3. Lex
3
LEX
M y head fucking hurts. I can’t bear to move it, so I don’t. My back is propped against something hard and cold. I sit still and try to breathe through the nausea and pain, anything to get to the next second of agony without puking.
Where the fuck am I?
Everything is fuzzy, and I try to bring my brain online, gently, so I can recall what the hell went down and try to figure out where I am without passing out.
Then it comes back to me and, involuntarily, I jerk. I moan as blinding, white-hot pain burns across my skull, painting the inside of my head in shades of red and orange. It’s as if there’s a sunset dancing behind my eyes, but it’s not pretty. It’s nothing but pain .
I vaguely remember being at my car and trying to fix the damage that had been done to the interior using baking soda. Then there had been armed men, and they’d dragged me from the vehicle, and one had slammed the butt of his gun into my head. Do I have a fractured skull? Is that why the pain is so bad? Or have I gotten away with only a concussion?
“Oh, he’s awake,” a sarcastic, accented voice says.
A palm connects with the side of my head. It’s brutal enough that my head snaps back, and I bite my lip so hard I taste the metallic tang of blood.
Shit, I’m going to pass out. Can you pass out purely from pain? I think I read somewhere that you can, and if so, I’m about to do it.
“I will go and tell the boss you are awake.” The man’s accent and broken English sound as if he’s from somewhere in Northern Europe.
His footsteps pound across the floor, every single step like a nail into my skull. The creak of a door opening is followed by it being slammed shut. I wince at the sound and, for a long moment, simply sit there, my head hanging, my breathing ragged.
When I finally have enough control over my roiling stomach to risk lifting my head slightly, I do so. Carefully, I open my eyes, blinking a few times to get accustomed to the light, or lack of it. I'm in a large room, the only light the glow from some emergency spotlights in the baseboards. To my right are sleek stainless steel cabinets and what looks like a huge industrial stove and sink. It’s a large kitchen. I’m positioned at the far end of the space, my back against yet more cabinets. A huge chrome refrigerator hums nearby.
Am I in the kitchen of a restaurant? Or maybe a fancy hotel?
There’s a smell in the air that does nothing to ease the sickness gnawing away at me. Gas, fumes, and a faint odor of fish. I realize the floor beneath me is moving slightly. There’s a gentle rolling motion, and things suddenly begin to coalesce in my mind.
We're on the water.
I doubt we've gotten as far as the ocean in the time I've been out cold, so we’re most likely on a lake.
There are plenty of lakes in the area, and if Jarl and his men have taken me, it would make sense for them to hide out somewhere no one would look for me. I wonder if we’re moored somewhere or if we’re out in the middle. If they don’t want to either be found or for me to have a chance of escape, it would make sense that we’re nowhere near shore.
My stomach churns again, but for an entirely different reason. If they've brought me here, to the middle of nowhere, on a boat far from shore, then do they mean to kill me?
I think back to my car and the mess that was made of it, and a grim smile tugs at my mouth. That car mirrors the mess my life is. Everything has been spiraling out of control for weeks now. Ever since she arrived. That curvy girl with the dark hair and bewitching eyes who’s cast a spell on all of us. They say the Preachers are the ones who dabble in witchcraft, but Vani is the one who is magic. She really is the venom running through our veins.
She poisoned us, and everything between us is weird now.
Me and my twin. Us and Zane. Most of all between the three of us and Vani.
I might die with her thinking we really do see her only as our fuck toy to degrade. That's not the reality. At least not for me. Even if she has betrayed us by spying on us for Jarl Olsen—which, considering my current situation, seems highly likely—I've developed feelings for the girl that go way beyond the game we're playing. I wish I'd had the guts to tell her the truth. Maybe things would have been different then. She might have decided to side with us instead of Jarl, and I wouldn’t be here now. I think Saint feels the same way, if only he could admit it. As for Zane, I never really know what's going on in that guy's head. He's the very definition of still waters running very, very deep.
