SIXTY-FOUR GIRLS WHO SLAY TOGETHER, STAY TOGETHER
SIXTY-FOUR
GIRLS WHO SLAY TOGETHER, STAY TOGETHER
“Holy fuck, what’s happening, V?”
I grimace. “I shouldn’t have worn these shoes.”
Wynter gapes at me. “Are you for real? This is more important than shoes!”
“They’re Maxim’s Christmas present. I was wearing them when the Blues Brothers showed up at my door and dragged me out onto the street.”
She glances at my feet, then arches a brow. “You turning tricks on the side, Vicky?”
I cackle. “Only for my husband.”
“That sounds so weird.”
“I guess it does.” I tap my chin. “He’s my only customer—”
“That’s even weirder!”
“I’ll shut up now.”
“Good thinking.”
“I guess that explains why you’re wearing Frozen pajamas?”
“My sister’s obsessed.”
“I can’t believe they’re doing this the day after Christmas. Are no holidays sacred?!”
“Apparently not.”
“I already had the most stressful Christmas ever. This just takes the cake!”
“What happened?”
“My family decided to interrogate Maxim. I had to foil their plan.”
“He’s a big boy. I’m sure he could handle it.”
“They had him at a disadvantage!”
“If you say so, V.” Wynter peers out of the tinted windows in the town car. The driver’s partition is raised too so we’re, essentially, alone.
Not that I believe that for a hot minute.
There are probably cameras in here and/or mics.
“I’m just glad I got over the stomach flu enough to eat some chow mein last night. My whole house is down with it. Half the MC is too.” She pulls a face. “Wait. Are you wearing panties?”
“Yeah. Thank God. I managed to pull on underwear and a hoodie before I shrugged into Maxim’s overcoat.”
“You do look like an undertaker.”
“Well, better that than Elsa on ice.”
When she sticks out her tongue at me, I fiddle with one of my new earrings—enamel, again, but with black diamonds for eyes and the ladybugs’ spots.
“Pretty.”
I blink at her. Her head tips to the side.
“Yeah. Maxim always knows…,” I tell her, pause, continue, “…what to get me.”
See, this is why all my friends are smart. She understands me. Immediately.
Her shoulders drop in relief.
She waits a beat. “What do you think this is about?”
Her eyes widen. Once. Twice.
I just hitch a shoulder. “I’m in the dark too, Wynter.” It’s not a lie.
I have no way of knowing if this is retaliation for us exposing Dyers's sins to the world.
“My mom’s going to kill me.” She covers her face. “They only let me grab my coin and text someone to come and look after Sommer before they forced me outside. Sommer’s going to be scarred for life!”
“I’m so relieved I brought the coins with me. I almost didn’t.” I pat her hand. “I barely had a chance to call out to Maxim. He was in the shower. God, I hope he heard me or he and my family will go crazy, and when that happens, people tend to die.”
While Maxim can track me, I let those last four words loose, my tone calm as can be.
If they are listening, then they’d better figure out who they’re up against.
Wynter squints through the rain-pecked glass. “I think they’re taking us to the lodge.”
“Makes sense. It begins where it ends.” A thought occurs to me. “Have you had contact with any suspected Veronians since that meal?”
“I don’t…” Her gaze drops to her knees. “Yeah.”
“What happened?” I demand. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It was two weeks ago. Just before finals. I had to go home—”
“I remember. There was a party?”
“Yeah. Another Old Lady is pregnant.”
“Lily, right?”
“Yup. So, I was there for the baby shower and I had to head into town for some more Champagne. Lily’s bougie as hell, even if she isn’t allowed to drink. When I walked into the liquor store, this man was there. I thought he was an employee at first. But...”
“What did he want?”
She bypasses that by muttering, “I realized I remembered him from the first night. He vouched for one of the guys that went through the initiation with us.”
“Okay, but what did he want?”
“He asked if I was frightened yet.”
“That’s it?”
Her attention shifts from her knees to me. “Said there was a way out. I just had to tell the cops about what I’d seen that night.”
My eyes widen and I point to myself.
“I think so. Either that or what happened at that party, but it’s more likely to be the initiation, right?”
I can feel the orange-sized lump taking root in my throat. “What did you say?”
“I told him that just because he was used to assholes like Derek Dyers dropping the ball right, left, and center, didn’t mean he could tar everyone with the same brush.
“I also said that he was in the room with me and that if anyone came forward to try to pin the blame on you when they were the reason behind what happened, that each of them was to blame too… And that I’d have no problem telling my family who betrayed my close friend and fellow sister.”
I blink at her declaration. At her threats. “You really said all that?”
“Damn straight. We’re in this together.”
A shaky smile curves my lips. “Thank you, Wynter.”
