by S. M. Soto
Or him.
The tattoo on his forearm is a dead giveaway.
My mouth goes dry as I stare at the man in the photograph. It’s been years since I’ve last seen him—any of them, really—and I’m instantly transported back nine years in time.
I sprint out of the house, the front door banging against the wall in my haste. I don’t bother looking over my shoulder to see if Sheriff Keller is following me or still trying to console my parents. I have one thing on my mind, and one thing only—Trent Ainsworth.
What happened last night? Was this his plan all along? Did he and Madison get in a fight at the kissing rock, and that’s how she wound up dead? So many questions and possible answers hit my brain at full force, but I don’t like any of them. I need to know what happened last night.
The real story.
Still dressed in my pajamas and the fuzzy slippers Mom and Dad bought for me last Christmas, I sprint down the dirt road, heading toward the one place I know the Savages will be. The courts.
Every Sunday, the guys play basketball at the courts. Just as every Friday since the dawn of time has been reserved for their football games. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember, which is why I know, deep in my gut, that they’ll be there.
Gravel and pebbles of dirt kick up against the backs of my ankles and calves as I sprint through the streets of Ferndale. The bitter coldness of the morning clings to my skin and seeps into my chest. It almost feels as if I’ve swallowed a block of dry ice. With each puff of air, more plumes of white vapor escape my lips. My chest feels like it’s on fire, and there’s a tight stitching in my side that almost has me doubling over and vomiting along the road, but I can’t stop now. I can’t give up now.
Fatty Kenzie will not give up.
My heart squeezes at the nickname Madison gave me. Tears sting my eyes, but it’s not for the reasons one would think. I’m used to Maddie and her harsh words, but the thought…God, just the thought of never hearing her voice again, never seeing her curl her beautiful long hair in the mornings before school, never watching her tip her head back when she laughs devastates me. I can’t get any of the moments back with my sister. My twin. The girl I shared the womb with.
She’s gone.
She’s really gone.
Tears stream down my face as I think about my sister. She wasn’t always so snobby and mean. She used to be my best friend. My protector. Hell, we even shared the twin phenomenon of feeling each other’s pain and sharing the same thoughts once upon a time.
So why didn’t I feel her last night?
Why the hell didn’t I feel how afraid Madison must’ve been during the last seconds of her life?
Shaking my head, I dig deep and run through the pain. My calves start to tighten and cramp. When the abandoned streets clear, I know I’m getting closer. In the distance, I can see the courts ahead and the low fog that clings to the earth, almost hiding the dark figures playing up ahead. But I can feel them. I know they’re there.
My slippers slap against the pavement as I near their game. The fog hanging close to the grass near the courts starts to disappear, and before I know it, I’m there, standing before the five—wait, scratch that—the four formidable devils—the Savages of Humboldt County. I’m sure I look absolutely insane still dressed in slippers and pajamas with bedhead and tears streaming down my face. I can only imagine what they’re thinking.
Four pairs of eyes swing toward me, but my gaze is only riveted on one of them. Trent stops bouncing the basketball, his brows dipping as he takes in my distressed state.
“Why?” I croak as a fresh wave of tears burns the back of my eyes and nose. One of the Savages—Zach Covington—barks out a sharp laugh.
“Who the fuck is this nerdy-looking bitch?”
The rest of them laugh. Except for Trent. He’s still staring at me as though I’m a puzzle he’s trying to put together.
Ignoring Zach’s comment, Trent asks, “Can I help you with something, kid?”
Kid? Kid? Are you kidding me?
My lips purse into a thin line. I take a threatening step forward and jab my finger toward him. He doesn’t flinch or move away, just raises an inquisitive brow.
“You know exactly why I’m here.”
“Can someone please remove this cow from the court? She’s fucking up the game!” Vincent Hawthorne—another one of them—growls.
I angrily swipe at the tears streaming down my face, hating that I look so weak. Hating that Trent is staring at me as though he has no clue who I am.
“Please, Trent,” I plead, trying for a different approach. “Just tell me what happened at the kissing rock last night with Madison. I promise I won’t be upset. I just…I need to know you didn’t hurt her. I need to know our kiss last night was real.”
