I stop in at the sleazy old guy who makes fake IDs and offer the pictures I took of The King’s practice room swipe card.
Back when Dutch was forcing me to be his slave, he gave me the key card so that I could get in and out easily.
“Can you make something that’ll bypass that?” I show him the scanner. “I need access to that room.”
He stretches out his hands and looks at me like I’m an idiot for asking if he’s capable.
The next morning, I pick up the card.
That very evening, when everyone has left school, I grab a ski mask, a bat and tiptoe through the dark hallways of Redwood Prep.
My heart bangs hard against my chest when I press the card against the scanner. If the ID guy scammed me out of my hard-earned money, he’s going to wish he never met me.
But the scanner lights up green.
The lock clicks and releases.
“Thank you, Fake ID Guy,” I mumble.
Darkness all around me, I slip into the room. Immediately, I smell Dutch, this fragrance of sandalwood and musk. It’s not a cologne, I don’t think. It’s unique to him. And it only makes my rage simmer.
My vision going red, I swing the bat over my head and ram it on the cabinet full of music show awards. The trophies thud to the floor, their heads bouncing off like some kind of macabre movie.
The noise is satisfying.
I can be as loud as I want. Thanks to the soundproof walls—only the best for The Kings—no one will hear me.
High on adrenaline, I prowl over to another cabinet and smash the glass. Shards explode all over the place. I turn away so they only hit my back.
Grinning like a lunatic now, I kick over the sofa and scatter the pillows on the floor.
Thinking of Serena’s tears and her mother’s frail body, I crush my bat into the computer monitor and crack the little figurines on the shelves.
When I’m finished breaking everything that I can break, I walk slowly up to Dutch’s guitar.
The bat rattles on the ground as I drag it behind me. The surface is only a little chipped from all the destruction.
A memory of Dutch playing guitar rings through my head. He’d looked so tall and in control. A beautiful beast restrained by music. Drawing everyone into his world. Into his pain. Using only an instrument with six strings and his poetic fingers.
I approach those strings and take out a sharp knife.
This is sacrilege.
As one musician to another, I know how sacred an instrument is to its owner. Which is why Dutch pouring honey over my piano that time hurt so much.
I’m only returning the favor.
I cut the first string and it snaps back with a satisfying twang. Even in death, it still manages to make a beautiful sound.
I cut the second and watch it curl up into itself.
The third string.
The fourth string.
The fifth.
The sixth.
It springs back broken and bruised and sharp on the edges, just like Dutch’s stare. That sweeping, calculating gaze of his that delves into the soul with a flint-like focus.
I should be scared, but all I feel inside is sick, twisted contentment.
I wish I could see his face when he finds his guitar, but it’s Friday night. He probably won’t even realize the deed’s been done until Monday.
Satisfied and spent, I drop my knife carelessly on the ground and head home.
Vi is in the kitchen making a sandwich when I enter. She stops when she sees my face, her bright eyes sliding down my dark outfit. “Where have you been? And why are you so sweaty?”
“I went for a jog.”
“In a black T-shirt and jeans?”
I smile woodenly at her. Being back at home with my little sister makes me feel like I’m living a double life. The darkness that had flooded me when I destroyed Dutch’s practice room is now meeting the light of Vi’s presence.
It’s conflicting.
That light and darkness.
And it hurts a little. Like two worlds trying to collide.
“Do you want some water?” Vi asks, pursing her red lips.
I nod and watch her. She’s been experimenting with ‘faux freckles’. Apparently, it’s a ‘big trend’ and I ‘just don’t get it’.
Sometimes, I feel like I’m a middle-aged woman trapped in a teenager’s body because I honestly don’t understand half of what my sister says.
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“What?” I ask wearily. The water is cold going down my throat. It helps to relieve the heat trapped in my veins.
“I did a collab with Zane last night.”
I spit out the water and it goes spewing all over the counter. “You what?”
She winces. “I knew you’d react like this. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you beforehand.”
“Zane? Zane Cross?” A furious storm whips to life in my chest. How dare Dutch and his brothers go after my sister?
I’m going to tear them limb from limb.
I shoot to my feet.
Vi rushes around the kitchen and throws her arms out. “They didn’t come over and I didn’t see them either. It was all over the internet. Zane and his brothers agreed to do a ‘my boyfriend does a voiceover for my makeup routine’. Well, except they’re ten times better than any boyfriend I could ever have.”
“They?”
“All of them did it. Zane, Finn…” She watches me carefully. “Dutch.”
My nostrils flare. “Dutch didn’t say anything to me.”
“I asked them to keep it quiet because I knew you’d kill me.” She hurries to grab her laptop and shows me the video she’s editing. “Look, I put out a teaser and it’s already got a ton of hits. My follower count is rising too.”
My pulse picks up speed. Why would Dutch help out my sister? Is he trying to get closer to her just so he can hurt her later?
“You need to stay away from them,” I hiss, pushing her laptop.
“I won’t.”
My eyes lash on hers. “Viola Cooper.”
“They’re not evil bastards like Breeze thinks. They’re hilarious and they genuinely like me.”
