4. Nim
Chapter 4
Nim
I stagger out of the woods like I’ve been lost inside for weeks. I’m not even sure how I managed to find my way back to the path, and for a while I wasn’t sure if it was the same one I took to get into the forest, but by some twist of fate I end up back at Vicky’s wrought-iron gates. My parents’ car isn’t parked outside anymore. When I check my phone, I see a missed call from Mom.
And the partially-entered phone number I’d taken from Boomer’s collar. I save it as ‘Boomer’, glance down to make sure there’s no blood visible on my legs, and press the intercom.
My legs are rubber. It felt like they were chasing me the entire way back here. I ran until I couldn’t anymore, and then jogged until I hit another—or possibly the same—stream. I washed my face, bathed my cut, and washed out my mouth. I walked the rest of the way, one of my socks pressed to the cut on my leg so it would stop bleeding.
A prim, “Hello?”comes through the intercom.
“Hi, uh, it’s Nim.”
“Nim! Come in.” I don’t know who it is that sounds so excited since they don’t introduce themselves before letting me in.
I expect the massive iron gates to open, but instead I hear a short buzz to my side. I see there’s a smaller doorway set into the main gate, and it opens when I push at it.
I have a lot of time to consider what I’m going to tell my parents when I see them, because there’s what feels like a ten-mile drive between the gates and the palatial mansion that appears from the pines ahead. I think I’m kind of in shock about what just happened in the woods, because I’m not as awed by the enormous building as I think I would have been.
Why didn’t I just stay in the car with my parents? If I’d done that, none of this would have happened. I’d never have seen Boomer, never run into those hunters in the woods, never been tormented. I could have died out there. I’m still shocked that they didn’t kill me...but I guess they were full up on murder for the day.
I walk up to the mansion, detached but uneasy at the same time. Our family has never really had money. I don’t know why, because both my parents are reliable, intelligent people. But they have been discussing colleges with me, so maybe they’ve been saving toward that. If there’s one thing my parents don’t talk to me about, it’s finances. Which I’m glad about—my dad is an accountant, but I definitely didn’t inherit his skill with money.
The sleek frosted-glass door swings open before I can touch the handle. A tall woman with piercing blue eyes stares at me, a smile slowly growing on her wide mouth. “Nim,” she says, stepping aside and waving her hand for me to enter. “Come inside, sweetie.”
She closes the door behind me, and walks past, beckoning me with a flick of her slim hand. “Your parents are in the kitchen.”
I’m torn between staring at the woman or her house. Both are equally elegant, sophisticated, and rich as fuck. Even though she’s only wearing skinny jeans and a plain-looking top, the cut of both suggests that they’re probably brand-name apparel. Her red-soled black high heels are definitely not something you’d find in Walmart’s shoe section. And her house?
Highly reflective, white tiled floors. Luxurious wallpaper with just a hint of damask patterns in champagne gold. And huge abstract art in slim, minimalist frames. A lot of them look like someone just drizzled paint onto a canvas while they were tripping on acid.
I find my parents in the kitchen. Even in here, everything is white and glossy. I can’t imagine what it would be like waking up with a hangover in this place. You’d have to wear sunglasses inside.
Mom looks over her shoulder when she sees Dad lock eyes with us, and gives me a big smile that grows even bigger when she looks at the woman. “I see you’ve met Vicky.”
Ah, the mysterious Vicky my parents couldn’t stop talking about on the way over here. They met in Cinderhart Academy, and were best friends with her and two other people whose names I can’t remember. Vicky was the one who invited them back to Cinderhart for their 20th reunion.
“She’s absolutely stunning,” Vicky says, turning to look me over. “Those eyes? Best of both.”
I don’t think eye color works that way, if Vicky is saying my hazel eyes are the result of my mother’s green eyes and my dad’s brown eyes. But I don’t say anything—I’m too aware of how grubby I am after my ordeal in the woods. I was still picking leaves and shit out of my hair as I came up the drive a few minutes ago.
I had every intention of telling my parents what had happened, but when I saw they weren’t outside in the car, my willpower drained. If I told them about what I’d seen...I’d have to tell them everything. I don’t know if I’m up for reliving the stuff that happened out there. I mean, I can still feel their hands on me. How Smackdown fingered me. How the others stroked me to feel if I was wet.
And that’s where it all falls apart.
Somewhere out there while they were doing those awful, forbidden things to me...my body began to respond. I can’t explain it any more than I explain why they didn’t kill me, but I’m so fucking embarrassed at how good it felt, that I don’t think I can ever say anything. I’d been trying to convince myself that they wouldn’t care, that my parents would be focused on the murder, that I might not even have to tell them anything about my assault...
But then I walked in here, and suddenly I can’t bring myself to open that can of worms again.
“May I please use your bathroom?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and hoping that there isn’t still some blood somewhere in sight.
“Yes, of course. You can use the one in your room.” Vicky points down a wide, airy hallway. “Take the stairs, yours is the first door on the left. Your bags are already inside.” She gives me another movie-star smile, but I give her more of a grimace than anything else.
