Payback Princess (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  My feet leave the ground, and I end up kneeling on the edge of the wall as the girls release me and step back. I very slowly, very carefully turn around, intending on hopping off into the courtyard.

  “You know about your dad, right?” one of the girls asks, pressing in close to me. They’re not letting me off this wall, and I’m not about to start a fight. I might end up accidentally falling over.

  “I really don’t know anything about him at all,” I admit, wondering where this is going as my eyes scan the crowd of students around me, all of them dressed in their preppy Whitehall uniforms and horrible, glittering smiles. They are all fucking smiling at me.

  This whole town is insane.

  “He beat your mother and cheated on her,” one of the girls says. I recognize her red hair and lightly freckled face; she’s definitely one of Lumen’s nameless groupies. “He embezzled money from his startup, stole research from his partners, and got chased out of town. He’s a fucking disgrace, and so are you.” The girl nods her chin at me. “Stand up.”

  My mind is reeling with her words—whether they’re lies or not, I don’t know—but mostly I’m trying to understand the last part of what she just said.

  “Stand up?” I repeat, feeling adrenaline spike through me. “Are you insane? Class is starting. Just leave me alone before you end up doing something that you’ll regret later.”

  “Who says I’ll regret this?” the redhead asks as the others stand around and watch, a sea of black blazers, pleated skirts, and finely pressed slacks. “You’re the child of a liar and a thief, the most disgraced man to ever step foot in Medina. Your mother is lucky trailer trash, a shitty writer who pays for reviews, who got people to read her books because they felt sorry for her. You show up here and Parrish goes missing? A Vanguard, of all people. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  I hesitate, but only for a second.

  The situation is escalating, and I’m not taking any chances.

  My right foot comes up and I nail the redhead in the face. Blood spurts out of her nose as I scramble off the wall and shove my way through the briefly disoriented crowd. The guys stand aside as I run past, unwilling to get involved just yet, as several of the girls give chase.

  Without thinking twice about it, I yank the door open to Mr. Volli’s classroom and throw myself inside, slipping on the floor and hitting my knees hard as I scramble to get up. The girls come in just behind me, pausing as Mr. Volli rises from his desk and adjusts his glasses.

  “What on earth is going on here?” he asks as the redhead at the front of the pack swipes her arm across her bloody nose.

  “Nothing at all,” she says, sniffling. “We just bumped into each other is all. I was trying to catch up to Dakota to let her know it was okay; I’m not mad.” The girl smiles, and I shiver, grabbing the edge of one of the desks to get myself to my feet. “Here, let me help you,” she offers, taking my arm and putting her mouth up against my ear.

  “Next time I get you alone, you’ll be sorry.” The redhead releases my arm and exits the classroom with the rest of the girls.

  Meanwhile, I stand there with both hands braced on one of the desks, trying and failing to catch my breath.

  What … what the hell is happening here?!

  “You must be very upset,” Mr. Volli offers, coming up to stand beside me. I see that he’s got Mr. Fosser’s walking stick in his hand.

  “Upset?!” I choke out, spinning around to look at him. I was already in enough pain this morning, but now my whole body is on fire. My broken fingers ache, my knees are bleeding, and I’m shaken down to the very base of my core. “They tried to fucking kill me!” I throw my arm out to indicate the other students.

  Every warning I ever received about Whitehall comes roaring through me.

  It only gets worse from here on out.

  You’ve got bite, but is it enough?

  Welcome to hell.

  Maybe not stereotypical, but rich assholes? Oh yeah. Don’t let them intimidate you.

  What is wrong with this school, this town, these people? I grew up in a normal family, a normal house, a normal neighborhood, a normal city. This is anything but normal.

  “Many people in this town still harbor hatred for Justin Prior,” Mr. Volli tells me, tapping the stick against the floor absently. “Unnecessary hatred, considering that Medina’s elite conspired against him and took everything he had—including you.”

  “Including me?” I echo, thinking of Saffron and Tess and their weird conversation outside of the coffeehouse.

