Page 3 of Web of Lies
I snort. She should understand by now. My lips are sealed about Tristan. He’s my internet bff, and only knows me by my middle name, Addison, like I know him by Tristan. Is it his real name? Who knows. We have boundaries, and we stick to them. So, I shrug, not bothering to answer her, and evaluate my surroundings.
Students converge on the enormous courtyard, engaging in various activities in front of me. Some are talking. Some are arguing and rolling around in the dirt. And some—well, some should probably get a room. Scantily clad girls lay in the grass on towels in their bathing suits, taking advantage of the last days of summer, before school begins. Showing off their perfected California tans and bodies the doctors sculpted for them. And the others? Well, the others hope to catch the eye of the boys tossing a football a few yards away. They constantly wiggle their asses in the air or turn so the sun beams on their barely covered breasts.
“You know your pawns?” Callie whispers as she scans the crowd with me.
“Always,” I respond again, taking in the faces of everyone I cyber stalked over the past nine months.
Research, I mentally correct myself. I researched everyone attending this school, leading up to my grand entrance. I’ve mentally logged every student currently enrolled in East Point Prep away in my computer brain. From the freckles painting their faces, to their carefully covered tattoos, I know it all. A lot of stalking happened. And I do mean a lot. I lost sleep. Countless hours. Myself. My family. All for a good cause, though.
For Magnolia.
I know it sounds creepy—really creepy, like fan-girl creepy—if I say it out loud. But I promise it was very, very essential to my perfectly constructed plan—especially my pawns, the pieces on my board of revenge.
Chase—pawn number one: blonde-haired, gray-eyed, Casanova, with a sharp jaw. He has a perfectly proportioned nose, with tiny freckles dotting his tanned cheeks. To top off his Hollywood golden boy looks, is one panty-melting smile. And I do mean, panty-melting, because—oops—there mine go.
Chase Benoit prefers the warm sunshine to ward off his winter blues. Girls, fast cars, and partying make up his list of a good time, according to his FlashGram, at least. Online sources can only tell me so much from the outside. I want to know the real Chase. The Chase Magnolia told me about through her emails.
So, that’s why I’m here.
Pawns number two and three—the twins. Seger and Zeppelin West. Yes,THATWest family. Sons of retired billionaire rockstar Corbin West, who has too many kids, he can’t name them all. In total, from my research, there are currently fourteen West children around the world. Yet, he only claims and pays for four, and the twins are two of them. Father of the year, for sure.
The twins tend to prefer Autumn over Summer. They live for the roaring football crowds on Friday nights, cheering for the twin terrors running amok on the field. The pure glee on their faces as they mow down their rivals is chill inducing. Bashing in their opponents’ skulls brings joy to their crazy souls.
Twin number one, Seger West lives for tattoos, partying, and girls— mainly girls. Every picture on FlashGram is him, red solo cups, half-naked ladies, and cigarettes. Hazy eyes. Pouty lips. Ripped abs. He’s too hot for his own good and one of my main suspects.
Twin number two, Zeppelin seems to be the more reserved of the two, looking more serious than anything in his photos. Or maybe he’s constipated? He seems to enjoy drinks too and girls, but he’s never front and center. He’s a wallflower, taking in everyone around him. He has zero tattoos and an impeccable school record, smarter than anyone on my list.
“You don’t have to do this, you know that, right?” My sister whispers, breaking into hysterics.
What my beautiful sister doesn’t understand is, I’m not drowning here. Hell no, far from it. I’m not floating above the water either. No—I’m soaring high above the sharks I’m about to go up against. I’m in a league of my own, and these pretentious murderers have no idea who they’re messing with.
I’m here for justice—for Magnolia, and no one will get in my way.
“The thing is, Callie. I do have to do this. This place was Magnolia’s future and someone, somewhere within these walls, stole it from her. They stole her from me. From her mother.” I narrow my eyes on the shaggy blonde boy, Chase, fumbling with the football a hundred yards in front of me. He rolls in the grass with a laugh, cradling the pigskin under his arms, and springs back to his feet.
The grin on his face reaches his gray eyes, melting the panties off the girls laying out. He’s like Prince Charming wrapped into a devilish high school boy—dangerous and appealing, but deadly and sadistic. I should keep my distance, but I can’t.
Callie leans into me, wafting her horrible-smelling perfume in my personal bubble. How does her boyfriend sleep next to her with that overwhelming, putrid scent? Gag.
“That’s what the police are for, Kace. The case is—”
“They closed her case the second they pulled her body from the water. Suicide stamped right on her death certificate. She drowned. She did it herself. I call bullshit. She found something, and someone punished her for it, and now she’s dead,” I say through tiny cracks in my voice.
Instantly, I push down the nagging emotions bubbling to the surface, begging to unleash from the black pit I’ve put them in. No, you stay down; you don’t get to come out yet. I can’t afford to dwell on them. Not now. Not until I’ve finished here. Then I can cry. Then I can grieve. Until that day comes, I have to remain strong and coherent enough to find an over-privileged murderer.
A familiar-looking football bounces at my feet as I reel the burning tears back in. I stare down and cock my head to the side, examining the simple piece of entertainment.
How on earth does my brother find this sport fun? And how does he play it so well? This little piece of pigskin wrapped into a weird-shaped ball is celebrated by the masses, hailed as a weird sort of sports God. Tailgate parties, Superbowl parties. You name it. They have it. And don’t get me started on the bizarre jersey and face paints. Football. Psshhht.
“Hey—uhm—can you throw it back?” My eyes snap up to pawn number one and then back down to the ball. I pick it up. The warm leather tingles beneath my fingers.
I smile, dropping Callie’s arm from my shoulders. I walk forward, meeting the sun-kissed, shaggy-haired, blonde boy in the middle. A smile pulls at his lips as I hand the football back. The heavens would laugh hysterically if I attempted to throw the damn thing. I need to grace his good side, not poke his eye out with a football. I peer into the pure steel gray of his eyes but looking back at me is anything but purity. He may wear a spectacularly hidden mask of indifference and laid-backness, but there’s more to him than meets the eyes. He has weaknesses and a highly aggressive evil streak. I intend to exploit both of them.
“You must be new around here,” he says in a smooth, deep voice, pointing a finger at me like he’s got me all figured out.
If he had it his way, I’d be in his bed and underneath him within the hour. It’s how he rolls. It’s how he portrays his life on his FlashGram posts. Girl after girl hanging off his arm at parties and events his father hosts or attends. He’s never alone. Did something traumatic happen in his life? What makes him seek people out constantly? What makes—oh—fuck, I lost myself again. Focus Kaycee don’t let them see your mind wander. Show no weaknesses.
“Have you seen me around here before?” I quip, tilting my head to the side.
