Jules Cutler went to our same high school. He was one or two years older than Ares and Atlas and had graduated by the time Lev and I were freshmen.
I don’t know him as well personally, but he and his half-brother Crew were our high school’s football stars and everyone in town knows them.
Ares explains that we think Zara might be in there and that she might be in trouble. “The door is locked. We knocked and called out, but there’s no answer.”
“That’s odd,” Jules agrees. “But rather than destroying the door, let me use my universal key and we can see why it’s closed.”
“Thanks.” We both nod gratefully.
I swear to God, nothing could have prepared me for the scene we see when we run inside the room, elbowing Jules to the side.
“Zara!”
My stepsister is leaning against the wall on one side of the row of sinks that face the doors of the bathroom stalls.
Her chest is heaving, and tears are running down her beautiful face.
As I scan the length of her body, it’s impossible to miss how red her neck is.
Mason Morelli is a few steps away from her, his black suit covered in vomit.
I don’t know what we just walked into here, but I ignore Mason and go to wrap my arms around Zara.
“Baby, are you ok?”
She slumps into my arms, using my body to support her weight. “He was going to…”
Tears overwhelm her before she can finish the sentence, but it takes just one look at Morelli’s open fly and disheveled clothes to work out the rest.
“Motherfucker!”
Undeterred by the vomit all over the front of Morelli’s suit, Ares grabs his lapel, pulling his closed fist back, ready to strike.
“Touch me and she’s dead. You all are.” Mason’s tone is calm and cool.
Ares doesn’t let him go, but his fist remains suspended in midair, trembling with the effort not to slam into that bastard’s face. “Not if I kill you first.” My brother seethes.
“Especially if you kill me.” Mason’s chilling smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “If something happens to me, my family won’t rest until all of yours is six feet under. My uncle and his men know every way to make someone disappear. And if any parts of their unlucky victims are found, there usually isn’t even enough to bury or cremate. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Lev’s parents. They’ve seen some of their finest work.”
Ares lets him go with a shove.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I say, with Zara still tucked in my arms. “He was trying to force himself on her. Kick his ass, and we’ll worry about his uncle later.”
“My brother is right.” Ares advances toward Morelli again. “I could make it look like an accident. Or do you think you’re the only one who knows how to do that?”
Mason doesn’t look scared. “Do it. But you better get ready for the fallout. My uncle knows everything about the races. He’s the one funding the entire thing. This morning, I filled him inabout everything. From JJ Smith’s identity to the little secret relationship each of you has with this little cunt. So I promise that if anything happens to me, my uncle will make sure that you’ll get a front-row seat to whatever happens to your sister. And then he’ll take care of you and the rest of your family, one by one.”
This time, Ares heeds his warning. “Fine. Go before I decide that taking care of your worthless ass is worth living—or dying—with the consequences.”
Morelli takes his soiled jacket off and throws it on the tiled floor of the Country Club’s bathroom.
“If you don’t want to lose everyone you love in the most painful way, I recommend that you all be at the starting line next week. And don’t even think about going to the sheriff about this. If I see a cop who isn’t you at the race, I’ll show you what really happens to snitches. Now,” he turns to look at Jules. “I can’t go back to the dining room without a blazer and with vomit on my shirt. Give me yours if you want to keep your Country Club safe. I’m from the East Coast, but I hear that California is a very dangerous place. Stuff like wildfires happens every day.”
The threat is loud and clear, but if Jules is scared, he doesn’t show it. “We’re the same height, but we aren’t the same size.” He says, looking at Morelli’s lanky frame. “I’ll text the Club’s boutique, and the manager will find you a new suit and shirt on the house. Do you want that one laundered?”
Mason kicks the blazer on the floor toward Jules. “Sure. That’s a twenty grand suit. If you can get it cleaned up, I won’t have to add it to that bitch’s tab.” He sneers, looking at Zara, who’s still tucked into my side.
“Fucking charming.” I bite out once Morelli slams the heavy mahogany door of the restroom behind him.
