Page 102 of Necessary Cruelty

I still feel more than a little bad when I think about Jake. I can only imagine the look on his face when he finds out that Vin and I got married.

If he even finds out, at all.

It isn’t like Vin ever made it clear whether we’re going public with all this crap or not. He had us elope to wine country with only his closest friend to serve as a witness. Nobody has to know about any of this for it to be legal.

I’ll just be his dirty little secret.

Except, we’re on the way to dinner with his parents. He publicly sent work crews in to fix up my house and battered down the door of the district attorney’s office to get my brother out of trouble.

That isn’t how you treat a secret.

I shouldn’t care, either way. We made a deal. It would be stupid of me to expect — to want — anything else.

I’ll let him pay my way through school, keep my brother out of prison, and set my Grandpa up somewhere with appropriate medical care. All of that is worth a year.

And the way he sets my body on fire won’t be anything more than a fringe benefit.

Cortland Manor is almost completely dark when we pull into the long circular driveway, one large window brightly lit on the far side of the house where the dining room is located. Even from the outside, the place reminds me of a mausoleum at the best of times.

But it’s even worse in the dark.

I’ve only ever gone in through the front door, so I suppress a fearful shiver as he navigates the car toward the pitch black rear of the house. Anything not illuminated by the Maserati’s headlights is sunk into darkness. Intellectually, I know there aren’t any monsters hiding in the palm trees and wax myrtle that mark the property line of Cortland Manor.

I don’t breathe again until the motion-activated floodlights come on and light up the long garage.

Vin navigates the car into the only open space. As the lights continue to come on, one by one, I count the cars that fill the garage that has at least double the square footage of my entire house. All of the vehicles are sporty and expensive — I don’t even recognize some of the shiny emblems on their hoods.

I’m almost surprised that I’ve only ever seen him with the Maserati. He could drive a different luxury car every day of the week and still not be back where he started.

“How much money is in this garage?”

He blinks, probably surprised to hear my voice after hours of silence. “I’ve never counted. A couple million, maybe.”

Considering that only a few miles away in the Gulch children are going to bed hungry, this is more than a little sickening.

“Must be nice.”

“Dad is a collector. Most of these don’t leave the garage more than once a year.”

“He collects… cars?”

Vin shrugs. “Pretty common thing around here.”

Common among the self-important assholes on the Bluffs who have more money than they know what to do with.

“Awesome.”

“You don’t sound impressed.”

There isn’t any point in lying. “I’m not.”

“Me neither.” He loops his arm around my back and pulls me toward the door. “I much prefer collecting women.”

On that note.

His family is already waiting for us in the formal dining room. The long table is big enough to seat at least a dozen people, but they cluster on one side with his father at the head. Place settings glitter like oyster shells in the light, but no food has been served.

They’ve been waiting for us.

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