If I'd Known_The Cursed Series Part 1

by Rebecca Donovan

  I release an exasperated sigh. “Really, Parker?”

  I shove open the passenger door with an annoyed grunt and slam it behind me. It’s not until my bare feet make contact with the rocky ground that I remember my shoes are in his car. But he’s already pulling away. I hold my hand up to stop him just as a truck pulls out and blocks me from view.

  I tap on my screen to call him; it’s dead. “Of course.”

  I delicately navigate the terrain on the balls of my feet, grimacing in pain with each stone-ridden step. I squeeze past the drunks waiting in line to get in and pop out on the other side with a heavy breath.

  Tori and Nina are easy to find halfway down in a booth, giggling uncontrollably. Nina has her wet hair braided to the side while Tori’s is pulled back in a knot at the nape of her neck. They look like they’ve had the best night. Their table is littered with a half-dozen plates of pie slices in various stages of consumption and a large red plastic cup of Coke in front of each of them. I consider leaving, not wanting to ruin it.

  Tori stops laughing when I come to a stop next to their table.

  “Lana! Holy shit, where the fuck have you been?” she exclaims, jumping out of the booth and wrapping me in a quick, tight embrace.

  I hug her back, inhaling the sharp chlorine scent on her skin.

  She steps back and scans me. “You look … horrible!”

  I blink.

  “Omigod,” Nina gasps. “What happened to you? Did you get in a fight?”

  I stare at her, confused. She’s staring at my chest.

  I look down, unable to see what she’s focused on. But I do see the angry red scratches marring my arms and legs. “What?”

  “You have a bruise,” she says, gently touching my collarbone. It’s tender but not bad. It must be from when Vic pinned me against the wall. “Seriously, what happened to you?”

  “Can we sit?” I ask, so tired, I feel like I might fall over.

  The girls slide back into the booth, and I slip in next to Tori, slumping down against the cracked vinyl.

  “So?” Tori demands when I don’t start talking right away.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I have no idea where to even start.

  “What happened with Joey?” Nina blurts.

  I close my eyes and groan between clenched teeth. “I never want to see another Harrison ever again. Not a single one of them. Ever.”

  “He didn’t do that to you, did he?” Tori asks, ready to be just as pissed off as I am.

  “No. This is courtesy of Vic.” I focus on Nina. “Did you give him back his gun?”

  “What?!” Nina replies, shocked. “No way. It’s right … ” She shuffles through her satchel. Her eyes narrow in confusion as she starts dumping items on the table. “I swear it was in here.” She looks up, at a loss. “I have no idea where it is.”

  “He has it,” I tell them. “Stupid fuck. Did you see him when you left?”

  They both shake their heads.

  “What did he do to you?” Tori asks.

  I grind my teeth together, knotting the muscles in my jaw. With a shake of my head, I rake a hand through my loose bangs.

  “Lana,” Nina implores, “you have to tell us. You know we’ll protect you no matter what.”

  “Let me think about it,” I tell them, needing to figure out what could potentially happen if they knew.

  I don’t want to risk them being involved if it goes to shit. I have no idea if Allie really is okay. Or if that screaming girl told anyone what she saw. Hell, Vic could claim to be a witness to me pushing her, and I have no way of proving that I didn’t. Telling Nina and Tori could put them at risk. I don’t trust Vic not to go after them, especially if he thinks they may be a threat.

  “Can we go home?” I ask with a heavy sigh. “Every inch of me either hurts or is covered with dirt.”

  “Lana, where are your shoes?” Nina exclaims with a laugh.

  “In Parker’s car. I took them off when I started walking back from the country club.”

  “You really are having the worst night ever,” Tori declares.

  “You have no idea.”

  Chapter Ten

  “She isn’t your curse.” I keep my eyes shut at the sound of my grandmother’s voice. “You can love her.”

  “I’m trying,” my mother whispers. “But every time I look at her, I see the truth, and I know I’ve lost him.”

  “Not because of her,” my grandmother says gruffly.

  “Yes,” my mother counters sadly, “because of her.”

  “Here,” Nina says, holding out a pair of sparkly black flip-flops.

  “You have flip-flops in your purse?” I ask incredulously.

  “You try wearing stilettos for hours. Of course I carry around a pair of flip-flops. They’ve saved me more times than I can count, and now, they’re saving you. So, you’re welcome.”

  “Thank you,” I say, apology in my tone. I slide my feet into them and am grateful for the gargantuan purse Nina lugs around with her everywhere.

  We step out of Stella’s and start walking across the parking lot.

  “My place?” I confirm.

  The girls nod, knowing I’m within walking distance. The walk isn’t nearly as shady as a bus ride at two o’clock in the morning.

  Tori hands me my leather jacket, and I happily put it on. “Thanks.”

  “Parker says we’re done,” Nina announces.

  I try to read the emotion behind the declaration but can’t. At least Parker told me the truth.

  “Are you okay with this?” I ask delicately.

