Payback, page 32
For all of us.
Charlie pulls a sleek olive-colored bottle from inside. “Champagne?”
As Belk tips the box to the ground and opens another, Charlie pops the cork with a knife from his belt. It makes a resounding crack in the air, and brings a slew of cheers.
“No,” Belk is chanting. “No!” He turns on us, standing near the car. “You did this on purpose!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Charlotte, though I distinctly remember her being the one to paint the boxes blue, exactly as Pete had relayed to me, before Sam transferred the bottles Geri needed delivered to the Rosalind into them.
Charlie takes a long swig straight from the bottle.
“They set me up,” Belk explains.
“Preaching to the wrong choir,” Charlie tells him. He tosses the bottle toward the river, where it shatters against the rocks with a satisfying crash.
He steps closer to Belk.
“Since we’re old friends, I’m going to make you a deal,” says Charlie, his words hard and scary, like they were in that back room at his party. “Get in your car. I’ll give you ten seconds head start.”
Belk makes a sound like he’s choking.
I close the passenger side door. “Better hurry.”
“Clock’s ticking!” calls Charlie.
Belk doesn’t hesitate another moment. He hurls himself toward the car, slipping on the ground on his way to the door. By the time Charlie’s started counting down, Belk’s tearing out of the spot, tires squealing as he hits the asphalt.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Brynn,” says Charlie, returning to his bike. “You need a favor, you know where to find me.”
A favor from a Wolf? I’m not sure what to think of that.
Charlie’s bike growls, and in moments, he’s leading the pack to the road, gunning it after Belk.
How are you going to save the world, Brynn Hilder? Caleb whispers in the back of my mind.
I have a three-step plan.
Step one, remove those Dr. O trusts from the picture.
CHAPTER 33
Charlotte drives us back to White Bank, but instead of returning to Wednesday’s back gate, she circles the property, finding the apartment complex and Moore’s black car parked in the back row of the lot.
As we approach, she flashes her brights twice, and the driver’s side door opens.
Henry appears a moment later, looking very Bond in his black tuxedo and gelled hair.
“How’d it go?” he asks as we park beside him.
“Oh, you know,” Charlotte says as I jog around to the rear of Moore’s car. “Brynn got abducted by Belk. Wolves were early. Sam was nearly executed. Just another night in the big city.”
Henry cringes. “He’s gone, though?”
“Belk?” I nod. “He’s gone. When we set this up, Charlie told me that they wouldn’t kill him, but he wouldn’t be coming back to Sikawa City anytime soon.”
I open the trunk, where a full plastic bag of narcotics sits beside three neatly folded garment bags and two crates of sparkling cider.
“Everything go all right on your end?” I ask Henry.
“I tripped the lights on the fence, just like you said.” Henry reaches into the back to remove Charlotte’s bag as I take the largest one, marked with a capitol B. “Then I ran over here to the ditch. It’s farther than you cared to mention, by the way. I nearly died. I think I should take up jogging. Get in shape.”
“Good plan,” says Sam, taking his bag.
“Anyway,” I prompt.
“Anyway,” Henry continues. “I grabbed the pills you dropped while everyone was distracted at the gate. In and out, easy peasy. Coat looks great on you, by the way.”
“It’s lucky,” I tell him.
“Told you.” He winks.
We pile into Moore’s car, leaving the Jeep behind. Sam drives. Henry sits shotgun. Charlotte and I take the back seat and furiously strip down to our underwear.
Tulle explodes all around us as I unzip my garment bag.
“Geri thinks she’s so funny,” I grumble as Charlotte helps me bat it down so I can stuff myself inside. At least she fixed the hole in the side—and added some alterations of her own.
“Really?” Charlotte asks as I slip my feet back into my worn Chuck Taylors.
I grin.
As we drive back into town, Charlotte fixes my hair. When she’s got it up in a messy-but-sophisticated knot, she works on hers, and I dig through her makeup bag.
“Coal eyes, dark pink tips on the shadow,” she orders. I try to do what she says, but in the end, she takes over, brushing the splash of color across my closed lids.
