Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)

by Krista Ritchie

  “Hey, has anyone seen Daisy?” Cleo asks.

  I look up from my menu and glance frantically around the table, noticing her empty chair.

  “I thought she went to the bathroom,” Harper says.

  “I just came back from the bathroom. She wasn’t there. I checked the stalls,” Cleo tells us.

  My head whips to Ryke, my eyes bugging. And he immediately says, “Calm down. She’s probably around here somewhere.” He rises from the table. “I’ll go ask the hostess if she’s seen her.” He slips his wayfarers off and enters the café with stiff shoulders. I see his muscles flexing a little from his red tank. At least if he finds her with a guy, he may be able to intimidate him with pure brawn.

  I dial Daisy’s number, trying to push away nagging thoughts about how we’re in a foreign country. And even though we’re staying in the touristy parts, anything can happen. Daisy takes French in prep school. Not Spanish. If someone kidnaps her, she won’t be able to understand what’s going on.

  My anxiety peaks at the fifth ring. Pick up!

  The line clicks. “Hi, it’s Daisy. Not Duck and not Duke. Definitely not Buchanan. I’m a Calloway. If you haven’t misdialed then leave your name after the beep, and I’ll call back when I return from the moon. Don’t wait around. It may take a while.” BEEEP.

  I cut the line off rather than leave her a scathing message. She’s probably just talking to someone at the bar or something…oh God.

  “She’s not texting me back,” Katy grumbles. A couple of the other girls say they can’t reach her either.

  “That’s not like her,” Harper says, her brows cinching in worry. “She’s a fast texter.”

  “Do you think she got Natalie Holloway’ed?” Katy whisper-yells.

  “You did not just use her name as a verb,” Cleo chastises.

  Ryke returns and throws a wad of bills on the table. His pissed and worried expression unsettles my stomach, a combination that I do not like right now. “Girls.” He motions for all of them to rise. “Leave your drinks. We have to call a cab.”

  I shoot up from the table and walk briskly beside Ryke as we go to the street to hail multiple cabs. “What happened?” I ask. “Where is she?” Cars swerve in and out of the long, touristy strip, and yellow taxi vans pull to the side to collect us. The air is thick with humidity, and the palm trees jut up from the grassy center median, leaning crookedly. Even amid a supposed tropical paradise, something has to go wrong.

  He rubs the back of his neck. “The hostess said she saw her leave with a man—”

  That’s all I hear. I turn to bolt down the sidewalk, about to run and scream her name at the top of my lungs.

  Ryke grabs my arm and tugs me back. “Before you go call the fucking Coast Guard,” he says roughly, “I think I might know where she is.”

  “How?” I ask, fear poking me in the lungs.

  He motions for the first group of girls to climb into the nearest van. “Get in,” he tells them. “Tessa, you too.” The Katy Perry girl pouts, obviously hoping to ride in the same taxi as him. But from what Ryke told me, she is the one he wants to stay far, far away from.

  “Ryke!” I shout. I need answers. Daisy is my baby sister. The girl who trailed Rose and me like a little shadow. We pretended to believe in Santa Claus for five extra years just for her. I can’t lose her to Mexican drug lords or kidnappers or rapists or fucking anything. Not on my watch. I’d do more than call the Coast Guard. I’d get the Marines, the Army, the Air Force, para-fucking-troopers. I’d have twenty choppers flying around the country for her. Maybe that’s excessive and they have better things to do. But I don’t care.

  “Get in first,” he tells me, motioning to the last taxi. I climb in after he gives the address to the first and second drivers. Harper sits to my left. And then Cleo jumps in and squishes to my right. How the hell did I get sandwiched between them?

  Ryke takes the passenger seat by the driver. “Follow those cabs,” he tells him. “Quickly.” And the van speeds off.

  Cleo leans forward, her elbow digging into my thigh. “Is she okay?” she asks Ryke, sticking her head in between the seats.

  I’m wondering the same thing, Ryke. I need some info here.

  “The hostess said the guy she walked out with is a local travel agent. She gave me a list of spots he takes tourists to.”

  “So she hasn’t been kidnaped?” Harper says.

