Page 87 of SNOB

“Wait, why not me?”

He tilts the tip of his stick towards his angled face. “This face doesn’t deserve to be on the other end of Mac's fist. The Crowns have been through enough, thanks to you.”

“Is that what happened to Gray? Mac’s fist?”

“I don’t know what happened to Gray.”

“You sure? ‘Cause it sounds like Mac did something to Gray.”

Ryung stomps towards me, looking around him. “Are you fucking with me? I said, I don’t know what happened to Gray. Lay off it.”

“Well can you bring me to him?” His shoulders drop like I’m an idiot. “Not Gray,” I clarify. “Mac. I’ll ask him myself.”

“I guess bringing you to him won’t be a problem,” he muses. “If I do, will you leave me alone?”

It’s the easiest deal I’ve come across in Paradise Hill. “Promise.”

“Out.”

It’s the only word Ryung says to me when his vintage Mercedes pulls into Mac’s massive driveway. It’s the only thing he’s said the entire ride. He doesn’t even play music.

The door swings up when I open it, like the wings of a bird. The minute I step out, I hardly close the door before he speeds away, throwing my bag and sketchpad out the window.

My shoulders fall as I move towards my belongings, picking them off the pristine pavement. Turning around, the massive mansion greets me again, the clouds above matching the ominous vibe.

The good thing is, I’m here.

Right back at the monster’s lair.

My heart pounds, my arms sticking to my sides with anxiety sweats under my shirt. Despite that and the bomber jacket over my shoulders, I’m still cold. My Oxfords move towards the main entrance as I try to temper my breaths.

You can do this. You can do this.

Glancing around, only two cars are in the driveway. Mac’s spacemobile and a sleek expensive SUV. With a deep inhale, my finger lands on the doorbell. My other hand grips my sketchpad as chimes ring from beyond the door like a grand cathedral.

When no one answers, I try again. My brows lower. He’s clearly home. And I know he has staff.

One more try leads to nothing before my hand reaches for the iron handle. Heat rushes through me when the door opens.

“Mac?” I call, the grand entrance much bigger without a crowd of people. But that also makes the space more eerie, more threatening. “Mac!”

Standing on the checkered print marble, my thoughts spiral. Is Mac really able to get me fifteen thousand dollars for my work? Or was it just a job to keep me quiet? Like the mural. Was this all just a giant payback plan?

I know the way our bodies feel when we’re together. I know how how much we crave each other. But I also know the comedown from Malcom McKinsley is no fucking joke. He’s like Ecstasy. Heroin. The ride is incredible. But the risks outweigh the rewards.

Drugs will only dim your light and cloud your judgment. And Mac is the worst one.

“Get your physical back in shape and we’ll have you drafted in the new year.”

My chest tightens, a familiar voice ringing from beyond the patio doors.

“Mom?”

There’s no mistaking her coldness. A business robot.

“I’m very happy to work with you Mac. We almost lost an opportunity. Maybe you can get it back with more therapy.”

“Thank you, Cara.” I can hear Mac’s smile and that makes my stomach spin.

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