Page 586 of Filthy Elites

I’ve said so dozens of times, but he’s downright refused to accept my word for it. I suppose Chase and Vince have that in common. The difference is, when I tell Vince I don’t want him, I mean it, which is why I stop him from crossing any line.

“See, that’s what I told myself.Don’t sweat it, Vince, she’s just not that into you.That was before I saw a video of you climbing all over Chase fucking Archer in the school parking lot.” I’m not surprised someone filmed that. Ugh. “Then I understood you’re just a fucking gold digger.”

Now, I do turn. I want to slap him in the face, but there are better ways of hurting people. “Or maybe I’m actually into hot guys with a brain and a set of abs. I hate to be the one to tell you, Vincent, but you’re just an average-looking, terrible guitar player with very little else to recommend him. Our friendship was based on convenience, proximity, and the implicit understanding that you’d never make it out of the friend zone. It’s not my fault if you’re delusional.”

“Oh, Erica.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I wish I’d seen you like this before. It would have made my life much easier. I can’t believe I was so obsessed with you.”

“Yay, you’ve told yourself I’m a terrible person!” I could clap. “Hallelujah. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

I turn toward the path back home again, but Vincent takes my wrist. “I don’t think so. I let you call the shots for far too long.”

I try to take my hand back, but Vince pulls something out of his pocket—a handkerchief, I think—and brings it toward my face.

I kick out, hitting him between the legs as hard as I can.

He folds forward with a yell. “You bitch!”

Taking advantage of his temporary weakness, I take my hand back and start running in my stupid Timberlands. When I get home, I’m going to throw them away for good. The muddy trail isn’t made for heeled boots.

I hear Vince running after me, and although part of me tries to reason that my old friend, the guy I used to play hide and seek with, wouldn’t actually hurt me, the rest of me wants to get to safety right away.

That handkerchief…did it have something on it? Why did he want it on my face? I want to be wrong, but if he laced it with chloroform, it means he intended ahead of time to do something to me. Planned for it.

If the last couple of years taught me anything, it’s that I don’t know what people are capable of.

My foot slides in a muddy puddle and I trip, just as my phone rings in my pocket. My hands instinctively lift to protect my face, so they’re the first to hit the ground.Shit! That hurts. Pain shoots up my left wrist. I ignore it, pulling my phone out of my jacket and answering the call without checking who it’s from.

“Hey, baby—”

Chase. My heart’s suddenly full of something I can’t even begin to analyze. Something that feels like safety. “Chase! Please, come get me, I’m at—”

I yell as something grasps my ankle and pulls, dragging me through the mud.

Fear grips my insides. “Let me go!” So that’s how Chase could tell I didn’t mean it when I pleaded with him to be left alone. I sound a lot different right now. Terrified.

But I’m powerless to stop Vince.

He brings his hand to my face, pressing the white cloth to my nose. The last thing is smell is cloying sweetness before everything goes dark.

ChapterThirty-Two

The first personI call is Rhys.

“Hey man—”

I don’t let him finish his greeting. “Something happened to Erica. I don’t know where she is. She had her phone with her two minutes ago. Trace it?”

“Got it.” He hangs up on me without so much as a question, so I place my second call.

“If it’s about earlier today,” Roman says. He’s my next go-to because Camden rarely picks up his phone. “Cam told me to leave your mom alone.”

“Erica left twenty minutes ago, and she’s in trouble.” While it’s possible that she might have faked the phone call to make me panic out of nowhere as payback for cornering her today, I don’t entertain that fantasy. She’s not that immature. She sounded distressed, and I trust her not to fuck with me on this.

I consider the police and dismiss the idea. I’m out the door, putting my jacket on onehanded while attempting to get through to Cam.

He answers as the first ring wanes. “Rhys texted,” he says before I manage a word. “I’m on my way.”

In front of the gate, I glance left—the direction heading into town—and right, to the natural reserve starting on Thorn Hill. I wish I knew Erica well enough to categorically decide whether I should go left or right, but I don’t, so I have to guess.

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