I might never see any of them again. The idea of me no longer existing, and my twin still being in this world, tears something inside me. We've done everything together. We shared the same womb. We were dressed the same as children. We even lost our virginity together, and that might be sick and twisted, but it's just another way in which we've become inseparable.
If I get out of this alive, I swear to myself I'll make amends. I'll let the people I care about know, and I'll give Saint the tough love he needs. Because sometimes caring about people isn't always giving in to them. It is standing up to them too.
If I get out of this, and if we can somehow work out all this fuckery, there are going to be new rules. If we hadn’t treated her so badly, Vani might not have betrayed us. I don’t know if we can all come back from this, but if we do, things have to change. Saint can be the asshole he needs to be when we're playing, but, when we're not in a scene, he needs to start treating Vani with more respect.
Christ, I need to get over this self-pity streak. I need to get out of here. I try to stand, but my left arm is jerked behind me. It dawns on me that I’m attached to something. There’s a handcuff around my left wrist, and the other end is around the foot of one of the huge stainless steel cabinets. The cabinet appears to be welded to the floor, which I assume is to prevent people being crushed if these massive items were to move around during a storm on high seas.
Great. I’m not going anywhere.
The door bangs open, and I jump, dragged out of my musings. I lock my muscles tight, annoyed at myself for giving away my fear so easily.
Jarl Olsen enters the room, along with two other men. The men flanking him are huge. One is easily as big as Zane, and the other is even bigger. He’s like those guys you see in strongman competitions. He has a barrel chest, epic stomach, and shoulders so big that when he walked in the door, he literally had to turn sideways to fit. Veins stand out along his neck, and he looks one more steroid injection away from exploding.
“I see you’re finally awake,” Jarl says.
His eyes are ice chips in his face, only with a little less warmth than the genuine article. His mouth is a tight line, and I try to see Reagan in him, but it’s hard. She didn’t look all that much like him, and I wonder if she got more of her mother.
Does Vani look more like her mother or father?
I think about that for a moment and try to clear my thoughts, but it’s hard. They’re jumbled. Confused. I keep trying to figure out the timeline of everything that’s gone down and coming up short.
I feel weird. Woozy. My head lolls on my shoulders, and Jarl sighs.
“Can’t have him going under again. Let’s wake him up. Apo, get some water.”
Apo, what a stupid name , I think as I laugh softly to myself. My stomach has gone beyond a roil now and is in full-on revolt. Huge waves of sickness wash over me again and again, and I know it's only a matter of time before I throw up everywhere. I'll have to make sure I get it on these bastards’ shoes.
Freezing water hits me on the side of the head, some of it sloshing in my ear, the rest of it dripping down my face, down my neck, and into my shirt collar.
I gasp at the sudden shock of cold, the air punching from my lungs. I blink a couple of times and try to refocus. The cold helps at first, and my thoughts clear, and reality starts to intrude again. I'm not sure I'm grateful for that as the pounding in my head intensifies once more, but then the stench of the water hits, and I'm done .
I don't even have time to bend forward before the contents of my stomach rush up my throat and out of my mouth. Inhuman sounds join my retches, and, from the yells of the men, I assume I’ve just covered them.
“Motherfucker,” one of the men yells. “That’s it. Boss, I’m going to maim this pussy-ass bitch.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have thrown a bucket of water over him with damn fish guts in it,” Jarl Olsen says. “I hope you’re planning to clean up this fucking mess.”
At least it sounds like him. Superior. Cold. Like a villain in a Bond movie, that’s what he reminds me of, I realize as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and chuckle again.
My hair is grabbed, sharp pain sears my scalp, and my head is jerked back.
“Fucking open your eyes and look at me,” he snarls.
With great difficulty, I do, squinting up at him. As soon as I focus on Jarl’s face, I know looking at him, at anything , is a mistake because it makes me feel as if I’m about to throw up again.
The movement of the boat beneath me, combined with my concussion, and the stench of fish guts would be enough to make anyone sick.
