Page 92 of Bitter Lies

So, it’s with a grim determination, I seek out Max because maybe if I can do whatever it is he wants, I can leave early.

I don’t think anyone cares if I’m here anyway, except for maybe David. I spy him when I search the downstairs bedrooms, emerging from what I assume to be his room with a bright smile.

“Hey, Halsey, there you are. Wanna go swim?”

“Um, maybe later. I was actually looking for my brother. Have you seen him?”

“Max? No, haven’t seen him. I didn’t know he was here.”

“Okay,” I say, frustrated. Why bring me here and then disappear?

“Hey, about your brother. Um, he’s a little intense, eh?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs, his smile sheepish as he raises his hands. “You’re not into the hard shit, are you?’

Stepping back, I shake my head. “What? No.”

“Good,” he says, dropping his hands with a bright smile. “Look, I like you, but I can’t be around that kind of shit. I need my scholarships.”

“Of course.” I smile feebly.

Max isn’t as cautious as he thinks if virtual strangers are approaching me about it. Does Griffin know? Should I tell him? Fuck, I don’t know.

“Okay, well, see you out there?”

“Yep.” I’m still standing in a daze as he walks around me and heads up the stairs.

“What a douche,” Max says, poking his head out the door of a room farther down the hall.

“Max, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Is that right?” he says. “Was this before or after you were fucking Griffin?”

“What? Max!”

How does he even know that? Disturbed, I follow him into his room and watch uneasily as he closes the door. Although we haven’t had any altercations recently, his odd behavior and borderline violence are never far from my mind.

“Whatever. It’s your funeral. The douche doesn’t care about you, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” I say dully, turning away and gazing out the french doors.

Even fucking Max has a lovely room with a double bed and adjoining bath while I’m stuck in the servant’s fucking quarters.

Did Griffin put me there because it was so close to his room? And if so, why? To punish me or keep an eye on me?

Absently, I note Griffin down by the water, laughing down at the big-titted girl who rode with us here, and I sigh. Fuck, I need to get my shit together.

I’m here for the money that Max promised me—nothing more.

“Well, why am I here?” I demand, turning away from the spectacle, my stomach souring when Jason fucking Macklemore steps into view.

This is like the culmination of all my worst fucking nightmares. Do I ever get a fucking break?

“I need you to find something,” Max says, drawing my attention away.

“What?”

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