Malice
The Heirs of Westhaven
Raina St. Clare
Contents
Foreword
Part 1
1. This is Maeby Frost
2. Funeral
3. The Package
4. A Message in a Bottle
5. A Favor
6. The Party
7. Questions
8. The End of Everything
9. Metamorphosis
Journal Entry: Maeby Frost
Part 2
Foreword
“There’s only one rule tonight: no regrets.”
* * *
Those were the last words my best friend spoke to me.
* * *
A month ago, my best friend went missing sometime during the night of the annual summer beach party.
The police found her the next day--broken and bloody behind a dumpster.
Four boys were last seen with her. Heirs of Westhaven. Arrogant.
Untouchable.
Richer than God, with power to match.
The police barely questioned them before moving on to other suspects.
But I need to know what happened.
A week ago, I enrolled in Westhaven Prep.
Yesterday, I ditched my piercings, my hair dye, and torn jeans.
Today, I camouflage myself in a plaid skirt, knee-highs, and a beauty queen smile. They take the bait I dangle before them.
Tomorrow, I’ll have them right where I want them.
Soon, one of them will pay.
* * *
Malice is the first in The Heirs of Westhaven series. It ends in a cliffhanger. It is a bully, enemies-to-lovers, reverse harem, contemporary, new adult romance.
Recommended for mature readers due to language and sensitive content.
Part 1
“You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I rise.”
* * *
-Maya Angelou
This is Maeby Frost
Layla
* * *
I didn’t know how long I’d been staring at the coffee, but it was long enough that steam no longer curled away from it.
It was the kind of coffee that gets squeezed out of an ancient vending machine, where equal parts hot water and questionable powders get mixed together.
Clumps of unmixed powdered creamer bubbled up now and again, bobbing along on top of the murky liquid.
The medical intern who’d fetched it for me thought I could use something to warm me up while I waited for the medical examiner. Any other time, I would have thought that was an odd sentiment since it was still summer, and the medical receptionist was complaining about the muggy weather outside.
I wondered if everyone who visited the morgue needed a little warmth. Or maybe I was the only one whose touch made everything grow cold and die.
I saw a hint of movement beyond the coffee that I somehow held in my hand. I focused on the blur seated across from me. His features finally settled into place.
Large, downturned eyes rimmed with red and sleep debt. The bags under his eyes carried years of thankless effort. Scruffy hair along his sagging jawline and neck was well-days passed a five o’clock shadow.
Dr. Marsters placed a photograph face down in front of me on the generic coffee table. “This may be difficult for you, Layla. Please take your time.”
The man standing just beyond Dr. Marsters’ shoulder negated that sentiment. The detective was eager to get back to his casework.
My gaze drifted back to the piece of paper. I knew what I was supposed to see.
Or rather, who I was supposed to see.
The medical examiner and detective took turns saying all the important details they felt I needed to hear. Preparing me for some kind of trauma or shock.
Nothing they could say could shock me anymore.
They spoke in an unrehearsed coordination of words that bore through the shell I’d erected around me. Like ocean waves smoothing down boulders into minuscule bits of sand.
I chipped away at my manicure, the black polish flaking bit by bit onto the floor. Pieces of me that will forever be part of this morgue.
Silence finally descended like a dull roar. It was almost pleasant. "Can I have a minute alone?" I asked them.
It was the first time I spoke since I arrived.
"Of course," they said in hushed tones.
I waited until they left, my eyes locked onto the bit of paper waiting to be revealed. Sliding the picture toward me, I flipped it over and laid it back onto the table.
Maeby's eyes were closed. Her thick, curling eyelashes fanned prettily, nearly touching her cheekbones. A combination of blessed genetics and premium extensions. Her hair really was her best feature. Even now, the soft blonde curls were glossy, capturing the light.
I pinched the corners of the photograph, careful not to touch any part of Maeby.
If I peered at the image long enough, I could almost trick my brain into thinking that she was actually still alive. Like I could be watching her as she slept.
Her skin was a troubling shade of gray.
Because she was dead.
Maeby was dead.
My best friend.
"Is this Maeby Frost?"
I jumped at the voice. I hadn't realized they returned into my space until one of them spoke. I kind of hated them at this moment.
Unfair of me, but then Maybe was dead. That wasn’t fair either.
They apologized for startling me, especially since they felt “so terrible” for my loss.
Is this Maeby Frost?
I wanted to tell them no, this wasn't Maeby.
Maeby would not have let anyone take a picture of her without any makeup.
I wanted to tell them that they needed to go back out to the beach and look for Maeby. That she was still lost somewhere out there.
