Price of Truth
Aria Yanta's heart pounded against her ribcage, but she remained still. Defiance was a mask she'd learned to wear; tonight she allowed it to lie comfortably over her face.
"Who's going to stop me?" she sneered, voice even though the man at her side gave her the shivers. "You?"
Kayden Kross shook his head, a distant, approving smile flashing across his mouth. "I'll save it for later," he stated, and the words were a threat wrapped around a promise. "For now, just remember that you owe me. I can ask for anything, and you have to do it. Deal?"
The word anything landed with gravity in the room. Aria's head spun—what did he mean? Blackmail? A debt that could not be paid? She swallowed hard and asked in a reed-thin voice, "Anything?"
He smiled but said nothing. The silence awaited her to make a decision.
"Deal," she finally spoke, not that she wanted to but because she was finished flying on autopilot. Her jaw locked; her determination sharpened into a blade.
Kayden settled down onto the couch and opened up his laptop, patting the couch beside him as if she was to indulge in some minute etiquettes. She sat down, taking three uncertain inches of space between them. The glow from the screen bleached their faces with an antiseptic blue color.
After a dreary minute of clicking he turned the display to her. A profile—beautifully built, porcelain face and brittle snobbery evident even in the thumbnail—filled the screen.
"Know her?" he asked.
Aria squinted. "She looks familiar." The face tugged at some hazily remembered social-media feed. "She posted the video?"
"Quinn Mackey," Kayden Kross informed her. "Mackey Estates' daughter. Public face, private nightmare. She has a brother—Kelly—but he never speaks a word. No one actually sees him."
"I don't need her life story." Aria's voice snapped into crispness. "Did she post it?"
He nodded.
Aria drew back as though struck. "Why? I don't even know her."
Kayden's eyes traveled her face like a map. "Perhaps because people like you—principessa—draw enemies. Or perhaps you have more enemies than you know."
She leapt to her feet so quickly the chair scraped. "I'm leaving."
"Oh?" Kayden's tone was flat, almost mockery. "Where to?"
"Home," she spat. "You're the one who brought me here, recall? Don't play innocent like you now care."
"And who is leaving you home?" he asked.
"You are, if you'd have me go down a flooded road to my car," she snapped. Bluff-and-temptation.
He rose and they left the house together.
Outside, the night air cooled enough to sober her up. She got on his bike and sat across the saddle, staying space even when they moved. When he revved the engine the noise was one, low animal noise, and they rode off into the night.
At her car he handed her back the helmet. "Are you supposed to thank me?" she said, sarcasm keeping her tight.
"Like you're going to say it anyway?" he taunted.
"Good we agree then." She climbed into the driver's seat, aware of his eyes monitoring the subtle shift of her back as she buckled the seatbelt. There was a disturbing fascination in him she couldn't read—an interest that was half curiosity and half need. He sat observing until she drove off.
"Mad," he muttered to himself, and pedaled his bike backward to the house as if everything was normal.
The Kings' Antics & A Dark Obsession
In the meantime at the apartment, Vernon fought Nigel's phone out of his hand like a kid grabbing candy.
"What've you got there?" Vernon barked.
"Give that!" Nigel growled, but Vernon had already flinched away from the screen.
"Eww!" he spat, flinging the phone away. "Berry? She's one of MOB, right? How could she stoop that low?"
"You think I'm not worth it?" Nigel scoffed, but the mood had shifted to a comfortable, petty squabble. Levi padded down the stairs toward the kitchen at the sound of it, pulling a yogurt from the fridge.
Vernon chased after him, grumbling about ignored texts. "You've been ignoring me for days!"
"You told me to leave," Levi stated bluntly.
"I apologized!" Vernon shouted. Levi snickered a soft, unconcerned laugh over his shoulder as he walked away, and for once Vernon came back with nothing but a grumble to throw before departing.
