Willow closes her eyes and sucks in a breath. “I’m not too worried about that. My life is a mess already.”
My veins pulsate with fear.
“Keep your lips sealed.”
“Don’t utter a word.”
Shut the fuck up!
“You remember when I went out on a date with Travis Marilellie a couple months ago?” I ask, and Willow opens her eyes and nods. “Well, that date turned into an absolute nightmare.” The truth pours out of me and my heart rate quickens.
“Don’t utter a word.”
Shut up!
“I’m not even sure exactly what happened to me … At least not all the details.” A tear drips from my eye, and I quickly swipe it away. “I think I was drugged, and that’s why I can’t remember … But I do remember enough … to know I was …” Another breath. And another. Steady yourself, Wynter. You can do this. “I was raped several times. I can’t remember all their faces, but I can hear their voices—that part is crystal clear.” A few more tears drip down my cheeks, but I don’t bother wiping them away. “The guys who hurt me, they said it was to send my dad a message, but I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Your dad?” Willow tilts her head to the side. “What?”
I lift a shoulder. “My dad does dealings with a lot of sketchy men. Travis’s father is one of them, but there’s a ton more.” I shrug again. “I’m sorry I’ve never said anything about this, but honestly, I’m pretty ashamed.”
“You don’t need to be ashamed.” Her brows pinch together. “When you say dealings, what exactly do you mean? Because I always thought your dad owned a bunch of businesses around town.”
“Those are his front businesses.” I can’t believe I’m uttering this aloud. “Honestly, I’m not positive of what he does exactly. He’s always made sure I was left in the dark for the most part. Even when I … when I passed along the message, he glazed over the subject, but I know he does make and deal drugs.” I stare down at my hands. “He accused me of lying about what happened. I’m not sure if he believed I was a liar, though, or if that was his way of stopping me from going to the squad.” I shake my head. “Doesn’t really matter if he meant it or not, because I never told anyone else and I’ve been carrying around this secret for months, scared out of my mind half the damn time or so pissed off I can barely think straight.”
Air in. Air out.
I’m about to hyperventilate.
“Just breathe.” Willow gets up from the sofa and sits down beside me. “The hyperventilating, it’ll pass.”
“How do you know?” I whisper through my ragged breaths, tears cascading down my cheeks.
“Because I’ve suffered from anxiety for a long time—years actually.”
“What for?”
“A lot of things.” She shrugs. “I’m just a natural worrier.”
“I can understand that.” I’ve known Willow since grade school. Even back then, she would stress out about the smallest things.
“I was getting better there for a while, but …” She takes a tremulous breath. “A few months ago, Beck and I were at this party when he got called on a work errand and had to leave immediately. Since he didn’t have time to take me home and I had been drinking, I was just going to call a hover cab. But he didn’t want me wandering around alone at night, so he asked a friend of his to drive me home … Noah Partertone … Do you know him?”
I nod. “He’s friends with Travis.” And his family is even more rich and respected in this town that Travis’s. Known for their generous donations to almost every charity.
Fuck.
She gives a shaky nod. “Well, Beck asked him to give me a ride home. Before Noah and I took off, I did an electric shot. A bunch of people did one, too. The waitresses were passing them out, so I didn’t think much of it.” A few tears fall from her eyes. “By the time we got to the car, I knew something was wrong … I was so dizzy and out of it. I could barely grasp reality. And Noah kept laughing and making jokes about how much of a lightweight I was.”
Tears flood her my eyes. “Then, the next thing I know, I’m waking up on the living room floor with no recollection of how I got there. But my skirt was torn, and my entire body didn’t feel right. I knew something was wrong, and my anxiety kicked in. Before I could even think about what I was doing, I freaked out and jumped into the shower.” Her shoulders heave with her gasping breaths. “I just felt like I needed to scrub whatever the fuck happened to me off.”
Unable to stand seeing her in pain, I wrap my arms around her and hold her with everything I have in me, refusing to let us both break. “Where was Beck? I mean, after you woke up on the floor?”
She hugs me back, clutching my shirt, just like I did to Everette’s.
I just broke.
I wonder how many people can say that? Probably a lot.
“He wasn’t home from work yet,” she whispers through her tears. “When he came home that night, I wanted to tell him—I really did—but I couldn’t get the words to leave my lips. The really shitty part is I’m not even sure what happened—if I was raped or assaulted or if I just tore my damn skirt on the way in. But I know I was drugged right before I left that party. And I know my body felt invaded when I woke up, enough that I went and got a … STD test. Thankfully, I’m clean, but I still can’t shake the feeling that something’s broken inside me.”
“I feel that way, too,” I admit. “All the damn time.”
“I’m sorry you went through that.”
“I’m sorry you went through that, too.”
We clutch each other, tears stinging my eyes. Suddenly, I’m breaking again, crying hysterically. Willow starts sobbing as well, sobs wrenching from her chest. I hold her tighter, and she does the same to me. It makes all the sobbing and pain a bit easier to endure. To know that I’m not alone. To have someone who understands and doesn’t try to make me feel ashamed for what happened.
