Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
GEMMA
I woke up, head pounding. It was dark outside, and shadows danced on the ceiling. I turned my head to the right, where outside spotlights made luminous circles in the clouds.
I sat up, and another round of throbbing slammed into my skull. My hand flew to my forehead, trying to ease it with pressure.
Jesus Christ.
I hadn’t been this hungover in…years. Zabby must be wrecked—Zabby. Our conversation slammed into me.
Who is powerful enough to keep the Horsemen captive?
I slowly stood out of bed, bare feet hitting the hardwood. Looking down, I saw I was wearing an oversize black shirt—Grim’s. I knotted the fabric in my fist, feeling oddly…warm.
The house was just as dark as Grim’s room. There was only small, soft light from a wall lamp. It made the shadows fuzzy, the furniture warped.
Am I still drunk?
“Hello?” I called out, coming down the stairs.
Silence answered.
“Zabby?” I tried.
Still nothing. I walked into the living room where Zabby and I had drunk. Through the window, the club lit up the room in neon. A dull vibrating thrummed beneath my feet from the music.
I walked out of the living room and back upstairs, to Grim’s bedroom.
Go to sleep, Rich Girl.
The memories felt fuzzy in my mind, but I remembered the feeling. Safe. Cared for.
I took a quick shower, not bothering to blow-dry my hair. A foreign sense of freedom overcame me. I always had a blowout. Now my hair started to dry in natural half curls and waves.
My feet padded along the cold floor, to the walk-in closet. Scratchy glitter and soft silk danced along my fingertips as I searched for a dress. I picked out a pale-pink mini.
It was a short walk to the club, what with the house being behind it. I entered through the back doors, weaving through the floor like I’d done hundreds of times before with my friends. Distantly, I wondered what the fuck they must be thinking.
Were they rejoicing?
Finally Gemma Crowne has fallen.
I wove my way through bodies until I reached the stairs. Oddly, there was no line tonight. The upstairs was empty.
No Horsemen. No Grim.
I went to the railing, leaning over and looking down at the club floor. I felt like I’d been split in two. Like, down there, in some other timeline, Gemma Crowne was still dancing to the beat.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed up there, but it was longer than a few song changes. I headed toward the exit just as the DJs were switching out.
“Gemma?”
Downstairs, I paused at my name, turning to find my friends. In sparkly pastel minis and strappy metallic pumps, Blaire and Kennedy were dressed for a night out.
“Uh, hey,” I said.
“Hey,” they said in unison.
“You missed the party,” Blaire said.
I used to have a constant mental loop of which party to go to, what my goal was there, what the headline should be when I left.
Now?
I wasn’t even sure what party she was talking about.
“Yeah,” I said. “I was busy.”
“Oh, right,” Kennedy said, bright. “The Crowne anniversary party is coming up.”
“Right,” Blaire added, elongating the word to righhhht.
We had perfected the art of ignoring the elephant in the room.
When Blaire came back from holiday with a new nose? We asked her if she met anyone cute skiing. When Kennedy’s parents’ divorce was tabloid fodder, our conversations never strayed far from high school gossip.
I was so sick of it.
“No, actually,” I said. “I’ve been fucking the head of the Horsemen.”
Their eyes grew, sharing a look.
“Oh, um, congrats?” Kennedy said.
“Yeah, slay, girl…” Blaire trailed off. “So when are you coming back?”
Back?
Of course. They probably thought I was just getting it out of my system. Like when Kennedy fucked a guy who had just gotten out of jail.
“We have that interview next week,” Blaire continued.
“And we’re behind in content,” Kennedy said. “Because your family didn’t do their vacation, we don’t have any PJ photos—”
“God, who the fuck cares?” I couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t talk about private jets and who fucked who and which designer was loaning which person what dress.
I was getting too comfortable like this, starting to like being indebted to Grim more than I liked being free. That was a problem, because we had an expiration date.
I would have to go back.
Back to my world. Back to endless, plastic parties. To never saying the real thing out loud.
“Would you have ever been friends with me if I wasn’t Gemma Crowne?” I asked.
“Um…” Kennedy worked her mouth to the side. “What?”
