Don’t You Pucking Dare (The Blackridge Reapers #2)

Chapter 21

I need to find Rick Kemper, so the first thing I do is research his name online. Find any articles, any social media, anything that would lead me to him, but I come up with nothing. Rick Kemper does not exist, except for an obituary of an old man that could possibly be a grandparent for all I know. Such a shame that history goes down that way.

I huff and puff because I keep coming up short. This is going to be a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. How can I find a ghost?

I have two options: my mom or Brody.

Family first—at least that's what normal people would choose.

I dial the facility, fingers drumming against my desk. "It's an emergency," I tell the receptionist who tries to tell me that my mom is unavailable.

"What kind of emergency?" she asks.

The lie comes easy. "I'm in the hospital."

Mom's voice crackles through the line, panic already rising. "Lola? Baby, what happened?"

"I'm okay." Guilt twists in my stomach. "I just need Rick Kemper's number."

"Are you being held hostage?" Her voice rises to that familiar manic pitch. "Somebody help my daughter!"

"Mom—"

"They got you, didn't they?" She rattles off a string of numbers between sobs. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

The call cuts off, leaving me with a hastily scribbled phone number and my mother's terror ringing in my ears. They got you. Who's they? What exactly is she talking about?

My finger hovers over the keypad. One call could change everything—or end everything. But I didn't come this far to play it safe.

The number rings three times before—

"Hello?" His voice carries authority, even through the phone. I wouldn’t recognize this voice.

Something cold slides down my spine. "Rick Kemper?"

"Hello, Lola." He says my name like he knows me. "I've been expecting your call. Especially after my visit with your mother."

I grip my phone tighter, spine straightening. "What… do you want?"

"Careful, Lola." The word sounds like a threat in his mouth. "You're already in this. Thanks to your choices, here we are."

I hate the riddles that these men play.

"Tell me, sweetheart, what do you know about Brody Black?"

I scoff, playing it off. "The hockey player at Blackridge? He plays for the Ravens. Your turn. What do you know?"

He chuckles. "You won’t beat your old man at his own game. If you want your mother to live, you’re going to do exactly as I say."

My heart starts racing now that he’s threatening my mom’s life.

"Let the Reapers think they’re winning this little amateur game of theirs. Get me into that room."

"I can’t just get you in there," I scoff, walking to my window. I already need fresh air. "I don’t even know where it is."

"The funny thing is that you don’t have to do any of the work, just do as they say. They’re dangling your life in front of me. I just need to get inside that room, so simply do as they say, and your mother lives. If you don’t, then that last phone call to hers will be your last."

He ends the call, but I’m still holding it to my ear as I stare off into nothing.

He’s threatening the only thing I love, and I fell straight into his trap. He’s been waiting for my call. Fucking asshole.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m pounding on Amanda’s door for the next party invitation. Another face answers my heavy knocks.

"Shit, sorry. Is Amanda here?" I ask.

She shakes her head, giving me stink eye.

"Fucking bitch," I mutter, mostly to her but also about Amanda.

The fluorescent lights of Walmart make everything feel surreal. My fingers tap against the counter as I spin my story to the clerk—something about rats at my sister's house, my busy father sending me to handle it. The lies flow easier now, like playing a piece I've practiced a thousand times. The pellet gun feels heavy in the bag, a weight that should frighten the girl who spends her days with her cello.

Back in my dorm, I run my fingers over the pellet gun's surface before sliding it into my backpack. The Reapers think masks and underground chambers make them scary? Let's see how they handle being on the other end of fear for once.

A knock interrupts my dark thoughts. Amanda appears in my doorway like an expensive ghost, all designer clothes and calculated casualness.

"Hey." She leans against the frame, trying too hard to look like she isn't. "My roommate said you stopped by."

I pause, studying her. The mean girl facade has cracks in it now. "She knows who I am?"

"Are you going to be my plus one?" Her question carries more weight than she wants to show. "To the party?"

"That's why I came by." I match her casual tone while my new weapon sits feet away, hidden but present. Like everything else in this game we're playing.

"Want to help me take him down?" she asks. The words rush out like she's been holding them back.

A laugh escapes me—genuine this time. "You? Seeking revenge?"

She presses a manicured hand to her chest, all dramatic flair. "Me? Never."

"We need to look hot," I say. The words feel strange in my mouth—the cellist talking fashion with the mean girl. But everything's strange now.

"Like, hot hot." Her eyes gleam with excitement.

We grin at each other, co-conspirators in whatever's coming next. The pellet gun in my bag feels less like a weapon now and more like a promise.

Brody Black isn't the only one who knows how to play games.