Game Over Boys, page 12
“So, what? You want Lumen to wait outside the gate or something with her headlights off?” Chasm asks, sitting down on the bed beside me. He curls his fingers with mine, and Maxx notices. He pretends not to care, but his brow furrows slightly. Or I could’ve imagined that. Yeah, it’s probably my imagination.
“Pretty much. You all go with her, so no cars are missing from the driveway. I’ll deal with Tess.” Parrish gives Chasm an imperious look down the length of his nose. “You and Dakota can pretend to be wrapped up in here in a love bubble. Tess is too distracted by the Slayer thing to get on our asses about sex.”
“Oh, well, that’s easy then,” Chasm says, smirking. “We don’t have to pretend.”
“You two snuck out last night?” Maxie asks, sitting down in my computer chair. She gives me a hard look, and I fidget under her big sister stare. “Seriously, Kota?”
“We had sex at an abandoned campsite,” Chasm explains, smiling prettily. It’s an expression meant to annoy Maxx, and it totally works. My sister doesn’t even get the chance to respond, caught up in a testosterone-fueled argument instead.
“How fucking irresponsible can you be,” X snipes, perching his perfect ass on the edge of my desk. Ugh. I wish I could just shut off my attraction to him for the time being, but love isn’t a damn faucet. “What if something had happened? We shouldn’t be taking unnecessary risks.”
“We?” Chas asks, tilting his head as he studies his friend. “There ain’t no ‘we’ anymore. You’re an extra, an outlier, an interloper at best.”
Maxx moves forward like he might do something, but then he just stops and exhales. It’s like all the hot air goes right out of him.
“Chill XY,” Maxie tells him, her arms crossed as she glances his way. “He does have a point.”
Maxx says nothing, but when he turns and leaves the room, my sister goes with him.
“You want to talk about it?” Chas asks me, but I just give him a look. Do I? Of course I do. I want to pace and rant and maybe put up a poster with Maxx’s face on it so that I can throw darts. But we don’t have time for that.
“I’m gonna take a shower.”
I head into the bathroom and do what I’ve been pretending to do for Justin’s benefit: showering and washing my hair, brushing my teeth, putting on some makeup. Mostly, it’s a stall tactic. When I come back out, phone in hand, I see that both boys are still waiting for me.
“Text Lumen.” Parrish points at my phone, and I stare at it like one might gaze at a grenade missing its pin. “We’ll use her, but don’t think of her as a friend, just a pawn.”
Justin texts me an LOL and a skull emoji because, well, he’s a dick.
He wants me to know that he’s listening in—and that he agrees with Parrish’s assessment.
I ignore him, tap out a quick message to Lumen, and try to take solace in the fact that at least I get to spend the day with my family.
If I go out of my way to avoid Tess, she doesn’t acknowledge it.
And that freaks me out more than an interrogation from her ever could.
The ice cream social is being held at the Fishers’ Babylonian estate in the heart of Medina, this sprawling mansion with a lavish deck comprised of multiple tiers, all of them filled with the designer-clad spawn of modern-day aristocrats.
I can hardly believe how innocuous the setting is. Hell, it might be fun if I weren’t here under duress.
I’ve been to ice cream socials before. It’s just a fancy term for serve up an ice cream bar and hang out. Sally had one for her eleventh birthday, complete with a chocolate fountain. Well, sort of. Her mom bought a cheap fountain from a department store, filled it with chocolate sauce, and it ran for about two minutes before the sticky liquid clogged the motor and broke it.
Nevaeh came to the rescue, calling her own mother and asking a favor. A real chocolate fountain was delivered just before dusk, and I remember eating sundaes late into the night, until we were all grumbling about tummy aches.
That moment and this one feel disconnected, as if my prior experience took place on an alien world, one where I was Dakota Banks and nobody else. One where Nevaeh was still alive. On our drive over here, we listened to the Emerald City Murder Podcast (why?!), and it pissed me off when they repeatedly mentioned how there were thirteen victims.
There were fourteen.
Also, the host? Jack What’s-His-Face? He has the voice of an AI sex robot. Emotionless but somehow perverse. I’m not sure it’s possible or fair to hate someone for their voice, but if I did, I would hate Jack, the murder sensationalist. When he talks about the details of the killings, it sounds like he’s discussing his favorite things to do in bed. I would not be surprised if he worked for Justin.
