by S. M. Soto
Shaking it off, I tighten the coat around my shoulders. The brisk New York air whips my hair across my face, abrading my skin. I’m on my way to a meeting with Kat’s family lawyer at her father’s building on 5th Avenue, and even though they have a car service and drivers, I opted to walk instead. I’ve missed the air here. The crowded streets. The fast-paced life that’s worlds different from where I grew up.
Yesterday was the first time I’ve been cast free since all this mess began, and I want to soak it in for as long as possible. Walking on a freshly healed leg and hip may not be the brightest idea, but I’m craving the feeling of concrete beneath the soles of my shoes.
Although it feels good to be out here, a part of me still misses Los Angeles. I miss the lights, the hills, the trees, but most of all, I miss Baz. I’m like a broken record, and I know that. But after today, I don’t know what will happen to them, and just the mere idea of never speaking to Baz again rips my heart in half.
How can I feel this way about him and not hate myself?
“Mackenzie?”
My shoulders tense at the sound of that voice, my entire body going rigid. Slowly, I turn, facing one of the many monsters of my childhood. One of the Savages.
“Stay back!” I shoot my arm out between us, trying to keep Marcus away from me. His face softens, and he raises his hands in the air in an act of surrender.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m just here to talk, I promise.”
I eye him warily, my heart racing in my chest, trying to figure out what he could possibly be here—all the way in New York—to say. My stomach churns with fear as I glance around at the busy patrons of New York, all too busy in their own lives to realize something is amiss. When I look back at Marcus, he adopts the sincerest face a monster can muster.
“Can we sit and talk? Please?” He jerks his chin toward a small juicing shop. Against my better judgment, I nod, following him inside. The place is packed with people waiting in line for their organic drinks. That’s probably a good thing. The more people we have around to witness this, the better.
I take the seat across from him at one of the few empty tables and just stare. He’s different from the teenager I knew back in Ferndale, but as I stare at him, he’s still a lot of the same. I still see that boy, that same bully. Images come to mind, sporadic flashes of his hand clasped around my throat, threatening me with cruel words, all to keep my mouth shut.
“Did you finally quit that awful smoking habit?”
He blows out a sigh, knowing exactly what I’m referring to. I don’t know what he thinks he can say that would change my mind about him, about any of them. There’s nothing he can say that’ll make me trust him. They’re murderers, and they need to be taken care of—put in their place.
“I’m not that kid anymore, Mackenzie. I was…I was fucking scared. We all were.”
“Scared of what exactly?” I ask, spite spewing from my tone. “Scared that I’d find out the truth maybe? That you all killed my sister?”
He darts his gaze around, making sure no one heard that. “We didn’t kill your sister, Mackenzie. I did not touch her, I swear.”
“You’re a damn liar,” I start, getting up out of my seat, but he stands quickly, blocking my escape, trying to get me to stay.
“Just let me explain, dammit!”
I sit, keeping my expression blank, waiting for him to say what he needs to say, so I can get back to what I was doing.
“We know you’re publishing the piece.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “So that’s why you’re here? You guys are scared?”
“The other guys don’t know yet. Just Baz and me.”
I frown. “I’m not following.”
“Fucking Sebastian,” he grits, rubbing at the back of his neck in frustration. “Did he not explain anything to you?”
“And why would I ever believe anything he says? He’s a murderer.”
Marcus rolls his eyes. “Never mind. I can clearly see why he didn’t explain. Just listen. Whatever Vincent told you that night of the accident, whatever you think you know, it’s not the truth. Baz didn’t kill your sister. I didn’t kill your sister.”
“And what about the rest of you? Why work so hard to hide something about that night if nothing happened?”
“I didn’t say nothing happened. It’s just…God.” He scrapes a frustrated hand down his face. “The rest of the guys are hiding something, and for a long time, I thought I knew what it was, but I think it’s bigger. This is bigger than all of us. You’re going to ruin lives with that piece, Mackenzie. Baz is innocent. And deep down, you know that. He wasn’t there that night. C’mon. Use some sense.”
I glance away from him, hating that his statements are making me overthink. Those knots in my stomach grow larger, making me uncomfortable. Do I know that’s the truth, though? Why is it Baz didn’t deny it when he came to visit me? He had the chance to clear his name. Why didn’t he do it if he was innocent?
Because he’s not.
“I’m publishing it. Whatever happened that night will come out, Marcus. You guys are going to rot for what you did. Even if you weren’t the reason she took her last breath, you were still a part of it. You still covered something, hid something, and made me look like the crazy one. I can never forgive that.”
I push away from the table, my body trembling with adrenaline and emotion. I try to push his words from my mind, but they stay there, lingering at the back of my mind, making me question myself. Is this the right thing to do? Or is he just covering for them? And why was it Marcus and not Baz himself?
Is he really done with me?
I am too scared to even put a potential answer to that question.
By the time I make it to Kat’s dad’s office, I only have five minutes to spare. My palms are sweating when I’m led to their boardroom, and there’s a slight pang of discomfort radiating from my hip. Kat and Vera offered to be here with me, but I wanted to do this on my own. They’ve stopped enough of their lives for me. I need to do some things on my own, and this is one of them.
