The Dirty Ones
“No,” Sofia says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “I’d actually like to go home now.”
“Got what you came for, Sof?” Bennett asks, still spooning his broth into his mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” I say. “What are we doing? We’re supposed to be on the same fucking side here.”
“We are,” Hayes says. “And no, Sofia. You may not be excused. We have many things to discuss tonight.”
Sofia sighs, her broth untouched as the servers swoop in and begin clearing away the dish. Only Bennett ate his consommé. And Kiera’s white truffles are still gently floating on top of her broth. What is the point of a multi-course meal again?
Oh, yeah. That’s right. It’s a pretense, like everything else in this world we live in.
“OK, now that we’re all in the mood. Let’s move on,” Hayes says. “We left off at Louise, didn’t we?”
He directs that question to Kiera, who looks at me from across the table with downcast eyes. She doesn’t answer him.
“Louise showed up at the tower—well, why don’t you tell it, Kiera? You were the one who met her first.”
Kiera isn’t looking at me. Something is going on between these two. And I know what it is. I just want to hear from her, not him.
“Kiera,” I say. “You can tell me anything.”
I want to reach for her hand. Give her support. Comfort her.
But I can’t for reasons I know—and have always known.
Hayes has deliberately separated us.
She opens her mouth to speak, but it’s Hayes who talks…
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – KIERA
“We killed someone that night.”
“What?” Camille actually spits her wine across the table.
“Camille, goddamn it!” Sofia protests, wiping drops of wine spit from her cheek.
“Sorry… what?” Bennett asks. “Did you just say—”
“We killed someone that night,” Hayes repeats.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Connor asks.
I glance at Connor, but then quickly look away and take a deep, deep breath.
“Kiera?” Hayes asks. “Do you want me to tell it? I know it’s hard for you.”
I shoot Hayes a look that hopefully says, What the fuck are you doing? But he either doesn’t understand my glare or he chooses to ignore me, because he says…
“Louise came to the tower…”
And then the story begins and I’m the one telling it.
Louise came to the tower. Hayes and I were already there, sitting upstairs in the partially furnished room. On the couch, I remember that much. So close to each other our legs were touching.
“So, how’s this work?” Hayes asks. “You write shit down in that book and then what?”
“I leave it behind when I’m done.”
“And they come take it?”
I shrug. “I guess. Someone does something with it. Because each week there’s a new chapter heading.”
“Can I see it?” he asks, reaching for the book in my hand.
“No.” I clutch my notebook in one hand and push his hand away with the other, scooting farther down the couch so we’re not so close. “I’m not allowed to show anyone.”
“Or what?”
“Or maybe I’ll get shot again, Hayes. And this time it won’t be in the shoulder. I’m not fucking playing around with you, OK? Not when I already got hurt. I just want to do my part and get through this fucking school year. So back the fuck off.”
He puts his hands up in surrender. “Chill, killer.”
“Did I miss anything?”
We both turn to look behind us where a girl is standing.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask.
She smiles at me. Indulgently. Like I’m a small child she needs to be patient with. Then directs her gaze to Hayes.
“Hayes,” she says. Like she knows him.
“You wanna tell us why you’re here?” he asks.
“Same reason you are, I suppose.” She says it like she’s bored. Oblivious to what’s been happening to us these past several weeks. “I’m glad you’re not hurt, Kiera.”
I squint my eyes at her. “I am hurt,” I say. “Emily Medici fucking shot me last month. Or maybe you didn’t hear?”
“I heard,” she says. Her voice is harsh and matches her sharp face. Her hair is blonde and stylish. One of those cuts that has no personality built in, it needs to be added daily. Her curls are defined. Not tight ringlets, but soft and wavy. Like someone from those old, glamorous days. Back when women wore dressing gowns to bed and fast-talked into princess phones that lived on vanity tables in large mansion bedroom suites.
Her clothes are old-fashioned as well. Some might call them classic, but it’s not a look I’ve ever aspired to. A subdued mint-green swing dress made of chiffon with pleats in the skirt and an off-white belt. I have a hard time picturing her walking through the woods in the heels on her feet. Same color as the belt. She’s carrying a little matching purse, for fuck’s sake.
What does she think is happening here tonight? Some grand party?