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“Jemma, did you record us?” Maddox’s voice is tinged with panic.
“Record what? I left my purse here, and I came back to get it.”
I hold my breath, desperately hoping that’s true but knowing it’s not.
She flashes an evil smirk. “Just kidding. I know the truth about you two. And soon, so will the rest of the world.”
“Jemma, no.” The dizziness hits—hard, and the room is spinning. I feel like I could collapse, but I don’t. I stand, stiff, desperate to focus on something so the room will stop turning.
“Bye, now.” Jemma spins on her heel and walks away.
“Jemma! Wait!” Maddox pleads.
My feet seem to be stuck to the floor, and when I look at Maddox, he’s standing frozen, too, looking like the version of himself at the Hollywood Wax Museum.
“Can we convince her not to go public with this?” I look at Maddox.
His face twists in agony. “This story is going to make her career,” he says, barely above a whisper.
“But it’s going to ruin ours.” Sweat beads on my brow. My stomach is full of tight, knotted ropes, and they’re all about to snap.
“No shit.” Maddox swipes a hand through his hair.
With all my nerve endings firing at once, I say, “Screw it. We have to try.”
“Right.”
We take off.
We race through the corridors, calling for Jemma, but she’s not here. And when we run outside, it’s dark and hard to see. Maddox dials her phone number over and over again, but she’s not answering. We do the next logical thing and head to the parking lot in hopes of finding her at her car. But when we getthere, we don’t see anyone as we weave through the different vehicles.
My phone buzzes, and my heart erupts in my chest, hoping that it’s her calling me back. But it’s Skye. “I can’t talk right now,” I answer.
“I was in the hallway and overheard everything. Now I got her.” Skye’s tone is matter-of-fact. “Meet us out by the dumpsters.” She disconnects.
Maddox and I exchange puzzled expressions but then race to the alleyway. Sure enough, just like a scene fromUrban Dawn, Skye stands by the dumpsters after clearly cornering Jemma. Skye has a cigarette in her mouth, which is odd because she doesn’t smoke.
The smell wafting from the dumpster is ripe, and I breathe through my mouth.
When we make it over to where they’re standing, we don’t speak. Skye seems to have this, as Jemma’s shifting back-and-forth on her feet, actually looking a little scared.
Skye says, “They’re here. Now tell us what you want.”
“I’m only here because you tried to unlock my phone with my face, you crazy bitch.” Jemma glares at Skye.
“That’s right.” Skye lifts her chin. “And don’t forget it.”
Skye got Jemma’s phone unlocked? My spirits lift, but then Skye turns to me. “I had it, unlocked, ready to delete the audio, but she got her phone back with her bear claws.” Skye holds out her arm, which is all scraped up.
“Jesus, Skye,” Maddox says. Then he turns to Jemma, desperate. “Just say what you want. Anything.”
Jemma lifts her chin. “I don’t know.” She studies us, building suspense, before she says, “I have to think about it.”
Skye folds her arms. “You got one minute.”
Jemma barks out a humorless laugh. “Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”
“One minute or you don’t get what you want,” Skye says.
