Skylar
“Get off my ass, Alexis,” Josh screams as the light turns green. “Yelling at me for being late isn’t gonna make me get there any faster.”
I can tell Alexis is nearing the end of her rope with him. “You needed to be at the hotel—”
Josh disconnects the call and steps on the gas. “We wouldn’t be late if you didn’t take forever to get ready.”
“I’m sorry.” I keep my tone soft. “I thought doing my makeup at the house instead of the hotel would be helpful.”
His hand clenches the steering wheel. “There are people at the hotel who will do your makeup, dummy. It’s why we’re all getting ready there, remember?”
I’m aware.
The reason I did it myself was so I could cover his ass.
“I know. But—”
“But what?” he snaps, swerving in and out of traffic.
“My eye is still a little puffy. I didn’t want anyone to suspect…something.”
He accelerates as we merge onto the highway. “Stop thinking you’re important. I told you, no one gives a fuck about you.” Angry eyes cut to me. “The only person who does is in this car.”
A car that’s going at least thirty miles over the speed limit and shows no signs of slowing down.
“Right.”
He slams his foot on the gas, pinning me to the passenger seat. “Josh—”
“You better not act up this weekend.”
“I won’t.”
My pulse pounds so fast it hurts. We’re whizzing past the other cars a blur of headlights and asphalt. If we hit traffic—which we will because this is California—we’re going to crash.
“Baby, can you please—”
“I could kill us both right now.” His eyes stay locked on me instead of the road. “I think today’s a good day to go, don’t you?”
Terror wraps its tentacles around my heart. “I don’t want to die.”
He weaves in and out of lanes. “I don’t give a fuck what you want.”
My lungs constrict when I glance over at the speedometer.
We’re going so fast I don’t think a cop could catch up to us at this point.
“I’m s-sorry.”
“Aw, what’s the matter, baby?” he mocks. “You scared?”
Petrified.
But I can’t tell him to stop. That will only make it worse.
And I can’t call the cops from my new—no doubt tracked—phone he got me.
He’d kill us before they arrived.
“The impact will hurt,” he says like we’re having a normal conversation. “But once our heads separate from our spinal cords, we won’t feel a thing.”
The highway becomes a smear of color. “Please.”
“Please what?” he snaps.
Bile scorches the back of my throat. There’s no way to survive this if—when—we crash.
“Please don’t kill me.”
“Don’t fuck up again. Got it?”
Sirens loom in the distance.
“I’ll be good.”
“You say that, but I know you.” His tone is vindictive. “You’ll be plotting ways to escape all weekend.”
A traffic jam looms ahead. A wall of brake lights.
I clutch my stomach. If he doesn’t hit the brakes now.
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact.
I love you, Memphis.
“There’s no place you could go that I wouldn’t find you. And once I find you…I will kill you.”
Maybe it’s not worth fighting the inevitable anymore.
Maybe it would be easier—and far less agonizing—to just let him.
He finally takes his foot off the gas and veers onto the shoulder.
The relief I should feel isn’t there.
Nor a single shred of hope when a cop knocks on the driver’s side window.
“Sorry, Officer.” Josh’s expression is pure charm as he hands over his license. “I’m running late for the Grammys.”
The officer lowers his sunglasses. “Very funny—wait. You’re the bassist from Sharp Objects.”
Josh waggles his brows. “Guilty.”
Grinning, the officer hands him his license. “I played bass back in high school. I actually started teaching my boy how to play. He’s a huge fan of you guys.”
“Well, I’m always happy to meet a fan.”
His tone turns serious. “Listen, you were really flying—”
“With all due respect, officer,” Josh cuts in. “This is a Ferrari. They’re meant to fly.”
The cop laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Can’t argue with that.” He hesitates. “Look, I know this is a big night for you and I don’t want to put a damper on it.”
Josh takes his pen and signs the back of the ticket he isn’t getting. “I really appreciate that.”
“My son’s gonna go nuts when I tell him I met you.” He rubs his chin. “Did you say you were running late?”
“Yes, sir. I was supposed to be at the Four Seasons a half hour ago.”
“Say no more.” He hikes a thumb at his patrol car. “Follow me. I’ll have you there in five.”
“Sweet,” Josh exclaims. “Make sure you DM me. I’d love to set you and your boy up with concert tickets.”
Beaming, the officer strides back to his patrol car.
The grin slides off Josh’s face as we trail behind him. “I’m not giving that annoying douchebag shit.”
Mouth clamped shut, I stare out the window.
Five minutes ago, Josh was speeding down the highway, threatening to kill me. Now he’s getting a police escort to his hotel.
He was right.
The only way out of this hellhole is death.
“What do you think?” Josh asks as the stylist hands him his suit jacket.
“You look great…” I plaster a saccharine smile. “Babe.”
An extra high-strung Alexis flutters over, clipboard in hand. “Okay, I heard back from the producers. The award you’re up for is after the fifth commercial break. Make sure you’re in your seats.”
She starts ticking things off with her fingers. “Phoenix talks first—thank Vic and the label. Your brother goes second, Storm third, and then you.” She briefly glances in my direction. “Keep it brief, and don’t forget to thank Skylar.”
Josh glowers. “Why am I last?”
Alexis sighs. “Same reason the sky is blue, and the grass is green. It’s just the way the world works.” She looks between us. “The camera could be on you at any time, and definitely when they announce the nominees.” She pins Josh with a look. “If you don’t win—”
“We will.”
“If you don’t, smile and appear gracious.
No one likes a sore loser.” She turns to leave, then pivots back.
“Oh, and no drugs tonight. Not before and not during. The entire world believes you just got out of rehab. The last thing we need is for you to be drunk and high at the Grammys. Save it for the afterparty.”
I guess it wasn’t only me he lied to.