“No, sweetie. They don’t. And even if they did, it wouldn’t be anything good. Eighteen-year-old rock stars shouldn’t be anywhere near a thirteen-year-old little girl.”
“You think they did this for me?” She laughs. “I know Dutch is just trying to get you to like him back.”
“Dutch is dangerous.”
“Dutch is hilarious. You should watch what I’ve edited so far.” She nudges the laptop closer to me. “They’re rockstars. They don’t know anything about makeup and they don’t mind cracking jokes.”
“Dutch doesn’t know how to crack a…” The time stamp on the screen makes my heart lurch. I lean forward urgently. “Vi, is that time stamp when you edited the video?”
“No, it’s the time stamp of when we took the video.” She gestures to it. “I didn’t want to do a regular voiceover video because then, no one would believe they were really The Kings.” Her lips form a thin line as if she’s recalling an unpleasant memory. “So I asked them if they’d be on camera. They were okay with it, but they had a concert that night so they asked if they could film it virtually in the morning.”
An awful, frightening truth slams me in the head.
I blink, dazed, but I refuse to believe it.
“Vi…” I grab her shoulders and turn her to face me, needing her to see how serious I am. “Are you sure that time stamp is when they were recording. Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Her brows furrow. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Despite my bravado, I’m terrified. In my head, I hear the shattering of glass. I hear the twang of Dutch’s prized guitar as I snipped its strings.
My heart pounds harder and harder.
Oh no.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
Dutch and his brothers were with my sister the morning of the fire. It was virtually, but that only makes their alibi iron-clad. Vi has all the evidence.
It’s possible they sent someone else to start it.
My instincts tell me that Dutch wouldn’t leave such a complicated task to anyone else. Not when, one wrong move, and it would implicate all of them.
“Vi, I need you to go and pack your bags.” The words scrape past my throat, burning like hot stones down to my lungs. I’m trying hard not to fall apart even as my mind pulls me in a thousand different directions.
“What?”
“Pack your bags.” I struggle to keep the urgency out of my voice, but it slips through. “You’re going to stay with Breeze over the weekend.”
“Why?” She scrunches her nose.
“Because I just remembered I have a school trip, and I don’t want you to stay here all alone.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Vi!” I realize I shouted and try to calm down. “Just listen to me.”
My sister gives me a weird look, but the desperation in my gaze must read loud and clear because she stumbles to her room without mumbling.
In the silence, I hurry to the bathroom with my phone and call Breeze.
“Hey, girl.” She sounds upbeat.
I wish I had the ability to sound like that, but there’s a real possibility that I might not make it out of Redwood Prep alive. Not after what I did to The Kings.
Before, when I thought it was their fault, I was okay with that.
But now…
“I need you to do me a huge favor. Can you watch Vi over at your place for the weekend?”
“Is something going on?” Her voice is immediately alert.
“No, of course not.” I force a laugh.
Serena already got tangled in this violent web. I don’t want Breeze anywhere near this.
“I’m going on a school trip tomorrow, but I’m really not comfortable with leaving Vi here alone.”
My best friend doesn’t ask any more questions.
“Of course. Bring her over.”
I feel a rush of gratitude that Breeze is in my life because right now, it feels like I’m drowning.
“I’ll walk you over,” I tell Vi.
She clutches her overnight bag and studies me. “Are you acting like this because I did a collab with The Kings?”
“We’re going to talk about that later,” I say in a hard voice.
She shuffles away guiltily.
“But no. I really do have a trip tomorrow.”
“Then you could have just sent me to Breeze tomorrow,” she grumbles.
“I have to leave early tomorrow morning and I don’t want to deal with trying to wake you up when I have a bus to catch.”
She mulls it over in her mind and then accepts it.
I escort Vi over to Breeze’s house, but I hurry away before talking to my best friend. If Breeze takes one look into my eyes, she’ll know that I’m freaking out and then she’ll try to stay with me.
I can’t have that.
Whatever storm The Kings want to rain on me, I’ll have to face it myself. There can’t be any more innocent casualties.
I keep looking over my shoulder as if Dutch will jump out of the shadows. Even though he probably won’t see what I’ve done until Monday, I’m not taking any chances. It’s why I sent Vi away.
I scramble into my house, lock the door and take a quick shower. When I get into bed, my body’s still alert and I can’t find a quiet place in my mind to rest.
When I finally drift off, I hear a rattling sound.
My heart jumps to my throat.
Darkness presses in on me, holding me down in fear.
Is that Dutch?
I get up and tiptoe into the dark living room.
Nothing.
Throat tight, I settle back into bed, but I don’t actually close my eyes until the sun peeks through the curtains.
Finding courage in the daylight, I jump out of bed and glance around the tiny apartment as if to prove to myself that the sound I heard last night was nothing.
Except it wasn’t.
Because there’s a note slipped under the front door.
Trembling, I slowly approach it and pick the note off the floor.
Why did you change the locks?
My eyes widen and I drop the note like it’s a bomb that’s about to explode.
I recognize that handwriting.
I know who’s been breaking into the house.
