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UPPER HAND

AMELIA WILDE
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
About the Author
 1
GABRIEL

As far asSaturday brunches go, this one’s a four out of ten.

A point for each of my siblings, present in Mason’s apartment if
not actually at the table.
And a point for the chef, who has attempted to lift the mood by
serving individual fruit cups with breakfast. Five ramekins, each with
a bed of bright fruit topped with a perfect dollop of whipped cream.
A sprinkle of candied lemon peel.
Tension has thoroughly destroyed the rest of the rating.
Mason’s dining area is filled with natural light and forced
politeness, as if one stray word might set off a grenade hidden in the
tray of waffles. It’s not out of the question. The very first brunch we
attempted to have devolved into a fistfight. Jameson is the one who
exploded that time.
This time, it’s me. I’m the problem. I announced my revenge
plans to my brothers. Then—the whipped cream on the goddamn
fruit salad—I broke up with Elise Bettencourt.
Never mind that we weren’t dating. Never mind that I was clear
as Mason’s crystal ramekins that I was using her. She didn’t want to
see it.
The night we went to that dinner at her parents’ house repeats
nonstop in my head.
Elise’s eyes, wide with pain. Your birthday. My dad’s office. Those
things were real. What we felt was real. So you’ll just pretend to
leave me alone for my dad’s sake, and we can—
The bitter taste of what I said to her overpowers the fruit and
the whipped cream.
No, Elise. I’ve hollowed you out. I took everything. And now
there’s nothing left you can give me.
She had tears in her eyes. You said I mattered to you. I thought
you meant it.
If I cared about Elise Bettencourt, it’s the same way I care about
my siblings.
It can never be real. I can never get close.
I’m an island for a reason. Nobody notices when an island sinks
beneath the waves. It doesn’t hurt to realize it’s no longer on the
map. It can simply disappear.
One day it’s there, the next day it’s gone.
Charlotte, Mason’s wife, dips the tines of her fork into the
whipped cream on top of her berries. “I’ve never seen a cuter fruit
cup. Look at the color distribution.”
No doubt Elise told her what I said. What I did. That’s what best
friends do. They share all the painful, awful details. It would explain
Charlotte’s careful politeness this morning.
And the way she won’t quite meet my eyes.
Mason, on the other hand, won’t stop staring. Glowering, really.
When he’s pissed like this, his eyes seem several shades darker.
“Is there a range?” Jameson drums his fingertips on the
tablecloth. “How much difference is there between the cutest one
you’ve ever seen and the ugliest?”
He’s not even looking at the fruit cup, or at Charlotte. He’s
watching Mason.
“Mason?” Charlotte nudges him with her elbow. “Have you ever
seen a cuter fruit cup?”
“There are more important things than the fruit cup.” Mason’s
tone is low and bristling. “We need to have a conversation, Gabriel.”
“Something happen at work?” I meet his eyes with a grin that
makes me feel even more hungover and wretched. Poetic justice
that I didn’t drink last night. All I did was toss and turn and think of
buttercream frosting and pink humiliation on Elise’s cheeks.
 “Don’t fuck around with me right now.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I would never dream of fucking around
with you at brunch, Mason.”
He lets out a sharp breath, his face reddening. Charlotte puts a
hand on his knee under the table. Cute. “Gabriel, if you don’t—”
Remy, the youngest, emerges from the hallway leading to the
bedroom with pink cheeks, like she just woke up. Her blonde hair is
working on an escape from its bun.
“Sorry, guys. I was having a dream about a site collapse in the
middle of the Colosseum.” Most Fridays, she pulls all-nighters
studying archeology. Last night was clearly no exception. I always
had the most vivid dreams in the hour of stolen sleep after a night
haunting the alleys. At least hers are about dusty artifacts in Rome.
Remy comes around the table and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m glad you could make it.”
“You’re the only one.”
A frown tugs at the corner of her lips. Remy takes the seat next
to mine and looks around the table. “No Elise?”
Charlotte picks up her coffee mug and cradles it to her chest like
it can protect her from the bomb that’s about to go off. “She said
she wasn’t feeling well, so she couldn’t come.”
I take a swig of black coffee. It tastes exactly how I feel. Bitter
and sad. Who gave me the right to feel like shit? I’m the one who
used Elise Bettencourt to get close to her family. I’m the one who
ended things. It was all according to plan.
