by S. M. Soto
I climb down the stairs to answer the door, my mom’s soft footsteps trailing me. I don’t bother looking through the peephole. Instead, I open the door and am surprised when I see who’s on the other side.
Sheriff Keller and Officer Ferguson walk in with expressions that have the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention. Their eyes shoot past my head to my mother who is still standing on the last step of the staircase. She has a white-knuckle hold on the railing, and I know she’s just waiting for them to deliver another dose of bad news.
“Hello, Monica. Can we talk to Mackenzie about her statement she made earlier?”
Mom nods robotically, and Sheriff Keller turns to me. Ferguson pulls out a notepad and pen from his back pocket.
“There seems to be a … discrepancy with your statement, Kenzie.”
My brows dip, and I glance toward my mom to make sure she’s okay.
“What kind of discrepancy?”
“Trent Ainsworth, Zach Covington, Marcus Whitehorn, and Vincent Hawthorne all say they’ve never met you. Trent was particularly adamant that he’s never laid a hand on you, let alone kissed you. They said the kiss at the bonfire between you and Trent never occurred. We’ve yet to get a hold of Sebastian Pierce’s family since they’ve already left on their annual vacation, but the rest of the guys…” he trails off, and my chest heaves, trying to accommodate my increase in breathing.
How dare they. How fucking dare they do this to me.
“They’re lying, Sheriff. He kissed me. They were all there. I even confronted them!”
“Did they admit to it then?”
“I, well, no, not exactly, but … but it happened, Sheriff. I’m not lying. You know this! You know me! I would never ever make up something like this.”
“Mackenzie,” Mom whispers in a soft voice from behind me, startling me. I hadn’t even realized she moved from the staircase. My heart crushes when I stare into her eyes that are brimming with another round of tears.
She doesn’t believe me.
Sheriff Keller doesn’t believe me.
No one believes me.
Hysteria claws at my throat, and anger surges through my veins at the mere fact that I’m the one who looks like the liar here. I can’t believe this.
“It happened! I was supposed to be the one at that kissing rock last night. It was supposed to be me meeting Trent, not Madison. They know what happened to her. They have to. They were the last ones to see her alive!”
“Look, Mackenzie,” the sheriff starts, his deep voice cutting me off. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just … we have four individuals who swear they’ve never seen you, and you have no one to corroborate your story.”
My story? This isn’t a story. It’s the truth!
I rack my brain, trying to think of someone who might have seen us at the bonfire, but the only person was Madison. God, I should’ve stayed with Winnie. Why the hell didn’t I just go mingle with Winnie?
“What does that mean then?” I ask, voice colored with my anger. “We’re just supposed to let those murderers get off scot-free?”
“We don’t know that they’ve hurt anyone, miss,” the other officer, Ferguson, pipes in. The asshole.
Ugh! I want to scream.
“Right now, we’re looking into all possible leads and at all potential suspects. Anyone who may have wanted to hurt your sister. Or anyone else who might have been in the area last night.”
“Those bastards! That’s who was in the area. C’mon, Sheriff Keller, it was them. You and I both know it. Who else in this town would’ve hurt her? No one.”
Sheriff Keller gives Ferguson the side-eye and heaves a tired sigh. “The boys all have alibis for last night, Mackenzie. Everyone except for you.”
All the color drains from my face, and my arm shoots out as I try to find something to steady myself with so I don’t pass out.
No, no, no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
“I think it’s time for you both to go, Dan,” Mom says quietly, moving toward the front door.
Sheriff Keller’s eyes remain fixed on the oak floors beneath our feet before he murmurs, “Let’s go,” to Ferguson, and they both slip out of the house.
Tears of anger glimmer in my eyes as I stare blankly at the door, trying to figure out how this situation got so colossally fucked up. Mom shuts the front door, and like magnets, my eyes are drawn to her.
A fat, hot tear slides down my cheek when she asks, “Where were you last night, Mackenzie?”