“Don’t make a mess, Nim!” Mom calls out behind me.
“Oh leave her, Ruthie,” Vicky says through a laugh. “Come, let’s make a quick jug of margaritas, and then we have to go get ready.”
I swear my mother giggles. Giggles.
The sweeping staircase takes me to a second floor that’s just as immaculate and modern as the rest of the house. Thick, white carpets, demure wallpaper, carefully selected pieces of art on the walls and a few plinths down the hall. I open the first door on the left and stare for a second before I step inside.
It looks like I’d imagine a hotel room to look, except cleaner. My bags are at the foot of the bed, and I hurry over to grab out a pair of sweats and my favorite hoody. I know I’ll stick out like a sore thumb wearing this, but I want to be all bundled up right now.
I let myself into the en-suite bathroom, and again my legs lock up.
“Oh my fucking God...”
This place is so white, it hurts my eyes. White marble floors, white tiled walls, white vanity, white claw-foot tub.I feel filthy in comparison.
I kick off my shoes before I dare step inside, and shuck off my clothes a step later.
How can anyone enjoy living here? I’d be too scared to sit or lay down or use the hand towels in case you accidentally leave behind evidence of your dirty self.
I step into the shower, doing my best to keep the wound out of the water until I’m ready to clean it.
It should feel delicious...but the hot water stings when it touches the fabric burn Smackdown gave me when he tore off my underwear, and makes the bruises on my ass from Vuitton’s spanking ache.
I carefully wash out the S-shaped cut on my inner thigh, giving it a good look for the first time. It doesn’t look all that deep. Before I got into the shower, it wasn’t even bleeding anymore. There’s no dirt or anything in it, so it should probably heal up fine. When I root around in the vanity cupboard, I find a small first aid kit.
This place makes me think of a hotel more and more.
Cleaning out the wound with disinfectant, I put some gauze over it and then bandage my leg, so it’ll stay on. It aches more than the handprints on my ass, but there’s no blood seeping through the gauze. I’ll chalk it up as a win.
There’s no point telling my parents about the cut, or about what those hunters did to me. They murdered someone—that’s bad enough to get them locked up for life.
I stare at myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on one wall and pull my hair up into a messy bun. I should brush it, but God I hate brushing my hair. It’s always tangled, so it hurts, so I don’t brush it nearly often enough...which means it’s always tangled. A vicious cycle, I know, but no one’s ever complained before.
Pushing my shoulders back, ready to get my snitch on, I head downstairs.
We know where you live.
I almost miss a step when Vuitton’s voice snakes into my mind. Inhaling deep, I lift my chin and carry on down. Joke’s on them—I don’t live in Liberty anymore. We’ve moved several times since then, and I haven’t bothered to update my license.
Where are you staying, love?
Oh fuck. They know I’m here at Vicky’s house. They even knew her surname. My parents told me everyone knows everyone in this place, but I had no idea...
I step into the kitchen and stare at the white marble island for a moment. They haven’t noticed me yet—Mom and Vicky are bowed over their margarita glasses, whispering conspiratorially about something, and Dad is watching with a nostalgic smile on his face.
Vicky turns to my dad and says, “Do you remember Dona’s face when Jet told her she was getting fat?”
Dad throws back his head and laughs, Mom chiming in with the silliest, girliest giggle I’ve ever heard.
I’ve never seen them this happy. I mean, sure, there were the handful of times we were together as a family and everyone was in a good mood, but this? There’s a sudden lump in my throat at the thought that I’m about to kill this mood as surely as Boomer’s dad was just murdered.
I open my mouth, clear my throat, and say, “Guys, uh?—”
Vicky spins around. “You! Come over here, gorgeous.”
I cut off as Vicky beckons me with a wild wave, but I’m rooted to the spot.
“Nim?” Mom frowns over her drink. “Don’t be rude.”
“Come say hi to Vicky,” Dad says.
Vicky glances at him, waving dismissively. “It’s okay, Oscar. She doesn’t even know me.”
“Yes, but, she has to—” Mom begins, and Vicky turns to look at her with wide eyes. Mom quickly drops her head, sipping at her half-empty glass.
What was that?
“Uh, I actually have something to tell you,” I say, dredging the words up from some unfathomable depth.
“I know,” Vicky cuts in with a radiant smile, grasping my wrist and pulling me onto a barstool beside her as soon as I’m in range. “You love it, don’t you?”
What the hell is she?—?
“Cinderhart,” she says, her blue eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it just... perfect ?”
The furthest fucking thing to it.
“Actually, in the woods?—”
“The woods?” The gleam in Vicky’s eyes is gone in an instant. She throws my parents a worried glance. “You let her go into the woods?”
“Yeah,” my dad says, frowning. “That’s okay, right?”
“Well, uh...” Vicky looks back at me, her smile a little faded when it comes back onto her mouth. “I mean, she’s in one piece, so yes.”
“Oh, crap” Mom says, grabbing Dad’s sleeve. “It’s not hunting season, is it?”
