Overture

by Skye Warren

  “Forget about the experiment.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re going into finals with a ninety-nine.” Laney is freakishly smart, which means she can get straight As without even paying attention. Meanwhile I can’t figure out whether I missed something crucial not going to elementary school or whether I’m just naturally terrible at chemistry. If these were sheep intestines that needed to be stretched, if I needed to figure out the precise frequency of a note, I could muster up some interest.

  Impatient, Laney taps the beaker. A small pile of white powder appears at the bottom. “We should be grateful he agreed to meet us here.”

  “Seriously?” I mutter, writing down my findings in the lab notebook. “I know that, but I still don’t know how we’re going to get past the hall monitors.”

  St. Agnes could pass for a high-security prison. Every school shooting that happens somewhere in the country is another excuse for them to add metal detectors and cameras—all of it expensive. It makes doing something as simple as skipping class a tactical maneuver worthy of North Security. Luckily I have the daughter of one of the greatest strategists for a partner.

  She pulls a key card from her pocket, letting me see it for only a brief moment before slipping it back into her navy blue sweater. “Simple.”

  I stare at her, incredulous. “You stole Mr. Washington’s security pass?”

  “Don’t freak out. He’s always losing his pass, so much that the secretary at the front office keeps an extra one for him in her desk.”

  “What happens when she sees that it’s gone?”

  “That won’t be for days. We’re going to graduate next week.”

  I’m simultaneously impressed and horrified at how casually my friend has broken the rules. “You realize we’re upgrading from breaking school rules to illegal activity, right?”

  She scoffs. “What’s illegal about swiping a key card?”

  “Theft.” I tick the words off with my fingers. “Trespassing. Oh, not to mention blackmail.”

  “All for the greater good.”

  Acid rises in my throat. If she weren’t right about that, I would refuse to do it. I’m not a rule breaker. Not a rebel. At least I didn’t use to be. That seems to be changing. “All I’m saying is that if we wind up in jail, I’m blaming you.”

  “Please. I have about three fake passports that could get me out of the country.” At my expression, she adds, “I’m kidding, of course.”

  I don’t think she’s kidding. “And leave me here to take the fall?”

  Like the way she did at the club. But I know that about her. She’s the one who found the guy selling a tape that we can use for blackmail. She also set up the meeting. That’s actually a high amount of planning for someone who flew to Coachella in a hot air balloon. I’m the one with the envelope of cash in my backpack. I have to be the one to finish this.

  “Nothing is going to happen,” she says. “No one is going to fall. This is exactly how my mom got into a Nicaraguan embassy and aided the rebellion.”

  “Which rebellion?”

  “Does it matter? We’re speaking truth to power right now. Coach Price is going down.”

  Because Laney is a smart girl and because it’s the only plan we have, I manage to convince myself that everything is going to be fine.

  We’ll buy the evidence we need to blackmail Coach Price. We’ll protect Cody and the other boys he coaches without breaking our vow of silence. And we’ll definitely not end up fleeing the country under an assumed name.

  At least I believe that until I use the card to get to the tennis court, where the club owner is supposed to be waiting. Only, he’s not there. Principal Keller stands there instead.

  SAMANTHA

  Liam and I have sat in the principal’s office together before. Once when he enrolled me in the school, after an interview process where Liam drilled the teachers in both core subjects and drama and of course music. Even though it was understood that the serious music learning would happen with my tutors outside school, both Liam and the school agreed that I should participate in orchestra. For the camaraderie, Miss Harper said. If six girls hating my guts for taking first chair every year was camaraderie, then it had definitely worked.

  Then again every year as we discussed my progress, my course schedule, my socialization. That’s what they called me sitting alone at the lunch table in tenth grade when Laney had volunteered in Costa Rica for a semester.

  Daddy never set foot in one of my schools. He would write a note—or have one of his aides write a note. I would take the bus to school, if there was a bus. I also took a train or a rickshaw or in one singular incident in Columbia, a donkey.

  And if a teacher ever demanded to see my father, if that was the price of entry, then I simply wouldn’t go. We’ll be leaving this hellhole soon enough, Sam. He called them all hellholes, even if it was a five-star hotel with crystal glasses and gold chandeliers.

  Liam showing such an interest in my schooling was strange. Foreign.

  And a balm to my grieving little heart.

  I repaid him by being the best student St. Agnes had ever seen, forcing my brain to make sense of literature and government when all I really wanted to think about was music.

  The number of times he got called to the principal’s office for bad behavior?

  Zero.

  Until today. His expression when he appears at the door is hard. Remote. His green eyes promise punishment. This is the Liam that enemies see when he’s in the field, and I shiver in response. I’m the enemy in this situation. I’m sitting in a chair beside the receptionist’s desk—probably the same chair where Laney was sitting when she stole that security card.

  Thankfully I managed to shut the door in Laney’s face before Principal Keller saw her, which means she’s in the clear. My fate is yet to be decided.

  I make a sound of dismay, of apology.

  “Samantha?” he says, his voice severe. I think he wants me to have some easy explanation for what’s happening, but I don’t even know. How did Keller know I would be there?