  “The redhead’s name is Veronica Fisher; she drives a white Tesla. It’s parked on this very floor.” Mr. Volli holds out the walking stick, and I find myself staring at it as I struggle to bring my racing heart under control. “You must be very angry right now. You came into this school wanting to make friends, and look what they’ve done to you. How they’ve treated you. Your stepbrother is missing and instead of having sympathy for you, they blame you. Insult you. Attack you.”

  I just stare at the stick, wondering how far those girls would’ve taken things if given the chance.

  “They conspired against him?” I ask, hating that I’m taking Mr. Volli’s bait. Why should I believe anything that he or the Slayer has to say? They’re hurting Parrish, holding him captive. They kill people and keep souvenirs. But those girls … the looks in their eyes, the things they said … Why would I trust them either?

  “Your father is a brilliant man. It was his work that made many of today’s apps possible. His work, his coding, his tech. The people of this town used his personal issues with your mother to steal everything he had and drive him into the shadows. Now, they’re going to do the same to you.” He continues to hold the stick out toward me. “You go to school with the children of those same crooks, those wicked opportunists. Even now, they’re working against you. Your mother’s publisher is dropping her; they’re suing her. In fact, they’ve managed to get an injunction against her to keep the rights to much of her older work … like Abducted Under a Noonday Sun. Did you know that Veronica’s mother is one of the lawyers at the publishing house?”

  Mr. Volli is baiting me. He wants me to take this stick and …

  My hand shakes as I reach out and wrap my fingers around it. It doesn’t matter if he’s baiting me. This has to be done anyway. For Parrish.

  For Parrish.

  For fucking Parrish.

  I wrench the stick away from him, wondering where Chasm is now, ignoring the ringing of the bell that signals the start of today’s first class.

  “This is my administration period, so don’t worry. If you wait a moment, the hallway will clear and you can head straight into the parking garage. I’ll take care of the cameras this time, considering Kwang-seon is occupied.”

  “Where is he?” I ask, squeezing the stick in my hand and wondering if it’s the same one that Mr. Fosser might’ve used on Maxx. I don’t want to know what his plans were for us that day. Considering what he did to JJ … I shake my head to clear it.

  “Speaking to the headmistress. Don’t worry: he isn’t in trouble. Just business.”

  I don’t like the sound of that. I also don’t trust that Mr. Volli will be able to help with the security cameras, but I don’t particularly care in that moment. I’m upset. I’m hurting. I’m frustrated. I’m confused.

  I peek out the door, finding an empty hallway as promised, and then I take off for the parking garage.

  The white Tesla is parked exactly where Mr. Volli suggested it’d be.

  I walk right up to it, lift the heavy walking stick in my hand and smash the clubbed end of it into the windshield. It cracks, but doesn’t shatter, so I do it again, until shards of safety glass are all over the ground, just like they were in the garage that day.

  The first few swings don’t make me feel any better. If anything, they only make me angrier and more frustrated. Hefting the stick with both hands, I smash it into the door of the car, denting it. Again. Again. Again.


  With sweat pouring down the sides of my face, I turn and spot Lumen’s BMW, moving over to it and then hesitating briefly. There must be a reason she did what she did yesterday. I know it; I can feel it. But Parrish isn’t going to make it another three days on feelings and beliefs.

  I start with Lumen’s headlights, destroying those before I move onto the shiny surface of her hood. A hand on my shoulder makes me choke, and I whirl around to find a man in a mask. Before I get the chance to swing the club at his head, he peels it up, revealing his face.

  It’s Maxx.

  “Dakota, what are you doing?” he asks, his voice strained. In his right hand, he clutches a baseball bat.

  “Don’t worry about that. Just … help me.”

  X seems a little torn, but he must decide that it’s too late to undo the damage I’ve already done. He yanks the ski mask back into place and turns around, hopping up on the hood of another car and bringing the baseball bat down on the windshield.