“You need to tell me why you fuckers did it.” He grinds the words out as if each one causes him physical pain.
“Did what?” I slur. Christ, I sound drunk.
“My daughter. Why?” His voice cracks a little on the why, and the rage that simmers in his gaze at that slight show of weakness ought to terrify me.
Except I don’t have the energy to be terrified because I’m just trying to stay awake and not slip into the sweet darkness calling me.
“Didn’t do it,” I manage to grit out.
He laughs, and it’s dark and bitter, the way I like my coffee. “Don’t bullshit me. Everyone knows you freaks did it. She had a thing for you, and you used her the way you are that slutty little biker chick, and then you fucked her up and killed her. Do you like breaking pretty things?” he asks. “Because I do, and some might say you’re pretty. I like to break pretty things, but Apo here …” He points to the massive guy, the one who is too wide to fit through the doorframe. “Apo likes to collect the cocks of anyone who fucks with us, and since you fucked my daughter…”
His breath is making me want to vomit again. What the hell does he know about us and Vani? And how?
Apo pulls a leather cord from around his neck up over the top of his shirt. At regular intervals around the cord are small, shriveled objects. What are those? They look like human fingers, or maybe even toes…but then it hits me that they’re dicks. This freak has a necklace of dried cocks around his thick neck like a trophy.
What the fuck have I gotten myself into? If I thought I felt sick before, I feel doubly so now. This man is truly unhinged.
I suck in some air and try to steady myself. “I never touched Reagan,” I say. “None of us did. It was a play, that’s all.”
“What?” His brow wrinkles, and he seems to forget about looking murderous for a moment.
“She was in a play with my brother, Saint, and that’s it. Rehearsals and stuff, sometimes we were all there. That’s all it was, but some of the school got ideas. Students talk, but it wasn’t anything like that. I fucking swear.”
He glances at me, but then back at Apo. “I think I would swear innocence, too. If I had a choice between an easy lie or telling the truth, and thinking Apo would cut off my dick. I’d probably lie as well.”
I can’t help myself, and I really shouldn’t, but I grin at his words. “You suck at interrogation; do you know that? You’re meant to be getting the truth out of me, not threatening me with losing my dick if I tell it. Still, it doesn’t matter because I’ve told the truth. I never hurt her. Never touched her.”
His eyes are hard, flinty diamonds as he watches me.
“You’ve seen Vani,” I say. “She’s our type, not Reagan. Your daughter was far too prissy for us to want to mess around with.”
I wait for the backlash to my words, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, he purses his lips. “She was a good girl. Modest. Polite.”
I want to add boring but clamp my mouth shut. That won’t help me at all.
“I raised her that way,” he says proudly. “Still, it makes no sense what you say. The entire college thinks you did it, and none of you have tried to prove your innocence.”
“Because no one would believe us,” I snap, starting to lose any patience I had. My head is pounding. I’m definitely going to puke again. It’s only a matter of time, and it’s taking everything I have to keep my eyes open, never mind answer this dick’s questions. “They’d already made their minds up, and Nataniele seemed happy to go along with that theory too. He kept insisting it was an accident, but deep down it was like he wanted it to be us, or as if he was happy for everyone to believe it.”
I’d gladly throw the dean under the bus. He never gave a shit about us. Never tried to help or clear our names. Sure, he said Reagan’s death wasn’t to be talked about, and if he heard anyone gossiping, he’d throw them out, but he didn’t try to help . No one did, and that’s why the Vipers only trust each other.
“It isn’t just what people say, though, is it? After all, it was your car she landed on.” Jarl snarls at me, baring perfect white teeth.
I shrug and wince at the pain even that movement causes me. “So? What the fuck does that mean? You think your daughter was so pathetic that she threw herself to her death on my car because I, what? Messed her about in love? Merde. She wasn’t so weak. I didn’t know her well, but if I was you, I’d be trying to find who really did it, not wasting my time on people like me and my twin.”
