Frightened of how quickly Elmwood’s quaint charm would turn into a crime scene if Mara Hales decided justice needed her personal touch. How many bodies would stack up?
Because if Mom found out about the missing girls, she wouldn’t stop until every single person involved was dead. And I wasn’t sure if that scared me because it was wrong.
Or because part of me thought they deserved it.
7
MADDOX
“What the fuck was that?” I barked at Mason as I steered the car out of the parking lot of Marino’s and onto the main road.
He didn’t look at me. His eyes stayed on his phone as his fingers rapidly tapped on the screen, drafting a text. “What was what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Mas. That shit doesn’t work with me. Back at Marino’s.” I snuck a glance at him before my eyes returned to the road. “You invited an outsider. We don’t do that.”
My twin shrugged in the passenger seat, unfazed, his gaze finally pulling away from his phone. “What’s the big deal? I was judging her interest in you and trying to help you move on. I can’t watch you spend your entire senior year pining over a girl you can never have. This is supposed to be the best time of our lives. I want to make the most of this year. I want to have fun, especially after last year. We deserve it, Mad.Youdeserve it.”
A muscle in my jaw twitched. “I’m not?—”
“You are.” He cut me off, tone matter-of-fact. “And it’s painful to watch. So yeah, I’m helping. Whether you want me to or not.”
Frustration built in my chest. “We have bigger problems than me trying to get laid,” I grumbled. “And I don’t need your help. Especially not with this.”
Mason expelled a half-laugh, half-scoff. “Right. Because you’re handling it so well on your own.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response.
Parties were Mason’s thing. Always had been. Noise, people, attention—it all fed him like oxygen. He thrived in chaos, flourished in crowds, got energy from the same things that drained me. I tolerated them. Showed up because it was expected. Stayed because leaving early raised questions I didn’t want to answer.
If there was booze, I could drown the crowd until they blurred into something manageable. Until the pressure in my chest eased and my thoughts stopped circling like vultures.
The football team expected it anyway. Training camp started this week, and we always threw a party at the start of a new season. Tradition older than us. Older than my father, passed down through generations of Corvos who’d worn the same jersey numbers and carried the same weight of expectation.
Appearances mattered.
Shining suspicion away mattered more. Not that we didn’t already have a glaring light pointed at us being Donovan Corvo’s sons.
“Besides,” I added, staring back out the windshield as the trees thinned slightly on the side of the road, “we already have a spotlight on us for being in a crew. We don’t need to make it worse.”
Mason’s laugh was quiet, almost bitter. “That’s never stopped us before.”
“Maybe it should.”
The church came into view through the break in the trees, stone walls cracked with age and weather, windows dark and hollow like empty eye sockets, a place that made parents nervous and teenagers reckless. Gothic architecture left to rot, reclaimed by nature but not quite surrendered to it yet. My father acquired it some years ago but left it to sit and deteriorate. It did make the perfect place to let loose without worrying about disturbing anyone.
Cars were already lining the dirt road on both sides, parked at haphazard angles. Music pulsed from inside the ruins, echoing through the woods. I slowed the Jeep, navigating around a truck parked half in the ditch.
“We need to do something about Paisley,” my brother said suddenly, tone shifting with notes of seriousness. “She’s going to be a thorn in our side. I can’t believe she hasn’t given up this Nancy Drew–wannabe shit.”
I pulled off onto the grass, killing the engine but not moving to get out yet. The music was louder now, vibrating through the car doors. “She’s persistent,” I agreed.
“She’s reckless.” Mason turned in his seat to face me fully. “We need to find a way to stop her from digging deeper and asking more questions before she gets herself hurt. Or worse, before she finds something she shouldn’t. She asks the wrong question to the wrong person, and she’ll be the next girl to go missing. Rusty might be dead, but the wheels of his operation are still turning.”
“I know,” I said, tension settling between my shoulder blades. “But what do you suppose we do? Nothing you’ve done has worked, in case you didn’t notice, and after what happened last year, you’re probably the last person she’d listen to. Understandably.”
He smiled, dimples deepening on either side of his cheeks, which usually preceded bad decisions. “You work the new girl. AndI’llhandle Paisley Tate.”
I scoffed, shaking my head. “Oh, I just bet you will. I’m not sure seducing her is the answer, especially given your history. My bet is she’ll turn you down flat every single time, brother. You burned that fucking bridge.”