  An alarm goes off, but we both ignore it. I know for a fact that you can’t hear any car alarms inside the building. A few weeks back, after leaving Mr. Volli’s class, I headed into the garage with Danyella only to hear a good half-dozen alarms going off in unison. One of them must’ve been set off by a bird or something, and the sound of it started another five cars nearby.

  While we don’t have a lot of time, we have some.

  I beat the shit out of Lumen’s car, conflicting emotions chasing each other through my damaged psyche. I shouldn’t be doing this, but … she hurt me. She let her friends break my bones. Speaking of, my broken fingers are killing me, but the adrenaline keeps the pain at the edges of my brain, a distant, sparkling thing that I can ignore with little effort.

  I refuse to let myself think about how disappointed Maxine would be if she knew what I was doing.

  Instead, I search out Danyella’s car next, swallowing hard as I pause next to it and think about the first day I met her, right here in the parking garage. She gave me her blazer; she gave me her shoes; she offered me a place in her production.

  And how did I repay her?

  By burning the entire thing to the ground.

  I close my eyes and adjust my grip on the dead rapist’s walking stick, wondering how the hell I ended up here. Just six months ago, I was helping my grandparents hang Christmas lights and debating on whether I should get Nevaeh and Sally the same gift or try to pick more personal items and risk Nevaeh’s jealousy.

  Now … here I stand, in ultimate disgrace.

  Love, wow. A double-edged sword that bleeds both the wielder and their opponent dry.

  With a scream, I smash the walking stick into Danyella’s driver’s side window. I’m swinging so wildly now, knocking dents into the rusted old Geo that I don’t notice Maxx coming up beside me again. He grabs my right arm so hard that I cry out, yanking me along with him and pulling me into a dark space.

  At first, it seems like a closet, but then I realize we’re in a stairwell of some sort. It’s in the center of the parking garage; I don’t recognize it. It must not be open to students, like a maintenance corridor or something.

  “Come with me,” X whispers, dragging me up the stairs. We’re moving so quickly that I stumble a few times. I might’ve gone rolling down the steps if it weren’t for his ironclad grip on my arm, his fingers burning me through my blazer. I’ve only been touched by Maxx Wright a handful of times, and now I see why.

  We’re explosive.

  Self-hate pours through me, but I push past it, focusing on the immediacy of the situation.

  Maxx leads me up to the roof of the parking garage, and we emerge into the sunlight, blinking against the brightness as he tears his ski mask over his head and stuffs it in his pocket. He drags me across the parking lot over to the door.

  Mr. Volli is waiting.

  We both pause there as he smiles at me.

  “Well done, Ms. Banks,” he says, nodding his head at me. “Come with me.”

  Maxx and I exchange a look, both of us panting and shaking from the adrenaline rush.

  “Do we trust him?” he asks me, but I’m already shaking my head.

  “Not at all.” But I take off after my sixth period teacher anyway. I’m assuming he has a plan to keep me from getting into trouble. That doesn’t seem to be his or the Slayer’s aim here.

  Once inside, I realize that we’re in an empty classroom, one that takes up the entire top floor of the building. It’s massive, and there are telescopes all along the far walls.

  “This used to be the astronomy classroom,” Mr. Volli explains, leading us over to an elevator on the far side of the room. “But Whitehall hasn’t offered that class in years.”

  I step into the elevator, but Mr. Volli puts his arm out, blocking Maxx before he can climb in beside us.

  “What are you doing?” I choke out, but the teacher simply shakes his head.

  “You are your father’s only concern. Maxx Wright is unimportant and inconsequential.”

  My eyes lift up to meet Maxx’s green ones. He’s scowling but he nods at me.

  “Go. I’ll figure my own way out.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” I tell him, but as soon as I try to exit the elevator, he steps forward and puts the end of the bat against my arm.

  “You need an excuse for why you’re not in class right now. I can get out the way I came in and nobody will even think to look for me.” He meets my eyes with his beautiful green ones, and I see that he’s telling me the truth. He really and truly believes he can get out of here. “Trust me.” He puts the bat on his shoulder and takes a step back.

