by L V Chase
I check for her reaction, but she just shrugs. "Sure."
I unlock the doors and open the passenger side for Cin. She slides into her seat, and then I run around the front to get into the driver's side.
"Any preferred destination?" I ask.
"You pick," she says.
I figure I'll head downtown, but I don't have a destination in mind. I haven't had any time with Cin lately, and I figure I owe her something nice. Like a fucking date. Just then, I have the perfect idea.
"You're smiling," Cin says. "Should I be worried."
"Trust me. You trust me, don't you?"
Cin takes a deep breath, then sighs. "Yes, I do. Unfortunately, or not."
I hesitate. It’s our first time together alone in a while, and I need to get this shit out of the way. “Your mother and I never…nothing happened between us. It was stupid. For everyone.”
I don’t have any excuses for her, but Cin doesn’t need any. She just looks out her window. “I know.”
I head out of the school lot onto the main road. It's mostly quiet now with hardly any other cars around. For a few minutes, we're both quiet. I drive slowly, not in any rush to move on from this.
It feels like the first time in forever that Cin and I could just sit together quietly and soak in each other's presence. With all the shit going on, I can't remember the last time we were together without one of us trying to kill the other one, either.
"What were you drawing earlier?" I finally ask.
"Oh, I was just sketching the grass. Isn't that boring?" Cin laughs. "Drawing a field of grass."
"If that's what you like. Although I liked your other painting better, the one with us fucking."
I'm not looking at her, but I can sense her rolling her eyes.
"Hey, you're the one who painted it," I say. "But grass is good, too."
"I just wanted to draw something...calm. When I was younger, I used to think a lot of paintings were boring. You'd have pictures of fields, mountains, apples, god knows what. But then, I saw Monet's Reflections of Clouds on the Water-Lily Pond. You know which one that is?"
I can her the teasing in her voice. I grunt. "You know I don't."
Cin laughs. "It's a painting of a pretty ordinary pond, nothing spectacular. But it's the first piece of art that I truly loved. Seeing that painting calmed me down when I thought my life was falling apart."
I drive in silence for another several minutes. I know Cin will tell me whatever's on her mind when she's ready.
"It's about Damian," Cin finally blurts out.
My hands grip the steering wheel more tightly at the mention of his name. "What'd he do?"
"Nothing yet, as far as I know. But he said that something worse was going to happen to your family." Cin looks over and places a hand on my right arm for a second before taking it away. "He's planning something. He was talking to Aurora when he mentioned it."
Damian and Aurora. Just lovely. Two of my least favorite people right now. It's not particularly surprising, though, that Damian's going to try to hurt us.
"It'll be fine," I say. "I'm not scared of that little shit."
"I..." Cin's voice falters. "I'm bad for you, aren't I?"
"What?" I take my eyes off the road for several seconds to stare into Cin's wide green eyes. There's so much pain there, yet so much strength.
"Watch out!" Cin cries out, pointing at the road ahead of us.
I maneuver easily around a car stopped on the shoulder. "Why would you say that?" I ask while looking forward. "Don't say stupid things."
"It's just...everything with Damian. It's because of me." Cin voice trembles slightly before she steels herself. The words tumble out in a rush. "Everyone I care about gets hurt. Like first with Damian. Because of me and my mother, he got screwed. Now with you, because of me and my link to Damian, he's going after—"
"Bullshit. If Damian's a pussy, that's his own fault, not yours."
"I don't know. He's only hurting you, really, to hurt me. Isn't that true?"
Despite everything Cin's been through, she's still innocent in so many ways. She would blame herself for someone's shit, as if the world without her would be full of saints. Or maybe she just wants to believe that everyone is good in the end. Maybe that's why she hasn't abandoned me yet. Shit, but I wish she'd see the same about herself.