Success should feel more like cream and sugar. Or like Elise’s
buttercream frosting. I don’t let myself doctor my coffee, and I won’t
allow myself to touch that frosting again.
Or Elise.
“Awww.” Remy purses her lips. “I hope she’s not sick.” Her eyes
widen at the sight of Mason, who’s going to burst a blood vessel.
“Mason? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Remy. Gabriel and I were about to talk.”
“Talk about what?” A smile flashes onto my sister’s face,
wavering at the corners, and disappears. It’s Remy’s nervous smile.
We tried our best to keep things stable for her after our parents’
death. Routine. The energy at the table is anything but routine. “Is
everything okay?”
“It’s going to be okay, Remy.” Jameson pours coffee from the
carafe on the table into Remy’s My life is in ruins! mug and hands it
to her. I’m sure he meant for his smile to be reassuring. It’s too
serious on him. Too tight. Is it Mason he’s pissed at or me? Or both
of us?
“What’s going to be okay?” Remy clutches the mug with an
aggressive hold. “Did something happen?”
Her eyes go between Mason and Charlotte. Remy was furious
when the news about their sex contract broke. All of us were, but
nobody took it like Remy did. Mason’s her hero. Forcing Charlotte
Van Kempt into a dirty deal wasn’t a very heroic move.
She’ll probably be angry with me, too. My little sister might never
understand that what I’m doing is different.
“Nothing happened,” I sing, patting at her shoulder. “Mason woke
up on the wrong side of the bed.”
Remy searches my face, eyes wide. “You’re lying.”
“He’s sure as fuck lying.” Mason’s palm comes down on the table.
Charlotte puts her mug down and grabs for his hand. The mug is
bright blue. It has a picture of Donald Duck. Jameson gave it to her
as a wedding gift to go with his favorite one, which is red and
features Mickey Mouse. He and Charlotte get along. They have jokes
together. I don’t see the point. I’ll be out of the picture soon.
“I’ve had a great week,” Jameson announces. “Tell them how
great it was, Mason.”
Our eldest brother grits his teeth. “Jameson had an excellent
week at Phoenix. I didn’t have to threaten his job even once. Now
cut the bullshit, Gabriel.”
“There is no bullshit.”
“I found a new property that Mason loves. It’s going to triple in
value after it’s developed.” Jameson leans toward Mason. “Thank
you, Jameson. You’re a genius.”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” Mason says to Jameson. Then he stabs
a finger in my direction. “But you.”
 “I’m your favorite.” I could throw up on the floor. My chest hurts,
rib to rib. I wish Elise were here. I wish I could apologize. I wish I
could mean it, but I can’t. It’s better this way.
“Did you hear that, Sunshine?” Jameson’s words are light and
joking, but his tone is tense as a stretched seam. “This is what I get
for my best work.”
“Gabriel.”
Mason thunders my name, and everyone else freezes. I look at
him over my coffee cup, meaning to deflect, meaning to do fucking
anything, but something else happens instead.
It’s like a jump cut in a bad horror film, only the memory’s real.
Mason, eighteen years old, clinging to the folding table we had in
the kitchen, blood drained from his face. He’d insisted on sitting up
to sign the documents that liquidated our parents’ assets to pay their
debts, so I’d carried him to the table and eased him into one of the
rickety chairs.
He couldn’t sit. Even with painkillers, it was too much. Gabriel,
he’d said. Gabriel.
“I’ve had enough.” His voice, strong and steady and pissed,
snaps me back to reality. I can’t muster up a grin. Too busy
concentrating on not being sick. “It’s been a fun game, but it’s over.
You and your company are joining Phoenix.”
My coffee cup feels like a boulder weighting me to the table. I
can’t bear another sip of black coffee. I don’t deserve to reach for
the sugar dish. “Again, I have to politely decline.”
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. You’re joining Phoenix.
You’re not doing your plan.”
“What plan?” Remy hasn’t touched her coffee or her fruit cup.
She hasn’t taken one of the waffles. “Gabriel, what plan?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“Are you kidding?” The anxiety in her eyes makes my clothes feel
cheap and rumpled and scratchy. “You’re obviously fighting. And you
obviously have a shitty idea for a plan. I’m not seven anymore. I can
make my own lunch and do my own hair. What plan?”
As her legal guardian, Mason never missed one of Remy’s parent-
teacher conferences, but we all took turns with the rest of her care.