We pull back into spot 18A at the Rosalind parking garage exactly two hours after we left. Dinner is just ending, and the program will be moving forward into speeches and toasts.
Geri will be keeping everyone to a rigid schedule.
We pile out of the car. The boys grab the crates and hurry toward the front doors, while I grab my silver and black skirts and follow with Charlotte. Inside, the lobby is alive with people moving in and out. A line has formed for the restaurant on the right. We veer the opposite way, to the wide wooden staircase on the left. At the bottom, beside a grandfather clock, Caleb is waiting, and the sight of him sends renewed hope surging through my veins.
As he strides toward us, that hope swells into something warmer. Slim black pants brush over the lean muscles of his thighs. The black jacket hugs his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The crisp white collar and knotted tie draw my eyes to his neck and the hard lines of his jaw.
I bite my lip as his gaze narrows down my body.
“You look like an angry ballerina.” His lips quirk. His hand twitches at his side.
Maybe it’s just adrenaline raising the temperature in my veins, but I’m pretty sure the sparks between us could start fires.
“So that’s how babies are made,” says Henry.
“Just about,” mutters Charlotte.
Sam’s already climbing the steps.
“We good?” asks Caleb. He knows I’ll fill him in on the details later.
“We’re good.”
But at the top of the stairs, we’re stopped by T-Bone, who’s got the gall to wear his sunglasses even though we’re inside. My breath catches as he blocks our path. I grip my skirts tighter in my fists and set my expression to surprise.
“Floor’s closed for a private party. Take the elevator, please.”
“We are the party,” Charlotte says. “We go to Vale Hall.”
T-Bone’s mouth twitches. He points to the crates. “What are those?”
“Champagne and cider for the toasts,” Sam says. “We’re running behind. Got stuck in traffic.”
“I’ll have to take a look.” He taps an earpiece. “We’ve got five students here. Say they’re from Vale—”
“Finally!” From the ballroom’s double doors bursts Geri, her classy A-line dress swinging around the straps of her spiked heels. “The staff’s about to start pouring for the toasts. Come on! What are you waiting for?”
T-Bone steps back, hands folded in front of him. Clearly, Geri’s already established dominance.
I exchange a that was close look with Caleb as we’re ushered around the corner of the ballroom, toward a door marked “Employees Only.”
“Is he ready?” I ask Geri quietly.
“He’s got some notes on the ‘script,’” she air quotes, “but I think he’ll manage.”
If anyone can, it’s an Emmy Award–winning actor.
Geri shoves through the door without hesitation, making room for Charlotte, Sam, and Henry behind her. Inside the bright lights and silver countertops are a stark contrast to the classy, deep colors of the hall, and the music from the ballroom thumps over the clatter of dishes and shouted orders of the staff. In the back of the room, a woman in a pink suit is dimming the lights in the ballroom beyond, at a set of switches the size of a circuit breaker board.
“Good luck,” Geri says quickly, and the door swings closed behind them.
Taking my hand, Caleb pulls me across the hall. A few quick turns, and we’ve reached the emergency exit—a concrete stairway that smells vaguely of pine cleaner, and is marked by red signs pointing to the ground floor. I start to climb up the steps, but he grabs my hand and whips me toward him. The momentum makes me crash against his chest, and in an instant, his lips are on mine, urgent and hungry. One hand finds the small of my back, dragging me closer, while the other skims my bare shoulder.
I’m burning up.
His touch sears my skin. Heat spills through my chest. I kiss him back hard, lips and teeth and tongues. Need shatters fear. Desire burns away doubt.
Then I bite the corner of his mouth and draw back.
His breath is rough, his eyes dark.
He smiles.
“Now that that’s out of the way,” he says, straightening his jacket.
I wipe away the lipstick on his mouth with my thumb. A small growl slips from his throat.
It tells me this is far from over.
“Right,” I say. “Upstairs?”
“Upstairs.”
We go upstairs.