If Maeby were truly here, she would laugh in their faces….Spike the tepid coffee…Hit on the medical intern…
If this were Maeby, she'd be in their faces right now, saying shit I would never have the courage to say to anyone let alone an adult.
For one brief shining second, I forget.
I became so full of memories of her, of Maeby. Years of memories condensed into this one moment that I forgot that night.
I forgot that I lost track of her that night.
I forgot that I didn’t call her back when I saw a missed call that night.
I forgot that I finally kissed Donovan back that night.
I forgot that I panicked when the cops broke up the party that night.
I forgot that I lied to her parents about where she was that night.
And, I forgot that while her parents thought she was safe with me, Maeby was being raped, strangled, and shoved into a garbage can that night.
The moment passed, and I was left with my memories where Maeby was both dead and alive.
Tears ran down my face unchecked. Even so, the detective didn’t push and the medical examiner didn’t speak. They sat there, expressions neither showing pity or annoyance.
Just infinite patience.
It was in that silence that I tell them what they wanted to hear.
When I spoke, I didn't recognize my voice.
“This is Maeby Frost.”
Funeral
Layla
* * *
"She would hate this," I said.
"She hated everything her parents did. To do something that she would have loved after she was
gone would have been a miracle."
Donovan nudged my shoulder and I tried not to roll my eyes. He’d been chummier recently, trying to be supportive and all.
Normal people would be happy to have their best friend's support, but I knew he never really liked Maeby.
It was hugely unfair to hold it against him since Maeby is gone and he can’t do anything about it, but right now humoring him feels like betraying Maeby.
And yeah, maybe he’d been hinting about revisiting that kiss we’d shared that night.
Little did he know that I was so far from doing anything like that ever again.
Goodbye, feelings. Hello, numb despair.
Once the viewing was done, I wandered around the little church a bit. The community church hosted many christenings, weddings, and funerals. The whole range of life plastered in 4X6 collages pinned onto naked cork board.
Maeby wasn’t in any of these pictures, yet I scanned them anyway. The daughter of the preacher should have been caught somewhere in one of these pictures.
I started to feel like I was playing a weird Where’s Waldo, so I made myself useful with freshening the food platters, and finding a home for various bouquets of flowers that had been dropped off.
Maeby’s parents shouldn’t have to be bothered by anything pertaining to their child's death. Heaven knows, they couldn’t have cared less about her life.
I snuck into the kitchenette to check on more of the finger food. The swinging door opened inward as I took a fresh platter of finger foods from the fridge.
"Oh, sorry."
My head snapped up at the voice. It seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.
I took in his suit and how it laid across his wide chest and shoulders. His clothes weren't from the local mall. Ditto his shoes.
The suit was tailored perfectly to his body, and nothing off the rack would have been able to accommodate those shoulders while also tapering into a lean waist.
He seemed much older, but there was something child-like and endearing in the way he carried himself. It was like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, and so decided to shove them into his pockets.
Instead of saying anything more, he clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw working as he stared so hard at a plant that I was afraid it’s going to catch on fire. "Were you looking for something?" I ventured for him. My voice was low and scratchy from disuse and jagged bouts of sobbing.
I hadn’t had to speak all that much since Maeby was gone. She never believed in texting. Too much lost in translation. So she had always insisted on video chats. Couldn’t BS your way through a conversation with her when she could see your every expression.
"Someone said there was a place to sign a guestbook or card or something?" The boy's eyes darted around the closet-sized kitchen, as if I was somehow hiding what he needed under the trays of finger food I took out of the fridge.
I pushed my heavy-framed glasses up my nose. I usually wore contact lenses, but didn't want to bother with those today. Spontaneous sobbing was apparently part of my “new normal” and I didn’t feel like losing my lenses in a torrent of tears.
The way he squirmed as if he would prefer that I didn't see him clearly made me arch my eyebrow at him. He didn’t look familiar, but that didn’t mean anything since I tended to forget people’s faces.
Science experiments and random quotes from dead historical figures stuck in my brain no problem. The latest celebrity that I was supposed to be obsessed with and why? Not so much.
I was probably the only girl in my class to play pop culture trivia just to stay up-to-date on the latest names.
This boy was jumpy, but was working hard not to be. I decided not to call him out on his obvious lie. Whatever he was looking for wasn’t for me to know about or judge. "I think it was being passed around in the corner lounge. That's where most of the family is, if you want to pay your respects."
A look flashed over his face, like paying his respects was the last thing he'd wanted to do. A second later, his face smoothed into a serene mask once more. His lips pressed into a line of grim determination.
Whatever got him here, he was determined to see it through until the end. “Would you like help with those?" he asked.