When I wasn’t working the alleys and attending high school, I
helped her with her homework. I went to thrift stores and searched
out clothes in her size. I listened to her talk about archeology, even
back then.
“He’s decided to join the consortium that killed our parents and
bring it down on top of him.” Jameson’s tone, along with his
sarcastic air quotes, solve the mystery of who he’s pissed at. It’s me.
“Oh, okay.” Remy’s face flushes. She tosses her cloth napkin onto
the table. “You decided to join a group of dangerous people who
murdered our parents. No problem. I don’t need to worry about that
at all.”
I don’t know which thing is more shocking—that she knows
about the consortium, or that she’s capable of such biting sarcasm.
“I told her,” Charlotte admits.
Jameson speaks over her. “I didn’t think it was fair for her—oh.”
“You can’t keep treating me like I’m in kindergarten.”
“I told you as soon as I knew,” Jameson points out.
“Mason and Gabriel have to stop treating me like I’m in
kindergarten. And Gabriel? You have to stop acting like you don’t
matter.”
A wound I’m not prepared to feel opens up at the pit of my gut.
“Like I don’t matter? You’ll have to help me out, Remy. How do I act
like I don’t matter?”
“You won’t let us come over on your birthday. You pretend it’s
not happening. You spend all your time with people you don’t even
like.”
“I like them plenty.”
My interruption doesn’t stop her. “You were an asshole to Elise,
and you clearly haven’t apologized.”
Perfect. Charlotte told Remy, too.
“You’re not a disposable person. You’re behaving like—like you
don’t even exist.”
“Maybe I don’t want to exist. Maybe I’d rather be the one in a
burning fucking building.”
Remy gasps. She’s half-out of her seat, like she can’t decide
whether she wants to run out of the room or slap me or both.
 “Remy.”
When Mason says her name, she sits, looking away. I can still
see the quiver in her chin. I can see the angry tears she’s refusing to
let out. On my other side, Jameson’s shock-pale. It’s Charlotte who’s
living color. Red cheeks. The startled blue of her eyes. Her gaze
swings from me to Mason. The tension in his upper arm says he’s
gripping her hand under the table for dear life.
Mason looks me in the eye. “That’s not what you want.”
“Maybe it is.” I try for a taunting singsong tone, but I’m surprised
to find that it comes out flat. Raw.
I don’t allow myself to be this way. Not with my family. Not with
anyone.
If I go that far, then everything else will come tumbling out.
They’ll know everything I did, and everything that was done to me,
and I’ll be as good as dead. The person they know will disappear
before their eyes.
“It’s not. And it’s not what Dad would have wanted for you,
either.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Actually, I do. I was there with him. I was there with both of
them. Being burned alive.” Mason blinks, and for that heartbeat I
see the flames in his face. See the terror and the shock of that night.
“We didn’t have a lot of time, but he told me what he wanted.”
I hate that I can sit through this. I hate that I haven’t burst into
tears or stopped breathing or had a heart attack. I hate that the
alleys taught me to swallow my fear and pain and let it cut me
where nobody else could see.
I resent, with every cell in my body, that I can sit here, looking at
Mason like this conversation doesn’t hurt in a thousand different
ways.
Part of me howls with jealousy that he was the last one to hear
our parents’ voices. Part of me can’t draw breath for how guilty I feel
that I wasn’t there, too. And part of me wants so badly to believe
him that it’s a knife making a slow path through my skin.
“He told you what he wanted for you.” I look at Mason, steady,
like the shell of a person I am. “He promised you’d make it.”
 We all know our Dad’s last words, and not because Mason
wanted to tell us. It was a fact that only came out when he was high
on painkillers or losing his mind from the pain.
“He hoped I would make it. He had to believe I would. Because
when he was breaking that fucking window, Gabriel, he asked me to
take care of you. Of all of you.” One hand goes to his chest. “And
I’ve been failing.” Mason steels himself. “Be angry with me all you
want, but you’re not doing this. Your company is joining Phoenix.”
“No.”
“No isn’t on the table. I’ll do a hostile takeover if I have to. Then
you can use whatever resources of mine you want to do this the
right way.” Mason’s eyes have gone brighter, the green turning a
particular shade that echoes his desperation. I’ve seen it before. I’ve
seen it too many times. It still makes my heart race. “With lawyers.
