Mad Boys (Blue Ivy Prep, #2)(6)

They used to crash in my room, but as we got older, I’d asked to add rooms for them and Mom hadn’t cared. So, I could lock myself in my suite and say I was “sleeping” and they’d leave me be.

Guilt pricked me. Yvette and Aubrey were my best friends. They’d come to help Frankie and Ian, or at least that was their excuse. I got it, they came to help me.

I was fine. However, nothing a little retail and party therapy couldn’t fix. At the moment, I didn’t want to be reasonable. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to be comforted. From one heartbreaking scenario to the other, the shit with the boys at school was craptastic, but Pen’s diagnosis killed me.

After all, I was the “problem child.” I could hardly hurt my reputation. I braided my blue hair into a crown so I could pull a wig on over it. Then I changed into dancing clothes.

My phone buzzed with a message from Jackie, right on schedule. Bless Jackie, she never missed a checkin for me.

Jackie



Pen finished the first round of chemo like a trooper. She was asking about you. Are you still free to come this weekend?





Me



Wouldn’t miss it. Make sure to let me know if you guys need anything. Thanks, Jackie.





The next couple of messages were a little more motherly, including one telling me to get some rest, ‘cause Bronson had ratted me out for not sleeping.

Traitor.

My next message was to Dix to meet me at the bottom of the driveway. He sent me a thumbs-up. The thigh-high boots were killer, as was the dress that basically was a skirt painted onto my ass and a tank top that didn’t quite cover my midriff.

Although once I got going, I’d be hot and sweaty. This was the fastest way to cool off. The dark wig I’d picked out hid my blue hair. If I didn’t care about my reputation, why the wig? Dix had asked me that more than once.

I shrugged. I just wanted to dance. Hit the clubs, forget that I was me, forget that my baby sister had cancer, forget that my asshole stepbrothers spent a year torturing me for whatever reason, forget my father didn’t want any of his children, even if he couldn’t stop fucking every woman who crossed his path.

Forget that I was Kaitlin fucking Crosse.

Forget I was even part of Torched.

I just wanted to be.

The doors in my suite opened out onto a private balcony, where I had a table and chairs. It also offered a great view of the western sky, perfect for sunsets and shit.

Hooking a leg over the railing, I climbed down the trellis that had been there since I was seven. I landed on the stone of the patio just behind one of the huge oversized pots that played host to a baby palm tree.

No sounds came from the pool or the house. I followed the garden wall to where I could squeeze out between two of the pillars, and then I was striding over the neatly manicured lawn toward the drive.

This part wasn’t visible from the house, just the security cameras. I’d already told Wayne that I was leaving and to keep it from my guests. He wouldn’t even tell Mom unless she specifically asked.

Dix leaned against the side of the black Audi at the end of the drive. It wasn’t a limo—that was the other thing. Dix went with me to the clubs, got me in, then fucked off to the bar while I danced. When I was ready to leave, he’d take me home.

Fake dating worked just fine to get me inside, and no one asked me for ID.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, shaking his head. “You are going to cause a riot in that outfit.”

I laughed. “No one is going to care. I’ve seen girls wearing essentially fishnet bodysuits.” Honestly, it wasn’t about how I looked. It was about losing myself.

He popped open the passenger door so I could slide in, before circling around. Once we were on the road, I glanced over at him. “My friends Frankie and Ian may need a driver while they’re here…”

“Long as I’m not with you, I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Though you may not be able to slip out as much with the girls here…”

“It’ll be fine.” I wasn’t discussing this with anyone. Dix was my key in the door and my driver. Also, having him with me meant I had a tacit amount of security. I hadn’t forgotten my so-called Forever Fan. They’d taken to following and commenting everywhere on my social media.

Even when they were blocked, they showed up with a new variation on the screen name. They’d sent some hateful emails after the last time our social media manager blocked him, so I told her to leave it be.

If he wanted to follow me and leave comments, I didn’t have to read them. That reminded me, I needed to make a list of solid advice for Frankie. She and Ian had a lot of talent. They were still fresh and new, but I didn’t doubt for an instant they would be a hit.

Fame never came for free, so better to know what pieces of yourself you were willing to share and where to draw the line.

“Where are we hitting tonight?” Dix asked as we blended into the traffic bleeding into Los Angeles proper.

“Sammie Bee’s,” I told him. It was a new club, only opened in the last six months, but it had already snagged a great reputation for hard partying types and the music was supposed to be killer.

“Sammie Bee’s it is,” Dix said with a sigh. “KC…”

“I’m fine, Dix,” I told him, before he could ask. “Just getting some restlessness out of my system.”