  “Not until he realizes who she is,” Cleo adds.

  I shoot them both a glare. “Not helping.” My stomach sinks and knots. I stare up at Ryke in the front seat. “How do you know which spot he took her to?”

  “I have a feeling—”

  “A feeling?” I snap. “Ryke, she’s missing, and you barely know her—”

  “I know her enough,” he says. “She’s fucking impetuous and daring, a little too bold and way too fucking fearless.”

  That sounds about right.

  “Trust me, Lily.” He cranes his neck over his shoulder to look at me, and Cleo backs up a little, leaning against her seat again. “I promise that I’ll find her. I won’t let anything happen to that girl, okay?” Confidence and determination pulses in his eyes. I just hope he chose the correct place. I’d rather not chase her around Mexico to find that the tour guide had kidnapped her after all.

  I nod once, and Cleo actually takes my hand and squeezes lightly. Compassion—something I’m not used to from people. Especially girls.

  I give her a weak smile, and she returns it. The cabs roll to a stop, and Cleo slides open the door. We crawl out, flip-flops hitting cement. Girls pool from the other cabs in front of us, and we all gather together after the vans drive off. I have no idea where we are. At the bottom of a sloping hill, I spot a group of tourists staring at the side of a yellowish, brown cliff. I hear the roar of the ocean and the splash as water crashes into the rock. White capped waves flow into a ravine that separates the tourists’ lookout point from the cliff. And the crowd watches the rock and the water. I know what this is, but I don’t want to believe it.

  Ryke practically runs down the hill towards the tourists, and the girls take their time following. I sprint to catch up to him.

  “Did she go scuba diving?”

  “No,” he says tersely, reaching the bottom. He scrutinizes the faces, trying to find Daisy’s among the people, and I follow their gaze towards the cliff.

  My heart nearly explodes. Because a set of five bronze-skinned men stand on the side of a forty-foot cliff, some locals even higher at the top, probably eighty-feet. And one springs off, his body arched as he dives.

  Straight.

  Into the ravine below.

  Oh. My. God.

  He makes a little splash, but all I see is rock and then rock and then the little sliver of water that he could have easily missed. Holy. Shit.

  Where is my sister?! And then, I see her. She’s not standing with the tourists on the “safe” side where we are. No, she has somehow found her way on the cliff. Barefoot, she clings to the middle of the rock and scoots over as one of the divers directs her where to place her feet.

  I cup my hands to my mouth. “DAISY!” I scream until my throat burns. She’s crazy. Certifiable.

  Ryke freezes by my side and lets out a string of profanities.

  “I have to go get her,” I say, my ribs constricting around my lungs. She can’t jump. She’s not a trained diver. We’re in Acapulco, Mexico where the men have probably dived from the ledge hundreds of times, timing the rate of the waves into the rock, knowing exactly which spot to hit. She knows nothing!

  “No,” Ryke tells me. “I’m going to get her. You’ll have a panic attack halfway up the fucking cliff. Just stay here. Watch the girls. Take a fucking breath.” He looks like he needs one too. He doesn’t waste another second talking to me. He darts off in the direction where we came from, trying to find a way to the cliff side.

  I just watch her little speck of blonde hair that’s tied in a braid at her shoulder. She nods as a local dive
r points to the water below and then motions to the rock. At least he’s teaching her, is all I think. If she jumps she could die or get a concussion. This is not in the itinerary.

  “Oh my God,” Cleo exclaims, reaching my side. Her fingers curl around the metal safety railing. “Is that Daisy?”

  The girls gasp as they huddle around. They all start whisking out their cellphones to record my sister’s impending death. Her toes stick off the rock ledge, not much to brace herself with.

  She’s planning on jumping. She’s not just up there for an intimate tour of the cliff. This is her idea of fun.

  “She’s nuts,” Harper says with the shake of her head.

  Another local diver springs off the edge and soars in the air with mastered precision. He dives headfirst into the right spot of water, and the man teaching Daisy keeps talking, as though that was some kind of demonstration for her.

  Daisy nods, not even a little scared. I can practically see her eyes lighting up in awe and excitement.

