Page 18 of Prey Tell
Anyone but him.
“I really appreciate the party, Jax. But right now, I need to calm down before I say something I’ll regret.”
Turning around, I storm off, grabbing yet another glass of champagne from a passing server.
Now that I know about my secret benefactor, I can scrutinize the party through a different set of eyes.
The food—smoked salmon with caviar canapes, topped with perfect, purple edible flowers. The bottles of Dom Pérignon. Squinting, I look closer at the label.Vintage.And the year…
My birth year.
Growling, I pull my phone out and quickly Google the price. My eyes bug out. One bottle is worth hundreds of dollars. And the servers are walking around with an unlimited amount of flutes, refilling glasses, acting as if the dollar signs aren’t adding up significantly with each sip.
Dylan was right.
Itisover the top.
And it’s fuckingdrippingwith the essence of Chase Ravage.
Wonder and betrayal and hurt all slam through me at once, as do the butterflies that frequented my teenage years whenever he was around.
The room swirls around me—too much alcohol and not enough food.
It’s over the top, yes, but… the personal touches. The vintage year. I can’t deny how beautiful the whole party is.
But why?
Why would he pay for this, and offer to pay for my wedding? I know he used to help Jax out when I was in college. I figured out my junior year that the Uber account Jackson and I shared was actually Chase’s. The mortgage on the house was also paid off my senior year of high school. I remember seeing the statement and assumed our mom and dad had left us the money to do so—now I’m second guessing what I thought I knew about that. And despite the fact that Jackson worked low-wage jobs in college, we always had food on the table, our bills were always paid, and, because he was my guardian after our parents died, Jackson somehow managed to buy me nice birthday and Christmas presents.
My entire life rearranges itself before my eyes.
My lavish prom dress.
My used VW Jetta that hehappenedto find a deal on.
My girl’s trip to Ensenada my freshman year of college, that he insisted he pay for, because he wanted us to stay somewhere safe.
His insistence that I not kill myself by working during grad school, instead opting to fund my life. I wasn’t irresponsible with my money, but I’d stupidly assumed he could afford it. Or, at the very least, that our parents had left him a small nest egg to take care of me.
Itallmakes sense.
I was only sixteen when they died, so I didn’t understand their will when it was presented to me. My mind was still clouded with grief. Money was the last thing on my mind. That week—and the months after—Chase was over nearly everyday.
Helping Jackson.
Picking me up from school, or sending his driver when he or Jackson was unavailable.
Unloading groceries into our refrigerator when Jackson was having one of his bad days.
And the expensive, private tutors…
Everything in my life has been touched by him.
Chase wastherefor us in more ways than I could ever imagine at the time.
And I suppose he still is.
My jaw unclenches a bit as my anger abates slightly. I’m still pissed, but Jackson is also his best friend. They’ve been inseparable since ninth grade. I’ve always considered Jackson to be the bleeding heart, but perhaps Chase was a bit of one, too. Weallknew about the Ravage family growing up. You couldn’t grow up in Crestwood, or California for that matter, without knowing about Crazy Charles and the ways he scammed thousands of people out of their money when I was in middle school. He was still around somewhere, a crazy recluse, because of course the justice system rewards the people who can afford the top lawyers and have the money to bail them out of jail. The castle is still owned by the family, too, and I believe Miles Ravage still lives there.