Laughter.
Loud, soul-crushing laughter is the response I get from Trent and the rest of the guys.
Trent drops the basketball. The sound of it bouncing against the asphalt echoes around us, and he crosses his arms over his solid chest, a taunting smirk playing on his lips.
“Kiss? You having dreams about me, sweetheart?” He turns toward the guys, laughing and fist bumping as if this is some sort of sick joke. Marcus Whitehorn—another devil of Humboldt—makes a show of crudely humping the air.
My teeth grind together as I work to control my anger. “You kissed me last night at the bonfire, Trent. You called me beautiful. You even told me to meet you at the kissing rock later on that night.”
Trent tips his head back and laughs. The column of his neck works vigorously to support his booming hysterics.
“Look, sweetheart, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I never kissed you yesterday. Hell, I wouldn’t come near you with a ten-foot pole. So why don’t you do us all a favor and get the hell out of here?”
Angry tears prick my eyes. “You’re lying!” I yell. My shrill voice bounces off the courts. “You kissed me yesterday. All of you were there!” I pin them all with my glare before focusing back on Trent. “You asked me to meet you at the kissing rock, and Madison went instead, only, this morning, she never came home, and I’m sure you all know why.”
I let my words, my insinuation, hang in the air. Among all of us.
Their laughter and smugness taper offInstead, it’s replaced by anger. Both Trent and Zach take dangerous steps forward, but Marcus and Vincent place a hand on their shoulders, stopping them from closing the distance.
“Listen, you little bitch, I don’t know what you think you know, but I already told you, I don’t know who the fuck you are. We didn’t kiss, nor will we ever. I wouldn’t be caught dead kissing a freak like you. Now, leave.”
“But you know me. You all do,” I choke out, tears clogging my voice. As I stare at Trent, I can’t help but wonder where the guy from last night went. That guy was actually sweet to me, but now he’s back to his asshole ways.
“Do we know this…thing, fellas?” Trent asks the guys, looking over his shoulder. They all laugh, shaking their heads.
“Please, Trent,” I sob, taking a step closer. “Just please tell me what happened to my sister.”
“I said to fucking leave!” Trent abruptly barks. I flinch at his tone, almost stumbling over my own feet.
“Get the fuck out of here while you still can, freak,” Vincent growls, picking up the discarded basketball. I shake my head, trying to see through the torrent of tears streaming down my face.
How could he? Last night happened. I know it did.
Why are they lying? Why can’t he just admit he kissed me last night? Was it all some sick joke? Was Madison right about everything?
“Trent—” I start to say, but Zach snatches the basketball from Vincent’s grasp and throws it at me. The ball hits me right in the stomach, knocking the air out of me.
“GO!” he barks, and I do. I stumble back on trembling legs, and I run away. My body wracks with sobs as I weave through the streets. Tears and snot run down my face, an
d I can hardly see where I’m running through the flow of tears. My slipper suddenly catches on something, and I fall forward. My body thuds against the moist earth, and I rest on all fours, sobbing into the still air.
I cry for Madison.
I cry for a brokenhearted freak who never stood a chance.
I cry and cry until I have no tears left.
The sound of tires on gravel has me wiping my face on the sleeve of my sleepwear and looking up toward the source.
“Dear God, Mackenzie. Where the hell have you been? Your parents need you!” Sheriff Keller says, throwing open the driver’s side door of his squad car.
I don’t even bother wiping the tears off my face. Instead, I let a desperate sob slip free and look up into his worried eyes as he scrambles toward me.
“Sheriff Keller.” My voice quakes, and my lip trembles uncontrollably. I have no doubt my next words will cause a shitstorm of problems. “I have to tell you something about last night.”
“Mackenzie? Hey, you all good, babe?” Vera asks, snapping me out of the memory. “You spaced out for a second.”
I clear my throat, my eyes still glued to the photo and the words above it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just … I guess I was just thinking about work stuff.” The lie slips easily from my lips, much as it usually does around these girls. They’re my friends, sure, but I’ve never been truthful with them. About my past or even my present.