Over at the Morris mansion, Chairman Morris sat behind a desk as big as an island and listened to a report that chilled his hands.
"She's been screaming since yesterday," stated the PI, voice low. "We've sedated her to keep her alive, but we can't keep doing that."
"Have you located him?" Morris inquired, throat thick.
"Working on it, sir."
Morris swallowed and put down the receiver. He turned to Courtney, who sat holding a teacup and eyes so piercing they were disconcerting.
"Who was it?" she inquired.
"A detective," Morris bald-faced lied, voice brittle. He fabricated a feeble story of competition and contracts, and she accepted it one little, hopeful nod.
"Just see to him," she said languidly, as cold as a lake.
Morris's eyes widened. "What?"
She shrugged, still languid.
Courtney placed the cup on the counter with the practiced calm of a player preparing to play chess. "Kill him," she told him.
The words dropped into the room like a blade. Morris stared at the churning tea, then back over his shoulder to the sink and down the drain poured it as if merely doing so could wash out what he had just been told to do. He had to be careful. He had to be smart.
Down the street, in a tight, sole-lit room, Richard hovered around Aria Yanta's Instagram like a moth to flame. He zoomed in on a photo—a black shirt, the curve of a collarbone—and felt the old wound twist through him. "You won't be the end of me, Aria," he whispered into the vacant space. The phone fell from his hand as shame and yearning became all entwined; he buried his hands against his face long enough to soothe his breathing.
Public Humiliation
The next day the campus was as tight as a pressure cooker. The Pinks' sedan pulled into the parking lot and a tidal wave of excitement swept through the students. Nelly feigned disinterest, arms folded, cool of the sort that concealed a churn.
"You can't expect much from them," Aria told him, but the curve at the corner of her mouth wasn't entirely benevolent. Her gaze followed Quinn's car as it slipped into a parking space, Quinn descending with rehearsed ease and Kelly—silent, steady—right behind her.
Aria counted to three under her breath and crossed the lot.
She stepped in Quinn's direction, and Quinn tried to dance around her. Aria stood in her way and turned her face into a smile that did not reach as far as her eyes.
"May I have a minute of your time?" Aria inquired, soft and polite.
"Is something wrong?" Quinn replied, annoyance sharpening her voice.
"Unless you want there to be." Aria's hand flashed ahead of Quinn's understanding—a swift, searing slap on the right cheek. The crack reverberated across the parking lot. Heads turned like sunflowers.
Quinn's face snapped back; she blinked in surprise. A second slap slammed onto the left cheek with the same humiliating force. Tears sprang into Quinn's eyes and the murmur surrounding them swelled into one, sickened gasp.
Aria swished off her hands as if she'd just done something. "I said I wouldn't be taking too much of your time." She turned, trying to escape, and then was startled by fingers wrapping around her wrist.
"You're leaving? After you punched me twice?" Quinn snarled, rage overwhelming the shock.
"I wish you'd just leave it here," Aria said coldly. "And take your hands off me."
"Want everybody to know it was you?" Quinn snapped.
"Yes," Aria said, voice loud so the people around them could hear. "Looking for the person who uploaded the video of me punching a guy? It was her—Quinn Mackey."
A whirlwind of gasps, whispers, and accusing glares swept through the students. Quinn ducked her face and hid behind her hands, shame burning hot and out in the open.
Aria spun to face, and Quinn's brother Kelly moved forward, all control and restraint by flame.
"Apologize to her," he growled, his voice low but weighted.
Aria raised her chin. "Fine." Her hand came up and delivered a third slap—a hard, bone-jarring contact that sent Quinn reeling back.
Kelly's hand shot upward as if to return fire.
"That's the last thing you'll ever do with that hand—" a cold, deep voice cut in on the quiet.
The entire room dropped into strange, frozen quiet. Eyes rolled. Students strained to catch a glimpse of the speaker in the crowd.
They recognized the voice.
Aria was frozen.