Until the Day I Die(66)

“I think I deserve to know,” I add.

“You deserve nothing.”

“If you’re not going to talk,” Jess snaps, “why don’t you go ahead and get the fuck up out of our dungeon?”

Antonia smiles. “Actually, I came here because I thought you two should know about each other.” She addresses me. “Have you gals had a chance to get to know each other?”

Jess makes a dismissive sound.

“I could understand if you didn’t want to lead with it, Jessalyn,” Antonia continues. “It’s delicate when you’ve just made a new friend. When you’re thrown into a situation where trust is so crucial . . .” Antonia gathers herself with a deep breath and a pat of her braids. “Anyway, what’s done is done, and I have work to do with my upstairs group. So, au revoir, ladies. I leave you to Lach.”

She vanishes, the door bolting behind her.

I turn to Jess. “What the hell was that about?”

Jess is picking industriously at her nails.

“Why would she want us to tell our stories to each other?”

Jess sends me a defiant glare. “I don’t know. Because she’s got some kind of competitive CEO thing going with you? Because she doesn’t just want you dead; she wants to make sure you know she’s won?”

“Maybe that’s true. But, since we’re here with nothing to do, why don’t you tell me what I don’t know about you.”

“Are you fucking serious?” She laughs. “You’re going to grill me just because that princess said so? This is just another one of her manipulations. You’re too good to fall for that kind of thing.” She attacks her hair, working it into a fresh bun.

“What are you hiding?”

She gets very still.

“Jess.”

She sighs. “It’s a long story, okay?”

“I got nowhere to go.”





36

SHORIE

On our way to freshman parking, somebody cruises up behind us and honks their horn. Dele shouts, “Slow your roll, fuck boy!” but when I turn around, I nearly faint.

It’s Rhys.

Not a coincidence, my brain tells me, Jax style.

Auburn is a small town, I argue back, but my brain is wise to probability theory, so I leave it at that.

“Hey,” I say, and lift a hand. Rhys guns it and pulls into the lot ahead of us.

“Oh,” Dele murmurs appreciatively. “Your moral dilemma is coming into very sharp focus now.”

He intercepts us at Dele’s Honda.

“I’m glad I ran into you,” Rhys says.

Again, my brain adds helpfully.

He nods at Dele. “Hey. I’m Rhys.”

“Dele.”

They shake, and Dele flips her hair over her shoulder. I can’t say I blame her. He’d make the Venus de Milo flip her hair.

“What’s up?” he says.

Dele and I exchange glances.

“You’re going to Ben Fleming’s house to look for your dad’s journal, aren’t you?” He says it in such a matter-of-fact way, I want to laugh. But I don’t. There’s still that chance that he’s involved somehow. I mean, the guy can code some. And he already admitted he likes easy money. What if he sees this as an opportunity to get in on the Jax scam? It would certainly explain why he keeps popping up at the most opportune moments.

Dele fixes him with a gimlet eye. “Rhys, I’m going to need you to tell the truth.”

“Um, okay.”

“Did somebody from Jax hire you to babysit Shorie? Maybe to keep her off their trail?”

I flush instantly. But, at the same time, I’m also glad she’s grilling him. Something I’m clearly too chicken to do.

“What? No way.” Now Rhys reddens too. “I’m one hundred percent on her side. I want this loser to pay. To get locked up for what he’s done to her family and their company.”

Dele stares at him.

“Okay.” Rhys addresses me. “I will admit I’ve been . . . circling around the lot for a while. And . . .” He swallows. “I didn’t leave after I dropped you off last night. But I swear it wasn’t in a creepy way. I was worried that you would try to go to Ben’s house alone, and I don’t think it’s safe.”

Dele arches one brow. “Shorie can take care of herself.”

“I can take care of myself,” I echo, sounding 100 percent like I can’t.

“I know, I know,” Rhys says. “Look, I don’t have to go or anything. You guys can handle it. I was just . . . I don’t know . . .”

“Concerned,” I say.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “More than that, actually. I wanted to see you again.”

My eyes meet his. “You did?”

“Yeah. I did.”

I turn to Dele. “He could be the lookout, maybe.”

She thinks for a minute, then sighs. “Okay. You’re the lookout.”

In Dele’s beater Civic, ninety miles an hour feels like a Category 5 hurricane, but by noon, we’re turning off 280 and rolling into Ben and Sabine’s neighborhood, a quaint little pocket of houses and shops called Crestline. Their house is situated on a narrow street that runs up to the crest of Red Mountain. The streets below us are alive with lunch-hour joggers and stay-at-home moms walking the family dogs. Thankfully no one’s home at the Flemings’.