“Just keep smiling,” Lumen assures me, turning so that she’s standing in front of me. She reaches out and smooths down some of the pink sequins adorning my dress. Correction: the sequins that are my dress.
Oh, the anguish of being relegated to Lumen’s borrowed clothes—lots of pink, lots of skin, the antithesis of my personal style. Today’s dress barely hits me at mid-thigh, a shimmering baby pink mini that Lumen described as sequin chainmail. That’s all it is: an entire dress made out of big, iridescent sequins. They’re locked together with tiny metal loops, a sheer underdress my only protection against occasional flashes of skin.
“Keep smiling, but don’t smile with teeth.” Lumen corrects herself, stepping back to study me like some sort of art project. To her, I truly believe I am. She enjoys makeup and clothing and live performance art in a way I never will. She’s one of those rare humans who says they love being around people, and actually means it. Now, whether or not she likes people is TBD. “Like this.” Lumen affects a sultry stir of lips, blinking coquettish lashes in my direction.
I do my best to imitate the move, and she snorts, clamping a hand over her painted mouth and flicking a look of primal fear over one shoulder. The scandal of being seen mid-giggle must be a terrifying social prospect. I wonder if it bothers her, being seen with me. The girl who trashed her car. The girl she beat up. The girl whose boyfriend had her beat up.
As far as said boyfriend goes, he’s watching me with his hands tucked into his pockets, spinning one of his lip rings around with his tongue.
“When she smiles, it looks staged. When you do it, it’s art by nature.” Chasm says such an embarrassing thing without skipping a beat. I do, however. Skip beats. Several of them. My heart tha-thunks clumsily, and heat suffuses my face. Lumen looks at the pair of us like we truly disgust her.
“Arranged marriage preferred. Falling in love looks messy and gross.” She tosses her hair as Chas rolls his pretty eyes, his slouching form propped up by a fancy light pole that looks like it belongs in a park and not at somebody’s house. He stands up straight, the yellow tie he’s wearing loose and slung over one shoulder the way he likes it. Half-tucked black dress shirt, white jacket, designer jeans and sneakers. Business casual for a high school party. Medina folk are a strange breed.
“Falling in love requires a heart, so it’s not an option for you,” Chasm tells her breezily, sweeping past Lumen to take my arm. Even with clothing between us, there’s a spark that flickers and sears, leaving behind a scar of want. “You look … really pretty tonight, Little Sister.”
For as smooth and casual as Chasm can be, he’s got a sweet side that I imagine belongs to me and only me. Same as with Parrish. Same as with— God, I hate Maxx right now.
“You look like an actor,” I tell him, forcing him to stand still and turning him to face me so that I can fix his tie. “But I’m glad you’re not. I don’t want to share this handsome face with other girls.”
I look past Chasm’s self-assured smirk in the direction of the affluent crowd. Most people aren’t even eating the ice cream. They’re ordering huge triple scoops in vibrant colors, adorned with glittering sprinkles, dripping with pearlescent sauce in lavender or pearl or metallic gold—whatever happened to fudge, strawberry, or caramel?—taking pictures or video for social media, and then dumping their towering creations in the trash.
Waffle bowls are not immune to the treatment.
Um.
I scratch at my temple with a single finger, wishing Parrish were here. Thankful that Chasm is. Hating that Maxim is among my escorts for the night. He’s already taken off with my sister in tow, hooking their arms together as they meander through the crowd.
“I feel like that’s a comment worthy of a dark corner or perhaps an unoccupied bedroom.” Chas captures my hands in his, pulling me a step closer and leaning down with that ripe mouth of his, like he might kiss me and steal my soul from my quaking body.
“Kwang-seon.” A stern voice makes us both jump, drawing Chas around to face his father. Seamus is standing just beyond the pool of light, arms crossed. I can’t see his face well, but his shoulders are tense. I remember that Maxx told me how Chasm wasn’t allowed to have girls at the house. Was this engagement idea something that Justin forced on his friend? “Could you come with me for a minute?”