  “Is she going to jump?” Harper asks. “There are rocks everywhere.”

  Cleo anxiously clenches the railing. “This isn’t an ocean. This is like as small as a river. Shouldn’t she be jumping into that?” She points to the full blue ocean that hits the northern part of the cliff, but Daisy is on the side, the section where the ocean flows into this little crevice between our lookout point and the mountain she spiders.

  “I’ve seen these types of dives before,” Katy (or rather Tessa) says, smacking on gum. She sidles up next to Cleo. “There’s a small radius where it’s like really, really deep and then beyond that it’s shallow and really, really rocky.”

  Where’s Ryke?!

  “Shut up,” Cleo snaps at her. “Seriously, shut up.”

  And then, I see Ryke ascending the cliff, grabbing cutouts in the rock and putting his feet in divots, hiking his body up and then over with endurance and strength. He doesn’t need a local to show him the way. He’s free climbing, I realize. Solo free climbing. Without a rope. I guess, in some way, he was able to do what he had planned before coming on this trip.

  Still, I am terrified.

  A local says something, and their heads swivel in Ryke’s direction. The man edges closer and holds out his hand to Ryke when he finds their path. He shakes it as though he’s a welcomed guest to their club atop a cliff. Actually, they’re not on top. That would be too high. But the side of the cliff is already too tall for comfort.

  Daisy acknowledges Ryke, and then looks back at the water when his mouth starts moving. His face grows red and veins begin to pop from his neck as he rants. If I was closer, I wonder if I would see spit flying from his lips, beyond furious.

  The locals let him say what he needs to, and then Ryke turns to them, speaking a little, but his motions are calm, less irate. They nod and then point to the water, replying back. God, I wish I could hear.

  When Daisy begins talking, I think maybe Ryke has succeeded in convincing her to return to the parking lot. But her hands start gesticulating, angry and as irritated as he is.

  They’re arguing.

  He steps closer, his foot halfway on the ledge as they straddle the side of the fucking mountain. His nose touches hers as he gets into her face, shouting. Her chest puffs out and she yells back. Their voices begin to echo through the ravine but not loud enough to make out words or syllables.

  And then she puts her back against the ledge and says something to the local man. He nods, and Ryke screams at her, “NO!” We can all hear the fear and anger writhing in his voice.

  But it’s too late.

  She dives.

  Right.

  Off.

  The fucking.

  Cliff.

  Headfirst.

  I hold my breath, my lips parting as my jaw drops. Not even a full second after she dives, Ryke impulsively jumps right in after her.

  This…is not good. Both Lo and I are going to lose siblings in one day.

  I wait for them to come to the surface for what seems like hours. Waiting. Waiting. The water rushes in and then back out of the ravine in a systematic cycle. White foam smacking slick black rocks.

  Where is she?

  Ryke pops up first in the center of the water, hitting the right spot. His head whips around, searching for Daisy. He spins in circles. From where I stand, I can see the panic lacing his eyes, and my stomach does a thousand summersaults.

  “Ohmygod,” Cleo mutters. “Where is she?!”

  The other girls keep out their cellphones, still videotaping. I should have realized that Daisy would be in more danger doing something potentially life-threatening than being kidnapped. I should have had a discussion about no cliff diving to your death before the trip began.

  And then, her head breaks the surface of the water, a few feet from Ryke.

  In what seems to be a deep, safe region.

  I let out a small breath of relief.

  Ryke looks ready to burst a blood vessel in his neck. He takes his aggression out on the water and splashes her. She splashes back, and they start screaming again. She shakes her head and ends up swimming away towards the rocky bank.

  Ten minutes later, they appear near the top of the hill, waiting for us and dripping wet. Ryke runs his hand through his thick, soaked hair. And Daisy’s green tank top sucks to her slender frame while her jean shorts sop. We all start walking, and I hear their argument the closer I approach.

  “He told me where to land!” she shouts “I took diving lessons in seventh grade. I was fine, Ryke!” She did take lessons, I remember now. Our mother made her do a ton of things, trying to find her talent until she ended up modeling.

