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The rest of them seem to be thinking the same things I am as the kitchen falls into a lapse of silence.
What do we do now?
Do we go to Cliff, confront him about his dad, tell him what we know? What would he do about it? Does he even know? Is his grudge against me only based on the fact that I beat the shit out of him in an alley and refused his advances multiple times, or does it go as far back as me being trapped in that bunker by his father as a little girl?
Do we go to the dean of the school and tell him that one of the most supportive and charitable families that Hawthorne relies on for funding kidnapped me years ago and tried to do it again last night?
The dean already dislikes me. A good portion of the students think I’m weird or unbalanced, and thanks to that slide show during the assembly in our first semester, everyone knows I don’t remember parts of my childhood. So why would any of them believe me?
What the hell do we do?
“I’m sorry,” Max says quietly. All four of us stare up at her, waiting for her to continue. She takes a deep breath, releasing it shakily as she props her elbows on the island. “I’m sorry for being used as bait,” she explains in a rush. “I should have been on my guard more. I got a text from Aaron asking me to meet him, and I really wanted to talk to him after our meeting with Cliff. But I should have been smarter.” She grimaces. “I thought that he was a good guy. Hell, I even sort of liked him a little.”
“It’s not your fault, Max.” I grit my teeth, hating that she blames herself for any of this. “You didn’t try to drag us into this mess—hell, you didn’t even drag yourself into this mess. You were tricked. Kidnapped, just like me.”
She blinks a couple times. Max is a strong girl, just like me, but she’s shaken by this.
Just like me.
I always knew the rich people in this town had their secrets, I knew that they could manipulate and control things to get their way.
I just didn’t know it went this far.
This fucking deep.
“I thought he was maybe a good guy.” Max drums her fingers over the marble countertop. “But now I really don’t know… is he involved in any of this?”
I certainly thought he was at first, when we went to look for Max out in the woods. She told me that she was going to try to reach out to Aaron about spilling the shit he told her about Cliff, and my first thought when we got that call from her kidnapper was that it was him. He kept silent when we told Cliff, pretended like he didn’t know shit, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed about being used by Max.
But now I’m not quite sure.
Reagan was clearly involved with all the shit that went down—Max’s kidnapping, my kidnapping, lighting the fire, bringing me to Alan.
Aaron just doesn’t fit into any of it. Sure, he’s a dick by association for hanging out with Cliff, but the Saints aren’t really tight with Caitlin’s clique.
“So… what now?” Declan asks the question we’re all thinking, glancing around at each of us as we gather around the island. “What do we do?
6
We eat as we talk. My stomach isn’t happy about it, but I’m starting to feel the effects of alcohol on an empty system, so I force myself to fill a small plate and take measured, deliberate bites as the five of us discuss a plan of action.
On paper, we should be able to go to the police, go to the dean of the school, go to someone with my story. Our story. We should be able to lay out the facts and be listened to and taken seriously.
But in this world where money talks louder than honor? Louder than truth?
It’s going to be a whole hell of a lot harder than that.
After several minutes of debating, we decide to go to the police with our story despite the risks. We have to at least try.
Before we head out, the guys grill me with questions, trying to get me to remember as much as possible to build a rock solid case against Alan. Reagan’s involvement will have to be mentioned to explain a lot of things, but I’m determined to keep the focus on the real monster here, the man who abducted me not once, but twice.
By the time we pull up to the small police station that’s about ten minutes away from the university, I’ve had too much coffee and not enough sleep. There wasn’t enough time to sleep, and even if there was, I’m positive I couldn’t sleep right now—not knowing that Alan is still out there, pissed as shit that I’m complicating his life and probably plotting some way to kidnap me again and kill me.
Leading the way, I take a deep breath as we head into the station. The secretary behind the desk cocks an eyebrow, glancing over our group.
“May I help you?” she asks.
“Yeah. I’m here to file a police report,” I tell her, ignoring the way her eyes linger on my bruises and the tattoos popping out from beneath my shirt sleeves. “I was abducted.”