Katherine and Vera have always been the popular rich girls, and looking at me now, you’d never know that, at one time, I wasn’t. I’ve changed a lot over the past years. So much so, I don’t think anyone from my high school would even recognize me, let alone remember me.
I’m no longer fatty Kenzie. Now I’m just Mackenzie. Socialite.
After graduating from Ferndale High, I turned down my academic scholarship to San Francisco State University and made a spur-of-the-moment decision to move to the Big Apple. I haven’t set foot in California since then, and I haven’t so much as given any thought to going back either. There’s nothing left for me there, hasn’t been for a long time.
My friends are the crème de la crème here in the rich world. Their jobs? They don’t work. They just spend Daddy’s money, wear the latest in fashion trends, and get paid to look good. They appear in the hottest clubs, party with celebs, and spend a fortune on unnecessary things, like this meal that I’ll probably have to dig into my savings to pay for.
Pretending to be something or someone I’m not is what I’m used to. It’s how I’ve gotten by all these years. The nice girls? They don’t make it. They get stomped on and taken advantage of. I had to learn that the hard way. But the mean girls? They weather the storm and somehow always end up on top.
And that’s exactly what I’ve turned into—a mean girl.
I should hate it. I’ve turned into the vile version of my dead sister, and honestly, I don’t know what that says about me and my head space. I should be disgusted with who I’ve turned into, but if I’m being honest, I haven’t felt anything in a long time. I’ve been numb, coasting by without emotion. All until I saw the photograph Kat and Vera are still fawning over.
Katherine Van Der Pont is the daughter of a mogul. We met at an event I was working. She was an attendee while I was catering on the side, barely making ends meet. I had just gotten off my shift and was changing in the restroom when she ran into me. She thought I was another guest and struck up a conversation. The rest is pretty much history.
Vera Caspian is the heir to a family that owns a shit ton of land with oil. I met her a few years ago through Kat. The two have been besties for a while now, and I guess I was the final piece needed to complete their trio. Instead of telling them the truth about my family and me, I gave them some half-assed sob story—my sister died when I was younger, my parents cut me off financially years ago, and we no longer have any contact. That’s it. The fraudulent story of Mackenzie Wright.
I never felt the need to elaborate. We’re thousands of miles from that previous life, so there’s no way they’d ever find out the truth. The girls don’t need to know how broke I really am, where I really come from, or what I had to overcome in the past.
The girls think I work so many jobs because I’m trying to spite my rich family, but in actuality, I’m just trying to survive and scrape together a living. They have no idea. They offer help whenever they know I’m penny-pinching just to stay afloat, but for the most part, I try not to take the handouts from them. It’s not like I deserve them.
I’m a liar and a fake. That’s the sad truth.
“Worried about your deadline?” Katherine asks, referring to one of my many jobs. I force a fake smile.
“Yeah. I guess I’m just a little worried I won’t make it in time.”
She scoffs. “Oh stop, you’re a brilliant writer, and you’re insanely talented. They’ll love whatever you give them.”
If she only knew.
She’s merely being a good friend, trying to shower me with praise. They’ve never read a word of what I’ve written. I’d imagine not many have.
My friends think I’m a freelance writer, which I am, but what they don’t know is, I’ve been a struggling writer on the side as well. I take the freelance jobs for extra cash since it’s my only means to survive, but what I’m really focused on is my writing career. I’ve been working on the same project for six years, but I’ve been stuck in the middle without enough information on where to go with it.
My gaze drifts toward the photo in the gossip rag again, and a plan starts to take shape in my head. Feelings I’ve buried rapidly claw to the surface, demanding to be handled.
I think I’ve just found the answers for the project I’ve been working on.
“This looks fun. We should definitely go to this opening.” I find myself saying, my eyes still glued to the photo of Trent Ainsworth with his arms slung around two other guys. Going by their bone structure, I’d say it’s Zach Covington and Vincent Hawthorne. The only two devils missing from the photo are Marcus Whitehorn and Sebastian Pierce.