“How are you feeling about all of this, Mackenzie?” Mr. Van Der Pont asks. Kat’s father is as distinguished as they come, and he screams wealth. Everything about him, from the way he holds himself to the way he dresses. The distracting Rolex on his wrist is another dead giveaway.
I give him a wobbly smile, not trusting myself to speak. This is everything I’ve always wanted. This meeting is so monumental. A deep pit in my gut is screaming to be heard, telling me to stop and think, but I can’t. I’ve done enough thinking; I’ve had enough pain over the years to last me a lifetime.
The introductions are made swiftly once two prestigious-looking lawyers stride into the room. They eye me warily at first, probably taking in the tattered state that is still my hair. Most of my blond has already grown out, but half of my hair is still painted black. One half is natural and the other half is that deep black that I once used as a shield. There’s no denying it, I look a mess. Maybe once I get this all out of the way, I can focus on myself, just like Madison wanted. I can be happy—the me I was always meant to be.
“Ms. Wright, before we go any further, we want to make sure you know everything that is likely to transpire during this process, and well, worst-case scenario, what might happen if things don’t go according to plan.”
My stomach twists at that possibility. I didn’t take into consideration what I would do if this whole thing backfires. I’ve placed all my faith into hoping this will work.
“There’s no guarantee this piece will land any of those men in prison, or even jail, but that is the goal, to have enough of the people, the media outraged by this injustice that law enforcement officials will have no other choice but to reopen the case and look into things further. What evidence do you have besides your word?” one of the lawyers, Jameson Gomes, asks.
“Well, I have…I had her shirt, but after the accident, I lost it, and there was no sign of it anywhere. I don’t know if they we
nt back and took care of it, or what happened.”
At their request, I explain to them the days leading up to the night of the accident. Me breaking into Zach’s house, finding the stuff in that wooden box he had hidden in his safe, using it to find the shirt. I explain the night of the accident, and they all seem riveted, listening intently, nodding and humming throughout. They even jot down notes during certain points.
“I’m going to be one hundred percent honest with you here, Mackenzie,” Jameson cuts in. “This could be a major downfall. These are wealthy men. They come from big families. Publishing this with no concrete evidence could be a death sentence of sorts. I want you to know that.”
My chest squeezes. “I have no other choice. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Listen, Mackenzie, from a professional standpoint, what you have written here, it isn’t enough. Hell, it’s not even enough for a trial. Want to hear my suggestion? Embellish the events. Sure, you’ve painted them out to be teenagers who might’ve gotten away with murder, but in order for this to work, they need to be monsters in the eyes of the media. People need to fear having them on the street.”
My brows pull down. “So, you want me to lie?”
“Embellish? Yes. Lie? No. But the good news is, whatever you write, people will be looking into the guys regardless. It won’t be good attention either. We’ve dug up stories that were buried and plan to use those to our benefit. Drug possession, domestic violence, family issues, and buried lawsuits. The King empire will be ruined. Their club? It will be done before it had a chance to really even take off. Baz King’s resort chains will drop in stocks. He’s the biggest gun we have to worry about. His lawyers have already been made aware of what’s happening. I think they’re waiting to see what our next move is before he tries to bury you and your story.”
The mention of Baz’s name, and the damage and destruction this is going to cause him have my chest tightening. My lungs seize, restricting air. How can I do this? Everything he’s worked for his entire life will be ruined.
My stomach twists, and I lean forward, clasping my hands on the table. “What if there was a possibility some of them were innocent? Is there any way we can shield some of them from being ruined to that extent?”
They share a look, amusement lighting their features, as they obviously think I’m naïve for asking such a question. “Listen, Ms. Wright,” the other lawyer, Baron McHugh, cuts in, finally adding his two cents. “Doing this? It has a possibility of ruining them. All of them. Guilty by association. He owns a business with the rest of them. Of course he’s going to be dragged through the mud.”
I work a swallow. “Well, Baz wasn’t even in town the night it happened. He’s mentioned in there, but I never mentioned him as one of them in particular.”
“That’s what we need you to embellish. We need to make him a ringleader of sorts. We take him down, the rest of them will fall.”
I choke, my stomach churning with hesitation. This isn’t what I wanted for Baz. He’s worked so hard for this. For those hotel chains. At what cost have I gotten my victory? Ruining his reputation and his life?
Marcus has me second-guessing everything. Even if I did have the truth, would I be able to make up some lie about that night to make him look bad, to get him in trouble with the law?
I shake my head, my gaze darting between them. “I don’t know if I can do that. I can’t lie. The whole idea was to write what I know, write what happened. I can’t do that. And what if we later find out what some of them are saying is true, and that they didn’t kill her? I’d need to make a statement, telling the truth, clearing their names, or at the very least, the names of the ones who are innocent.”
“Definitely not. Showing any media outlet that you had a relationship with any of them will look bad for you. And honestly, if you’re this unsure of who is guilty and who isn’t, you might want to regroup and think of the consequences.”
“But it’s common knowledge. Baz King and I together. How would that look bad?”