With lawsuits. Not with some suicide mission. You’re not becoming a
member of that fucking consortium.”
I’m careful, so careful, with the coffee mug. I let it rest on the
tablecloth, then rise to my feet. Brush at my shirt, though there
won’t be any crumbs.
“That’s what you don’t understand, big brother. I already did. I’m
already in. They accepted me. Now I’m going to destroy it from the
inside, and there’s nothing any of you can do to stop me.”
A moment of silence.
Then brunch goes up in flames.
 2
ELISE

I’ m awake when my phone rings.

I shouldn’t be. It’s well after midnight. Almost one, according to
my alarm clock. The phone is just beginning its second buzzzzz
when I swipe it off my bedside table.
Lydia Bettencourt, the screen says.
I throw off the covers, climb out of bed, and answer.
“Hey, Lyd. Are you okay?”
Sound comes through the speaker first. Someone shouting.
Heavy bass. Quick footsteps on gravel. “I’m fine. Can you come get
me?”
My little sister’s lying. Her brand-new iPhone picks up her quick,
nervous breathing and the shake in her voice. My iPhone might be
four years old with two chipped corners, but the speaker works just
fine. Adrenaline hits my veins like pure, sharp sugar.
“Of course I can. Where are you?” My stomach clenches. Please,
let her be close enough to take the subway. I need to know what
happened to make her voice so shaky, but I can’t ask her until she’s
with me. Until she’s safe and sound.
“I’m in Brentwood.” Her voice goes up like she’s asking a
question. Brentwood? Can you still come get me?
My pulse pounds at the side of my neck. Leggings. A crew neck
sweatshirt that has a cartoon stick of butter on the front. Brentwood
is over an hour away by car.
 I don’t have a car.
“Okay. Are you in a safe place right now? Is there somewhere
you can go to wait for me?”
“I’m—” Lydia’s voice sounds thick now. She clears her throat. “I
was at a party. Please don’t be mad. I know I shouldn’t have come,
but—”
“No. It’s okay. I’m not upset with you, I promise, Lyddie. I just
want to make sure you’re safe.”
How am I supposed to get there? An Uber, maybe, but there’s no
telling what condition Lydia’s actually in. If she’s hurt, if she needs a
hospital, the driver might refuse to bring us back. There’s enough
money in my account to cover the ride, except I don’t know if I trust
a random driver right now.
“I’m—I’m okay. I’m outside. It’s a neighborhood. I don’t want to
start walking to try and find a—a store, or—”
“It’s okay. That’s okay. If you feel like it’s safe enough to wait
there, then text me the address.”
“I sent it.” Oh, God. She sounds so small. So lost. Just once, I
wish I could be her hero from start to finish. A wealthy, powerful
woman with a fleet of cars, ready to leave at a moment’s notice to
get my sister.
Her text pops up. “It’s here. I have to hang up for a few minutes
so I can get going. Do you want me to call you back once I’m out of
my apartment?”
“Just come get me. Please.”
“I’m coming.” I want to give her more instructions. Text me if you
leave the house. Text me if anything happens. Tell me what
happened. “I love you. I’m on my way. I’ll see you soon.”
“Love you.” The call disconnects in the middle of you, and I know
that’s because she’s crying.
My sister’s crying outside some house party in Brentwood.
Somebody hurt her, or scared her, or upset her. Now that she’s not
on the phone, I feel frantic.
I don’t trust an Uber to get here in time or to be okay with
rescuing my sister. Charlotte’s pregnant. She’s probably exhausted.
The last thing she needs is for me to wake her up and ask her for a
ride. I’m not calling my parents.
Socks. Shoes. Purse. I’ll walk to her. At least I can get moving.
No. Jesus. It’s, like, forty miles to Brentwood.
My hands know what to do, even if my mind doesn’t want it. It’s
like someone else is scrolling through my contacts. Someone who
isn’t so heartbroken that her chest aches. Someone who can’t sleep,
even though she has to be up at three-thirty to start baking.
It’s someone else who finds Gabriel’s name and taps it with her
thumb.
The pressure in my chest increases. No, my heartbeat says. Don’t
do this. Don’t do this.
Don’t, because he might not answer. Don’t, because he might be
with someone else. It’s almost a guarantee that he’ll be with
someone else.
You were right. I was just using you to get into the consortium.
“Elise?”
