Better she hurts now than dies later.
Raúl ignores me, his dark gaze focused on my bio dad. I take that moment to check my phone. I haven’t looked at it once since leaving with Justin. How could I? He absorbs every spare second of time, stares at me obsessively, and talks nonstop.
The first thing I notice is a long, heartfelt message from Maxine. Even though I blocked her number, it isn’t difficult to use an app to make phone calls or texts through a dummy number. That, or she’s using one of her friend’s phones. Got another phone for herself. The possibilities are endless.
I know it’s from her though because of the first line in the message.
I don’t care if you slept with Maxx. Baby sister, please call me.
I delete it and then block that number right away. Justin will know she’s contacted me—he’s a master hacker in every way that matters—but I can’t control that. I can only control if I respond. Surely, he’ll see that.
With my hand shaking and hot tears fighting to break through my practiced stoicism, I check my other messages.
Maxx and Chasm are blowing up my phone in a group chat.
Chasm: Let us know you’re okay, Little Sister. Won’t lie. I’m feeling panicked.
Maxx: Just one message, one word. Let us know you’re alive.
Chasm: My dad is being obsessive today. Not sure if I’ll be able to see you tonight. But I’d like to. Let me know when you get home, and I’ll try to escape.
Maxx: Tess is drinking heavily. It’s not good over here. The police have just released the names of the dead teens from the other night. One of them is Francisca Cortez, the daughter of the host on the talk show you went on. The other is some random fuckboy she was banging.
Oh.
Shit.
I shoot off a quick text—I’m alive, be home soon—and then put my phone away as Justin saunters over to me and Raúl. His assistant opens the door and out we go, father and daughter in step together.
“You killed Francisca Cortez?” I whisper, and Justin stops short. For a second, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, but then he just laughs.
“Uppity little bitch. She was so rude to you behind the scenes at the talk show. She had what was coming to her.” Justin waits for Raúl to open the limo door before climbing in. I scramble after him.
“Why Francisca?” I ask, trying to puzzle out his methods. I’ve looked at his victims over and over again, and I don’t see any patterns. Like, none at all. “Just because she was rude to me once?” Also, he was spying on me even then. Christ.
“Well, not just that,” Justin explains as Raúl closes the door and off we go, heading back in the direction of the Vanguard house. “But I was having trouble choosing between Francisca and her younger sister, Maria. The former was extraordinarily rude to you, so that became the deciding factor.”
I chew on my thumbnail, a new habit I’ve picked up from somewhere recently. I think I’m just stressed out and looking for easy tics.
“Besides,” he continues, without any prompting from me. “Don’t you just hate influencers? What a plague. I feel a shred of guilt; it was my generation that introduced the disease known as Myspace. But social media’s gotten so much worse, hasn’t it? All those hideous, ugly, little people fighting for clout.” He cocks his head at me. “You have a lot of followers, Dakota. Don’t allow social media to become an obsession; it’s a dangerous one. I must say however, I did enjoy your last few videos.” He throws both hands up by his chest, giving them a little shake, like spirit fingers or some shit. “Who wants to help me catch a serial killer? I loved that. So dramatic. So much fun.”
“Why Francisca Cortez?” I repeat, trying to pull him back from his tangent. As sharp as he is, he seems to let his mind wander down random paths when he’s talking. Also, I don’t particularly enjoy being mocked. I understand that my video has yielded little to nothing. The skeleton key video, however, has been a bit more lucrative.
Speaking of, that’s the plan for tomorrow.
Find some way to get to the asylum after school. And not just that, but the cemeteries on my list as well as the hotel. Tess will never allow it, but what if I played Justin? He said he enjoyed hearing me ask for what I wanted. Maybe I just tell him I want to go out after school with my friends? He’d know what I was doing, but I also think he’d enjoy watching me run around searching for clues.
“Francisca is Martina Cortez’s granddaughter, that’s why,” Justin says, scowling rather than smiling for once. And oh my fucking god. Did I say his smiles and grins and laughs were terrifying? Hell no. They’re about a million times better than this. My hackles raise, and my hands curl around the edge of the seat, fingernails digging into the leather with a creak. “Martina Cortez is a heartless snake who uses the backs of others to climb the ladder of success. She’s a pretentious bitch who used the false charges against me to not only launch the most popular episode of her show in internet history, but also gobbled up the money from my company to bolster her failing finances.” Justin inhales and then exhales several times, curling and uncurling his hands. When he opens his eyes and looks at me, I know without a doubt that he must die.