“Have you ever thought about going to the squad?” I ask once I get my tears under control.
“A couple times, but what would I even say? I have no proof, and it’d be his word against mine.”
His word against mine.
His word.
Against mine.
His.
Mine.
I fucking hate those words. Wish that statement didn’t exist. Wish this sort of shit didn’t exist.
“I have an idea,” I utter, pulling back from her. “A way we might be able to get some form of justice.”
“Really?” Hope sparkles in her eyes. “What is it?”
“That list I was talking about …” I start to take out my handheld when something dawns on me. “Wait. How did you find out about the list?”
Sniffling, she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Beck wanted to go to the club about a week after it happened. Honestly, I didn’t want to, but I let him talk me into it. When we got there, the bouncer wouldn’t let me in because my name was on this list. I wasn’t sure why it was on there—still don’t—but Noah walked into the club while Beck was arguing with the bouncer about it and winked at me.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “Maybe I’m looking into it too much, but I swear he’s the reason I couldn’t get in.”
“I think you might be right.” I open the list on my handheld. “I went to the club last night and something similar happened to me. I managed to get a copy of the list.”
Willow’s brows rise as her eyes pop open. “How the hell did you manage that?”
I grin, the movement feeling all sorts of wrong, but I refuse to allow it to falter. “By being a badass.”
The corners of her lips quirk into the smallest of smiles. “Yeah, you are.” Her smile swiftly fades. “Who else’s names are on the list?”
I turn my handheld toward her so she can see for herself. “They’re all female names. The only one I know is you. But I want that to change.”
“You want to talk to these women?”
“I do, and I want to find out if they have sim
ilar stories to yours and mine. I want to find out if the incidents all happened at parties thrown by Travis or his friends.”
“You think they’re behind this?”
“Noah and Travis for sure, since you and I were both at a party when we were drugged.”
She wraps her arms around herself. “But, what would we even do with that information, if we could find out it was them for sure?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
Revenge.
Revenge.
Revenge.
“But I think, if all these women were attacked, too, maybe we could get together and do something. We need to track them down first.”
Willow takes my handheld from me and skims over the list. “Ari could probably help us find them, if they’re living in the city. If they’re not, they might be harder to track down, especially if they live outside of the restricted forest.”
“I know, but I have to try.”
She chews on her bottom lip. “I want to be a part of this, too.”
“Really?” I’m a bit shocked, since Willow usually has to deliberate for days before making a decision.
She nods, returning my handheld. “I have to do something because, just living day by day, letting this secret eat away at me, isn’t working.”
I tuck my handheld back into my pocket. “Have you thought about telling Beck?”
She nods, tears filling her eyes again, but she hastily sucks them back. “A couple times. I don’t know if I can do it yet—if I can deal with him looking at me differently.”
“He’s not going to look at you differently,” I assure her. “Give Beck some credit. He loves you. Is he going to be angry? Yeah, at Noah, not you.”
“Yeah, maybe.” She lets out the saddest sigh ever. “Maybe I could—”
Someone bangs loudly on the front door.
Her brows crinkle. “Who the hell could that be?”
Uneasiness stirs in my stomach. “You’re not expecting anyone?”
“No.” She rises to her feet and hurries toward the front door.
I follow her, digging my handheld out of my pocket. “Check the screen first before you open it.”
She casts a worried glance over her shoulder at me. “Why?”
“Just to be safe.” I’m worried.
Worried someone found out I uttered the truth aloud.
How would they know?
“It’s the squad! Open up!” someone shouts as they knock on the front door again.
Willow’s eyes widen. “The squad? What the hell?” She rushes to the door and activates it to open.
Standing on her front porch are three squad officers, decked out in their standard uniforms—thick boots, baggy pants, long-sleeved shirts, and digital sunglasses.
The tallest one looks at Willow. “Wynter Porterrsen?”
What the hell?
Willow remains quiet, probably trying to protect me. I’m not going to let her do that. Let her deal with … well, whatever this is.
I step forward. “Actually, that’s me.”
He turns his head in my direction. “Wynter Porterrsen, you’re under arrest on illegal drug charges. Please turn around so I can cuff you.”
“Illegal drug charges?” I shake my head. “I call bullshit.”
“So, you’re saying you aren’t in possession of illegal drugs?” he questions, the overcast reflecting against his sunglasses. When I waver, he says, “Turn around.”
“Wow, you’re awfully polite for someone who’s arresting me,” I spit out as I do what he asks.
“As long as you cooperate, I’ll continue being polite,” he says, sealing a pair of electrically charged cuffs around my wrists.
The buzz emitting from them sends the hairs on my arms standing on end and a zap of electric charge zaps through my chest, as if my heart is about to give out on me.
Whoa … This feels weird.
“Now, stand still while I scan you,” he orders after he’s finished cuffing me.
Air rushes from my lungs as he moves his x-ray scanner along my body.
Get your hands away from me!
Get your fucking hands off!