Trent’s hand grasps a lock of my straight jet-black hair, and he rubs it through his fingers, snapping me back to the present. I blink rapidly, trying to rid myself of the moisture building in my eyes over the memory. When I stop blinking, my eyes focus on Trent, and our gazes clash. My hazel to his pine green. I search his gaze, looking for a small inkling of recognition in there, but, instead, all I see is heat and lust. He’s looking at me like he did that night at the bonfire. Only now, I don’t feel any giddiness or glee. Just anger. Pure, unadulterated anger. I mask it, though, not wanting him to see how angry being this close to him—to all of them—makes me.
“I want her,” Trent announces to the rest of the guys in the room. His gaze never once wavers from mine.
Of course, you do.
“Not so fast, buddy. Don’t you think we should let her choose, let them all choose, who they want to hang out with first?” Zach asks, stepping toward us. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him watching me. Closely. Too closely. “What do you say, sweetheart? Anyone, in particular, you want to get to know?”
For a few seconds, I keep my gaze trained on Zach, taking him in. It’s obvious he’s no longer the kid from high school either. He’s taller than I remember, much bulkier, and the manbun he’s sporting is a new addition that only adds to his savage-like features.
I shift my gaze around the room, realizing everyone is watching me. I catch Kat and Vera’s eyes, and they look like they’re holding their breath, waiting for me to decide.
“What’s your name?” someone asks, and I realize it’s Vincent.
I almost say Mackenzie, but something stops me. Instead, I go with, “Scarlett.”
In my peripheral, I see Kat and Vera’s eyes widen at my lie. I glance at them and see the questions written all over Katherine’s face with her brows drawn in, but Vera looks positively giddy, like this is some fun game.
Little does she know, the games haven’t even begun yet. We’re just getting started.
I’m just about to open my mouth and pick who I want to interrogate first when the door to the glass box abruptly opens, and Vincent scoffs.
“Look who finally decided to show up. About fucking time, asshole.”
The responding deep, gravelly chuckle stirs something familiar in me. Slowly, I pivot to glance over my shoulder toward the source. My jaw just about drops when I see who it is.
Well, fuck me.
As fate would have it, my hot one-night stand, Baz King, is the one who walks through the door. Our eyes connect almost instantly, and I watch as his body stiffens, locking every muscle that I touched last night in place. His brows dip, and he darts his gaze around the room, taking in the number of guys and girls. His lips thin almost immediately. A grimace pulls taut across his features.
“See anyone you like, Baz? Trent was already trying to stake his claim on the beautiful Scarlett over here, knowing it’s against the rules.” Zach jerks his head toward me, and my face heats.
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I’ve just barely gotten up here, and I’m already tangled in a web of fucking lies.
“Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?” Vera finally blurts.
Good God, it took her long enough.
Marcus hops off the couch and prowls toward Vera. “Well, sweetheart. You’ve been invited to our sanctuary. We liked what we saw down there, so if you’re up to it, choose one of us for the night, and if all goes well, we might decide to keep you. If you’re
not up to it, the door is right there. Your choice.”
My throat goes excruciatingly dry.
Is that what happened with Madison? They had her—only, they decided not to keep her?
Did they give her the choice to leave?
My hands curl into fists, and anger surges through my veins as I work to control my breathing. I want to lash out at them. I want to hurt each of them and make them pay.
“Cute,” Vera says with an eye roll, raking her gaze along each of them, scrutinizing. “You look like fun and trouble wrapped in a deceiving little package,” she purrs in response to Marcus, who grins as though he just won the fucking lottery.
“Oh, believe me, there is nothing little about my package.”
“We’ll see about that,” she retorts, already following him into the closed-off space. She winks at us over her shoulder, and my stomach drops as I try to wrap my head around what the hell I just got us all into. These guys are possibly murderers, and now, Vera and Kat are going to walk off with them and be trapped somewhere behind a closed door, where I won’t be able to get to them. Where I won’t be able to save them.