  She shrugs indifferently. “You know he doesn’t mean it. But whatever. He’s kind of a slut, and he definitely doesn’t respect me. So he can go to hell.”

  I laugh.

  “What did Joey do?” Tori asks. “He a slut too?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell them, “but he is a liar.”

  Tori sighs, shaking her head. “So no more Harrisons.” She pauses and bites her lip. “Except … I’m going out with Lincoln again … so you may have to tolerate Joey. But I’ll try to make sure it’s from a distance.”

  I study her curiously. “You’re serious about Lincoln? You really like him?”

  A girlish smile emerges. “He’s so nice. And his body? Un-be-lievable.”

  “At least one of us ended up with a good one,” Nina says. We round the corner and start down my street. “I think we need to visit the ‘party in a bag.’ I remember seeing a joint in there, and we could definitely use it.”

  “Definitely,” I agree adamantly, searching my pockets. I pull out the switchblade, wishing I’d had it earlier in the stairwell with Vic. And then I pat the inside pocket and reach for the small plastic bag. Before I can put the switchblade back in my pocket, a car pulls up beside us.

  “Lana Peri?” a deep booming voice confirms.

  Instinctively, Nina rolls her hand beneath mine, removing the knife from it and slipping it in her purse. A beam of light blinds me just as I drop the bag of drugs to the ground and step on them.

  “What was that?” a female voice asks. A car door shuts.

  I raise my hands in the air to show that they’re empty, familiar with the routine.

  “Are you Lana Peri?” the guy asks again.

  “Yes,” I tell him, shielding my eyes from the flashlight.

  “Take a step this way.”

  With a sigh, I do.

  The female officer snaps a pair of rubber gloves over her hands and picks up the plastic bag. “Looks like you’ve been having an eventful night, Lana.”

  “Step behind the vehicle,” the male officer instructs.

  “Are you ladies with her?” the female asks Nina and Tori.

  I silently connect with them, and they know what I want them to do.

  “We just got here,” Nina tells them.

  “What are your names?” she asks, setting the drugs on the trunk and pulling out paper and a pen to write them down.

  I don’
t hear what else they say because the male officer’s voice is too loud in my ear.

  “Place your hands on the trunk. We’re arresting you for possession of narcotics. Do you understand?”

  I nod.

  The female officer comes around behind me while the male officer drops the drugs into an evidence bag. “Do you have anything sharp on your body before I pat you down?”

  “No,” I answer flatly, staring at the back window, shutting every emotion down.

  My face doesn’t flinch with the slightest expression. I don’t move when her hands pat down my body, tucking her fingers along my waistline. This part is never fun. She grips my wrist and brings it behind my back.

  The weight of the cool metal settles around my wrists as the handcuffs click, tightening. I turn my head away from the flashing lights as the male officer grips my arm, moving me toward the open door of the police car.

  Tori stands next to Nina, biting her lip. Nina has her arms crossed, wearing a defiant scowl. I want to assure them that I’ve got this. That everything’s going to be okay. But I don’t know if that’s true. I have no idea what I’m being brought in for, other than possession. There could be so many reasons they were looking for me—theft, assault, armed robbery, trespassing or, depending on who’s been talking, attempted murder.

  The officer places his hand on the top of my head as I duck down. And that’s when I see the red Jeep pull up in front of the house next to us. A phone to his ear, he stands up on his seat so I can see him.

  He mouths the words, Keep your mouth shut.

  Not a problem. I don’t plan on confessing to anything. Even if I did do it.

  I watch Nina and Tori disappear in the distance with Lincoln and Joey by their sides, staring after the police car. Usually they’d be asked a lot more questions. Thankfully, the cops are only interested in me and chose not to call backup to bring the girls in too. I don’t dwell on it, although their rush to take me in should concern me.

  The ride to the station is uneventful. As is the booking process.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been in the holding cell, shivering on the slab that’s meant to be a bed, when a balding male cop finally unlocks the door.

  “The detectives have some questions for you,” he tells me.

  He takes hold of my arm and escorts me to a small interrogation room with gloomy gray walls. I sit in a hard metal chair at a dented wooden table and glance up at the two-way mirror in front of me.

  Things just got serious. This has nothing to do with possession.

  I take a breath, trying to steady my pulse. But it continues to pick up speed.

  A few minutes later, the door opens and two men in suits walk in, nodding toward the cop, who leaves us. They say something, probably their names, but I’m not listening. I’m staring at the small figure behind them, clutching a rose-colored duster sweater around her body.

  I stand up in a sudden movement, the chair scraping against the floor. “What is she doing here?”

  “Lana,” my mother says gently, “it’s okay. They said I needed to be here.”

  A lanky, bald detective points to a chair in the corner of the room, near the door. She smiles at him nervously and sits.

  “Have a seat,” the detective with the horrible complexion and bushy mustache instructs firmly.

  Keeping my eyes on my mother, I lower myself onto the chair again. She’s ghostly pale, and her eyes are rimmed red. I know she’s not well, and she shouldn’t have to be here.