Gabriel wasn’t sleeping. His voice is too clear. He sounds too
alert. I could choke on the intense jealousy on my tongue. I could
die from the relief of hearing him say my name. I could burn up like
a scrap of pastry in the oven from the shame of having no one else
in mind to call but the beautiful, broken asshole who stood outside
this apartment and broke up with me.
Taking a tight virgin pussy never gets old, so thanks for that. It
was a fun way to pass the time while I got what I really wanted, but
that’s over now.
“I know it’s late, but I need your help. If you’re busy, tell me
right now, because I don’t have much time. If you are, I—”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at my apartment, but my sister’s at a house party in
Brentwood. She asked me to come get her. She sounded pretty
shaken up, and—”
It’s not the sound of voices that interrupts me. Not the sound of
a person, sleepy in Gabriel’s bed. Or another bed.
It’s footsteps on hardwood.
It’s the clink and scrape of keys in a lock.
 “I’m coming to your place, then we’ll go and get your sister. And
Elise?”
“Yeah?”
“Do not wait outside on the sidewalk. I’ll come up for you. I’ll be
right there.”
He’s serious. Gabriel arrives at my apartment so fast it seems
impossible. I keep waiting to be let down. Waiting for the moment
I’ll have to call the emergency Uber and hope it turns out. But then
the stairs leading up to my floor creak under the weight of a man
who’s taking them two at a time. A quick look through the peephole
—dark hair, green eyes, Gabriel—and I yank it open.
A pinch at my gut. Heat in my cheeks. He’s so beautiful it hurts
to look at him, even out of the corner of my eye. He hurt me so
much.
I don’t want to notice how good he looks. Most of my conscious
mind doesn’t care. This might not be a full-on emergency but it’s
urgent. I can’t pay attention to the perfect, crisp white of his shirt
and how he’s obviously dressed to go out. I can’t pay attention to
the brilliant, changeable green of his eyes, one moment light, one
moment dark. I can’t pay any attention to the lean, muscled height
of him or the way his heat seems to fill the hallway.
So I don’t. I stay focused on the task at hand.
My hands don’t shake while I lock the door. I’m proud of that.
Less proud of how much I want to throw myself into his arms.
Down the stairs. Out to the street, where a dark SUV idles.
Gabriel opens the door, helps me inside, and closes it behind me.
Then we’re pulling away, out into the night.
There’s nothing to do but wait.
Nothing to do but breathe in the clean, new scent of his car and
the warm, masculine scent of his skin.
I lean forward to put the Brentwood address into the console
GPS.
Our hands brush together.
It’s nothing. The backs of his knuckles against the backs of mine.
It’s absolutely nothing, except the ache in my heart expands like a
cake rising in the oven. Except the way my throat closes up like we
meant something.
“Excuse me.” Gabriel’s tone is reserved. Collected. It’s not
charming, exactly. I feel like we’re a million miles apart.
“That’s okay.” I punch in the address, memories ringing in my
ears. I have no further use for you. Every time I think about that
night, another awful thing that Gabriel said resurfaces. It’s the most
painful irony that I do need him. I needed him tonight.
And if my heart is to be believed, I need him every night. Not to
help me rescue Lydia. Just to be with me. I want him on a level
beyond guilt and debt and revenge. I want him because nothing else
feels as good as being in his arms.
Gabriel waits until I’ve settled back in my seat to reach for the
console again. He twists one of the knobs, which turns up the heat.
“Are you cold?”
He glances at me, and in that fraction of a second I see
something unguarded in his eyes. Regret, I think. But it’s gone
before I can be sure. “No, but you are.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re shivering.”
I hadn’t noticed my teeth knocking together, or my hands
shaking on my purse. Gabriel did. A tighter grip should take care of
that.
“I’m just scared for Lydia.” Although now that he’s adjusted the
temperature, warm air caresses my face. My hands. “The heat does
feel good, though. And I bet—” Another wave of fear makes goose
bumps prickle despite the warmth. “I bet Lydia will appreciate it.”
“You said she was hurt?” He sounds so calm. Almost detached. I
couldn’t be less detached if I tried.
“I honestly don’t know. She swore she was fine, but her voice
was shaking. It sounded like she was going to cry. I didn’t press her
for details. I just wanted to get to her.”
“When did she call?”
“Right before I called you.”
My body braces for a cutting comment. I told you it wasn’t real,
Elise. Were you that desperate to see me again?