  “You left all of your friends at a fucking restaurant!” he shouts back. “Your sister thought you’d been kidnapped! How selfish are you?”

  Her cheeks grow red. “I didn’t think anyone would care…”

  “Bullshit,” he sneers. “You knew we’d come after you. You knew we’d track you down and ruin our plans to make sure you were alive. You wanted us to chase you.”

  She shakes her head rapidly. “No. I just wanted to do this, but I knew Lily wouldn’t let me. This is why I chose Acapulco—for this cliff. It’s famous. And I’m sorry for ruining everyone’s day, but it was worth it.”

  “You could have died,” he growls, his eyes narrowing with such anger—I would have already cowered back. Daisy has her shoulders locked tight, her head held high, resolute. Ryke is right. Nothing scares her.

  “I know.”

  He stares at her for a long, long time, and as I reach, I hesitate on breaking up their heated fight. “Did you want to die?” he finally asks.

  Daisy blinks for a couple seconds, not in confusion. It’s as though she expected this reaction. She shrugs and then says, “How’d you find me anyway?”

  “Freefalling,” he tells her. “You said it’s better than sex.”

  Her lips twitch into a smile. “Do you agree with me now?”

  “As fun as that was,” he says roughly, “it’ll never be better than fucking someone you love.” He adds, “Don’t do that shit again.” And he turns around and motions to the pack of girls to follow him back to the parking lot.

  I catch Daisy’s arm before she goes to Cleo. Her weak smile immediately falls to the wayside at my near-tears frown. I’ve never been more terrified.

  “Lily…I’m sorry. My intention wasn’t to scare you.”

  “What if you died?”

  “I didn’t.” She touches my arm and shakes it. “Come on. Be happy, we’re in Mexico.”

  “That’s not okay, Daisy,” I say. “You can’t just sprint away without telling someone where you’re going.” I have never read the Big Sister Handbook, so I decide to just tell her what I feel. That has to be enough. “We could have found a cliff that was supervised, not one clearly meant for professional, local divers.”

  “I wanted to jump off this one.”

  I sigh heavily. “Do you hear yourself? You wanted this one? You sound like C
leo and Harper, spoiled and entitled.”

  She cringes. “I’m sorry. I really am.” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have…If I’d known your reaction beforehand, I would have stopped.”

  The scary thing—I don’t believe her. Not one bit.

  “Okay.” Nothing else can be said. Ryke grilled her. I gave her the disapproving, brokenhearted look.

  “I’m not on your shit list, am I?” she asks. “Honestly, I didn’t even think you had one.”

  “I didn’t.”

  She gasps. “So I’m the only person on it?”

  I can’t help but smile. We begin to walk back together, her friends farther ahead of us. “I guess.”

  “What can I do?” she asks. Her eyes brighten. “I know! Cake. Cake fixes everything.” She shouts at the girls, “Cake time!”

  They let out cheers and clap and spin around to record Daisy for the end of their videos. I’m sure those will be circulated around her prep school for quite some time. She’ll be a superstar. For all the wrong reasons.

  Ryke turns his head at the announcement and still looks pissed. He rolls his eyes and shakes water from his hair with a firm hand.

  “You know what he said to me?” Daisy says. “He told me that I was going to crack open my skull, bleed into the ocean, and be eaten by sharks. And then he goes and jumps in after me.” She lets out an irritated laugh. “I didn’t need him to be my hero, showing up, scaling the cliff and speaking Spanish to the locals—”

  “Wait, they didn’t speak English?”

  Daisy realizes she let that little part slip. She winces as she flashes an apologetic smile. “They were telling me stuff, and I just replied back with, ‘Sí,’ over and over again. I got the gist of what they were saying when they moved their hands. You should be more surprised by the fact that Ryke is fluent in Spanish.”

  “I’m not,” I snap, “because he grew up with a mom as neurotic as ours.”

  “He did?” Her brows furrow.

  “I don’t know her personally,” I clarify. “But she kept him busy.” I refrain from saying like you because she does not need to be attracted to him anymore than I think she already is. Their age difference is no-no territory. Ryke understands this, and I’m afraid, Daisy may not.