  The detective with the mustache—Freddy, I’ll call him since I missed his name and his skin reminds me of a nightmare—sits across from me with a file in his hand. He proceeds to recite my Miranda rights and has me sign the paper stating I understand them. The other detective leans against the wall next to the door with his arms folded.

  “Want to let you know that we’re recording this right now,” he tells me, tilting his head toward the two-way mirror. A red light is faintly visible on the other side.

  I flip it off with an obnoxious smile.

  “Nice,” he mutters.

  I give him a let’s-get-on-with-this look of impatience as I lean back in the chair with my arms crossed. If they actually did their homework and looked me up, they know they’re about to waste a lot of time because I don’t talk. Ever. No matter how long they keep me in this depressing room.

  I watch him flip open the file folder on the table between us, and he spreads a couple grainy photos in front of me. Now I know why I’m here. It’s next to impossible to make out the faces, the imagery is so poor, but my blinding blond hair is hard to miss, as is the gun in the hand of the guy dressed in black.

  “What have you been up to tonight, Lana?”

  I raise my eyes to look at him, my face expressionless. And that’s how I remain for the next hour or two. It’s hard to tell since there isn’t a clock in this oppressive room. They ask questions. I don’t answer.

  “Tell us who the male with the gun is, Lana. Make it easier on yourself,” the detective with the pockmarks along his jawline asks me for the hundredth time. “If you didn’t do anything wrong, then you have nothing to worry about.”

  The corner of my mouth quirks. His eyes narrow into a glower. I know better. The truth won’t save me. There’s a reason Honesty’s my curse.

  My mother continues to look frailer with each passing second. I don’t want her in here, but I’m a minor, and they don’t want to worry about my rights being violated if they question me without a parent present. It’s worse for her than it is for me. And I’m concerned she’s about to pass out.

  “Could you get my mother some water?” I ask the detective who’s remained standing by the door with his arms crossed. I think he’s supposed to look intimidating. It’s not working.

  The detective glances at my stricken mother and back to Freddy.

  Freddy gives him a subtle nod and glances at the two-way glass, making sure the red light is on and the camera’s still recording this pathetic interview.

  “Lana, we have you on tape at the convenience store. We have the statement from the clerk. We recovered the stolen lottery tickets from your possession. You know who the guy is holding the gun. All you have to do is tell us; otherwise, it looks like you’re his accomplice. Either way, you’re obstructing the investigation.”

  I glance at my mother again. She wipes a tear from her cheek with a shaky hand. I try to reassure her with a small smile. She bites her lip to keep from crying.

  “Does she really need to be in here?” I ask again for the tenth time.

  The door opens. The wall art reappears with a bottle of water. Once he’s through the door, I notice someone’s behind him. A tall, regal-looking man in a suit. His salt-and-pepper hair is slicked back—not in a slimy mob-boss way, but in a distinguished I-have-money-and-power kind of way. His vibrant blue eyes take in the room with an assessing glance, from my mother to Freddy, and then steady on me. His face is expressionless, but his eyes tell me everything I need to know. He’s confident, intelligent, and he gets exactly what he wants … just like his son.

  “This interview is over,” he announces.

  My mother stands, her crystal-blue eyes wide. “Niall?”

  The man’s face softens when he turns toward her, a small, sad smile on his face. “Faye,” he acknowledges solemnly, like he’s silently apologizing for something.

  Her eyes flood with tears that she blinks back, gratitude and relief dancing in them. The relief confuses me—like she knows he will fix this.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. Why don’t you wait out in the hall for me?”

  My mother nods, quickly glancing at me before slipping out of the room. With the click of the door closing, Niall focuses back on us—or I should say, on me. He stares at me stoically, his face not giving anything away.

  Freddy’s jaw clenches. “Niall, you’re her lawyer? I didn’t think you took these kind of cases.”

  Niall Harrison doesn’t respond to his questi
on. “I need a moment alone with my client.”

  Pre-Order Knowing You: Part 2 of The Cursed Series.

  Acknowledgments

  This story was determined to be written, even after years of writing and re-writing the first four chapters. I learned a lot during those years—mostly, that I needed to be kind to myself, even when I felt like I was failing. Especially when I felt like I was failing.

  I am surrounded by beautiful and strong women who encouraged and supported me during the time I felt most fragile. When I questioned who I was and what I was doing. They never faltered. And I am so very grateful to have them in my life. Thank you for not giving up on me!

  And thank you to you, my readers, who have waited patiently for the words to find me again. They have. And, oh, do they have a story to tell you!

  This is just the beginning …

  About the Author

  Rebecca Donovan, the USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling YA author of The Breathing Series and What If, lives in a small town in Massachusetts with her son. Influenced and obsessed with music, Rebecca can often be found jumping around at concerts, or on a plane to go see one. She’s determined to experience (not just live) life. And then write about it.

  Table of Contents

  If I'd Known

  Also by Rebecca Donovan

  Copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Donovan

  Dedication

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author