BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (113 page)

“We were over before we even began.”

—
Sebastian Tate

I PACED AROUND on my patio, binoculars in hand as I watched V get in her Maserati and drive off, seemingly headed to Wilson’s since the exit for the neighborhood was in the opposite direction.

I shoved them away from me when she was out of sight and reached for my glass of bourbon. Fuck.

She’d pushed me away.

Did I blame her?

Hell, I’d walked away.

I’d let her down by letting Blair get this far. Maybe I should have been easier with Blair at the jewelry store. I’d seen how crazy she was getting, but really my head had been too caught up in V and our relationship.

How was I going to save her?

I had to stop these pictures from ever seeing the light of day.

I’d left V’s earlier and driven to Blair’s house and beat on the door. I’d called her and left voicemails, some angry and then toward the end I was bargaining with her, promising her that I’d serve myself up to her on a silver platter if only she’d call off the photos. God, I was willing to do anything to get her to see reason.

I was desperate, willing to compromise with a selfish lunatic.

Because of V.

I was scared of the way I felt about her. Scared that I couldn’t exist in a world without her.

She was everything I wanted.

Everything I needed.

Everything
.

I got weak in the legs and sat. This was not a normal reaction to a girl dumping my ass. No, this was more, and I could finally own up to what had been plain as day to me for days yet I’d refused to say it.

Our souls were one. They always had been and never in a million years would I find another girl like V.
I loved her
.

Down on my knees, wanting to beg her to take me back, I loved her.

I’d been deluding myself, focusing on my lust, but we were so much more.

I wanted to hold her in my arms and watch her sleep. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair when I kissed her. I wanted to rock her when her grief made her weep. I wanted to sleep with her body curled into mine. God. I wanted to have babies with her. I wanted to grow old with her.

Nothing mattered but V.

Not money or power.

Not being the star of the next blockbuster or recording a number one song.

Not even world peace.

Because the only thing that makes a difference in our lives is love. My parents had it. Leo had it. Violet. Love.
Us
.

“People will stare. Make it worth the look.”

—from the journal of Violet St. Lyons

THE NEXT DAY was the gala, and my time was running out.

One thing for sure, though, Blair Storm’s ass was mine, and I knew exactly how to make her pay.

I got her address and phone number from Mila and at six in the morning I walked up to her door.

The day before had been insane. After meeting Hing at Wilson’s, I’d driven around LA, trying to get my head straight and figure out how to use Hing’s offer to my advantage. Wilson’s son Mark had popped in my head, and on a whim I’d called him, explaining what I needed without divulging the details of Blair and the pictures. He’d immediately offered up one of his top entertainment lawyers at my disposal. He was sweet on me, and I’m ashamed to say I used it. The lawyer and I met Hing at the Rio, and after three hours of negotiation, we worked out a deal that was foolproof—if Blair cooperated.

Bang, bang, bang!

I knocked and yelled for ten minutes before Blair finally showed up, eyes red and swollen from crying. From losing the movie? Part of me—the side that had lived with my own loss—felt for her. My music and my parents had been all I had. Maybe acting was all she had.

She found her bitchy side and curled her lip, her narrowed eyes glittering down at my tapping hands. “What are you doing here this early, freak?”

“You’ll be thanking me later. I just saved your ass.” I smiled even though my stomach was in knots.

“I don’t even know what that means.” She sniffed, turning her attention to her nails.

“And you won’t until you invite me in. Or you tell me to go away, but you’ll regret it.”

She snorted and flicked a piece of flaxen hair over her shoulder. “I’m the one with photos of
you
. It was quite a hardship taking those—the bushes and wet grass wreaked havoc on my shoes. I just wish I could have been there to see your face when you looked at them.”

Keep smiling,
I told myself. I chuckled knowingly. “Oh, Blair, you ruined a perfectly good pair, then, because I loved those pics—except the fake ones of you, of course. They really showed your age.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

I sighed, studying my own nails. Two can play her game. “Just a little tip: There’s more to me that you think. If you’d done your research, you’d know that I have enough money to sink you in every way I can imagine, legal or not.”

“Are you threatening me?” she gasped and clutched her chest.

Oh, please. “Not only can I make sure your name is smeared in every
reputable
newspaper in America, my clout in Hollywood is on the rise. I met with Hing last night. He’s listening to me.” I winked. “He finds me quite entertaining. I think we may be new best friends.”

“How?” Her body stiffened.

“We need to chat. I suggest we move this inside. We have a lot to discuss.”

She tightened her robe and moved to the side as I entered and followed her through her spacious house. Cold and modern, it was stocked with photos of her everywhere. She led me back to the kitchen and indicated I take a seat. I stood. She did as well.