 The words never come. Gabriel flicks his eyes to the center
console. “She’s been waiting about half an hour. We can make it
there in forty minutes.”
He accelerates. His SUV is so new and luxurious that I hardly feel
the bumps in the road. If I’d stayed to work for my father, I’d have a
car like this. I’d have a car. I wouldn’t be making the best of bad
options at one in the morning.
This doesn’t seem so bad, a voice points out.
Of course it doesn’t. Gabriel’s the most attractive person I’ve ever
seen. The most gorgeous man. I know we were enemies. We’re still
enemies. We’re people who use each other. That doesn’t make him
less hot or less talented with his hands.
Those hands are steady on the wheel. Gabriel doesn’t seem
nervous at all. His eyes stay firmly on the road, and his body is
relaxed. He checks his mirrors. Follows the instructions on the GPS.
I stay as far away as I can in my head.
Is that what’s happening now? His body is on autopilot, driving
me to rescue my sister, while his mind is somewhere else entirely.
“What are you thinking about?”
He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “Driving to
Brentwood.”
“You broke up with me. That means you don’t have to lie.”
It’s probably the adrenaline making me bold. Or the fact that
Lydia’s in danger. Or maybe it’s that this could be the last night we
spend time together. When I’m sure Lydia’s safe, I need to make
plans. I can’t be left at the mercy of my parents or even Gabriel.
I can’t be at the mercy of anyone ever again.
Except you still owe him. You owe all of them. You killed their
parents.
No such thing as running away from guilt. No such thing as
making up for one sin by saving your sister from a house party. I
know I can’t actually repay Gabriel and his siblings for what my
father did. After what he said, I shouldn’t care.
I still do.
His hands flex on the wheel. “I wasn’t lying. I was thinking about
driving to Brentwood.” Gabriel’s jaw works. “And I was thinking
about how brutally unfair it is that you smell like sugar cookies.”
“Brutally unfair?” A not-cute snort escapes me. “I think it’s
perfectly fair, actually. You hate sweets.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, that’s right. You liked eating my buttercream roses, didn’t
you? But no, that was about revenge. How’s that going, by the
way?”
“Absolutely fucking great.” Gabriel’s using his party voice. Flirty.
Musical. Fake. Other people might believe it’s real, but it’s not.
“Sitting this close to you and breathing in how sweet you are and
not being able to touch you because I’m an egregious bastard is
exactly what I’ve always wanted. Jesus, did you bathe in
buttercream frosting?”
He sounds so hurt underneath his beautiful, charming, asshole-
ish sarcasm that my throat goes tight again. “You didn’t have to do
this.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Pull over and I’ll call an Uber.”
“No fucking Uber is going to drive this far out and take you to
Brentwood.”
“They will if I hire one. Let me out.”
“No.” No charm now. Nothing but flat rejection of the idea. He’s
not letting me out. I get a flash of his eyes, dark and frustrated.
Gabriel takes a long, slow breath. Lets it out. Loosens his grip on the
wheel. “It’s past one in the morning. Your sister needs help. I’m an
asshole, Elise. I’m not completely devoid of a moral compass.”
“Fine.”
“Great.”
The highway rushes through the wide beams of his headlights.
Heat whispers through the car, dispensed evenly by the top-of-the-
line system. Gabriel drives.
Miles go by. Minutes. We’re getting close to Brentwood.
I was right. He didn’t have to do this. Least of all for a member
of my family.
“I’m sorry.” Sorry for the way I snapped at him. Sorry that my
father hired a man to murder his parents. Sorry that Gabriel Hill
doesn’t hate sweets but talked about sugar cookies with abject
longing in his voice and wouldn’t taste his birthday cake. “You’re
doing me a huge favor. I shouldn’t have said those things.”
Gabriel takes the Brentwood exit.
“Continue driving straight ahead for two point seven miles, then
turn left,” suggests the GPS.
“I deserved it.”
Yes, he did. But at the same time, maybe he didn’t. Maybe I just
wanted to talk to him.
I check my phone for texts from Lydia one last time, then start
scanning the sides of the road just in case.
We make the left turn.
“In point two miles, the destination is on your left.”
My pulse races. Every shadow looks like it could be Lydia.
Everything that moves.
Then the headlights fall over a hedge, and my sister, sitting in
front of it, her knees drawn up to her chest.