  “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling miserable. I’m not only sorry for him being called in. I’m sorry that I can’t confide in him, that as close as we are, we’re not close enough for that. Judging from the dark cloud that passes over his expression, he knows what I mean.

  Principal Keller appears at the door, a tall man who seems to become more slender every year. His mouth is set in a severe line. “Mr. North. Thank you for taking the time to come today. Please come in.”

  Liam looks at me. Apparently he wants me to come in with them. I follow the principal inside with my head down. I take the seat nearest the door, as if I could bolt. Liam sits in the seat beside me, reclined in a pose that’s deceptively casual. He shouldn’t even fit in the chair. Six-foot-something with lean muscles. The itchy gray fabric on top of a hard-plank of a chair is designed for teenagers. Or maybe adults from fifty years ago. Liam doesn’t look bothered by the size of the chair or its questionable stains. Discomfort can’t touch him. He looks like he could sit there for years, or that’s what it feels like, his gaze heavy on me. My face flames.

  Principal Keller clears his throat. “I’m afraid that Ms. Brooks faces serious charges today. We found her with a security pass belonging to a teacher. She used it to leave the building, when she should have been in calculus.”

  “Is that true?” Liam asks softly.

  The principal looks affronted. “I found her outside holding the—”

  “I asked her a question,” Liam says, without taking his gaze from me. He’s going to make me say it. He’s going to make me admit the shame out loud.

  “Yes,” I whisper, not sure whether I’m more humiliated that I did it or that I got caught.

  “I’m afraid it gets worse,” Principal Keller says, pulling out a familiar white envelope. He sets it on the desk as if it’s a proclamation of guilt—and well, I suppose it is. “She had this on her person. A rather large amount of mon
ey to be carrying around on a Monday, don’t you think? I suppose she wanted to purchase an extra snack at lunch.”

  Oh great, now he’s a comedian. Of course no one laughs. Liam opens the envelope and glances inside, his thumb rifling through the hundred-dollar bills. He’s probably counted the money down to the exact amount.

  “No doubt she was going to buy drugs,” Principal Keller adds.

  “Leave,” Liam says, his voice low.

  My stomach sinks. It’s only my worst fear for the past six years, that I would have no place to go, that the one person in the world who cared about me would have enough. Every muscle in my body knots hard enough to make me throw up. I’m clenched on the edge of the hard chair, panic thick in my throat.

  Liam looks toward the principal. “We need a minute.”

  “This is my office, sir.” Principal Keller’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “Well, I can see that this is a very serious matter. Probably you want to… one minute, only.”

  Then we’re alone.

  I can’t relax. He wasn’t speaking to me then, but that doesn’t mean I’m off the hook. It was only a matter of time until he got tired of you. I should be grateful that he kept me around this long. At least I’ll have graduated high school, assuming St. Agnes gives me a diploma. I won’t have a violin if he kicks me out, but I know how to play.

  “Stop that,” he mutters.

  I swallow hard. “Stop what?”

  “Whatever it is you’re thinking. It makes me feel like I’m kicking a damn puppy. Don’t give me those eyes; you’re going to explain yourself. Where did you get this money?”

  “It’s my violin money.” There have been some performances in the space between school—a few concerts over the summer and a trip to Italy last winter break. They pay pretty well. It would have been within Liam’s rights to keep the money. After all, he’s the one who pays for my school and my clothes. He paid for the violin I used to play.

  But he’s always kept the money in a bank account under my name only.

  “You were going to spend your violin money on drugs,” he says, his voice flat.

  “I wasn’t going to buy drugs,” I say, affronted. Bad enough that he knows I lied to him, that I kept a secret. The thought of disappointing him makes my stomach turn inside out. He doesn’t need to think I’m trying to get high on top of that.

  “Then what the hell is the money for?”

  I press my lips together. Cody and Laney are two of my best friends in the world. I promised them I wouldn’t share this secret, but that was before Liam looked at me like I’d disappointed him. “It was for a good cause,” I say. “We were going to speak truth to power.”

  “We?” he asks, his eyebrow rising.

  Shit. I’m sure he can guess who my partners in crime are, even if I did manage to keep Laney out of trouble. “Look, the truth is… I can’t tell you everything. It’s about loyalty and doing the right thing, even when it’s hard.”

  “Christ,” he says.

  I take a deep breath, tears stinging my eyes. “And if you want me to move out, I’ll understand that. I’m almost eighteen, almost graduated high school, and then the tour—”

  He makes a slashing motion with his hand. “Move out? You’re clearly upset and caught in the middle of something, so I’m going to pretend like that’s not a goddamn insult. Did you think that when I took custody of you, it was just for when things were easy? That I would only want you around if you made the goddamn dean’s list?”

  The way he says it means the answer is no, but I lived too long without any approval to really believe otherwise. My whole life has been about pleasing other people—about making my fingers move fast enough so that someone would clap at the end of the song.

  “We’re going home,” he says, almost growling the words. “Where you will go to your room and think about what you’ve done. Because you are officially grounded.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When violinist Fritz Kreisler served in WWII, his aural sensitivity helped him determine the location of large artillery by listening to the changing pitch of incoming shells across the battlefield.

