6. Lily #2
“That dickwart Olly is doing this because I dumped him, and I’m going to prove it,” Sierra seethed, peering over the top of the hedge to the building across the busy street.
We’d jumped on a train to Haymarket with our bikes and ridden from the station to the student accommodation in Westfield.
All because Sierra got a lead on who the Potterrow Blokes were.
When I’d gotten back to the flat after my tutorial session with Sebastian yesterday, Sierra was there.
She’d told us she’d bumped into a drunk friend of Oliver Abernathy’s last night and he’d let the cat out of the bag.
Olly Abernathy was the son of a wealthy financier in London. He’d been brought up in Kent, attended boarding school, and was friends with lots of highfalutin people. Last year he and Sierra had engaged in casual dating. Sierra ended it when Olly started to get attached.
According to the drunk friend of Olly’s, he’d decided to get a little revenge on Sierra for rejecting him by setting up a rival podcast to malign us.
If that was true, I honestly despaired at the immature toxicity of the male species.
Sierra had pumped drunk friend for a lot of information. According to drunk friend, Olly ran the podcast from a studio in his apartment. Sierra had slept over in his flat, so she knew exactly where that was.
“This is breaking and entering. We could be charged.” I tried to dissuade my best friend because now that we were here, rationale was returning.
Maddie had decided she quite rightly didn’t want to be a part of unmasking the guys if it meant possible criminal charges.
I’d gone along with Sierra because she’d been determined to do it with or without us. Her indignation knew no bounds.
“Plus, someone might steal our bikes.”
“So.” She glowered at me. “These assholes are trying to ruin something we worked our asses off to build just because one of them didn’t like that he got dumped. Tell me you’re an entitled toxic male without telling me!”
I absolutely agreed with her. But … “My e-bike cost my parents, like, a grand. That’s a lot of money for us.”
Mum might have made good money as head librarian, but it wasn’t epic money.
And Dad ran his own successful photography business, made even more successful by some clever social media marketing.
He mostly did weddings and big events, but he had a side business where he sold beautiful prints of scenes from Edinburgh and Scotland.
He did well for an artist, but it wasn’t like we were rolling in it like Beth’s parents.
A grand on a bike was a lot.
And I treated that bike like my child.
Sierra sighed heavily. “We’ve secured the goddamn bikes.” She gestured angrily to the bike rack at the end of the large car park behind us.
“I’m not familiar with the area.” I sniffed haughtily. “Our bikes might not stay there very long if we leave them unattended.”
“Enough with the bikes.” Sierra abruptly stood and took off across the road.
Heart in my throat, I hurried after her, flattening myself against the wall of the apartment building. The guys could see us coming any second. Sierra had it on good authority the lads recorded the show Friday mornings. I was skipping a class for this ludicrousness!
Without another word, she pressed all the buttons except button 2A on the intercom system. Someone answered the intercom. “Yes?”
“Amazon package,” Sierra lied.
The door clicked open two seconds later.
Shaking my head at her deviousness, I followed her inside and up the stairs to flat 2A.
The student accommodation was new and modern, but it didn’t have the character of my flat on Leven Street.
It probably doesn’t have the mouse problem or draftiness either , I thought with momentary longing.
“Now what?” I hissed as we stopped outside the flat.
My pulse was deafening in my ears.
“I should have brought Jan.” Sierra cut me a wry look. “She lives for this stuff.”
My wee sister did live for misadventures and mischief. “She’d also give you away in two seconds.”
Sierra let out a snort that was quickly replaced by determination. “I’m coming for you, you bastards.” She reached for the door handle.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m not knocking and giving Olly a chance to hide his dirty work.” The handle twisted and she beamed triumphantly as she quietly pushed open the door.
Oh my goodness, we were going to prison.
We were so going to prison!
Legs trembling, I tiptoed in behind her as we entered an airy, modern hallway.
There was no sound from within.
Nothing.
Sierra placed a finger to her lips to ensure my silence before she tiptoed down the hall, glancing into doorways. The reception hall led into an open-plan living room and kitchen with lots of windows. It was empty.
There was only one closed door in the entire flat.
“I’m going to be sick,” I muttered as Sierra crept toward it.
She shot me a sharp shut up look as she grasped the door handle.
Then she threw open the door, marching inside. “Aha!”
I followed her in and abruptly ran into her as she halted.
My eyes widened.
The room had been soundproofed with foam panels. It was small. A round table sat in the middle, recording equipment on it with two laptops open beside it.
And around the table were three guys with headsets. Mics hung on stands near their faces.
Olly gaped at Sierra from one seat.
A guy with light brown hair turned to us with an expression of moderate surprise.
My heart stuttered as I looked at Potterrow Bloke number three.
And then it felt like it crashed into my stomach as nausea rose.
Sebastian Thorne stared back at me, wide-eyed and panicked.