If I had to go back, I couldn’t go back to before. I couldn’t say my best friends were people who thought my favorite food was caviar. Who didn’t know my favorite book was Frankenstein.
“I’m so fucking sick of pretending,” I said. “Tell me the fucking truth for once in our friendship.”
Blaire laughed. “Okay, like you? Dude, we’re all just following your lead.”
“I know you’re only friends with me because I’m Puerto Rican,” Kennedy said. “You know how I know? Because every Cinco de Mayo we always have to do a special picture together. That’s fucking Mexico, bitch.”
We stared at one another.
She was right.
This was all so…fucked.
“This is who we are,” Blaire said. “This is what you created. Why are you being so fucking weird?”
“Did the Horseman dickmatize you or something?” Kennedy asked.
Or something.
“I don’t think friends should sell secrets to tabloids,” I said. “I don’t think friends should be held hostage by follower count. I don’t think we’re friends.”
Kennedy blinked, but it was Blaire who spoke. “I have no idea who the hell you are anymore, Gemma.”
I nodded, because, yeah. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore, either.
I left without another word, pushing open the heavy metal door into a cold winter night.
I’d never ended a friendship before. Even when I hated someone’s guts, I still smiled and acted friendly. Trinity started a rumor that my father wasn’t my real dad, and I still hugged her at every party.
It didn’t matter if my friends didn’t know me. They were like everything else, a commodity. The more you had, the richer you were.
But something had changed. I didn’t want that anymore. I wanted real.
Halfway between the club and the house, I paused. Five men came from the beach, now blocking my way. They didn’t look like my usual crazed stalkers. They were meaner. Covered in tattoos. The middle one’s tattoo covered half of his face and snaked down to his neck.
Our eyes locked.
People will want to hurt you. To kill you. Just to make a point.
I took a step back as they walked toward me. The club was too far away to get to before they reached me, and they blocked the house.
Fuck.
Two came to my back, another two at my side, and the one with the face tattoo stood front and center. I was surrounded.
I smiled, affecting my light, breezy Gemma Crowne voice. “Usually people form a line for autographs.”
Humor died in my throat as I felt one of them step to my back. I’d called many monsters before, but this was different. I didn’t want to die.
“Nothing personal,” the tattooed guy growled, pulling out a knife. “This is a message for your man.”
“Hey, pretty boy!” At Lock’s voice a visceral part of me sagged. “Don’t you know it’s rude to play with someone else’s toys?”
Tattoo Face turned to his left, where Lock stood. Next to him, Raze and Wraith. Before he could respond, Wraith threw a knife, hitting him square in the chest.
He fell to the ground.
And it wasn’t about me anymore. All four of them rushed the Horsemen. Two went to Wraith, the other two split between Raze and Lock.
It was four on three, but the Horsemen weren’t bothered. Wraith took on the two easily, a right hook slamming into one jaw, while he ducked from the second guy’s punch. Raze took the guy with him to the ground, smashing his head into the asphalt. Lock played with the other guy. Dodging. Dancing.
I started to relax. They had this—
Suddenly Lock was on the ground, a knife to his neck. I spun around—was someone going to help him? Raze had someone pinned to the ground. Wraith was still fighting two people.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I ran to Lock, taking off my shoe as I did, and slammed it over the guy’s head. It didn’t take him down, but it was enough to startle him. Lock reversed the pin, the guy getting a slice at his shoulder first.
“Thanks, princess.” Lock shot me a smile, then sliced the guy’s throat.
Wraith finished playing with his prey. Then it was over. Five bodies lay on the ground. Lock’s arm bled red rivers down the muscles in his biceps, across his ink, but he laughed. They all laughed. Like this was nothing.
A moment later, the rumble of a car engine sounded.
“Shit,” Raze cursed. Our eyes followed his, to the source of the sound—a car driving away.
“Whoever it was will take back the message,” Lock said.
While Lock and Raze joked about something I couldn’t hear, Wraith walked up to me. I braced myself for anger. He thumbed my cheek, swiping blood I hadn’t realized was there. It was…sweet. That terrified me more than anything. The Horsemen weren’t sweet.
“I told you,” he said. “You don’t get to die.”