by Callie Rose
It’s weird and unexpected enough to have me on my feet in an instant. Lincoln hasn’t been in my room since the morning he barged in on me naked, and the others have never been in here. They’re all dressed in dark colors, and they have serious expressions on their faces.
“What?” I blurt. Did something happen to my mom? But why would they be the ones to come tell me?
“We need you,” Lincoln says simply.
I blink. “What?”
“My favor,” River clarifies. “I’m calling it in.”
Oh.
Oh fuck.
I swallow, tossing my book down on the bed and crossing my arms over my chest, intensely aware that once again, I’m standing in front of all these guys in nothing but a thin tank and a little pair of shorts.
“Yeah? So what do you want?”
My words sound almost challenging, but that’s only because I have to force them out past a throat that wants to close up in panic. Whatever he’s going to say, I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.
“Here. Put this on.” He tosses a small black garment on the bed, but I just stare at it like it’s a snake about to strike. He rolls his eyes. “Come on. We don’t have all night.”
Nope. No fucking way.
I lift my chin higher, fixing him with a hard glare. I’m not doing shit until they tell me what’s going on here. “What happens after I put it on?”
River doesn’t seem inclined to answer, but Chase steps forward, turning his charm up to full blast. “Nothing much. We just need you to impersonate a waitress at a strip club.”
“What?” My eyes bug out of my head.
“Why, you don’t think anyone will buy it?” He smirks. “Believe me, Pool Girl. They will.”
“Why?” I scratch out.
“Because it’s Trent Calloway’s birthday, and that’s where he’ll be tonight. We need you to sneak upstairs and get some video documentation when he gets a private lap dance.”
Every bit of information they add only confuses me more. “Why?” I repeat.
Chase sighs, like he’s having to explain this to someone a little dim. “He’s been getting a bit too big for his britches. We just need a little something to keep him in line if it comes down to that.”
“What, like blackmail?”
“She gets it!” He raises his hands over his head in exaggerated relief. Then he grins at me. “Yeah, like that.”
“So you want me to take a video of him getting a lap dance.”
“Yeah. He’s captain of the football team; it goes against his whole good boy persona. Plus, his parents are super conservative. There’s no way he’ll want that tape to get out.”
“What are you hoping to make him do?” I ask suspiciously. I’m not really into helping these guy’s wreck someone’s life, even if Trent is kind of a dick. So are they.
“Just back off our territory, that’s all. He’s got football. He doesn’t need the whole school.” Chase cocks his head, as if he’s impressed at my moral fortitude for not wanting to do this. “We’ll only release it if we absolutely have to. More than likely, the only person who’ll see it is him. That’ll be enough.”
“No questions asked,” River says in a low voice.
My gaze snaps to him.
Right. Those were the terms of the damn bet.
Well, at least Chase decided to tell me something. This is dumb and immature, but it’s actually not anywhere near as bad as some of the possible scenarios I was envisioning.
“Fine. Give me two minutes.” I snatch up the dress and head for the bathroom.
“Take your time,” Lincoln calls after me, and I can hear the grin in his voice.
Those dicks. I’m sure this really is about setting Trent up, but I’m also sure they’re enjoying the hell out of the fact that they managed to incorporate a little extra humiliation for me.
The dress fits perfectly, and I don’t even let myself think about how they knew what size I wear. It’s slinky and tight, short on the bottom and low-cut on top, leaving a generous portion of cleavage showing. I adjust everything and throw on a little extra makeup, then pull my hair into a high ponytail.
When I step out of the bathroom, my defenses are already up, prepared for whatever laughter or jokes they throw at me.
But none come.
They all drink in the sight of me with serious eyes, their gazes moving up and down my body in a four-part wave. I can feel my face flush from their slow perusal, heat working its way up my chest.
Then Lincoln nods once. “Good. Shoes?”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Um, yeah. I have a pair.”
There’s a pair of plain black stilettos in my closet. They’re nothing fancy, but they go well with the dress. I slip them on and grab my jacket, shoving my wallet and phone in the pockets. I’m at least going to stay covered up until we get wherever we’re going. It’s late October, so it’s not exactly warm out.
The club is on the far outskirts of town, and when we pull up, I crane my neck to see around Chase’s beefy shoulder. Somehow, I ended up sitting bitch between the twins. “Here? This is where Trent’s spending his birthday?”
“It’s the only place near Fox Hill that doesn’t card. A twelve-year-old could get a lap dance here,” Lincoln informs me from the driver’s seat.
“Oh, goody.”
The club is on the opposite side of the wide, empty street. There’s not much else to be found on this stretch. A few other warehouse-like buildings are visible down the road, but they’re dark—either closed down for the night or abandoned entirely.
For fuck’s sake. I can’t believe I’m about to infiltrate some skeezy-ass strip club in a skeezy-ass part of town dressed like a cocktail waitress. Some weird shit has happened to me since I got to Fox Hill, but this has to at least make the top five.
“Okay, so what do I do?” I ask.