“As delicious as you two look, I’m going to politely decline. I’ve already been promised an exceptionally wild night,” Vincent says, gripping a handful of ass that belongs to one of the giggling women. With only six of us left, silence descends on the room. I share a look with Kat, who looks surprisingly nervous, and eye the rest of the guys. Baz is staring at me like he wants to say something. He looks … pissed. Like, somehow, my being here is an issue for him. Or maybe it’s the fact that he thinks I lied to him last night about who I was. Trent is watching me like a predator would its prey, and Zach is glaring daggers at me. I don’t know what the fuck I just walked into, but chances are it can’t be good.
“Do the drapes match the carpet?” Zach asks Kat. She rolls her eyes.
“How original.”
He laughs, snaking his arm around the other giggling girl before retreating the same way Vera, Marcus, and Vincent did.
“Scarlett, is it?” Baz addresses me, and I try to hide my flinch at the disgusted way he says my name. “Want to go somewhere and talk?”
I’m about to open my mouth and acquiesce, when Trent cuts in, a dark glare shadowing his features. “No.”
A stare off ensues. Testosterone against testosterone.
“That’s not your choice, Ainsworth. Let her choose.”
Trent glowers at Baz but agrees. I glance warily back and forth between them. This is my chance to pick Trent and get an in, find out what happened to my sister, but then there’s Baz. I don’t know why he’s here, or how he plays into any of this, but if our first encounter is any indication, I’d like to clear the air. I shouldn’t care that he probably thinks I’m a liar, but the part of me that spent most of the night with him does care. I hate that I want to get to know him. Even just for a little bit.
“Trent, right?” Kat says, stepping toward him. “Let’s give Scarlett and your friend some privacy.” He looks like he doesn’t want to go, but eventually, he follows closely behind Kat, leaving me with Baz. I can’t tell if I want to thank her or throttle her.
Trent glances at me over his shoulder. One glance and I know even if he spends the night with Kat, that doesn’t mean he’s done with me. Not by a long shot.
“So,” Baz says, stepping closer, voice deep and gruff. “Which one is your real name, Mackenzie or Scarlett?”
I shoot a wary glance over my shoulder, making sure there’s no one around. “Can we not do this right now?” I whisper-hiss. Dark shadows pass through Baz’s eyes as he takes a step closer. I have to crane my neck back just to look up at him. Was he this tall and formidable last night? He raises a dark brow, waiting for me to answer. I know he won’t take no for an answer.
I press the flat of my tongue against the roof of my mouth and contemplate what to say. I need my identity to remain intact. I can’t screw this up.
“Scarlett,” I say confidently, making up my mind.
Baz looks doubtful. “Then why lie when we first met?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I panicked.”
He crosses those thick, muscled arms over his broad pecs. The expensive material of his button-up pulls taut across his chest. He plies me with a cold smirk. “I call bullshit, Scarlett. But I won’t say anything to the guys.”
I swallow thickly. “Why not?”
The muscle in his jaw clenches almost angrily. “Because they don’t need to know everything.”
“Why are you even friends with them?”
That’s not a question I should be asking. I know this. I’m supposed to remain a mystery. I shouldn’t be alluding to the fact that I know the rest of the guys in any capacity, but I need to know why someone like Baz would even associate himself with any of them.
Baz actually looks sheepish as if he’s not proud to be associated with them. “I’ve known them my whole life. They’re like my brothers. Albeit sometimes my stupid brothers but my brothers nonetheless.”
A sick feeling brews in my gut, and my stomach coils with dread. My eyes narrow. “Is Baz your real name?” My heart thunders in my chest because, deep down, as my brain is connecting the dots, I know it isn’t.
“Yes and no. My birth name is Sebastian. The guys have always called me Baz, though. After a while, it was easier to go by that than anything else.”
My chest feels like a vise is squeezing it, making it nearly impossible to drag in air through my lungs. “What’s your last name, Sebastian?” I whisper.
He narrows his eyes. “Kingston-Pierce. For business, I use the shortened King.”
My heart squeezes.