Chas glances back at me, but I’m already nodding, waving both hands in Seamus’ direction.
“Go. I don’t want to cause more drama between family members than necessary.” I smile at my fiancé, but the expression doesn’t appear to relax him much. His gaze shifts to Lumen, and the pair of them stare at each other in challenge.
“If you hurt my girl—now or ever—I will hurt you. That’s a promise. Yaksok. Yakusoku.” Ah, the promise of a threat in three languages. Trilingual-ism is hot. He points at me. “Don’t leave the crowd for any reason.”
“Dakota and I are besties, Kwang-seon. We don’t need you as a chaperone.” She smirks at him as he grumbles in Japanese—I hear the word mendokusai which basically means troublesome—and leaves to walk with Seamus. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I guess I’ll find out later. Unlike X, Chasm tells me the truth.
“What if I eat the ice cream?” I tease as Lumen grabs my elbow, the puff sleeves of her pink rosette-applique mini dress brushing my shoulder. It’s hot pink, as opposed to the baby pink nightmare that I’m wearing.
“You absolutely cannot eat the ice cream,” she assures me as we make our way toward the crowd.
As abhorrent as I find the company, their behavior, and my reasons for being here, I’m stupid-proud of us all for finagling a way past hyper-vigilant Tess. Poor Parrish is likely to be stuck with her for the rest of the night, pretending to complain that I’ve fallen asleep with Chas in my room while simultaneously schmoozing her by asking to watch old nineties and early aughts movies.
I feel guilty as hell about it though. I should be telling her thank you, rather than deceiving her. If Tess had run to the FBI the way I’d assumed she might, then all would be for naught. Every dark and deviant and horrible thing that I’ve done would be flushed down the toilet in a single instance. Justin would start hurting people I cared about. Of all the things I’m unsure about, that is not one of them.
If provoked, he will retaliate.
That is how it would go down.
I made an excuse to Tess about going to bed early, allowing my grief for Nevaeh to shine in my eyes. That wasn’t false. I feel it with every step, every breath. Grief clogs up your heart, obscures old memories with fog that, once cleared, seem taunting in a way that just isn’t fair. Anything can be fixed, repaired, replaced … except for a loved-one.
I will never see Nevaeh again.
The setting tonight, at the very least, is beautiful enough to obscure my grief a little. Strings of lights in a rainbow of colors drape the numerous stone arbors decorating the space, a fountain flickering through the same as water spouts in a brilliant stream from a metal lotus at the center.
Veronica Fisher is beyond loaded, and (lucky me) I get to kidnap her!
I sweep my hands down the shimmery scales of my dress, my heart beating like a trapped bird. Justin didn’t send me here for no reason tonight. My phone feels like a lead weight inside the white clutch at my side, but I push aside the anxious thoughts.
The two Maxes have stopped for ice cream just ahead of us. I decide to focus on X instead, on the way my body feels hollow when I see him, as if he carved a space out for himself and then abandoned it, leaving me with an empty cavern. I lift my chin as we approach, trying and failing not to notice how dapper he is dressed in his James Bond suit and spiffy black bow tie.
Maxx seems … nervous when Lumen and I move up to stand beside him. I can’t explain why, but there’s a tightness around his mouth, a depth to his gaze, that I’ve only seen a few times before. Like at the hospital, when Justin walked into the room to see him.
Come to think of it, doesn’t it seem odd that Justin would visit Maxx at all? Nobody knew we were dating then. So Justin simply went to visit … a friend’s son? X might’ve saved my biological siblings, but that’s not a strong enough reason for Justin to visit. Something else then?
“When are you planning on telling me what he’s blackmailing you with?” I ask nonchalantly, and Maxx sighs. He doesn’t respond as we all gather beside the big metal freezer with all the ice cream. I order a waffle cone with strawberry, blackberry, and blueberry ice cream complete with edible flower petal sprinkles. It’s definitely Insta-worthy.
Maxx orders a hot fudge vanilla sundae, Maxine orders the same (they even like the same damn ice cream?!) and then we all stand there like awkward preteens at a seventh grade dance.
