Page 107 of Ruthless Legacy

I give her a few minutes to get herself together.

“Thank you.” She says as we’re heading back to the office.

Pointing to the door, I ask, “You ready?”

She nods and I swing it open, letting her walk in ahead of me. The front desk clerk’s mouth falls open when she sees us. “Wh- I.”

The other clerk comes forward and hands Amaya a pass. “This’ll excuse your tardy for class. Run along, Amaya.”

Amaya takes the pass and says, “I didn’t get your name.”

I point to the visitor sticker on the blazer she’s wearing. “Yeah, you did.”

She giggles and waves as she leaves the office. Turning back to the desk, I say, “I guess I’ll wait to hear from the principal about volunteering. Have a good day.”

I step outside, trying to figure out what else I can do. The trip down high school lane took about forty minutes of my time, and I have roughly a twenty-minute walk back to the starting point.

I guess it won’t hurt to go back that way and head the way the other selectees were going.

Just as I’m crossing the school parking lot, a sedan rolls to a stop next to me.

The window rolls down and Patrick Cabot sticks his head out the window. “Selectee LaReaux. Get in.”

He dangles a hood from his fingers. Right, be flexible and ready at a moment’s notice. Once the hood is in place, I hear a door open and a hand clasps around my arm, pushing me inside the vehicle.

“When we reach our destination, you will have ten minutes to prepare for your next exam.”

That’s all he says. I like the quiet, even if my thoughts are rioting because I hate not knowing what I’m getting myself into.

The car comes to a stop and I’m pulled from the back seat. My shoes clomp along, the sound echoing back off of what I think is concrete. We must be in a parking garage. When doors hiss open I’m escorted inside, my body registers we’re in an elevator as it ascends.

The car lurches to a stop, and we’re walking again. A door opens. I take three steps before being told, “You may remove your hood.”

I do, as the door closes behind me. Patrick said I have ten minutes to prepare. I guess that’s code for change my clothes, because there’s nothing in this room except for another rack of clothes with my name on it.

I take a birdbath in the sink, and change into a black cocktail dress, because the other ones have way too many ruffles and material. I’m really digging the boots I have on, so I keep them on my feet to add some edge to the little black dress. This time I use the makeup, doing a smoky eye, kohl liner and a dark lip.

I run a brush through my hair and pull it up into a high ponytail. Whatever this next test is, I’m ready for it. An alarm rings, and the door to the room I’m in opens.

“Hood on.” A voice calls from the hallway. I slip it on, glad I didn’t do something fancy to my hair and let him escort me out of the room. We ride down the elevator, exiting on another floor. It’s not the garage we came through because this floor has carpet. Then I’m entering a noisy room. The guy pulls off my hood and shoves a slip of paper in my hand.

Mingle

That’s it? I take in the room. I’m in a club that I wouldn’t usually be caught dead in. It’s too white, too clean, too posh. Yeah, I’m gonna fail this one because I don’tmingle.I walk up to the bar and take a seat, swiveling on the stool to people watch while I wait for the bartender to approach. I still don’t have an ID or money, but that’s never stopped me from getting a drink before.

“What can I get you?”

“Water with lemon.”

He tips his chin and sets about making my drink. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

I watch his hands, instead of his face as I respond, “Do you remember everyone that comes in here?”

“When they look like you, I do.”

“And what do I look like?”

He slides my water in front of me, dropping a swizzle straw in the glass, and smirks at me. “You look like trouble.”

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