I crossed my arms. “I’ll be brief. You have some pictures that belong to me, and I want them back, including the ones of you and Sebastian. I’d like the camera, your cell phone, your laptop, and any other drives where you might have downloaded the pics. I’m assuming you haven’t sold them yet?”

“Not yet, but I have plans.” She went to the cabinets and pulled out a can of coffee.

Keep going. Push her.
“You know, it’s simple really. I lost my parents, but I refuse to lose Sebastian. I will fight you every step of the way. I will destroy you to save him.”

“You’re boring me, Violet.”

I chuckled. “Last night, I made a list of ways to ruin your life, Blair. It took up five pages in my journal.” It was only one.

She planted herself in a kitchen chair and stared at me. “That’s intriguing, and yet, very unlike you. How?”

“I don’t tell my secrets, Blair, but if you’re smart, you’ll think about those pictures and the ramifications. Releasing them would be completely unpredictable. It’s career suicide for
you
—not just Sebastian—although lots of people get crazy famous when sex videos of them are released. But you have no control over which way it will go.”

Her eyes hardened. “What do I have to lose? At least I can get in the papers. Get sympathy.”

I shook my head. “Fans are fickle. Some may rally to your side, others may listen to me, because if you do this, I
will
have my say in the media.”

“So you keep saying, but I don’t buy it.”

I smiled tightly. “I hate to brag, but in New York my family had important friends. Even the President of the United States had dinner with my parents once, and don’t think I won’t call on every single contact I have to ruin you. I will go on every entertainment show in TV-land and tell them exactly how awful you are. I’ll tell the police you stalked me and took those pictures to harass me. I’ll hire lawyers to sue you. I might even buy your hometown in Alabama and rename it Blair Sucks—I am an heiress, after all. I will find every girl you’ve ever slighted or guy you’ve scorned and invite them to join me—”

She sent me a calculating look. “You hate attention.”

“I’m running out of time and patience with you. I have a gala to attend. Give me the pictures.” My voice was hard.

She sighed heavily. “I can’t.”

“Wrong answer.” I rose. “I will see you in court, then.” I headed to the door and tossed over my shoulder. “Oh, and did I mention that Hing said he’d be willing to give you a smaller role in the zombie movie? You’d die early on, but it’s a juicy role.”

Her eyes flared. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I laughed. “Yeah, apparently, Hing’s willing to make a deal with you if you give me those pictures.
Now
.”

She went stiff, her hands clutching her robe like talons.

“That’s the thing about Hollywood: everyone has their price, and apparently Hing has his. I have the power to destroy you, yet I’m choosing to help you.”

She paced around me. “What do you have over Hing? Did you get the male lead for Sebastian?”

As if I’d ever want him working with her?

I refused to answer that, giving her a shrug.

She started crying, mumbling about sagging skin and cottage cheese legs.

I ignored her hysterics and helped myself to a glass of water. My body language screamed in-control, but I was pushing myself to deal with her. Even though I’d never prance myself across national television, I wanted her to believe it. Offering her this deal was the only way to get rid of her forever.

“You have ten seconds.” I tapped at my watch.

She immediately called Harry, who informed her that he’d just gotten off the phone with Hing, who said that if Blair did what I asked—whatever it was—then the smaller role in the zombie movie was hers. She dried her fake tears, and five minutes later, I left her house with her camera, her phone, her laptop, and an envelope of photos.

Violet was back. Like a boss.

AN HOUR LATER, I could barely contain my excitement for the coming night. Just a few more hours, and I’d be able to tell Sebastian everything. I’d already explained everything to Mila. She’d spent hours with Sebastian yesterday, working on different press statements in case the pictures went live. She’d spoken with a couple of reporters to test out the waters, but Blair had never come forward. Now she never would.

But today, I needed an outfit, a bring-back-your-mojo kind of dress.

I gazed around at the pricey boutique that definitely had a Frederick’s of Hollywood vibe to it with itty-bitty outfits and stiletto shoes.

But I didn’t want too sexy. This was a charity event.

I slanted a look at Mila. “I take it we aren’t here for your usual?”

“What’s my usual?” She came to a stop in front of a black lace teddy.

“Pencil skirts, cardigans in pastel colors, pearls, anything that screams librarian with a hard-on for rock stars.”

“Don’t make fun of me.” She poked me with her pink purse.

“I’m not … okay, maybe I am, but you have to admit you have a certain style about you.”

“Style?”

“You know, like Hello Kitty vomited up a Mother Theresa version of itself.”

She put her French manicured nails on her hips. “Maybe I want some sexy holey jeans and—and a set of garters, and a leather-sequined jumpsuit with a big black rhinestone belt—”

I groaned. “Don’t wear all that at one time. Promise me.”