“Don’t eat it,” Lumen murmurs, touching my arm in warning. While she orders, I stare Maxx down, watching him watching me, and then I take a huge bite out of my ice cream. I’m more of a licker personally, but that whole biting ice cream/licking ice cream debate is way overblown. “Oh my God, what are you doing?!” Lumen hisses as her attention shifts to the other students.
It occurs to me then that she really and truly does care what they think. She is the same girl who took Danyella to a party and forgot all about her in the name of popularity. That Lumen is this Lumen; she hasn’t changed.
That gives me some pause. Especially when she fakes a smile and gestures down at my dress in a blasé, joking manner that feels so forced I want to scream.
“You dripped ice cream on the dress.” That’s what she says, but she looks as nervous as Maxx is, as if I’m the only person at this party who isn’t in on the joke. “Also …” Lumen cups one hand over her mouth and leans in. “You might very well be the only person here who isn’t on a diet.” She keeps smiling at me as she stands up straight, and I take another rebellious bite of the ice cream.
Maxx watches me for a minute, and then dips his spoon in, too. He makes a vigilante stand with his own bite, but he doesn’t smile at me or pretend like this is an act of solidarity of any sort. This is just Maxx being Maxx. Or … is that stare a come-on? Ugh, I’m so confused.
“You just can’t help but crave attention, can you?” Veronica asks, coming up to me in a dress made out of tinfoil. Well, I mean, obviously it’s not literally made out of tinfoil, but it might as well be. It’s shiny and crumply and very 1980s of her. I smile, but it’s not a nice smile.
“And I thought my dress was bad tonight.” It comes out as a near hysterical laugh, but at this point, I am done. I am done trying to be nice. I am done trying to solve this problem like a civilized person. I want to come completely and utterly unhinged. It’s the only way to beat Justin; it’s the only way to make this stop. I have no choice now but to be honest, completely unfiltered. Even if that means being mean. Even if that means being violent. “But I didn’t get to pick mine.” I grimace. “You did.” Veronica gapes at me as I take another bite of my ice cream, grinning maniacally through the cold of it. “You chose to wear a dress that looks like the discarded tinfoil cover off an old casserole.”
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” She gives a disbelieving laugh before turning her gaze to Maxx. “Word spreads that you’re dating three guys, and then one of them dumps you for your sister? That’s some white trash drama, don’t you think?” Veronica’s brown gaze comes back to me again.
All I do is smile.
At this point, what else can I do?
Maxx betrayed me. Nevaeh is dead. Justin is never going to stop.
“Are you jealous, Veronica?” I ask, reaching out as if to fix her dress. She slaps my hand away, and I laugh again. My eyes meet hers, and I channel Justin’s easy confidence. Has it ever actually hurt someone to act in confidence, regardless of whether or not they deserve to behave that way? “Jealous that I could draw in three willing suitors while you have precisely … zero.” I lean in as I speak, getting close enough to her that I could kiss her if I were so inclined.
Frankly, I would rather tongue a toilet.
“Better single than a whore,” Veronica snipes. Yikes. I reconsider her murder. JK. I wouldn’t, but the urge is there.
“Who is this horrible person?” Maxine asks, staring at Veronica like she’s sprouted tinfoil tentacles from her ugly dress. She hands her ice cream off to X, pushing up the sleeves of her green velvet dress with the pretty silver belt. It’s not nearly as fancy as the rest of the clothing here, just a nice outfit for dinners out rather than some four or five figure designer affair. “Don’t talk to my sister like that.”
“Why?” Veronica quips, giving Maxie a smirking sneer. “What are you going to do about it? Aren’t you, like, the kidnapper’s daughter?” The gathering crowd chuckles; some people start filming in anticipation of a fight.
“Damn right I’m the kidnapper’s daughter.” Maxie lifts her chin proudly. “My mother saved my sister from growing up as a spoiled, entitled brat. Seems you didn’t escape that fate.”
“Boo-hoo. You’re poor and your mom is a loser and a criminal. But keep trying.” Veronica saunters off with that parting remark and Maxine lunges forward. If X didn’t grab her arm, she might’ve started a fight. My sister is kind and pure-hearted, but she’s not a pushover.
“Come on. Let’s take a breather,” Maxx murmurs, and I give Maxine a look.
