Legacy (Sociopath Series Book 2)(36)

“I’ll see you on the other side, then. Assuming you get there.”

He hangs up.

Posner teeters on the edge of not believing me. One gust of wind and the f*cker’s going to fall. He also let that Blood Honey titbit slip entirely on purpose; either he harbors his own vile curiosities, or it’s a thinly veiled threat…because if there’s no other ID for Blood Honey, well, people are desperate to nail someone to a cross.

Leo still hasn’t replied to my email. Her cell goes to answerphone again—Jesus Christ, for one moment, could she stop being so goddamn productive?

Carson, on the other hand, has been primed by Harvey and is already expecting my call.

“You’re f*cked,” he says in his overbearing NY accent.

I swallow. “How f*cked, exactly?”

“Somewhere between it doesn’t matter if this is horse shit and you should probably leave the country.”

“Get a gag order. Immediately. We can still tone down the impact of—”

“Is it true?” he demands. “Did you or did you not assault Miss Fordham in this manner, on this date?”

Fordham’s parents will never admit to being paid off. It’s all I’m certain of right now. “No,” I tell him with as much conviction as I can muster. “I had no idea this happened.”

“Then for God’s sake, Aeron, leave the country. Take everyone close to you and wait for all this to die down.”

“I don’t want to f*cking leave!” I snap. “I’m not some kid who’s thrown a baseball through a window! How’s it going to look?”

“You’ll be protecting your own. Mark my words, this is vicious slander that leaves you and all who are close to you under threat of retaliation—Harvey will tell you this. Don’t you remember Tuija? There’s a damn psycho killer out there and you’re being linked directly to him! Let me take care of the legal shit, and skedaddle. Quick. Hanging around will only make more work for everyone.”

And more press. Obviously. What a wonderful world we live in, indeed.

I put a hand over my eyes, as if the dark will calm the raging bite of my pulse. But the dark only swerves like the daylight. Everything in my vision is just a bad carnie ride. “Am—am I actually allowed to leave the state, in this scenario?”

“Probably. I’ll call the DA. I can’t see what the hell they can hold you for, but they might want to ask questions.” Even Carson, a bulldog at the best of times, sounds unnerved by this. “I’ll get a petition in for a gag order before close of business…but it will already be out in the world by then. You know this. So keep a low profile and we’ll go from there.”

I don’t want to leave the country. Up in this office, I may not control everything but at least I have some agency; I don’t have much of a family, but I’m hot shit and everyone knows it. What do I have in some grey corner of nowhere? Nothing. Fuck all.

I don’t want to look at the internet, or the news, or tomorrow’s newspapers; they’ll all be spattered with poison about Rachel and me, smoldering with sulphurous speculation and lies.

And Leo. My Leo. This is her worst nightmare, plastered across every screen and paper for all the world to see; she doesn’t know quite how far I went with Rachel. There were some things the girls never shared. Suddenly she feels slippery in my fingers, and I have a gut-wrenching desire to grasp at the air, tug at her shadow…anything to quell the nagging ache that she might be compelled to walk away from me. To run.

She still hasn’t called back. My insides prickle with nervous pain, each thread following the wake of her bullet. Anger follows in swift, sickly waves. I could punch through wall after wall if I could just f*cking move from this couch, this place Tuij sat for hours to put together that stupid goddamn scrapbook. I’m shaking in her echoes and it makes my skin crawl.

There’s a lump in my throat the size of a small planet, but I bring Gwen’s email up and bash out brief instructions.

Let’s hope Cleopatrassistant doesn’t turn to ash in her baptism of fire.





FOUR YEARS AGO

Leo




Aged 20

Home, NYC




Feels strange to be home from college, away from the constant buzz of hairdryers and cell phone rings in my dorm. Our street is peaceful in comparison, though silence never comforts me; not even in the sunshine, when heat bakes the sidewalks and tempts melodies from summer birds.

Mum isn’t home yet; the house is locked up, and no tell-tale candle scent wafts from the single open window. Funny—I’ve picked up the same habit since I moved out, lighting scented candles in peony and soft musk and lush, fragrant English pear, just to smell a little bit of home. Some nights, I sit clasping my phone, waiting for Rachel to message me and watching slow tendrils of smoke meander up toward the ceiling.

After tugging down my denim cut-offs to make them decent, I pull the trunk of my Jeep open and grasp the handle of my turquoise Tripp suitcase. Somewhere behind me, a front door peels open, and heavy, familiar footsteps skitter in my direction.

“You need a hand?” Dean calls in his charming American boy drawl. “Looks heavy.” A second later, he’s skipped the dividing wall between our houses and is behind me, the bulk of him warm despite our lack of direct contact.