“What? Oh, no.” Vicky waves away the question and laughs. “But it’s regulation that you should wear safety vests if you’re going out there. This part of Silverash isn’t exactly for hiking.”
Tell me about it.
“Yeah, actually, about that?—”
“Nim, sorry, sweetie,” Vicky interrupts. “Hold that thought for one second.” She beams at me and holds out a hand.
I look at it, look at my parents. I’m getting really weird vibes here, and their expectant faces aren’t helping. “What’s going on?”
“We wanted to know,” Vicky asks, “if you’d like to meet the Harts tomorrow.”
I frown. “Hart...as in Cinder hart ?”
Vicky nods, her lips squirming like she’s holding back a grin.
“Uh...I guess. I didn’t exactly make plans already.”
They laugh like I made some big joke. Vicky grabs my dad’s arm and says, “She sounds just like my daughters. It’s uncanny.” When she looks at me again, I wonder how much she’s had to drink, because she just seems inexplicably happy. I guess she’s been looking forward to reconnecting with my parents as much as they have. “I wish they were here to meet you, but all my kids are away for the weekend.”
“Your husband too, thank God for that,” Mom mutters into her margarita glass.
“Yes, well, he had better things to do,” Vicky says, rolling her eyes. “And thank God for that.”
“Will he back tomorrow?” Dad asks, a small frown between his brows.
Vicky shrugs, a cool indifference in her eyes. “Who knows? He answers to no man.”
Dad lets out a grunt, and Mom’s mouth goes into a line. Whoa, no love lost for Vicky’s husband. She turns to me, holding up her glass and turning in her seat to face me. “Ruthie tells me you’re looking at colleges?”
Mom clears her throat at that, and when Vicky glances over her shoulder and says, “What?” my mom glares at her.
“Is something going on?” I ask, the busybody in me suddenly on high alert. And I’m also perfectly fine stalling my news until I find out what these three have been discussing behind my back.
“Oh no, honey,” Mom says, and then takes a big sip of her drink as Dad chimes in with, “I didn’t know it was a state secret you’ve applied to universities?”
“Cinderhart Academy is one of the best in the country,” Vicky enthuses. “Your parents told you they went there, right?”
“They couldn’t stop talking about it,” I say ruefully.
Vicky laughs. “Only good things, I hope.” She looks at my parents in turn. “Speaking of, we’d better get ready. If we don’t leave in the next half hour, all the good parking will be taken.”
It’s now or never. If I don’t tell them right now, I’m going to lose my nerve. But as soon as I open my mouth, Mom turns to my dad and whispers, “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
I don’t think I was supposed to hear. Hell, I don’t think Vicky was supposed to hear. Because when I glance at her under my lashes, Mrs. Pellegrino’s chin starts trembling. “Well, it’s happening,” she says, her chin lifting. “And if you ask me, this should have happened years ago.”
“The...reunion?” I ask.
The three of them look at me like they’d forgotten I was in the room. “No,” Vicky says. She lays a hand on my shoulder as she slips off her stool and comes to stand beside me. “The Winters should have come back to Cinderhart years ago.”
“To visit,” Mom says hurriedly.
Vicky blinks, smiles. “Yes, of course.” Her hand slides off my shoulder, and she goes around the island to collect my mother. “I’ve missed you all so dearly,” she says. When her eyes lock onto mine, her smile fades again, turning nostalgic. “Tonight we’re catching up twenty years’ worth of parties. Then, tomorrow, once we’re less hungover, we’ll take Nim on a tour of Cinderhart.”
Mom and Vicky head for the stairs, and Dad follows them a second later. But he pauses, turning to me with a beer in his hand. “Was there was something you wanted to say?” he says, frowning. “I think Vicky interrupted you.” One side of his mouth lifts in a rueful smile. “She does that sometimes.”
I open my mouth, and then close it again.
I know I should say something...but what will the killers do if they find out? While we’re in Cinderhart, while we’re staying in Vicky’s mansion...they know where we are. There aren’t any bars on the windows here. They could easily force their way in. Tomorrow I’ll tell them I’m not feeling well, that I want to go back home. And as soon as we’re back in the city, then I’ll tell them everything.
Those guys won’t know where to find us.
We’ll be safe.
And they’ll be locked up before the weekend is over.
I manage a smile. “It can wait.”
“Really? You’re sure?” Dad’s frown intensifies. “Nim, I know this all might feel a bit, odd, but it’s important that you know where you came from.”
They told me on the way over here that I’d been born in Cinderhart. They moved before I was a year old, so I don’t consider this my hometown. But it sounds like people around here are really attached, like it means something to live here. But aren’t rich people always crazy obsessed about lineage and stuff?
“I’m good. Just a little tired after that car ride.” I pat Dad’s shoulder. “You go and enjoy your evening. Just make sure you don’t drink and drive.”
Dad holds up his beer. “This is my last one.” He gives me another lopsided smile. “Think they’d let me have any fun tonight? I’m going to be carrying both of them back to the car, I tell you now.”
I watch him go upstairs and sit back down on the stool.
I’m a fucking coward, but at least I’m honest about it.