I have fuckingcumin my hair.
"Yeah." He's already pulling his pants up, switching back to the Cyrus everyone else knows. The one who doesn't need to pretend his best friend is someone else just to get off. "I'll wait in the car."
I head to the bathroom, avoiding my reflection. I clean my face mechanically, watching her disappear down the drain along with the makeup before I pack the sweatshirt back in the wardrobe and toss the skirt and underwear in the washer-dryer. Like I'm storing pieces of her for the next time we need this fix.
Because there will be a next time. There always is.
We're addicts, Cyrus and I. But our drug isn't something you can buy on a corner or cook in a trailer.
It's a girl who used to count to five when she was nervous. Who painted everything pink because she said the world needed more color. Who promised nothing would change and then changed everything.
Eleanor Riggs.
Ellie.
Our Princess who became someone else's queen.
I grab my real clothes and start getting dressed, trying to shake off the feeling that I'm putting on another costume. That maybe there is no real Jinx anymore either.
My phone buzzes. A text from Kade.
KADE
Where the fuck are you assholes?
That's more like it.
Chapter 11
ELLIE
The information staring backat me from my laptop screen could get me arrested if not fuckingkilledif the wrong person saw it, so naturally, that's when Heather decides to burst through our dorm room door like she's auditioning for a SWAT team.
"What're you studying?"
She drops her lacrosse bag with a thud that makes me jump, my hand already slamming the laptop shut.
"Econ test." The lie slides out smooth as Todd's campaign promises. "You know how Professor Dodge loves his supply and demand curves."
Heather makes a face, already peeling off her practice jersey. "Gross. I'd rather run suicide drills than look at another graph."
She disappears into our shared bathroom, and I wait until I hear the shower running before opening the laptop again. The dark web forum loads slowly through the Tor browser Cyrus taught me to use years ago. That was back when he was trying to impress me with his hacking skills, not knowing I'd use them forthisshit.
My fingers tap against my thigh.
One, two, three, four, five.
The rhythm keeps me grounded as I scroll through posts about them like I'm giving myself one last chance to back out of this.
The Kings of Ruin.
A killers-for-hire group that operates in the shadows of our city, making problems disappear for the right price.
Most of what I find is bullshit. Urban legends and wishful thinking from people who want to believe someone's out there serving justice with a side of violence.
But buried in the noise, patterns emerge. Four members,alwaysfour. Not the best number. They use chess piece aliases like they're playing some fucked up game with people's lives.
King is their charismatic leader.
