“Please stop now. I don’t want to hear those details.”
“What do you want from me, Doll?” Miles looks up at me, hopeless. “What the hell do you expect me to do? Either way I’m fucked. Either way someone gets hurt.”
“You have to tell Charlotte.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Don’t be a coward. You owe her the truth.”
“She’s got too much going on for her this year. What if I ruin that?”
“Trust me, Miles. You’re not gonna be the one to break Charlotte Hart. I’ve known her since elementary school. She’s stronger than you think.”
“I’ll break it off with Gwen,” he pleads. “I swear to God, I’ll break it off.”
I slowly shake my head, for the first time realizing Charlotte isn’t the only one who will end up hurt in this scenario. Miles is the first guy I’ve ever seen Gwen get all glowy about, which has to mean something. For all her dislike of Charlotte, Gwen didn’t do this to spite her. She would never stoop so low as to condone cheating for the hell of it. She called the sultan who carved the Zumina-al-Shimaz a pig—and he created one of the most romantic pieces of jewelry I’ve ever seen. She hates cheaters. Hates them.
But then why become one?
I glance at Miles, and instantly I know. Gwen enjoys flirting, likes the dating scene, but she won’t waste her time and energy on a guy if it isn’t carefree and easy. She usually bails the moment things get too serious.
But she didn’t bail on Miles.
All things inexplicable can be blamed on love. Oh man. That means Gwen is head over heels for this confused idiot.
“Does Gwen understand that what the two of you have isn’t serious?” I ask Miles carefully, almost afraid to hear the answer.
“I don’t know.” His eyes fall to the ground and he drags a hand through his hair. “We haven’t had that conversation yet.”
“Then you should have it,” I say, getting angry all over again. “You’re not just hurting Charlotte, you dumbass.”
“Okay,” he agrees, nodding. “I’ll talk to her.”
I turn around to leave, but Miles stops me. “Wait, Doll. Are you really going to tell Char?”
“I’m kind of hoping I don’t have to.”
“How long do I have?”
I think about his question. Giving him too long to sit on it might not be the best course of action. He might change his mind, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck doing his dirty work. “I’ll give you the rest of the week. And Miles,” I swallow, because I can’t believe what I’m about to say. “Make sure you choose right. I doubt you’ll get a do-over.”
He gets my meaning. Up until this moment, I would’ve said Charlotte was the right choice. I’m not so sure anymore. Not that cheaters deserve choices. Then again, these are my friends we’re talking about. People I care about. Pretending the outcome of this doesn’t matter to me is useless. It does matter. They matter.
I leave Miles standing under the trees, making my way back to the sidewalk. Plugging my headphones in, I drown everything out with deafening music and head toward the nearest bench. Tucking my feet under me, I lean back and close my eyes. I’ve got three hours to kill, and I don’t want to spend it worrying about what happens to Charlotte and Gwen.
Sleep comes easily. Even out here in broad daylight, I feel myself drifting off. It’s no surprise I’m so tired. The only time I spend inside Kent House is at night, and knowing Wesley is close makes good sleep hard to come by. His face fills my mind, and it’s the last thing I see at night. I wish I didn’t think about him so much. A crushing pain grips at my heart every time I do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DAHLIA
When I wake up, it’s dark outside. I look at the time on my phone. Crap. I’m twenty minutes late for class.
I jump up and hurry toward the anthropology building. The professor doesn’t like it when students are late. Sometimes she locks the door. I’m really hoping she didn’t today, because we have a paper due.
As I swing open the door to the building, my bag knocks against the handle, and its entire contents spill out—my books, papers, everything strewn across the ground. I stupidly left it unzipped. Trying not to groan, I kneel down and gather the items as quickly as I can manage.
A sharp twinge pricks my neck. I shoo away whatever is biting me, waving my hand over my shoulder. But my hand goes numb, faltering the movement. It falls slack before my eyes. I stare at it for a long moment, unable to wrap my mind around what’s happening. My hand feels heavy…my entire body feels heavy.
Something’s wrong.
Flecks of black dot across my vision. I blink several times, trying to focus. My hand isn’t the only thing losing its strength. It feels like I’m tethered to a crate of bricks. It pulls me backward, weighing me down. I have no control over it, and that’s the most frightening part.
A mosquito didn’t do this.
Just as I come to that realization, someone catches me from behind. Fear surges through me, turning my skin clammy. I squint, trying to glimpse the person responsible, but everything blurs. I’m fading too fast.
He grunts as he lifts me over his shoulder. The baritone of his voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. His footsteps crunch against leaves, and I get the vague sense that he’s dragging me out of sight. Away from anyone who can see us. Away from anyone who can help me.
Oh God.
My heart beats wildly inside my unmoving body. I want to scream, fight—do anything—but I can’t move a muscle. Whoever has done this to me is getting away with it and there’s nothing I can do.
I press to stay conscious, but I can’t even fight that.
My world erupts into darkness.
~ ~
A vibrating cellphone wakes me up. My body immediately jerks forward but goes nowhere. I’m bound to something—a chair maybe. I don’t know. I can’t see anything. There’s a cloth wrapped around my head, blinding me, and when I try to move my arms, an abrasive rope cuts into my wrists from behind.