“Just get inside. That part will be easy. Like I said, they let anyone in. Then grab a tray or something and wait till Trent heads to the private rooms on the second floor for a lap dance. They don’t have doors, just curtains—something about security for the dancers. So it’ll be easy enough to nudge the curtain aside and get a video. We need at least thirty seconds. If his cock is out of his pants, even better.”
My stomach turns, but I just nod. I’m not getting out of this, so the sooner I get it over with, the better. I slip my jacket off, keeping my phone and wallet with me, and then shove at Chase’s shoulder. He grins down at me and winks before opening the door and sliding out of the car to let me out.
As he climbs back in and slams the door, I turn to Lincoln, who’s rolled the front window down. “Where will you guys be?”
“Around the corner.” He jerks his chin toward a small side street that intersects the one we’re on. “We’ll pull down that street a little way and wait. Call if you need anything.”
He rattles off his number, and I hurry to punch it into my phone. I don’t really want his contact info, but I do want to be able to reach them in case something goes wrong.
“All right. See you in a little while.”
I don’t wait for a response, turning on my heel and striding quickly toward the building. It’s cold out here, and the dress I’m wearing isn’t shielding me from the elements at all.
They were right about how easy it is to get inside. The guy at the door does a very thorough inspection of my boobs but doesn’t even ask to see my ID.
One obvious hitch in the guys’ plan that none of them chose to dwell on is that Trent knows who I am. If he sees me and recognizes me, it’ll make sneaking up on him getting a lap dance a lot harder. Luckily, the club is dimly lit everywhere except for the stage, where bored looking women with nipple tassels and g-strings gyrate on poles.
My heart beats hard in my chest as I hang back toward the perimeter of the room, trying to check out the patrons without being obvious. Trent’s pretty easy to spot. He’s wearing a plastic crown, and he’s surrounded by several big guys I
recognize as other football players. It looks like they’ve been here for a little while, and I hope he hasn’t already gotten his birthday lap dance.
They’re close to the stage. He waves a bill at the woman closest to him, and she crawls over, turning around to put her ass right in his face as he tucks the dollar into her g-string. The song ends, and another one begins, and it occurs to me for the first time that this might take a while. I see a tray on a nearby table and grab it, then lean back against the wall, hoping no one will actually mistake me for a waitress here and try to order a drink.
It takes four songs, but finally, the crowd of guys around Trent begins whooping and cheering loudly. They clap him on the back and force him out of his seat as one of them gestures to get the attention of a woman coming offstage. She nods and heads upstairs.
Fucking finally.
I perk up, pressing away from the wall. I should probably give him a bit of a head start so he doesn’t see me. I just have to make sure I don’t loose track of which room he goes into. God forbid I record the wrong guy getting a private lap dance.
But before Trent reaches the stairs, a loud scream cuts across the music in the club.
“You fucking asshole!”
My head whips toward the door, and I blink in surprise.
Iris? What the hell?
She storms toward Trent, furious and wild. Her mascara is a little smeared, and it looks like she’s been crying.
“This is why you couldn’t see me tonight? Fuck you!” Her voice is high pitched and breathy, and I see several of the dancers shoot annoyed looks her way. I’m sure they’ve witnessed scenes like this more than once before.
Trent freezes for a second, like a deer trapped in headlights, and then he holds out his hands, moving toward Iris as she storms toward him. “Baby, I…”
I can’t hear the rest of his response because he’s not screaming like she is. But whatever he says doesn’t placate her. She shoves his chest with both hands, and a second later, the bouncer is between them, speaking urgently to them both and pointing toward the door.
Trent makes some gesture to his friends, who are hanging back, having obviously decided not to get involved—then he storms toward the entrance with Iris on his heels.
Shit. So much for a fucking lap dance.
And are Iris and Trent together? I thought she and Savannah were still fighting over him; I didn’t realize one of them had actually made her move. I wonder if Savannah knows.
There’s no point in being in this stupid club if Trent’s not even here anymore, so I sneak toward the entrance and slip outside. He and Iris took a left outside the door and are moving at a fast clip down the cracked sidewalk. I quickly dart behind one of the cars parked on the street.
“What are you doing here, Iris?” he demands. “How did you even get here?”
“I took a cab!” she shoots back, as if that’s somehow damning evidence against him. “I just had to see if I was right. And I fucking was! This is why you stood me up? To stuff dollar bills in some whore’s twat?”
Ew. Iris gets a little flowery with language when she’s pissed, obviously.
“No, baby. It’s not like that. Some of the guys—” Trent starts, his tone defensive.
“I can’t be fucking around anymore, Trent!” she shrieks. “Do you understand that? I need to get serious. This. Is. Serious.” She stops for a beat, and I peer around the frame of the old car to see her staring at him with narrowed eyes several yards away. “You’re not the only one who’s interested in me, you know. You don’t just get to have me when you want and ditch me when you don’t. I need a real man. Someone who will be there for me. Who’ll take care of me. If you can’t do that, then I’ll find someone who can!”
I can’t see the blond football player’s face, but his back stiffens. “Fine. Find someone else then. I’m sick of this shit. Goddammit. I’m going home.”