"Listen, Cin. Even if there was nothing between you and me, I was bound to run into issues with Damian sooner or later." I shake my head slightly as I think of Dad and his broken world. "He's a business competitor with my dad, remember? Writing on the Wall's been a pain in the ass to our company for a while now. And my dad's not so innocent, either. I can admit that. I can't really fault Damian or his brother, really, for trying to expose all the shit my dad's company does."
Cin's quiet for a while. "You could expose him yourself," she says.
"Expose who?" I ask.
"You could expose your father. Get the full scoop, so that there's nothing left for Damian and his company."
Leave it to Cin to come up with something like that. I laugh darkly. "No. My dad's not falling so easily. Not to Writing on the Wall. Not to me."
"You could try. I mean, you don't approve of what your father does, do you?"
I scowl. "Of course not. But taking him down is another issue."
Cin's quiet again. I know she's not happy with what I said. I sigh. "Let's take one thing at a time. Keeping you safe. And winning that art contest."
I pull into the parking lot of the tall glass-paned building.
"Wait, this is..." Cin says as she looks out her window.
"The Comstock Gallery. You're still entering that art show, aren't you? They'll give you an exhibit when you win."
Cin leans against the window as she cranes her head up to take in the full height of the building. "When I win? Someone's optimistic."
I park and take off my seat belt. "Let's go."
"We're going inside?" Cin asks.
"Sure. It looks like there's a new exhibit. I'll take you in. Maybe you'll find something to inspire you."
Cin gives me a bright smile. It's so damn beautiful, and for once, I don't give a fuck about anything else but seeing her smile again. It hits me, then. I've been trying to get her out of my head, but there's no peace in that. Nothing compares to seeing her light up like that.
"You're smiling again," Cin says.
I scowl. "Whatever. Come on."
The line at the ticket booth is short, and a few minutes later, we're surrounded by paintings and sculptures by a bunch of dead men I've never heard of. But Cin has a thrilled expression, so I have nothing to complain about.
"Oh god, I don't know where to go." Cin pouts while staring at the map at the end of the corridor. "Up the stairs for West Coast street art—I didn't know they even had shows for that sort of thing—or down the stairs for the Transcendentalists. I think they're style kind of fits what I've been going for—"
She looks up at me. I'm smirking.
"What?" she asks with a frown.
"Nothing. Lead away. Up or down?" I gesture towards the staircase.
Cin scrunches her nose. "Up." She pulls my hand to lead me upward.
Something catches my attention from the corner of my vision. I tug on Cin, holding her back. "One second," I whisper.
I turn my head casually. A man and woman are on the opposite side of the corridor, a middle-aged couple. He's wearing a gray sweater over slacks, and she's wearing a white top and black bottom. The woman's holding a phone up as if taking a picture, but she's not pointing it any piece of art. She's pointing it at us.
"The fuck?" I mutter. I start to take a step towards them, but Cin grabs my arm.
"What is it?" she asks.
I don't want to worry her. I shrug. "Nothing. I thought I recognized someone."
Cin cranes her neck to look past me, but the couple's long gone.
My face has been splashed all over the news lately because of the arrest. My recent acquittal and the
outrage over it haven't helped, either, with keeping a low profile. I'm positive that the couple just now recognized me.
That wouldn't bother me too much. I'm used to obnoxious paparazzi and stalkers, but they took my picture with Cin. If Dad finds out that I've been seeing her again, despite what he's warned me about, he could turn ruthless. I know how far he's willing to go with Diana. I've seen him publicly humiliate Trisha and Aurora. I don't want to imagine what he'll do to Cin if he thinks he needs to make her go away.
"So, everything all right?" Cin asks.
"Yeah. Wait." I reach for my phone. "I should give you my new number. I'm wiping my phone and getting a new number every week."
"Every week? Isn't that a bit drastic?"
"Not after what happened. Give me your phone."
Cin hands me her phone. I type my number into her address book. "I'm putting it under 'Ray.' We need to be smarter about things."
Cin's frowning when I hand her back the phone. She looks like she's going to argue or try to pick a fight.