Tears veil my vision.
“Breathe,” Willow mouths. “We’ll get you out of this.”
I wish I could believe her, but I already know what’s coming.
Seconds later, just like I expected, it happens. The damn squad officer finds a bag of light pink dust tucked inside the pocket of my jacket—my stash of savor glimmer haze.
Willow’s eyes widen at the sight. Sure, my friends occasionally get high, but I used to never be much of a drug lover.
After the officer hands the bag to his partner, he steers me toward a squad hover vehicle and guides me into the back seat. Then he shuts the door, locks me in, and drives away.
Drives me toward the city station.
Drives me toward my new home?
Shit, how the hell am I going to get out of this? Ask my father? He probably could help me. Do I want his help?
No, I don’t. At all.
In fact, I’d rather rot in an electric cell than ever see his face again.
Chapter 10
I don’t know much about the logistics of being arrested, but I find it odd when I’m taken into a room with hologram walls and security lasers decorating the ceiling, all because I had a bag of savor glimmer haze on me. Seems pretty extreme if you ask me, especially for a city so run by drugs.
And why in the world did they come to arrest me on drug charges before they even found the bag of haze?
None of this makes sense.
The longer I sit in this chair, staring at the hologram window that gives me a view of the shithole alley just outside the station, I’m almost positive someone is watching me from behind one of the screens. Why, I don’t have a fucking clue. I guess it doesn’t matter. All that does matter is why the hell I’m here. Could Travis be the reason? Did he set me up so I’d keep my mouth shut?
When the holograms suddenly shut down, and the entrance doors glide open, I start to question everything. Because in walks Everette, along with an older dude with salt and pepper hair. When Everette’s gaze lands on me, a soft smile eases across his lips.
“Wynter,” he says in that stupid gentle tone that drives me nuts, sometimes in a good way.
“Don’t use that tone on me right now.” I glare at him. Did he have something to do with my arrest?
His smile broadens. “Don’t pretend like you don’t like it.”
The older man cocks a brow at Everette, and Everette responds with a heavy sigh.
“You told me to keep an eye on her,” Everette says, pulling out a chair across from me.
The man just shakes his head, slaps a folder down onto the table, and takes a seat beside Everette. Then he focuses on me. “Hello, Wynter. I’m Agent Blakeforn, and I think you already know Agent Averysen.” He motions at Everette.
“No, I know Everette.” I recall how Everette managed to get the club evacuated. No wonder he could do that. He’s some sort of agent. “And agents? Agents for what?”
Agent Averysen. Is he the reason I’m here right now?
“Everette’s my real name,” Everette assures me, resting his arms on the table. “And we work for an underground organization.”
That means they’re not part of the city squad, the same squad that lets Travis’s family get away with almost everything. That revelation brings a drop of relief, though I’m still not sure why I’m here, so that ease quickly erases.
“Okay, Agent Averysen.” My tone oozes irritation as I scowl at him.
Everette’s bronzed lips shimmer in the light as he grins in response, as usual, seeming amused by me. “Relax, you’re not in trouble.”
“Well, she’s not if she cooperates.” Agent Blakeforn opens his folder. “As of now, she’s facing some serious drug charges.”
“Serious drug charges?” I arch a brow. “From a bag of haze; that’s it?”
“On you at the t
ime of the arrest, yes.” Doug lifts his gaze from the file and removes his glasses. “The officers also searched your car and found a quarter ounce of haze in there.”
“That’s not mine,” I lie, tucking my hands underneath the table.
Shit, why did they search my car right after I restocked my stash?
“Then, why was it in your car?” The old dude—Agent Dickhead is what I’m going to call him from now on—asks me condescendingly.
I shrug. “Maybe someone put it in there.”
He shuts the folder and overlaps his hands on top of it. “Well, whether that’s true or not, the hover car is registered to you, so technically, we could officially charge you for possession.”
“Technically?” I ask. “Does that mean you’re not going to officially charge me?”
Agent Dickhead trades a look with Agent Asshole—the nickname I’m giving Everette—then both men look at me.
“We might be willing to drop the charges if you agree to be an informant for us for a little while,” Agent Dickhead says, watching me closely.
An informant? That’s what this is about?
“To do what exactly?”
Agent Dickhead and Agent Asshole exchange another glance, and then Everette looks at me.
“We want you to get some intel on your father,” he explains, searching my eyes for God knows what. “And the men he does dealings with.”
“If you agree to do that for us,” Agent Dickhead adds, “we’ll drop the charges.”
That rope around my chest pulls tighter. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll make sure you get the maximum sentencing—five to ten years,” Agent Dickhead replies. “But I’d rather not do that.”
“Sure you wouldn’t.” I glare at him then at Agent Asshole, who has the audacity to appear remorseful. “My dad doesn’t even tell me about his work, so I’m not sure how you think I can help you.”
“Find a way in,” Agent Dickhead says. “You’re Walter Porterrsen’s only child. If you ask to be part of his business, I’m sure he’ll consider it.”
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