He rips off his plastic crown and throws it on the ground, then turns around and starts stalking toward me. For a second, I panic. But his car is the one parked two ahead of the one I’m hiding behind. I crouch by the back bumper as I hear him open and close his door. A second later, the engine revs loudly and he peels out. I crane my neck to watch him go.
“Good riddance, you fucking asshole!” she screams after his retreating tail lights, picking up an empty Coke bottle from the curb and hurling it after him.
I sink back behind the car, resting the back of my head against the smooth metal surface for a second as I try to absorb what just happened. Iris is just about the last person I would’ve expected to see here—but I guess if the guys heard about Trent’s birthday plans, there’s no reason she wouldn’t have too. And she obviously didn’t like them one bit.
If she sees me here or finds out I just witnessed her blowup with Trent, she’ll probably recruit Savannah to make my life a living hell. So I stay hidden behind the row of cars as I move in a low crouch in the opposite direction. It’s awkward as fuck in heels and a short, skin-tight dress, but at least the whole point is that no one can see me.
When I’m far enough away to risk it, I stand and hurry through the darkness toward the side street where Lincoln said they would park. There are practically no street lights in this part of town, and the club itself only has one large flashing neon sign out front, so the little bit of moonlight is a blessing.
I almost don’t see the car parked several yards down the side street, and as I walk down the narrow road, I have a momentary flash of panic that they just took off and left me here. But then I see it.
Tugging open the door on Chase’s side, I don’t even bother waiting for him to get out. I just give him a push, and when he slides over, I climb in next to him.
“Well?” Lincoln cranes his neck to peer back at me. “Did you get it?”
“No.”
He scowls in the darkness. “What? Why not? Dammit, Pool Girl, you owe River—”
“Yeah, I tried,” I say testily. “I didn’t do it because Iris showed up.”
Chase’s forehead wrinkles. “What?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” I shrug. “She stormed into the club and reamed him out. Apparently, he stood her up in favor of strippers.”
“Did you know they were hooking up?” Dax asks. I’m not sure who he’s addressing, but nobody answers in the affirmative.
“Anyway,” I go on, “Trent left. So if you’re serious about getting incriminating footage of him, it’s gonna have to be some other time.”
“Dammit!” Lincoln smacks a fist against the wheel. “I don’t fucking believe this.”
“Believe it.” I lean over Chase, ignoring the way his bergamot scent tickles my nostrils. “Look. That’s Iris, right there.”
I point out the windshield toward the larger street this one intersects. Several yards ahead of us, Iris wanders down that road, looking at her phone.
“Fuck.” Lincoln shakes his head. “Well, I guess we’ll—”
There’s a sudden revving sound, and a dark sedan comes out of nowhere, plowing into Iris, slamming into her at high speed before braking suddenly.
Her body flies into the air, almost straight up in a high arc.
She hits the ground hard and settles into a still lump.
So still.
Too still.
15
Lincoln’s words die like the volume has been turned off on the entire world.
There doesn’t seem to be any oxygen left in the car.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t believe what I just saw was real. It didn’t look real.
The black sedan’s door opens, and a figure dressed in black slides fluidly out of the driver’s seat. It’s a man, I think, and he swivels his head up and down the street quickly before crossing toward the prone form in front of his car.
His movements are smooth and controlled as he crouches by Iris’s body, extending a hand toward her and leaving it there for a moment. He scans the street again, and even though his gaze does
n’t land on us, I find myself involuntarily shrinking back into Chase’s body, seeking some protection from the strange, too-calm man.
And that’s when I see it.
The mask.
He’s wearing a black ski-mask pulled down tight over his head, obscuring everything but his eyes and mouth. I didn’t notice at first because the light is so dim, and my brain was trying to process too many things at once.
What?
Why…?
I feel frozen in space, my chest locked up tight, as the man stands and turns back to his vehicle. A small movement out of the corner of my eye makes me jump, and my heart slams in my ribs as Lincoln raises his phone, snapping several pictures in quick succession.
The wild, panicked part of my brain expects the masked man’s gaze to whip toward us, drawn by that tiny movement like some kind of robotic killing machine. But he just slides back into his car, closes the door, and drives around the lump on the road, speeding off into the night. His headlights aren’t even on, I realize.
They never were.
Seconds tick by, and with each passing one, my pulse picks up. My heart felt like it was barely beating as I watched the man crouch over Iris’s body, but now it’s racing in my chest, galloping at a breakneck speed, like it knows its own end is coming and is trying to outrace death.
My eyes sting, but tears don’t come.
I can’t believe this.
Suddenly, my body moves, surprising even me. I reach for the door handle, pulling on it with numb, shaking fingers. But Chase hauls me back before I can get it open, wrapping his arms around me.
“What the hell are you doing, Pool Girl?”
“I have to—we have to—” I scrabble for the handle again, panic rising like a tidal wave in my chest. I don’t even know what we have to do, but we have to do something. Something.
“No.” Lincoln’s voice is rough as gravel. “There’s nothing we can do. She’s fucking dead.”
“But we have to—!”
My pitch is rising, and my movements become even more frantic when Lincoln starts the car.
No. No no no. This isn’t right. Nothing about this is right.
