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I climb inside the low cabin.
I’ve never been around this kind of obvious wealth. Chase drives a Jeep—an expensive one, sure, but it’s nothing like this thing. If the car suddenly levitated like a spaceship, I wouldn’t have been shocked.
“You like my ride?” Camden guesses, wrongly. “I usually take my Audi around town, but it’s in the shop.”
Of course he hastwocars. “I don’t even know what that is—other than an affidavit certifying that the owner is compensating for something.” I’m glad I manage to voice my disdain, belying the fear still running through my veins.
“Ha!” Camden shoots me a delighted grin. “Who knew you were so much fun? I like you, Morgan Brown. Would that we had met under other circumstances. I would have offered to prove you wrong. Now, we both know you must check out the validity of your statement. It takes the fun out of it, doesn’t it?”
I can’t believe he’s making light of my plight.
Scratch that. I can absolutely believe it.
“It’s an Aston Martin—dbs superleggera, if you’re curious. My cousin died last year, and my uncle hated keeping it in his garage, so he gave it to me.”
A dozen questions fly to the forefront of my mind. His cousin died? Of what? Presumably, the cousin would have been young, as his father—a well-known, respected man in town—is in his early forties at most.
“I didn’t ask,” I answer, prim and cool. Then I bite my lip, refusing to engage him in further conversation.
We’re not friends. We’re quite the opposite after today.
He drives slowly away from the town center and up onto the familiar hill where Erica now lives, home to the rich and famous. I didn’t even know that kind of carcouldgo slow, and I expected the spoiled boy to race, without a care for traffic violations.
We pass Chase and Erica's estate, and a pang of loneliness hits me. Erica's gone too. She and Chase didn't take a honeymoon back in April because of their classes and his football commitments, so they left for the Caribbean right after graduation. They’re going to Europe afterwards.
I am utterly alone.
Camden keeps going. Of course he'd live on top of the hill, in one of the largest, gaudiest McMansions.
“I’ll make a deal with you."
The words“fuck you”almost cross my lips, but I contain them. He has all the power right now. A deal might work to my advantage.
"What kind of a deal?" I’ve never sounded more suspicious, or reluctant.
"It doesn't have to bemefucking you," he offers, unbothered by my tone. "Anyone will do, I just need to record it. I can call someone else—Rhys, Roman, Aryan? Do any of them suit your fancy?”
Oh, no. The only thing that could make this whole mess any worse is for someone else to touch me. “So, I get to choose my rapist."
I’m not looking directly at him, but from the corner of my eye, I see him roll his eyes. “No one's raping anyone, princess.”
"I don't want to have sex with you—or any of your friends—and you're forcing me into it. Let's call a spade a spade. It doesn't have to be violent to qualify as rape."
He smacks his lips. "All right. Vilify us. You can threaten the future of one woman and four men for your benefit, but we're horrible for protecting our own. Go you."
"Their future would have beenfine."
"Would they?” Camden snorts. “Then why did you choose a video with Juliet, when there must have been dozens featuring your friend?"
"Oh, come on." I blow out a frustrated breath. "If Ihadreleased it, you would have buried the video. You guys are rich."
"You west side kids aresoprejudiced and bitter.” He shakes his head. “It's not injustice unless it happens to one of you, right?"
"I wasn't going to post anything, anyway. I just needed answers, dammit!" All of a sudden, I can't help it. I'm crying.
I've never been more pathetic, bawling erratically, all of my frustration and anger and fear coming out in uncontrollable sobs.
I don't know how long I cry, I just know I can't stop, until I feel a hand against my back.