On the landing to the second floor, our pace slows. One hand on the door, he rolls back his shoulders, a soldier preparing for battle. I rest my palm between his shoulder blades—enough pressure to remind him I’m here. That he’s got this.
He pushes into the hall.
This corridor is not unlike those downstairs. Long, worn rugs stretch down wooden floors. Small sconces cast dim lighting over the classic art on the walls. Doors to each room sit on either side of the hall. A man in a black suit waits outside one, staring blankly toward the elevator bank in front of him.
Quietly, Caleb and I slip around the corner. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he sends a quick text, and less than a minute later, the guarded door opens and a girl’s high voice calls, “Angelo? Can you crack the window for me? It’s a little stuffy in here, and I can’t reach the latch.”
We peek around the corner just as the security guard goes into the room.
Moving fast, we stride down the hall. Caleb slides a room key from his breast pocket, stopping in front of the door beside the one the guard was just outside. He slides it into the lock, which clicks, and we enter.
It’s quaint, but classy, with a gray comforter on a giant bed and a cherry-stained desk topped with old books.
“Remind you of anything?” I ask, my fingertips dancing over the comforter.
His jaw tightens, and I know he’s thinking of Baltimore too.
In the hall, a door nearby opens, and we both freeze. The security guard is back in the hall.
Our room has a door that connects the adjacent suite—the one he is guarding. It opens inward, and a girl in a white dress, fastened around the waist with a silver ribbon, steps toward us.
“Hi, Camille,” Caleb says, a little stiffly.
Nerves prickle along my arms. I remind myself Camille Santos is a survivor of Dr. O’s games too—her mother would never have been investigated for taking bribes from the Wolves if Dr. O hadn’t wanted it—but all I can think of is Caleb’s face, bloodied and bruised, from the retaliation Camille ordered on him.
“Ryan.” Her skin is flawless, her heart-shaped lips painted pink to match her shoes and her rose necklace. Her dark hair is twisted into a perfect knot on the base of her neck.
There is a dark, unhealed anger in her eyes.
I blink. Ryan was Caleb’s alias when he was working her. Ryan Ikeda.
“I’m Brynn,” I say. There’s no point in giving her a different name now. We’re too far in.
“Great,” she says flatly, then turns back to Caleb. “You have it?”
I nod, having forgotten that all these skirts are bunched in my hands for a reason. Geri may have gone overkill when I told her I’d need something loose, but it’s served the purpose.
I reach beneath the splash of black, into the pocket against my thigh that Geri’s sewn in, and remove the full bag of Wednesday pills. I’ve already cleaned off any fingerprints in the car, and am careful to keep the fabric between my hand and the plastic.
Camille’s eyes widen. She wipes her palms on her hips.
“You know what to do?” I ask.
She nods. Steps forward. Takes the bag. It’s heavier than she must think, because her hands bob under the weight.
Caleb moves closer, hands now in his pockets. He fixes his glasses. “Are you sure you’re all right with this?”
“Of course,” she says harshly. “I’m not delicate, as you well know.”
Caleb nods slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I never meant for it to come to this.”
For a moment, her hard exterior thins, and her posture slumps the tiniest bit. “I just want it to be over. I want David gone.”
“Me, too,” I say. I feel for her then. She doesn’t deserve to be punished for her mother’s mistakes. Now Dr. O is blackmailing their family again—making the Wolves bribery situation disappear in exchange for her mother appointing him as senator. I’m sure both Mayor Santos and her daughter are wondering where it will end.
I know where it ends. I saw it in a run-down apartment in Bakerstown.
That’s why we have to stop him, tonight.
Camille straightens. “Goodbye, Ryan.”
“Thank you,” Caleb says.
She leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her. In somber silence, we wait, finally hearing the ding of an elevator down the hall.
Quick, light footsteps sound beyond the hallway door. Angelo mutters a curt “Ma’am.”
The main entrance of mayor’s suite opens. Caleb and I move to the door between the rooms, our ears pressed against the wood.
“What’s wrong, mi amor?” Mayor Santos rushes across the room, the quiet creak of the floor beneath her feet.