  SAMANTHA

  Liam gets called away for work on the drive home, which is a relief. It gives me time to rebuild my defenses. Grounded? I’ve never been grounded in my life. He has no right to do that. And I still don’t trust him to do the right thing where Coach Price is concerned.

  He might decide to do nothing and to block me from helping. That’s what he said about the guy at the club, after all. That he would look the other way for local criminals, as long as they left him alone.

  That hasn’t changed, but we’ve run out of options. The tapes that we were going to use to blackmail Coach Price disappeared along with the club owner. Liam has the money that I was going to use to buy them, anyway. My violin money—gone.

  There’s nothing left to do but trust Liam, and the knowledge rises like acid in my throat. I’ll have to tell him that Coach Price was doing bad things. That Cody needed us to do this. Maybe he’ll consider it his civic responsibility to help. Like me.

  That night I wander through the halls of the darkened house. Our bedrooms have never been close together, one of the many ways that he’s kept distance between us. Ironically I sleep in what’s formally the family wing of the house, in the master bedroom. Liam uses a room beside his office to sleep. I have to pass the music room along the way, the shadows heavy, the silence dark. My violin rests in its case, but I feel its uneasy heartbeat as I pass.

  A sound comes into the hallway, and I pause on the hard wood.

  It was almost an animal sound, grumbling and dangerous. I take another step. Another. There’s only quiet now, but the hair on the back of my neck rises.

  Then I hear it again—a growl of warning.

  Blood races through my veins. I may not fully trust Liam, but he’s the only place I feel safe. His door is cracked open, revealing only a blanket of darkness. I push inside to safety, glancing over my shoulder, my pulse a hard staccato in my throat. Closing the door, I lean against it, panting.

  Only to realize the sound is coming from inside the room.

  A form writhes on the bed, large, menacing. A wild sound of rage. Of pain?

  “Liam?” I whisper.

  My eyes adjust so slowly, revealing a feral animal, revealing a man in sleep. White sheets are tangled around his waist. His shoulders are thick with muscle. He grasps the sheets, the pillows, fighting something. My heart clenches at the realization.

  Liam North is having a nightmare.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. Tension ripples beneath my palm. He’s facing down, fighting some invisible enemy, sweat a faint gleam across a landscape of strength.

  He goes still.

  “It’s just a dream,” I say, soothing. Only it doesn’t feel like a dream. There are terrible demons in the room, as living and breathing as I stand here. Maybe more.

  A crash of motion, and then I’m pulled, twisted, pinned onto the bed. I land hard on the expanse of cool sheets. Breath leaves me in a rush. A large body cages me from above, an arm pressed across my neck. It’s not hard enough to keep me from breathing, but I definitely can’t move.

  “Liam,” I say, gasping. “Liam!”

  He trembles above me, around me. He’s become my whole world—and it’s a dark place to live. His breath saws through the air like a serrated blade.

  “How dare you,” he says, his voice guttural.

  He’s asleep, he’s still asleep, and I don’t know how to wake him up. Only then his hand moves from my neck to my jaw.

  His thumb brushes over my cheek. “Samantha,” he mutters.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, more for whatever horrors haunted him in the nightmare than for waking him. Someone should be here every night, to pull him back to the land of the living.

  “I could have hurt you.” He sounds hoarse but coming awake. “Do you have a goddamn death wish, Samantha? I could have killed you.”

&nbs
p; I’m trembling underneath him, still trying to make sense of how I ended up on his bed, how I ended up between his thighs, the heavy weight of something on my stomach. “You wouldn’t hurt me,” I say, the words coming breathless and unsure.

  The smell of him—earth and musk and salt. It’s all I can think about, the way he surrounds me. The way he moves over me. This is how it would feel if we made love. Even his arm across my neck… it’s meant to be a violent act, but it feels sensual. My nerves pick apart every sensation: the heat of him, the rasp of hair across his forearm, the throb of his pulse.

  This is every erotic dream I’ve ever had, everything I see when I close my eyes, my hands between my legs. It would be perfect—if he wasn’t still trembling from aftershocks. What kind of terrible thing would make Liam so scared he would lash out like an animal? He’s the most controlled person I’ve ever met.

  He dips his head, his lips against the curve of my ear. “I would,” he murmurs, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “You aren’t safe with me.”

  The words resound inside me. I’m not sure they’re true, but I’m sure he believes them. Don’t they match what I thought when I came here? That I can’t trust him. That I would be a fool to trust him… and yet, seeing him in the throes of his nightmare has changed everything. He’s two hundred pounds of solid muscle straining above me, but he’s the vulnerable one right now.

  I run my hand over his back as if I can soothe him.

  As if I can tame him.

  LIAM

  My mind reels from the sudden break of night.

  Darkness blankets the bedroom, but not like my dreams. It’s not the lack of light that makes dreams dangerous. It’s the lack of hope.

  Breath saws through my throat. Every muscle is pulled tight, ready to strike. Slowly, slowly, the shadows form into the shape of a person. Samantha looks up at me, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Christ,” I say, my voice hoarse. “What the fuck are you doing here?”