I hold a hand up. "Please, Cin. Let's just enjoy the art?"
Cin presses her lips together. "Fine."
"So, up?" I ask. I lead the way to the next floor.
9
Cin
I knock the snow off of my shoes before I step into my dormitory building. The entrance is decorated with Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. For the last few days, they’ve smacked me in the face as I walked through them, and I considered them a nuisance disguised as Christmas spirit. But tonight, as I pass through them, their shimmering evokes the same awe in me as Starry Night Over the Rhône. I’d paint the lights in the same way as van Gogh painted the stars. That’s what my painting needs—glowing lights. I could add curls of a burnt orange shade to add more depth to the visual.
For the first time, as I walk to my room, I’m not dominated by wariness of running into the DDD girls, flashbacks of Diana, or exhaustion after the day’s run-ins with entitled kids. I’d always seen myself as someone who’d been emotionally stunted from my mother’s constant turmoil, but around Grayson, tiny lights seem to be burning bright inside me. It’s something deeper than happiness. Maybe security. Maybe peace. Maybe delayed afterglow from sex.
I stop in front of my door. A tiny velvet bag hangs from my doorknob. I pull it off and unlock my door. Once I’m inside and the door safely locked, I consider the bag. Whatever is in it isn’t heavy. Maybe Aurora left me a vial of poison, telling me to go kill myself. Maybe Demi left me broken glass, hoping I’d cut open my wrist while reaching in.
I loosen the drawstring. I tip the bag over the end table. A black USB flash drive bounces out of it. I pick it up. A pale green Venus flytrap logo decorates the end of it. It’s the Trapker logo. I only know it because Damian uses them all of the time. When we were younger, he saw me using a different brand and went on a long rant about Trapker’s security, durability, storage space, and how it had a data transfer speed like a Maserati.
That should have been my first warning that he was batshit crazy.
I flip it over and over. If I plug it into my laptop, it could corrupt my laptop. But I can’t see Damian doing something so simple. He’s always enjoyed convoluted plans. He’s a chess player that doesn’t take out his opponent’s first pawn until he knows how to trap the king.
At the same time, I’m certain he’d find it amusing to destroy all of the work I’ve done for my classes. Just one step closer to putting me in a straitjacket.
I plug it in. The Venus flytrap logo blinks onto the screen. I double-click it. Another screen pops up, which only contains one document. It’s titled Voss Ambition. I double-click it. As the document flashes onto the screen, a knot tightens in my throat.
The Voss Ascension, Ambition, and Atrocities
It was after the homecoming dance when Demi Reid found out that Grayson Voss was a magician. With a wave of his hand (or credit card), he could summon senators and bribe the best chefs to cater to his newest acquisition, but he could also make a woman’s ambitions and confidence disappear in the blink of an eye. It was the way the world worked in the Voss sphere. His father, Lawrence Voss, the titan of Voss News Network, was known for doing the same thing—elevating people with positive news stories and destroying people with tabloid journalism. Corruption is a game for their amusement.
But that is just the first level of the Hell they rule over.
Grayson Voss promised Reid a romantic night in a five-star restaurant. Instead, he drove her to the Voss News Network headquarters. He took her to the conference room. Even though he broke his promise, she still rode up the elevator with him. She’d imagined he’d planned a surprise for her—possibly a catered private meal or a party with her friends.
It was a surprise, but the worst possible kind.
My heart rumbles in my chest. Damian is a liar. I shouldn’t keep reading. Before Grayson was arrested, Damian blackmailed him into bullying me, so that our relationship would be ruined. Why would I give him the chance to make me doubt Grayson now?
But the words draw my eyes back toward them.