“Scorned lover. The works, that’s what they’ll paint you as. Don’t lose sight of everything we’re doing because you don’t want to hurt him. Who knows, maybe he had a larger part in things than he’s led you to believe.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t know what to think anymore. Some things don’t add up where he’s concerned. What if he’s innocent?”
“How can you be so sure? Don’t you think it’s odd he took a family vacation the night your sister died? Those are his best friends. You mean to tell me they went nine years without telling him a single thing? I call bullshit. Something is missing from his story, and he’s not as innocent as he wants you to believe he is. You’re better off forgetting him. Lump him in with the rest before he tries to ruin you, too.”
I take a beat to process, trying to wade through the barrage of emotions swirling through me where Baz is concerned. After I come to a semblance of an agreement with myself, I nod, silently agreeing with him. “I still don’t want to lie. I want to put my story out there, but I want it to be the truth, my truth, not something fabricated for media likes.”
They sigh in unison. “I’m sure he expects you to remain true to your word. But as your lawyer, I advise against it. Things are going to get messy. Are you ready for that? Are you sure this is what you want to do, because once I go forward, there are no brakes. We’re either full steam ahead or we’re nothing.”
I work a thick swallow, trying to ignore the golf ball-sized lump lodged in my throat, hating that I’m going to do this to Baz. This is going to ruin him. His family. He’s going to hate me after this. But I can’t think about that because everything I’ve ever done, everything I ever worked for, might actually come true if I do this. It’s finally happening. Justice for my sister. Answers. We’re finally getting peace of mind, and maybe now, my sister can rest in peace.
My mind drifts to her words that night of the accident, and I wonder if peace is in the cards for me, too? I don’t know if that’ll be possible after this hits the fan, but one can hope.
The rest of the meeting ends swiftly, both lawyers obviously annoyed by my decision, but it was the lesser of two evils, and it’s the only exception I was willing to make. I value journalism and the truth behind the words, and I refuse to become a hypocrite, just to get someone to read my words or hear my piece.
With my hands stuffed into my coat pocket, I walk down the street, people-watching, letting my mind work through the events of the meeting and what this will possibly mean for the future. I jolt at the vibrating against my leg. My phone rings in my pocket, and when I glance at the screen, I know immediately who it is. Hitting answer, I bring the speaker to my ear and wince when I hear the voice.
“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Mackenzie? All I asked was that you stay out of trouble. That was all I asked. You’re so fucking lucky they put you in that mental institution before I could get to you.”
“Jack,” I groan. During everything that had happened, I had completely forgotten about my friend Jack and the role he played in my attempts to bring down the guys. Without his hacking expertise, there’s no way in hell I would’ve been able to fool Baz or any of the others as long as I did. I’d also probably be rotting in a jail cell if it wasn’t for his help during the break-in to Zach’s home in the Hidden Hills. “I’m sorry. Things got so out of hand, and I…God, I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
“I’m not mad.” He sighs, obviously feeling bad for snapping at me. “I was scared. I thought you were fucking dead. Then I found out you were in a goddamn mental institution. Hell, I thought you were having lobotomies done on you and shit.”
A smile curls at the corner of my lips. “They don’t even do that anymore. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for worrying you. How did you even find out I was in there?”
He scoffs. “It’s my job, remember?”
“Right,” I bark out a sharp laugh. “I’m guessing that’s how you got this new number?”
&
nbsp; “Pretty good, aren’t I?”
I grin. It’s the first real smile I’ve had in what feels like forever. “You’re the best, I ever tell you that?”
“You look like shit, Mackenzie, but seeing that smile on you looks damn good. And honestly? Not nearly enough, I definitely wouldn’t mind you speaking my praises a little more often.”
My smile freezes on my face when his words register, and I glance around. “Let me guess, you can see me?”
“I’m at your three o’clock.” I look around, squinting my eyes, trying to spot him. I hear his aggravated sigh.
“Your three o’clock, Mackenzie, not mine. Jesus Christ.”
I finally spot him with a ball cap pulled low over his features, shaking his head. I shoot him the middle finger for being a jerk.
“C’mon, we need to talk.”
I cross the street, following Jack into the building that I now realize must be where he’s staying. His studio is filled with boxes, computers, and wires everywhere. I cringe.
“Christ, Jack,” I mumble, nearly tripping over a stray wire. He rolls his eyes.
“Oh, shut up. I think your issues outweigh the state of my current living situation. Now, plant your ass down and tell me what the fuck is going on. And start from the beginning.”
I purse my lips. “We might be here for a while.”
He glares at me, silently telling me to start talking. Once I have him all caught up on everything that has transpired, and what is probably going to happen next after the piece is out, he stares at the ceiling, likely for strength, shaking his head. “You’re poking a bear, Mackenzie. This isn’t going to work out the way you think it is. You know that, right? If you’re not careful, he’s going to kill you next.”
I press my lips together, unconvinced. “I’d like to see him try.”
“So, what now?”
“I watch them all fall.”
“And Baz? What happens to him?”
“I want the truth from him. The real truth. Not some bullshit story he’s spun, or Vincent’s spun. I need to know if he hurt her.”