Holy mother of God.
This is the kind of screwed up nightmare you see in movies where the girl is abducted by a serial killer, only to end up getting raped and tortured in some grotesque, twisted kind of way. Imagining the worst, my body starts to shake.
This is exactly why Harland used to go on and on about making sure I was always aware of my surroundings, scaring me with stories of Ted Bundy, and giving me pepper spray to hook onto my keychain. I should’ve listened to him, but instead I stupidly thought I was invincible and allowed myself to fall asleep on campus after dark. And look where that got me. Tied up to a chair in God knows where with God knows who.
This is it. This is my bitter end.
I shake more violently, feeling tears spring to my eyes. I don’t want to cry, don’t want to give my abductor the fear he’s probably craving, but I can’t help it. Bravery is for fairytales.
A phone continues to vibrate from some distant corner of the room. At least I think I’m inside of a room. An air conditioner is blowing from somewhere; I’m definitely indoors.
The vibrating suddenly stops.
“Hello?”
There’s that voice again. I feel like I’ve heard it before, but it’s not someone I know well.
“Yeah, she’s here,” the guy says.
He’s referring to me. Oh Jesus. He’s referring to me.
“No, I haven’t gotten a hold of him yet.”
The guy goes silent as someone speaks from the other line. “Yeah, okay. I’ll have her call him when she wakes up.” Another pause. “Actually it looks like she’s waking up now.”
My blindfold comes off. Blinking rapidly, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.
There’s a tall figure standing over me. I focus in on the figure’s face.
Blond hair. Dimples. Flirtatious smile.
“Tyson?” I croak out.
“Hey, beautiful. Sorry a
bout roughing you up like this, but it had to be done.”
Okay. Um. Not exactly the cold-blooded killer type I expected, but I’m still stunned, so stunned that I can’t speak. I look around the room, trying to process it all.
We’re in some type of office—I think. There’s a desk and swivel chair in the corner, but other than that, the room is bare. There are no windows and only one door. We could be underground, possibly a basement.
My eyes shift back to Tyson. Seeing him standing there gives me some of my courage back. He’s Wesley’s friend. This has to be some kind of weird prank. But for what reason? Initiations? From what I know, Tyson is deeply involved in a fraternity, but I’ve never heard of anything like this happening. This had to be something he did on his own, and the thought of that freaks me out all over again.
I shuffle against my chair. “Let me out of this thing.”
“Can’t do that, sweetheart. You have to stay put. I can’t risk you trying to escape.”
“Are you insane?” I screech. “You do know you can go to prison for kidnapping and drugging me, don’t you?”
Fear doesn’t settle into his features the way I hoped it would. In fact, he doesn’t look the least bit put off.
“Don’t make me gag you. If you keep shouting like that, I won’t have another choice.”
Something in his voice quiets me. He’s serious. This isn’t the charming Tyson I’m used to seeing. There’s an edge to him. An intense focus. The way he’s acting is almost frightening.
“Why are you doing this?”
“It’s nothing personal against you, Doll,” he says, rifling through the desk drawer. “You’re just the insurance.”
“Insurance?” What the hell does he mean by that?
Tyson doesn’t clarify anything. He pulls a small object out of the drawer. “Hey that’s my phone,” I say, recognizing the Eye of Ra painted on the back of the case. I drew it myself with black nail polish.
Tyson punches in a few buttons, making me wish I’d programmed the thing with a security code.
“What are you doing?” I ask, leaning forward in my seat.
“We’re going to call your rescuer,” he answers without looking up from the phone. “Huh. You don’t have Wes’s number saved in here.”
My entire body goes still. Is Wesley in on this too?
I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to believe that. He would never do something like this, would he? A small part of me wonders if he wanted me out of the picture. Our last year is coming to end. Maybe he wanted Harland’s fortune all to himself.
No, that’s not true.
If that were the case, he would’ve let me stay in that shithole condo with Styler. He would’ve never fought him for the map.
But things have changed since then. We’re no longer speaking…we’re no longer anything.
I slowly open my eyes, almost afraid to face Tyson. “D-did Wesley plan this?”
“What?” Tyson laughs once. “Naw, but he’ll wish he saw it coming.”
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He didn’t betray me.
I should’ve never doubted it in the first place. He’s not the kind of person who would do something like this, and for the first time in three years, I can honestly say I know him well enough to believe that.
“So what’s this about then?” I ask Tyson. “Why do you need me to get to Wesley?”
“You’re the insurance, remember? Think of Wes as the payee. Once he pays up, he’ll get you back safe and sound.”
“Safe and sound…as opposed to what?”
“Dead and silent,” Tyson says without batting an eye.
I bite my lower lip. The way he said that seemed way too sincere for comfort. “If you think he has any money, you’re sadly mistaken. He doesn’t get his inheritance until he gets his degree. You should know that since you’re his so-called friend. Although I doubt he’ll consider you one after he finds out you’re trying to rob him.”
“Friendship comes and goes, sweetheart, and it’s not money I’m after. Wesley has something we want. Something that belongs to us.”
