There was only one place I could think of that the Crownes didn’t touch, and I hadn’t been there since high school.
Don’t go there, ever.
That’s what Grayson had said to me…but he didn’t give me much of a choice. I wasn’t going to stay and become my mother.
I sucked in a breath at the rusting, paint-chipped Ferris wheel. October enveloped Crowne Point, the fog even thicker around the metal spokes.
I hadn’t seen Grim or any of them in years, but I’d heard rumors of the four boys with no fucks to give and the only power to rival the Crownes in this town. I’d known them back when they were teenagers at Crowne Point High, and even then you didn’t approach the four inked and brooding boys unless you were ready to lose something. Didn’t matter if you were a teacher.
Now…everyone knew the Horsemen.
They run the underworld in Crowne Point.
I couldn’t believe I was here. Bargaining with them meant I really had nowhere to go.
How far would I go to save myself? If they wouldn’t take my money, like everyone else…then they might ask for more. A contract. A debt. But that would be trading one prison for another…
The Horsemen don’t even take on many contracts, because each contract they marked on their body in ink and blood.
I pushed the creaking gates aside, then came to a complete stop. Gemma Crowne stood in front of Grim, the head of the Horsemen. He dragged his collar down, exposing a new tattoo on his pectoral.
It looked like…scratch marks?
Gemma blanched before turning ten shades of red. “You’re evil,” she hissed. “Disgusting.”
“I like you in red…” He dragged his thumb down her crimson-stained cheeks. “Like your tears more.”
She flushed harder, yanking her face away. “Do you think I give a shit?”
Grim’s smile stretched on one side, and the dimple in his right cheek popped, eyeing her for what felt like forever.
Then he looked over her shoulder, at me.
“Sweet Storybook.” Grim let his shirt fall back into place, lifting off the wall in a fluid motion.
Gemma spun, eyes growing wide when she spotted me. As if shaking out of it, her plump pink lips and bright-blue eyes quickly returned to their haughty, entitled grace. She walked away without so much as a goodbye to either of us.
“See you soon, Rich Girl,” Grim called after her. He laughed, the sound like the fog around us.
She bristled, and our eyes locked; then she blinked and kept going.
Did Gemma Crowne have a contract? What would someone like her even need?
“Little Storybook,” Grim said, bringing me back to the reason I’d come.
I tried not to roll my eyes. He was one year older than me. But I guess he did have that air about him, the one all the Horsemen did. It said they were so much more than human.
“I need your help,” I said.
He rubbed his bottom lip, eyes sharp. “I know. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He thumbed behind him to a sign in the window—a rough plastic sign that said We Reserve the Right to Refuse Service to Anyone. But it was spray-painted.
I wasn’t going to bother asking how he knew I needed help.
“You’re not going to help me? I can pay you.” Once again I reached into my bag, fisting the cash that I had worked so hard to acquire and no one wanted to take. I held it out to him, all but begging him to take it.
His brow arched. “Moving up, Story.”