“There. There she is.” I point, though there’s no way Gabriel
could miss her. Lydia’s eyes get wider the closer we get. The car
hasn’t come to a full stop when I push open the door and jump out.
“Lydia. It’s me. It’s us.”
She hops to her feet and runs to me.
The two of us collide near the curb. Lydia grabs at my waist,
clinging. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I push her hair back from her face so I can get a good look at
her. She’s been crying. Her eyes are red, and her formerly winged
eyeliner and mascara are a mess. The collar of her dress is torn.
“What happened?”
“There were some guys at the party.” Lydia’s chin quivers, just
like mine does when I’m about to cry. “They wanted to—they
wanted to go into one of the bedrooms, and I didn’t want to go. So I
ran. They didn’t get me, Elise, don’t worry.”
“Are they still inside?” If they are, I’ll kill them myself. I lift heavy
bags of flour all the time. I could do it.
Lydia shakes her head. “They left a little while after I came out
here. I hid behind the hedge.”
 “Okay.” I might have judged Gabriel too harshly for wanting to
murder people. I swallow my rage and fear and steady myself. “Let’s
go.”
“Do we need the police?” Gabriel calls.
We both look. Gabriel’s standing by his open door.
“Gabriel brought you here?” Lydia whispers. “Is he going to tell
Dad?”
“No,” I promise. “Do you want us to call the cops?”
“They’re gone, and I’m not old enough to drink. Which obviously
I did.” Lydia sighs, and her shoulders sag. “I just want you to take
me away.”
 3
GABRIEL

E lise wraps her arm around Lydia’s shoulders and walks her over to
the SUV.
She’s not in great shape. From the wobble in her steps, she’s
either slightly drunk or overtired or both. There’s a big, obvious tear
in the collar of her dress. Her makeup is everywhere, and she looks
like she might have a black eye.
She looks so, so young.
Something curls up tight behind my sternum like fingers gripping
a brick wall. I’d like to do some damage to whoever tore Lydia’s
dress and scared her. Sixteen-year-old me is furiously jealous that
there was someone, anyone, to save her. Anyone she could tell.
Anyone she could call.
I open the back door, and Elise pauses, bringing Lydia to a stop
with her. “Lydia, this is my—” Elise squeezes her eyes shut for a
heartbeat, then opens them. “This is Gabriel. You probably
remember him from your birthday, but I don’t think Mom introduced
you.”
She gives me a little wave, tucking her hand back to her side as
soon as it’s finished. “Nice to a-actually meet my sister’s boyfriend.”
Ouch. “A pleasure to meet you too, Lydia. It’s warm in the car if
you’re ready to go.”
Elise helps her sister in, then climbs in after her. I go around to
the trunk and pop it open. The extra few seconds out of sight are
enough to collect myself and gather the blanket I keep in the back.
Her boyfriend. I don’t know where Lydia got that idea. Did she
see us at her birthday party and make an assumption? Did Elise tell
her that? Have my few appearances with her created a new reality
among her parents’ friends?
You wish you were her boyfriend. The small, quiet voice in my
head sounds suspiciously like Jacob Chambers. He said a similar
thing to me once. It echoes behind the words. You wish you were
my boyfriend. He was teasing, and two weeks later, we were dating.
I close the trunk and go back to the driver’s seat. When the
door’s shut, I hold the blanket out to Elise. “It’s clean.”
Lydia leans against Elise, her head on her older sister’s shoulder,
eyes closed. Elise takes the blanket, shakes it out, and wraps it
around Lydia. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I hate this. I hate the stiff, wounded politeness. I hate the way
Elise thinks we should have it out.
I hate the way I want to.
If we were together, if I weren’t committed to going down with
the consortium, we could have the fight. She could tell me I was an
asshole, and I could agree with her. She could demand restitution,
and I’d give it. She could forgive me, and I could let her.
None of that is going to happen.
The house where the party’s being hosted comes into view in the
middle of my turn through the street. Peeling white siding. People
crowded into a narrow entryway. Shadows moving behind curtains.
Raises my hackles. It’s easy to get lost in a place like that. Either
nobody’s paying attention to you or the wrong people are. Not safe
for Elise.
Not safe for Lydia, I mean.
I steer us back to the highway.
“I have to ask you something, Lyd.” Elise is calm, almost casual.
“Hmm?”
“How did you end up at that party? I’m really not mad. I’m just
asking.”
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