“Who is this we you keep referring to? The only person I see here is you.”
“I represent one of many, but who we are doesn’t concern you. The only thing you should be worried about is making sure Wesley gives us what we want.”
He seems so certain and confident. I want to know what’s up his sleeve. “You’re missing one crucial part of your master plan,” I point out to Tyson.
“Oh? And what might that be?”
“Wesley may not be interested in trading whatever he has for me, especially if it’s as valuable as you say.”
Tyson bursts out laughing, and dammit if he doesn’t sound really amused. “Why don’t you think you’d be worth it to him?”
For a moment, I debate whether it’s in my best interest to tell Tyson the truth about Wesley and me. Probably not, especially since he’s counting on him to come here on my behalf. Then again if Tyson is telling the truth, and my life really is on the line, then it’s better not to drag Wesley into this too. Although I’m still hurt by the way he believed Christine’s accusations, I don’t want to see anything bad happen to him. Convincing Tyson that I’m no longer important to Wesley seems like a long shot, but it’s worth a try.
“Wesley and I don’t speak to one another,” I say, carefully choosing my words because I don’t want to mess this up. “We’re not even friends. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think he’d risk anything for me.”
“Since when? Two weeks ago?”
I blink. How would he know something like that?
“Don’t look so surprised, sweetheart. I’ve watched Wesley dig himself into a hole over you every night for the past two weeks. If he’s not piss drunk, he’s pummeling his fists into someone’s face for no reason. Look at this,” Tyson says, pointing to his left eye, which is slightly purple. “This was for telling him he looked like shit—which he did.”
I swallow, absorbing what Tyson is telling me. Is it the truth? I figured Wesley was off living his life just fine without me in it. He’s never had a problem moving on from one girl to the next.
“You don’t know I’m the cause of his behavior,” I point out. “Something else must be bothering him.”
Tyson shrugs. “Doubt it.”
“The Wesley I know doesn’t get torn up over girls.”
“Yeah, and the Wesley I know doesn’t get slapped in the face by some chick at a bar for calling her the wrong name.”
I flinch. “What do you mean?”
“I guess he thought he could forget you by hooking up with some random girl. It didn’t work. I heard her tearing his ass apart for calling her Dahlia.”
“You’re making that up,” I say, shaking my head.
“Are you trying to convince me…or yourself?”
I stare at the floor without seeing it. My mind goes back to the night I walked out of Wesley’s room. The things he said about my mom…and the things he said about me…it hurt, and so I tried to hurt him back. But I never really believed hurting Wesley was a possibility. He’s practically untouchable the way he can’t be fazed. At least up until now that’s what I thought.
My chest feels tighter, constricting. The thought of hurting him, really hurting him, doesn’t sit well inside of me.
“Uh huh, that’s what I thought,” Tyson says, watching it all sink in. “You’re beginning to see the truth.”
“Now what?” A cold, sick dread fills my throat. “You go in for the kill?”
“Thanks to you, this little meltdown of his gave us the perfect timing to set everything up. It couldn’t have worked out any better.”
“I’m so happy for you,” I say, seething.
“Like I said, it’s nothing personal, sweetheart.”
“You’re betraying someone who has been a loyal friend to you for years. What’s more personal than betrayal? And more importantly, what matters more to you than loy
alty?”
“That’s an easy one. Legacy.”
Right now I really wish I wasn’t tied up because I’d dearly love to smack the arrogance off of Tyson’s face. “Let me guess. Wesley found some long lost treasure, and you want to make a name for yourself.”
His lips curve into a slow grin. “You’re very perceptive, you know.”
“You’ll never get your legacy. And if you do, it’ll be a lie.”
“You wouldn’t understand. What Wesley has was never his to take.”
“Welcome to the world of treasure hunting. That’s how it works, you jackass.”
Tyson’s grin disappears. “Careful. I don’t have to make this easy on you.”
He stares me down, but I refuse to be intimidated. “Neither do I.”
“You will cooperate. You don’t have any choice in the matter. Like I said before, you’re just the insurance. But don’t worry, beautiful. It should all be over soon.” He holds my phone up, the dial screen on display. “And I happen to know Wes’s number by heart.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WESLEY
I’m not sure why I’m here. Maybe I’m fueled by a depraved need to torture myself. Showing up in the one place where I’d be guaranteed to see her, hiding out in the corner of the classroom like some weirdo stalker—it’s pathetic.
The seat in the back of the lecture hall where Dahlia normally keeps herself hidden away is still empty. My eyes steer toward the clock on the wall. It’s 4:15 p.m. She should be here by now. She comes to Professor Barakat’s class every Tuesday and Thursday like clockwork. But every second that ticks by makes it more and more obvious that she won’t be here today. I feel as empty as her chair. I hate that something as small as her absence has the ability to control my emotions.
This could be about Christine. Maybe she doesn’t feel comfortable coming here anymore, even in disguise. Maybe she doesn’t want to risk running into Christine again after what happened at the party.
I tap my fingers against the desk. Without Dahlia, there’s no point in staying. She is my entire reason for being here. I should go, but the professor has already begun his lecture, and I’m not sure what it is about him, but something keeps me glued to my seat.
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