“You say I am wasting my time?” He laughs darkly. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I ought to throw you to the fishes.”
His punch comes so fast I don’t have time to brace myself. Pain explodes across my cheek. My teeth snap together, and my ear buzzes annoyingly on that side as if a swarm of angry bees have taken up residence.
I raise my free hand to touch my cheek, rub it to help the pain, but it doesn’t. Fuck this. I’m going to kill these cunts when I get myself out of this.
“Where am I?” I ask. “Might as well tell me. No one is coming, right?”
“Yes, you’re probably right. No one is looking for you here.” He muses for a moment. “You’re on a lake, and that’s about all you need to know. On a luxury yacht.”
I glance around and scoff. “Not so luxurious now it’s covered in fish guts and vomit.”
“This is the kitchen, dick,” Apo says. His voice is rumbling and deep as if it’s coming up from the depths of the ground. “The place the staff prepare the food for the guests. We aren’t giving you a suite, are we? You are not a guest.” He fingers the necklace again, and his eyes narrow.
“Quite,” Jarl says. “You are decidedly not a guest, and if you don’t start talking, you’re going to become a dickless non-guest.”
Honestly, if they cut off my cock, they might as well just kill me. There is no way I’m going through the rest of my life with no dick.
“I swear I’ve told you the truth. It doesn’t matter what you do to me. It won’t change what really happened. But if you want to find the real killer, maybe I can help.” It hurts like a bitch to talk, but I push on. “Vani is good at investigating, and she’s looking into Reagan’s death because she cares. And my twin and I can hack things and have other talents. Let me go, and I’ll help you.”
He sneers. “You must think I’m an idiot. What does the biker slut know?”
Biker slut? He’s talking about Vani in a way I’d not expected. My head fucking hurts, not just from being punched in the face but from all the confusing facts swirling around in it. Maybe I’ve got this about Vani deeply wrong, and if so … I’ve just put her on his radar with regards to Reagan.
Shit, I might have just dropped Vani in danger, and I truly didn’t mean to.
“Nothing,” I say, which is the truth so far as I know. “But she wants to find out who killed her sister as badly as you do.”
The truth is, I’m not sure Vani has looked anywhere other than at us. It hurts to think she believes we’re capable of that—believes the same as everyone else. I desperately don’t want to put her in the same category as the rest, but she hasn’t believed us this whole time. Though I guess we haven’t believed her either. Is Vani the reason I’m in this position now? Or have I jumped to blaming her? Jarl doesn’t talk about her like he’s on her side. Saint said he’d seen them talking, so she must have done or said something that’s escalated everything, but perhaps by accident?
I don’t want to be angry with her when there’s a possibility I’ll never see her again. Just the thought makes it even harder to breathe.
Christ, I wish I could talk to Saint and chat all this through. It helps me think more clearly to bounce things off him.
Jarl flexes his fists, and I think he’s going to hit me again. I hope not, because he hurt my cheekbone. It feels tingly and weird, almost numb.
“No one wants to find out the truth as much as I do,” Jarl snarls. “If she cared, she wouldn’t be with you fuckers, would she? Dirty whore.”
There he goes again. Maybe he’s nice to Vani’s face and only talks about her this way behind her back. She might be helping him, she might not, but I’m going to use any advantage I can to try to get out of this.
“Or …” I point out, “she’s with us because she knows it wasn’t us.” I stare at him. “Think about it. Vani just wanted to find out what happened to her sister. She came to Verona Falls for that exact reason. That’s how much she cares about Reagan. She wouldn’t be with us if she believed we killed her.”
Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not. I have no way of knowing until I can speak with Vani, but if it buys me some time, I’ll try anything.
I continue, “Trust me, we want to know who did it, too. We need to clear our names because this shit has gone on for long enough.”
His gaze holds mine, and I see the moment he makes a decision. He snaps his fingers and heads out of the room, his goons behind him, and I close my eyes.
I don’t know if I just bought myself some time, saved myself … or signed my own death warrant.