The room was filled with powerful men and stunning young women. But the most upsetting part wasn’t the age difference between the men and the women. At the end of the table, Reid could see a man with his head tilted back and his pants pulled down to his knees. It took her a second to see the woman—she was hidden under the table and the only visible part of her was her bobbing head above his lap. None of the other men were disturbed by the performance. They may have not noticed. It was easy to be distracted when several of the women were naked except for skimpy lingerie. One of the women wore a small lingerie set that appeared to be formed out of thin straps of leather that barely covered her intimate body parts. One of the men tugged her closer to him using one of the straps before slapping her buttocks.
It took Reid a second to recognize the woman as Dahlia Weston, another scholarship student that lived in the same building as Reid.
Reid attempted to tell Grayson she wanted to leave, but he admonished her for being a prude. He told her it was normal for affluent corporate life, that men worked hard to reach this level of success, and that women gravitated towards that power. Reid recalls that he told her it was the men that she should pity—after all, they could get better women, but these women threw themselves so eagerly at these men, they weren’t going to pass on an easy meal.
Still, Reid had her doubts that these women were participating of their own volition.
Grayson introduced Reid to his father. Reid recalls that Lawrence Voss never looked her in the eye. He only focused on her body.
I lower my laptop screen, nearly closing it. I’d had my own confrontation with Lawrence, and I know what Grayson told me. I’d never consider Lawrence to be innocent or worthy of respect. But the deeper I dive into this, the further the tide pulls me out. I know Damian can sell a lie—he convinced me he cared deeply for me and had feelings for me despite his actual resentment. But this story involves more than him and more than false emotions. It’s a fairytale where the monsters own the kingdom keys.
I open my laptop wide enough to see the screen again. Truth or lie, I need to know all of it.
After Grayson mentioned that Reid came from a working-class family, Lawrence told Grayson to prove Reid’s worth.
When Grayson told Reid to get undressed, she was shocked.
She’d worn lingerie he had bought her because she’d assumed they’d be sleeping together, as many couples do after homecoming. She had never imagined this scenario. When she didn’t react to his request, Eric Jensen and another man held her down while Grayson stripped her clothes off of her.
He told her to stop crying. When she continued to sob, he pulled her onto the conference table. Eric and the other man pinned her arms to the table as Grayson repeatedly slapped her.
As she’d imagined, she had sex with him that night. All of the men watched them consummate their relationship. But it felt like the end of everything.
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My phone vibrates. I check it.
Damian: Finished reading yet?
I shove my phone underneath my pillow. This has to be a lie. This has to be a fake story. But I can’t stop reading.
Dahlia Weston’s story was similar. Like Reid, she became a student at Roman Academy on a scholarship. Like Reid, she was overcome with gratitude over the opportunities the school provided, and she was bursting with the energy that comes from someone seeing a bright future. Like Reid, she fell in love with Grayson. She thought she was living out a romance story. He bought her expensive gifts and told her he loved her. Like Reid, she swore to keep their love a secret because he had a crazy, jealous ex-girlfriend, and he didn’t want that ex-girlfriend to lash out at them. He coaxed them into sexual experimentation. The first time they had sex, Grayson—
I skip to the next paragraph.
It changed. He became cruel. He’d demean her for dressing conservatively. He’d pressure her into being more sexual. He pressured her into having sex with his friends. When Weston fought back against his demands, he threatened her. He threatened to beat her. He threatened to have his father release an article about her that would portray her as a prostitute that traded sex for cocaine. He told her that his father knew powerful people who could blackball her from every industry.
And he told her that he was preparing her for his father’s company.
Not as a secretary. Not as an intern. She was the treat that would sweeten the deal when Lawrence Voss was getting lawmakers, lawmen, and other business moguls to bend to his will. If they tried to get in his way at a later date, he would use the time these powerful men had with these girls as blackmail.
Desiree Beale’s story is nearly the same as the other girls. A scholarship girl in a new private school where Grayson ruled over. He offered her love, secrecy, and a place in a society that survived on knowing the right people. He gave her everything she could want.
And he left her in a hotel for a powerful man to have sex with her. She buried the shame and hurt until now. She’s still coping with the effects and unwilling to go into details.
