But of course, just as she feared, the words were now posted for the whole world to see.
. . . without further ado, I present to you the first installment of Madison Brooks’s journal.
Make of it what you will, but please note that I did not make this up, this is not a work of fiction, and it came to me via a reliable source.
As always, feel free to exit through the comments section on your way out.
October 5, 2012
I’m so over it!!!!
So over absolutely EVERYTHING!
Including my so-called friends, my family, my stupid fake boyfriend, but mostly, this stuffy, boring, stick-up-its-ass town.
Layla could hardly breathe as her gaze skimmed the words.
The Ghost saved me—spared me from a future too horrible to contemplate. . . .
I guess you could say I owe him my life.
Then again, he owes me his too. . . .
If I ever go down, he’s going down with me. Though I’m pretty sure that only works one way. Because if P goes down first, he’ll go down alone. And he’ll take all my secrets with him as well. He already proved it six years ago when he made a choice to save me. Which is why I guess, in a lot of ways, I consider him my real father.
Anyway, tomorrow is the day I board the bus to LA and never look back. . . .
It’s crazy to think how next time I write in here, I’ll be living an entirely different life!
☺☺☺
Layla’s hand flew to her mouth. “Omigod,” she whispered through trembling fingers.
“Everything okay?”
Her dad watched with concern from inside the garage.
“Mmm . . . Yeah. Of course.” She sank her phone into her pocket and followed him inside.
She’d been hacked, that much was clear. And though her first instinct was to delete the post, the chilling text convinced her to leave it untouched.
According to whoever had sent it, her failure to play along before had landed them all in jail, possibly even getting someone killed.
Her dad ushered her down the hall and urged her to get some rest. “Later I’ll make dinner. Or we can order in, up to you. Also, I spoke with Ira. He said not to worry about coming to work. He wants you to take some time—whatever you need.”
Layla gave a distracted nod, headed into her room, and sank onto her bed. Gazing at the portrait her father had painted of her as a child, she wondered if she’d ever be able to smile as genuinely, spontaneously, and unselfconsciously as that again.
At the moment, it seemed inconceivable.
As wound up as she currently felt, sleep seemed inconceivable too. And yet, there were long days ahead, and she knew better than to face them in a state of exhaustion.
After a hot shower, she pulled on an old Stevie Nicks concert T-shirt and slipped beneath the covers.
Briefly, she thought of Tommy and the night they’d spent together. The sex had been amazing, but they’d sworn to each other there would be no strings attached. They were busy pursuing their dreams and couldn’t afford the distraction. That would only amount to a mistake neither of them was willing to make.
At the time, Layla had been willing to agree to just about anything to ensure that Tommy’s lips continued to press against hers.
But now she was glad for the pact. No matter how much she missed him, no matter how much she longed to check in and see how he was doing, the note had sent a clear warning. And in light of everything that had happened, she was done playing stubborn.
When she woke, the mess would still be there, calling her name. But for the moment, she closed her eyes and allowed sleep to claim her.
THREECAN’T REMEMBER TO FORGET YOU
Aster Amirpour climbed out of Ira Redman’s customized Cadillac Escalade and strolled into the lobby of the W residences, only to find Ryan Hawthorne sitting by the elevator bank.
Beside her, Ira paused, acting as though he was equally surprised to find the former teen idol hanging around, which left Aster feeling even more off balance than she’d initially felt.
First there was Ryan: gorgeous, sexy Ryan. With his glittering green eyes, personal-trainer-honed body, and that damn perfectly tousled hair glinting under the lights.
And then there was Ira—domineering, commanding, all-powerful Ira—acting as though he wasn’t really at the controls of absolutely everything that went down in LA, including that very moment. It made Aster suspicious.
“Looks like you no longer need me.” Ira nodded toward Ryan, who pushed away from the bench and made a tentative approach. His expression shifted from warm and welcoming to cautious and wary as his gaze moved between them. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Ira gave Aster a perfunctory hug, and she returned it with two dutiful pats to his back.
Outside of a romantic relationship, Aster wasn’t much for hugging. She always found those moments when someone came at her, arms wide and teeth flashing, to be clumsy and embarrassing at best. But hugging Ira was always a double dose of awkward. She was never sure what to make of it. It never felt entirely paternal, and yet it never felt inappropriate either. Not to mention, he was usually so distant and imperious, it seemed wildly out of character that he’d even try such a thing.
Ira gave them each one last look. Then, with a sharp turn of his heel, he headed for his ride, calling, “Let me know if you need anything,” over his shoulder.
Aster studied Ira’s retreating form. So far, she’d chosen to trust him, mostly due to the fact that he was the only one who’d shown up for her precisely when she needed it most. Ira had given her a place to live when life with her parents became unbearable. And not just any old place—he’d generously handed her the keys to a luxury condo and had so far asked for nothing in return.
He’d also supplied the top-notch team of lawyers who were set to defend her in her upcoming trial. And while