I hoisted the tray on my shoulder. A practiced motion from summers working at various serving jobs. He didn’t look like he’d worked a day in his life, but I wasn’t too proud to refuse help. “You can help if you want." I tilted my head toward the other tray.
He picked up the veggie tray and followed me to the lounge.
Mr. and Mrs. Frost were seated in the back corner, shoulder to shoulder, looking in opposite directions. As if they could pretend the other wasn't present in the room if they didn't look at each other.
At least they didn’t break their habits just because their daughter died.
Long tables were pushed along the walls to make as much space in the room for chairs, leaving people to group together haphazardly on metal folding chairs.
I placed my tray in the most communal looking table, taking away the remnants of the previous trays.
The random guy followed suit, placing his tray down as well.
"Thank you, dear, that's very kind of you," said Grandma Frost. She was a shrunken old woman with a reedy voice but bright spirit. Maeby always said that her fire must have skipped a generation, given that her mother was a woman afraid of her own voice, shrinking more and more into herself as the years went on.
Even now, Mrs. Frost was nearly bent in half, a husk that drooped and hung into itself.
I turned around to thank the boy that helped me but I just saw the back of him, the empty trays and garbage I'd meant to dispose in the kitchenette gone.
After the service, I arrived home. It was a quiet bungalow a block away from the beach access. My parents owned it, but hardly lived in it.
They let me stay there because its address let me go to Eastside High School with Maeby and all our friends. My parents were too busy with their travel schedule to put up much of a fight against my staying in a house mainly unsupervised for most of the school year.
I knew what the price would have been if I somehow cast my parents in a bad light, so I kept end of our unspoken agreement. I would continue being the quiet, cloistered nerd who killed the bell curve on grades and won all the science competitions and they would leave me alone.
It was a win-win solution. I would get my privacy and wouldn’t have to travel to the ends of the world being tutored by tired old men, and my parents would get all the credit for raising an “exceptionally bright young woman” like me.
Restless as I was, I would normally head down to the shore, maybe let the wind cleanse my thoughts.
But I didn't think I could handle that right now.
I had few sanctuaries. The beach had been one of them. The fact that it was taken from me, too, pissed me off.
Immediately my heart skittered in my chest. Maeby was dead, and I was annoyed that I couldn't go to the beach and enjoy myself.
I escaped into the shower, and scrubbed myself under hot water. I didn't know how long I stood there, but the water turned ice cold.
I shut the water off, grabbed my fluffy bathrobe and wrapped the towel around my head. The low hum of voices came from the other side of the door. Someone was in my room.
It was likely Donovan waiting for me, watching a show. He didn’t stay long at the funeral, but I had told him when I would likely be home.
I peeked my head out of my bathroom to check.
Donovan sat on my floor, his back leaning against my bed. A favorite series of ours was playing on the TV, the volume set low. He was largely ignoring it. Instead, Donovan looked at his phone like he wanted to break it. His thumbs flew over his phone with almost that goal in mind.
"Hey, are we watching a movie?" I asked.
Donovan looked up at me, his gaze softened. "Only if you want. I just flipped something random on."
His thumbs rubbed the edges of his ph
one, as if he waited for permission from me to turn back to whatever was eating at him.
At least he was just annoyed at the phone and not moody in general. My room was only big enough for one moody temper at the moment.
"Okay," I said, padding into my room. I grabbed a few things from my dresser and retreated back into my bathroom to change.
Donovan had been hanging out in my room since we were kids, and as long as my door was open, my parents didn't bug me about his visits.
Even though my parents barely spent time at home anymore and there really wasn't any need to keep my door open, I still did so out of habit.
I didn’t ever want to be caught breaking their rules. My freedom was way more important to me than a moment of rebellion.
Besides, parents would have to care about me to do things like enforce rules and be present in my life.
My best friend died, and they just couldn't get out of their speaking engagements and so here I was.
I pulled on the random shirt I grabbed, and the pair of pants that had been folded on top of its pile. Giving my hair a final pat down with my towel, I left the bathroom. I crashed on my bed, getting around to detangling the mess of my hair. I hadn't meant to get it wet.
Donovan was no longer on his phone, but stretched out at the foot of my bed pretending to be engrossed in the show.
"So why were you annoyed?" I asked, dragging my brush over the gnarled tangles of my hair.
He turns toward me, his whiskey eyes flecked with gold genuinely confused. “Annoyed? When?"
Oh to be a guy with selective memory. “Just a few minutes ago, it looked like you were annoyed at your phone."
When Donovan didn’t answer, I stopped combing through a tangle to gauge his mood. He just looked at me and shrugged. "Just Cade being Cade."
MALICE: A High School Bully Romance (The Heirs of Westhaven) Page 1
