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My cheek throbs at the reminder.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?” the driver comments as he drives along the cobblestone drive that curves in front of the house.
The area is covered in green grass, blooming flowers, and blossoming trees, cherry blossoms raining from the branches. This place looks straight out of a fantasy but I doubt the inside will match.
“Sure,” I reply, being evasive on purpose.
“You must be a tough girl to please then.” He chuckles as he parks the car and shuts off the engine. Then he hops out but ducks his head back in and pushes a button under the dash.
The back door clicks open.
Well, that explain the weird door-opening-on-its own-earlier thing, but that doesn’t help me feel less uneasy. Still, I hop out of the car.
Two other cars are pulling in from down the driveway and drive straight into the garage. The doors shut before I can get a good view of who’s inside, and I get a bad case of the get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here.
My gaze darts to the driveway as I contemplate bolting, running until I make it home. But do I even have a home anymore? I’m not even sure who owns the house or how I’ll pay rent next month.
“Please don’t try to run,” the driver says, slipping the keys out of the ignition. “If you do, I’ll have to chase you, and I pulled my hamstring the other day while I was jogging so I’ll probably end up hurting myself.”
I tear my gaze off the driveway, cross my arms, and lift my brows. “You know, it’s not a good idea to tell someone who’s considering running away that you’re injured. All that does is let me know you’re going to be easy to outrun.”
“Hey, I’m still fast, even with only one good leg.” He gives me a smile that I’m not certain how to decipher. “Relax, Hadley Harlyton, no one here’s going to hurt you.”
I sense a silent yet. “If you say so.”
“I do say so, and I never lie.” He winks at me. “In fact, that’s my nickname.”
“I Never Lie is your nickname?” I ask warily. When he nods, I gape at him. “Seriously?”
“Of course. I never lie. Remember?” He winks at me again then signals for me to follow him as he starts up the brick path lined with tulips and heads toward the red, overly large entrance door.
I have no idea what’s up with all the winking or the stupid nicknames, but decide this guy is super weird, in an interesting and also a creepy way. It makes me feel very uneasy and way off my cool, badass game. Usually, I’m a pro at pretending to be chill in even the most stressful situations. Right now, I’m a freaking step away from my heart flying out of my chest.
Take a deep breath. You got this, Hadley. You always got this.
But the instant I step over the threshold and into the house, I realize I don’t got this.
Not even a little bit.
Not even close.
And maybe I’ve never had anything. Perhaps I’ve been faking everything all this time. How could I have ever had anything under control? If I did, then I wouldn’t be standing in the most ginormous entryway with a painted domed ceiling, massive columns, and an overly polished marble floor.
“This place is …” I struggle to find the right word. “Shiny.”
“Shiny?” The driver muses as he shucks off his jacket. “Huh, I’ve never heard that one before. Most say it’s beautiful. Almost otherworldly.”
“It is, but it’s a little too fancy for me,” I admit, my gaze skimming across the weird abstract artwork mounted on the walls.
“Really?” Skepticism seeps from his tone as he hangs his jacket on the fancy ivory coatrack then removes his hat.
“Yes, dude, really.” I roll my eyes. “Not everyone in this world wants big houses and fancy cars.”
“So, you’re saying if I offered you a Porsche right now, you wouldn’t take it?” He observes my reaction closely—unnervingly.
I lift a shoulder. “Nope. Porsches aren’t really my style.”
“You’re a tough girl to please, aren’t you?” He tosses his hat aside and scrubs his hand across his scruffy jawline. “What about a 1969 GTO Judge?”
Weird. Rhyland has that exact car.
“Nah, not really my style either,” I lie, as chillaxed as can be.
“You sure about that?” A taunting challenge dances in his eyes.
What the hell is this dude up to?
“Yep, I’m positive.” I feign indifference, but inside, he’s frazzling me.
And I think that’s exactly what he’s trying to do
His relentless gaze is unwavering. “Huh, because—and correct me if I’m wrong—but I was under the impression that you were in love with Rhyland Porterson’s car.”
My stomach clenches. Who the fuck is this dude? And is he damn mind reader?
“It’s nice, I guess,” I lie with a nonchalant shrug. “But too shiny for me.”
“Hmmm …” He smiles amusedly. “So you’re not into shiny things, then? Good to know.” He moves toward the stairs, rolling up the sleeves of his black button-down shirt. “I know you’re lying about the GTO. No one who drives a Chevelle and drag races wouldn’t want a GTO.”
“How did you …?” Every muscle in my body winds tight.
“How did I what?” He peers over his shoulder at me with a smug smile. “Know that you like to drag race? Or that you secretly wish you could have my son’s car?”
Son’s car?
Rhyland is his son?
Fuck, then that means that this dude is Mr. Porterson, one of the most corrupt men in Honeyton. And I’ve been riding around in a car with him for the last fifteen minutes completely unaware.
Shock whips through me, but I manage to give an indifferent shrug. “I guess both.”
He eyes me over curiously. “You’re very hard to read. I find it both interesting and unnerving.” He stares me down for a slam of a heartbeat before starting up the stairs. “Come with me. There’s some business I need to discuss with you.”
I lift my hand to flip him the middle finger then take off. But before I get very far, the front door swings open and two muscular dudes with arms bigger than my entire body and a bodybuilder type woman with more muscles than most guys have stroll inside. They’re decked out in all black, a Porterson theme and the people that surround them apparently.
Instead of approaching Mr. Porterson, they linger in the entryway, blocking my path to the front door, my guess is on purpose.
“As soon as we have a chat, you can leave,” Mr. Porterson tells me firmly. “I’ll even drive let my driver take you home and call the school to excuse your absence from first period.”
“I can call the school myself.” I refuse to accept any favors from this guy. “I don’t need anyone’s help.” Especially yours.
His lips tug up into a smirk that reminds me an awful lot of Alex’s. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Hadley Harlyton.”
I grind my teeth. “Stop using my full name like that.”
He grins. “Like what?”
My lip curls upward. “Like I’m some sort of cartoon character.”
“My apologies.” His smile is genuine, but that doesn’t mean I’m buying into his kind act. “What would you like me to call you?”
I want to say something snarky, like the Queen of Honeyton or the Most Awesome Girl in the World, but then I note the holster strapped around his shoulder and the gun tucked in it.
This is so bad.
“Just call me Hadley,” I tell him in the politest tone I can muster.
“All right, Hadley, come with me.” He nods his head as he climbs higher up the stairway.
Glaring at his back, I stomp after him with my fists clenched. Thanks, Dad, for getting me into this. You really suck. You know that?
What I wouldn’t give to say that to his face.
And to spit in his face.
Mr. Porterson remains quiet as he guides me up the stairway, down a narrow hallway, and into an office on the far-left side of the house. The space is big a
nd lined with large windows so sunlight spills in from every angle. Bookshelves line the walls, gothic chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, and an antique rug covers the middle of the floor.
“You look confused,” Mr. Porterson remarks as he takes a seat behind a large desk.
“That’s because I sort of am.” I stay standing near the door.
There’s no way in hell I’m going into this room any farther. It’s already tucked away in a maze of winding hallways so far back no one can hear me scream.
He rests his overlapped hands on the desk, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “And why’s that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t picture a mobster’s office to look so… sunlighty.”
He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “That’s an interesting choice of word.”
I recall how, only hours ago, Blaise was teasing me about my interesting vocabulary. What I wouldn’t give to go back and keep joking around with him.
Huh, never thought I’d think that.
