidental?
Doubtful.
I skim over the list. “Why are there only women on here?”
“There are guys on there, too.” He glances at the names. “See?” He shows me a couple of names that are gender neutral, but I’m betting belong to women.
“Those could easily be female names,” I point out, stuffing my hands into my pockets to hide how bad my hands are shaking. “Is this club sexist or something?”
He narrows his eyes. “No. And it’s time for you to leave or I’m going to have to call the squad.”
“And tell them what exactly?” I challenge. “I haven’t done anything except question the club’s stupid, sexist list.”
“And cause a scene at a place of business,” he says dryly. “Ever heard of the term public disruption?”
“Ever heard the term equality?” I retort in a low tone.
“Good luck trying to win that case in this city.” He pulls up the emergency call button on his handheld, his finger hovering over it. “Now, I’m going to give you thirty seconds to walk away before I call the squad.”
Flipping him the middle finger, I take off toward the corner of the street. Instead of going to my car, though, I round the side of the building and stare at the silver-tinted walls, trying to get a glimpse inside. Unfortunately, the glass is too tinted to see anything other than shadows and the occasional flashing light.
Rebel Revenge Inc_Rebel_Volume 1 Page 4
