Page 17 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
“What the hell,” I whisper. It’s one of them.
A flash goes off. Beatty Stern swiftly turns to face us. Another flash goes off. He hops off the girl, whose dress is pulled up to her neck. Her name escapes me, maybe because I’m on sensory overload. But just looking at her that way feels like a violation.
“Go get one of the cops. They should be where the main party’s taking place,” Max says, staring daggers at Beatty, who’s scrambling to put on his pants. “This one’s not going anywhere.”
The older cop,Phil, came back to the room with me. When I got upstairs, more cops were in the party, the music was off, and everybody had been hauled up to the rooftop patio. The guard I ran into earlier was replaced by another, who apparently let another one of those a-holes take a girl downstairs. He was being questioned by an officer.
After I found Phil, he rode down in the elevator with me, and on our way to the room, a girl walked right into us. She said she didn’t know how she’d gotten to that floor, and after seeing the cop, she broke down and cried, knowing something had happened to her.
I’m still thinking about it all as I ride home. Max said he’d handle it after Beatty was arrested. He said my testimony wouldn’t be needed.
“Paisley’s name stays out of it. We have enough evidence without her,” Max said.
He told me to go upstairs and give officer Mick Byrne my statement about my friend Blossom. Again, he warned me not to mention Paisley. “If you put her name in your statement, then I know you don’t care about these girls at all and you’re playing some Valentine games with me. I’m looking you in the eye, and I’m seeing you’re more honorable than that, Hercules.”
I didn’t have to wonder what he meant by “Valentine games.” Max and Achilles have bumped heads more than a handful of times. I wanted him to know that tonight wasn’t about the tension between our families. I went upstairs and gave my statement about Blossom along with her name and address.
Now, I’m in my car. I almost don’t want to drive home tonight. I want to see Paisley again and tell her thank you, but I have to drive to Long Island. On weekdays, I stay in the city for school. On weekends, my parents want me home. I tried to talk my mother into letting me stay the night at my place since I graduate tomorrow, but she insisted I come home.
“What kind of mother do you think I am?” she said. “Get home, Hercules. It’s already bad enough you’re away all week.”
What can I say about Marigold Grace Valentine? Ever since I was cognizant of what was going on in the world around me, I knew it was my mom’s job to craft our family image with the precision of a surgeon with a scalpel. Only recently have I learned that her efforts were made on account of the morality clauses in the Valentine family trust agreement. My great-great-great-great grandfather, tycoon and oil baron Thomas Ralph Valentine, was a vicious man but a religious one. I heard he was king of the hypocrites, and the only reason he included all those morality clauses was to make himself look like a saint.
It’s funny that I’m thinking about my mother, because a call registers on my dashboard screen, and it’s her. I’m tired as hell, and after the day I’ve had, I really would rather wait until tomorrow to talk to her. I thought she’d be in bed by now. It’s after midnight.
“Here goes nothing,” I mumble and then answer the call. “What’s going on, Mother?”
“Hercules. It’s your father. He’s in the hospital.”
Chapter Eight
The Good Girl
Paisley Grove
Hours after I passed out, I slowly regained consciousness. My dad’s arms were around my mom. He kissed her on the forehead and softly said, “She’s going to be fine, Heart.”
Max announced that I was awake, and then my mom pelted me with kisses. I lifted my arm to see the IV needle stuck in my vein.
“What happened?” I asked, readjusting in the bed. I didn’t feel weak, and nothing hurt. The IV, hospital gown, and bed felt like an overreaction.
“You passed out. Dr. Hammerstone said you had a delayed reaction to the drug.” My dad grimaced when he said “drug,” as if it infuriated him that I’d been defiled in such a manner.
Seeing him that way made me feel even more guilty about misleading them and then getting myself in trouble. I’d ignored all the rules about safety.Never take a drink from a boy you barely know.Treasure had pounded that into my head many times. I knew better.
“I’m sorry, Mom, Dad. I should never have gone.”
My mom rubbed my back like she did whenever I was sick and she was comforting me. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
“Why didn’t you tell Mike you were going out?” my dad asked.
I dropped my head in shame. “The people who invited me said no bodyguards.”
In the silence, I could feel their judgment.
“We know Treasure wasn’t kidnapped,” my mom said. I looked up. She folded her arms. “At least, now we do. Your father and I decided to let the bodyguards stay with you for the remainder of the school year anyway.”
Just then, a nurse and Dr. Hammerstone walked into the room. The nurse took my vitals as Dr. Hammerstone explained my secondary reaction to the drug I’d been given. I hadn’t had much in my system, but it would have been far worse if I had. To wrap things up, the doctor explained that I was given an IV to flush out my system and that I should be fine from there on out.