“No problem. These sneaky fuckers wonder why they’re having trust issues with their members and they go and set up shit like that.” She sniffs. “Well, I’m not shady. In my world, a snitch doesn’t get stitches. They just get long-term residency in a shallow grave.”
I grab her hand. “You don’t know what that means to me.”
“Wouldn’t you have done the same for me?”
“You know I would.”
“Then I wasn’t speaking out of my ass.”
“Why didn’t you mention it?”
“I completely forgot about it,” she admits with a wry twist of her lips. “I got into this massive argument with one of my… friends back home, and he was the reason I headed to the liquor store in the first place. I needed to clear my head.
“Then that prick comes in and thinks he can threaten my people?! Ha. By the time I returned to the house, a stripper had made an appearance—”
“At a baby shower?”
“Fucked-up senses of humor,” she drawls. “Anyway, it turned out that Link, he’s Lily’s partner, had sabotaged the stripper and was giving everyone a show. My mom and I had to make sure he hadn’t disposed of the stripper permanently, and that whole BS just faded to the back of my mind.”
Anxiously, I pluck my ladybug hairpin from my bun and twirl it between my fingers. “I bet.”
“Story of my life.” Wynter pulls a face. “We’re here.”
“Shit.”
This time, we’re not manhandled out of the car.
But the driver and his other goon open both doors and we exit on our own.
I make sure all the buttons on Maxim’s coat are fastened and I take the opportunity to breathe in his aftershave—there’s peace in that scent. Home. Happiness.
I just need to get back to him.
It’s freezing outside, but I make the decision to walk barefoot. Whatever I’m facing, I’ll be safer with frozen toes than in ridiculously high stripper heels.
I may look like the blonde in a horror movie, but I won’t be killed as easily as one.
“Think they’ll kill us?” Wynter whispers, her thoughts unerringly mimicking mine as I toss the shoes in the back seat.
“I doubt it. But… there’s always a risk. I won’t let them hurt you, Wynter.”
Her hand snags mine and I cling to hers in turn. “Same.”
Together, we approach the building, well aware that the driver and goon are shepherding us toward it.
A few short steps later and we’re back in the foyer.
And thank fuck for that—can frostbite settle in that damn fast?
Even as I study my pedicured toes that are stinging like they’ve been dipped in hydrochloric acid, I realize we’re alone.
“No Jerry,” she whispers.
“No.” I force myself not to wring my hands. “Shame.”
“Yeah. I thought…”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe he’s already gone through?”
“Maybe. We’ll find out soon enough.”
We glance around the cavernous hall, see the goons have blocked off the entrance, and then another door opens.
It creaks loud enough to make us both jump, but we step toward it. No one tells us to go or to stay, but there’s not exactly a rave happening in here.
One way in.
One way out.
I squeeze Wynter’s hand then disconnect our fingers as we separate to head through the narrow opening that reveals an antechamber.
A hooded woman stands in the center of a formalized mudroom—benches line the walls, hooks nailed above them. “Show me your coins.”
Slipping my fingers into Maxim’s pocket, I retrieve the one they gave me and the one I earned. “There.”
With a nod, she passes me a red cloak.
Once Wynter’s completed “show and tell,” she’s handed a white cloak.
By the time we’re dressed like choir boys, the other chick’s gone, but another door opens, revealing a floodlit space.
I step over to it, Wynter at my side, and hiss, “We’re back in that goddamn sand pit for overgrown toddlers.”
“They missed their calling for drama club,” she snarks back.
We’re also alone again.
On the sand, at least.
I learned last time that the shadows on the seats mean dick—they’re all full.
A spotlight circles the floor in front of us and trails toward the center. We follow it until it veers into two spots. I take one and Wynter the other, until we’re at the east and west cardinal points.
I swallow when the center of the floor suddenly drops in.
Wynter presses a hand to her throat.
This is starting to feel like Maximus Decimus Meridius’s last fight in the Colosseum.
Praying that the creaking and groaning noises aren’t lions, my shoulders hunch in relief when the floor resettles itself. That patch of sandy nothingness, however, is freshly occupied.
A man slumped on his knees, head bowed, perches pride of place dead center. His chest’s heaving, a sight that’s visible because he’s naked.
100% naked.
In the back of my mind, I can hear Maxim grumbling about me seeing a naked dude that isn’t him.
I’d question my sanity if I didn’t find the memory of his voice comforting.
“A brother has betrayed us, my fellow brethren. He has brought attention to us. To our dealings. He has abused his position. He has abused us. And now, we look to our potentiate and initiate to rectify our past mistakes.”
Finally.
Dyers.
Wynter straightens with a jolt as two knives suddenly dart across the path in front of us, skimming along the sand like pebbles on the surface of a lake. I just eye the weapon, recognizing what they’re asking of us.