For the fifth time, my eyes scale over the caption above the photo:
The Hollywood Scoop—SoCal’s biggest playboys are at it again. Three of the infamous five were spotted out on Tuesday night promoting the grand opening of their new, exclusive club in West Hollywood, fit for the elite—The Kings. The guest list is already a mile long filled with your favorite A-list celebrities, guaranteeing the club’s opening to be a success.
Absentmindedly, I rub the pad of my finger over my lips, processing. We can get a flight out of New York to LA with no issues—Vera and Kat are party girls down to their core. They wouldn’t miss an exclusive club opening like this for the world.
“You’re serious? You, of all people, are willing to fly to LA for this? What about your deadline and your PA job at the firm?”
One of my part-time jobs is as an assistant for the marketing director at MainCorp Marketing. It’s a shitty job, but it helps pay the bills. All it costs is my dignity. I don’t usually mind grunt work, but when your boss is an asshole who gifts you with impossible tasks—like picking up dry cleaning, buying coffee and all his other meals throughout the day, oh, yeah, and buying his condoms that I’m one hundred percent certain he isn’t using with his wife—that’s always a fun time.
I shrug my shoulders noncommittally at Vera and nod. “It might be a good distraction from work. I’ve never taken a day off, so it’s not like they can tell me no.”
Kat squeals and pulls me into an air-restricting hug. “Yes! IloveyouIloveyou! I’ll book our flights and set up an appointment with Genevieve for Brazilians. We are going to be the hottest in that club come opening night. Those men won’t be able to keep their eyes off us. Who knows, maybe one of us will even bag one of the millionaires who own the club.” She waggles her brows suggestively.
I smile. A real, genuine smile.
That’s the plan.
I study my reflection in the floor-length mirror in my suite. I ca
n’t get over how different I look. Two days ago, after Kat made sure our bodies were waxed and plucked free of almost all hair, I decided it was time for a change. It wasn’t so much a spur-of-the-moment decision, though. It was something else entirely. I wanted to be a new person. I didn’t want to head back to the West Coast feeling like the same sandy blond, hazel-eyed Mackenzie Wright. Even though I was no longer that girl from high school, I couldn’t help but feel that being near the Savages again would change things. I had to make myself unrecognizable to keep the upper hand, and as I stare in the mirror, I think I’ve accomplished that.
Picking up a strand of my hair that has been dyed jet black and straightened down my back, I have to admit, the hair was a difficult change. Seeing my blond smudged away with black was like watching a piece of me die, and my alter ego emerge. It’ll definitely take some getting used to, but as I rake my gaze over myself for the first time, I can’t help but feel…different. Seductive. The fire engine red wrap dress hugs my curves to perfection and fits damn near like a glove. All the running in the world couldn’t get rid of my backside, so years ago, I decided to embrace it. I switched out the horde of cardio in place for Pilates and weightlifting. Now, my backside is something I’m proud of.
I look dangerous—like a vixen. A sexy, dangerous vixen getting restitution for her sister.
My cell vibrates on the end table. Snapping my gaze away from my reflection, I glance at the message on the brightly lit screen.
Kat: Once you’re ready, the concierge will be waiting with a Town Car. Courtesy of my dad. Kisses.
I roll my eyes. Kat’s father, the mogul, has always worked at his daughter’s beck and call. Vera and Kat are staying at Kat’s family vacation home, but I opted for some privacy because I didn’t want to be a burden. I also wanted time to gather my wits before insinuating myself in the lives of the elite once again. Kat wasn’t happy at the thought of me staying at some random hotel alone, so she had her daddio pull some strings. Instead of staying at a cheap, decent hotel like I intended to, Kat’s father got me a room at the Kings Resort and Spa. It’s as pretentious and snobby as it sounds, but it’s also incredibly beautiful. My suite is otherworldly, and the staff here has been absolutely incredible. For the first time, I feel like a princess. That’s how everyone treats you in a hotel like this. Now I see why people dish out so much money for five-star hotels—because the Kings Resort? It’s more like a hundred-star hotel.