  The elevator doors close, cutting off my view of his beautiful emerald eyes.

  With a groan of pain, I lean back against the wall of the elevator, feeling every bruise, every scrape, every broken bone.

  Mr. Volli takes the walking stick from my hand while my eyes are still closed.

  “I’ve already let your first period teacher know that you’ve been with me this whole time.” I open my eyes just in time to see him glance back at me with a smile. “If anyone asks, you were seeking counseling; you’re distraught over your brother’s disappearance.”

  “I hate you,” I breathe, and Mr. Volli laughs at me.

  “You won’t, once you understand,” he says, with as much confidence in his voice as X.

  Unlike X, however, there is no doubt in my mind who the true villain is here.

  I head to my second period class like nothing at all happened this morning.

  Nothing … when in reality, it was everything.

  Fucking everything.

  Chasm finds me right after class, grabbing my arm in the hallway and pulling me into the handicapped bathroom. He locks the door and turns the sink on before coming back over to stand in front of me.

  The entire school is up in arms about the car situation, but the administration is doing their best to keep everyone quiet and calm. The police have been called in, but I’m not worried. Vandalism doesn’t often warrant crack teams of investigators. Besides, everyone who attends school here is loaded beyond all reason. Paying to repair the cars—or simply buying new ones—is not a hardship for any family whose child attends Whitehall Prep.

  It’s an annoyance at worst. This exercise wasn’t to punish them: it was to test me.

  To see how far and how easily I could be pushed, how quickly I might let anger get the best of me. Even though I succeeded in doing what I needed to for Parrish, I feel like in the grand scheme of things, I failed myself worst of all.

  “What the hell happened this morning?” Chas asks me, his voice tight and strained. He sounds disappointed, but not in me. In himself, more like.

  I cross my arms, dropping my chin to my chest and inhaling slowly. I could feel every person in my last class staring at me, studying me, searching for weaknesses. How did I not see this side of Whitehall sooner?

  Oh, that’s right. I had Lumen to protect me. Parrish. Chasm.

  “I got jumped,” I
whisper, and he lets out a snarl. I hear the sound of breaking glass and look up just in time to see Chasm’s fist in the mirror. He pulls his hand back, shaking it and snarling in Korean as he picks out a few shards and chucks the bloody pieces in the sink.

  “Oh my god, Chas,” I start, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the dispenser and dabbing at the wound. It isn’t as bad as it could be, but he’s bleeding quite a bit. “Why the hell did you do that?!”

  “I should’ve stayed with you,” he growls out, his voice this dark, dripping thing, full of rage. Chasm … it occurs to me that Chasm is the exact opposite of Parrish in so many ways. On the outside, Parrish is a complete and total asshole. On the inside, he cares so much that it breaks him down, it cripples him. Chasm tries to affect a pleasant presentation, to smile and laugh and flirt, but on the inside, he burns.

  “You can’t be with me every minute,” I say with a sigh, putting his hand under the running water as he winces and tries to pull away. I tighten my grip, squirting a generous amount of soap into my palm and gently washing his hand. He stays where he is, letting me lather the soap around his knuckles, prodding my fingers against the myriad little wounds to make sure there aren’t any remaining shards of glass. “And I already told you: I don’t want you making yourself a target with me. Stay on the boys. They didn’t seem willing to get involved; it was only the girls.”

  “Lumen,” Chasm says, which I already knew. “I don’t care if she is a girl, I’m going to kick her ass.”

  “You’re not going to touch her,” I tell him, rinsing the soap off of his hand and then letting the warm water run over the cuts for a minute. I look up, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Chasm, promise me. You beating her up won’t help me or Parrish, not at all.”

  I release his hand and some of the strange tension leaves the room. I pass him another wad of paper towels and watch as he dries himself off. As he does, I pull my phone from my pocket, finding a text from Maxx.

  Made it out safe. Let me know if you need anything.