Shame leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
I feel sick. Sick to my stomach.
I place a trembling hand over my abdomen, trying to quell the sudden bout of nausea and lightheadedness.
Sebastian Pierce. From Ferndale. He looks nothing like the kid from high school. Back then, his hair was dark brown and curly. He had the hair of a surfer—or a rebel. I remember burying my crush on Sebastian in high school since he had a longtime girlfriend, Summer Foster. They’d been together since their freshman year all through his senior year; it was the main reason my crush on Trent was so consuming. I channeled everything I felt onto him and him alone.
How had I not seen it before? Why was I so stupid?
Baz King. The Kings. His resort chains. This club. It’s all named after him.
How could I let this happen?
I let this … this murderer kiss me. I let him fuck me. Raw. I let this man inside my body, and he may have … oh, God. A piercing pain enters my chest as I think about my sister. As I think about the vile way she was murdered. I’ve spent years feeling guilty. Years trying to wrap my head around all of it to bring her killers to justice. But Mads was always right—I fuck everything up. Even now, years later, I’m still the one fucking up. Madison was never the problem. It was always me.
I blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears of anger that are dying to break free of their barrier and roll down my pristinely painted face. Baz watches me with a questioning glint in his eyes, likely wondering what’s changed for me so quickly. I have to stifle the urge to snarl at him like an animal as I look at him. A potential killer. I let him get close to me, and to think, he could’ve been the one who hurt Madison with the rest of the guys. He could’ve been the one who wanted to hurt me that night.
Someone in this building wanted me dead all those years ago, and instead of killing me, they settled for my sister. And I’m going to find out who it was, even if it’s the last thing I do.
A calm settles into my bones as I blow out a deep breath. A comforting sensation radiates from my right shoulder as though a warm hand is resting there, guiding me.
One thing is for certain—Sebastian and the rest of the Savages are going to pay. One way or another.
The second I have to step outside for fresh air, I know tonight is going to be a pain in
the ass. Judging from the long line of patrons dying to get inside the building behind me and all the fire codes we’re more than likely breaking, I’d say the police will be paying us a visit soon. The line to get inside is wrapped all the fuck around the corner, which is a major fire hazard for all the other businesses around here, too.
Of course, I’ll be the one who has to deal with the fallout. At first, The Kings was a good business idea, but going all in with the whole group? There’s bound to be issues. Many fucking issues. Especially with Trent and Zach. They’ve always been the biggest troublemakers, and over the years, nothing has really changed. They still can’t even manage to keep it in their pants half the time, let alone stay sober long enough to focus on the business aspects of The Kings. It’s all one big party to them.
Trent and Zach are the personalities of the clubs. Vincent is the numbers guy; fucker has always been too smart for his own good. Marcus and I are the glue that holds this shit together—we’re the business side of The Kings. Which makes sense. We’re the only two with a stable head on our shoulders, save for Vincent—he’s gotten our asses out of so much trouble over the years. If it wasn’t for him, we’d likely all be behind bars by now. His father, Mr. Hawthorne has so much pull here in Los Angeles, he’s practically untouchable.
Pushing my frustrations aside, I swipe my hand through my hair and head back inside to check on all the major points in the club. There’s no doubt the rest of the guys will be up top, too focused on their plan of action for tonight to care about anything else—like the entrance, lounge, and bar—or to make sure everything is running smoothly. While making rounds, I hear the whispers. The questions about this place and the glass section on the upper level. Most of the theories are out of this world while others hit it right on the head.
Unable to help myself, I glance up at the blacked-out windows and shake my head minutely. I don’t know how the guys managed to make that work during the building process, but they did. It all started with Zach. He said he wanted an exclusive place where he could invite the hottest women up when he needed a quick, dirty fuck. Of course, Trent and Marcus thought it was a genius idea and wanted to make a condo-like living situation out of it. A fuck pad right inside the club, no one the wiser. And of course, Vincent, being Vincent, thought it was the perfect idea.