Camille’s harsh sob is followed by a flood of confession.
“He put these in my purse at the party. He said someone would be coming to get them!” Her voice hitches. “What is this? Are you on drugs, Mama?”
“No!” Mayor Santos says. “Who did this? Who was this man?”
“I don’t know! He had a ponytail! He was mean-looking. I don’t know!”
I glance at Caleb, impressed at her casual description of Belk. Camille wouldn’t make a half-bad hustler.
“David Odin is behind this, I know it!” Mayor Santos lets loose a growl that would rival a bear’s. “It’s okay, mi amor. This ends tonight. No more extortion. I’m calling that man at the FBI back.”
The FBI? My eyes widen. Caleb’s teeth flash beside me.
“But, Mama—”
“No,” Mayor Santos says sharply. “Odin sends someone to my daughter? He has messed with the wrong woman. Angelo! Angelo, get in here!”
The outside door to their room clicks, and without a word, Caleb and I race to the stairway exit.
CHAPTER 34
Caleb and I enter the ballroom through the kitchen doors, smoothly snagging glasses of sparkling cider from a nearby server. Circular tables fill the room, covered with draping white cloths and crystal vases filled with roses. Three hundred people were invited tonight—I know, because Geri made Bea and Paz handwrite the invitations—and at least fifty of them have press passes dangling around their necks. Attire ranges from business to ball gown, and the room reeks of wealth.
On a stage erected in the back of the room, I spot Dr. O. He’s talking to a young man in a white tux, which somehow doesn’t look ridiculous with all the swagger oozing off him. T-Bone and Big Mac stand off to the side. Below, a dozen photographers are snapping candid pictures of the two laughing.
My stomach tightens.
I take a sip of cider, starting as the bubbles glide over my tongue. Not cider. Champagne.
“Don’t drink it,” I tell Caleb as I take another sip. “Little-known fact. Some Japanese people lack the enzyme to process alcohol.”
He smirks at me and sets the glass down on a nearby table. When he steps behind me and his hands find my waist, my thoughts return to the stairway, and the promise in his eyes.
I take another sip.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Geri’s voice, amplified by a microphone, fills the room. Gradually, conversation begins to break off, until all attention is pointed at the pixie standing behind the podium. She smiles broadly, brushing her dark, side-swept bangs out of her eyes.
“Our next speaker is someone a few of you may know from a little show called Kings of—” Before she can even finish, cheers have erupted across the room. The response is so deafening, Damien breaks out laughing, and runs up beside Geri to sling an arm around her shoulders.
“Oh, so you’ve heard of him?” Geri gives a cute smile, Damien’s white tux even brighter against her black dress. “Well, what you may not know is that Damien Fontego is actually a Vale Hall alum. Dr. Odin—I mean, Senator Odin—”
This gets a few cheap laughs and leads me to take another sip of champagne.
“—was one of Damien’s first champions. He recognized Damien’s talent immediately, and helped him to refine the skills that would lead him to Broadway, and the silver screen. Damien now serves on the board for Vale Hall, and helps current students whenever he’s able, isn’t that right, Damien?”
She flashes him a grin.
His arm lowers from her shoulders. His dimples do not falter.
Behind him, Dr. O’s arms cross over his chest.
“Always,” Damien says.
Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I swear his gaze meets mine across the room.
“Damien’s here to make an announcement as part of our celebration, so without further ado, I present to you Damien Fontego!”
“I think we should find better seats, don’t you?” Caleb whispers in my ear. His lips press a chaste kiss against my bare shoulder.
“Absolutely,” I say.
We wind through the crowd, heading toward the front tables, where the Vale Hall students are seated. June’s sitting opposite Bea, biting her thumbnail. Standing behind a row of reporters, Charlotte, Henry, and Sam are sipping cider from their glass flutes. Margot’s at home with Grayson and Ms. Maddox tonight. Apparently she couldn’t be trusted in a public forum after the whole trying-to-shoot-the-director thing.