She checks her watch then looks at Chandler. “Is Memphis here yet? Vanity Fair will be in Phoenix’s suite any minute.”
My heart slams into my ribs at the mention of his name.
We can’t be together, but I need to see him. Just once.
“Not yet,” Chandler answers. “Storm said he’s on his way.”
She mutters something under her breath before running off.
Josh makes a face as he takes me in. “Is that what you’re wearing? You look like a bottle of Pepto Bismol.”
It’s not my fault. He demanded a pink dress.
“I’m sor—”
“I think she looks gorgeous,” Chandler cuts in, stepping closer. “Very Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”
Josh snorts. “Isn’t that the chick who boned the president?”
That chick was a beloved Hollywood legend and considered one of the most beautiful women on the planet.
Sadly, she was also a woman who was devoured by powerful men until there was nothing left.
Guess we have more in common than hair color and dresses.
Josh’s phone rings. When he answers, Chandler turns to me. “How are things?”
“Fine.”
I have to remind myself that the people I once thought were my family aren’t.
Their loyalty lies with the band.
Before he can respond, his phone buzzes. “Vanity Fair just arrived in Phoenix’s suite.” He motions to Josh. “Wrap it up. Time to go.”
Josh shoos him away. “I need another minute. I’m still on the phone.”
Chandler taps his foot, like he’s two seconds away from having a hissy fit. “We don’t have a minute.”
Josh rolls his eyes. “Come up to room 802. I got some shit to take care of, but my girl will meet you.”
Chandler snaps his fingers. “Now, Josh.”
“I’m coming,” he grunts before focusing on me. “Jackpot is on his way up. Get my party favors.”
“Sure thing.”
Josh plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Be good,” he whispers.
“I will.”
“Love you.” He smacks my ass so hard I jolt. “Come to Phoenix’s suite when you’re done.”
A moment later, everyone files out of the room.
And I’m all alone…for the first time in nearly a month.
I’d run, but there’s nowhere to run to.
My phone is monitored.
My car’s tracked.
He took all my cash and cards.
People on parole have more autonomy than I do.
I’m fixing my earrings when there’s a knock on the door.
A short, tattooed guy with dark hair stands there.
I’ve met a few of Josh’s dealers before—not by choice—but this is my first time meeting Jackpot.
“Is Josh here?”
“No, but I’m his…” Hostage. “Fiancée.”
He steps inside and whistles. “Nice place.”
Looks can be deceiving.
Getting down to business, he pulls out a Ziploc bag of white powder and another containing wax baggies.
“It’s a G.”
“Oh.” Shit. “Um…he didn’t give me any money.”
Jackpot sighs up at the ceiling and calls Josh. “Your girl doesn’t have any money.”
Nerves bunch in my stomach. I can’t blame him for being pissed, but I don’t want to face Josh’s fury either.
Resentment is a bitter cocktail in my veins.
I wish he OD’d that day.
Then I’d be happy with Memphis.
Not fearing for my life while trapped inside this nightmare chock-full of his mental gymnastics and psychopathic outbursts.
Maybe I should beat him to it and off myself.
Take back control.
My eyes land on the drugs in Jackpot’s hands.
A while back there was a known rapper who died of an overdose. Fentanyl-laced. They said it was instant.
There’s no painless way to die, but that sounds close enough.
Much better than a car crash…or a knife.
“You know I’m good for it, man,” Josh promises over the phone. “Shit, I’m going to the fucking Grammys tonight. Come to the afterparty at the beach house this weekend. I’ll hook you up. Everyone will buy your shit.”
“A’ight,” Jackpot agrees. “But don’t make this a habit. I’m only letting it slide because of your status.”
White-hot wrath seeps into my bloodstream. His status lets him get away with anything and everything.
Like holding his fiancée hostage, raping her, threatening to pin a murder that he committed on her, and attempting to kill her multiple times.
One of us should die…
But it won’t be me.
I’m tired of letting the monsters win.
After hanging up the phone, Jackpot hands me the bags. “Tell him we’ll be in touch.”
“Wait.”
He pauses. “Need something else, baby girl?”
“Is this…laced with anything?”
“Nah, you’re good. That shit’s pure.”
I swallow hard. “Do you have anything that is laced with something?”
He raises a brow. “What are you looking for?”
“Fentanyl.”
He hesitates before slowly nodding. “I got some pills.”
“I’ll take them.”
He pulls out another Ziplock bag—blue this time—with a few pills.
I suddenly remember that I don’t have any money.
“How much?”
“I’ll add it to his tab.” His gaze lingers on me for a beat. “Be easy with that, mama. Too much will kill you.”
I’m counting on it.
After he leaves, I walk into the bathroom to assemble everything.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirror. I barely recognize myself these days.
The old Skylar would never think about murder.
But I have no idea what awaits me after the Grammys.
Maybe he’ll hold me hostage again.
Frame me for Shane’s murder.
Or finally kill me.
I crush the fentanyl pills and mix it with Josh’s bags of coke and heroin.
My hands are steady…until it hits me.
Chandler rented a beach house this weekend to celebrate.
Everyone will be there.
Everyone will be partying.
Which means there’s a chance Josh won’t be the only one who takes it.
I nearly jump out of my skin when the door opens.
I quickly drop the fentanyl bag into my purse seconds before Josh enters. “You were supposed to come to Phoenix’s suite.”
I pull out my lipstick. “Sorry. I was touching up my makeup.”
“Did you get it?”
I gesture to the two bags on the vanity. “Yeah.”
Satisfied, he pulls me in for a kiss. “I know the past few weeks have been hard. I’m sorry you had to see that side of me, but I’m glad we worked out our issues.” He tips my chin. “I love you.”
I used to love you, too.
Now, I fucking hate you.