Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
She flushes, her jaw tightening as she frowns at the idea, but she shakes her head. She glances at each of us, nodding with determination.
“Just please trust me on this, okay? I know how to beat this asshole and make it all go away.”
“Kempton—”
“Do you trust me?” she asks sharply, looking at Porter.
His face is lined with concern, and he frowns, but slowly, he nods.
“Yeah, baby, I do.”
“And you?”
I grind my teeth, hating this idea even if I don’t even know what it is. But I do trust her. So I nod.
“Yeah, I do too.”
She bites her bottom lip.
“Okay then. I need a few hours, and then, I’m ending this shit.”
16
Kempton
Every college or private school town has one. The shady, shifty guy who hangs around the campus a little too much. He doesn’t go to school there, but he’s always the guy showing up at parties, usually uninvited but tolerated. He’s the guy who maybe sells drugs or has the hookup for impossible to get concert tickets. Or in a lot of cases, he’s just the guy who makes the thing almost everyone under the age of twenty-one in the American educational system wants: fake IDs.
In Southworth, our “guy” is “Eddie,” and that last service is why I was at his sketchy apartment earlier. No, it’s not that I need a card saying I’m twenty-one. For one, I’m a girl, and bars in towns like this rarely ask too many questions about pretty girls who want to come drink at their establishments. For two, for the rare times I have needed or wanted to go out to a bar, I already have a fake ID—from Eddie, actually.
But my request today was a bit… different. In fact, I’m pretty confident Eddie has never had an ID request like the one he got today from me. And now here I am, the card still faintly warm from the laminating machine and in the back pocket of my cutoffs as I stand at Justin Lowe’s front door.
I take a deep breath. Even if I’m pretty confident in my plan, I’m still scared. And even just standing here, I feel a little violated, knowing that Justin’s watched me. That this creep has seen me like that. Bile rises in my throat, but I shove it away as I take one more breath and knock.
A second later, the door swings open, and Justin’s cocky but surprised face leers down at me. He smirks.
“Well well,” he drawls. “Hey there.”
“Hi,” I mutter.
He grins at me lecherously.
Good.
It’ll make the hit I’m about to serve him even harder.
“You know,” he leers. “I heard you had a thing for older guys.” Justin chuckles as he opens the door wider. “That why you’re here, sweetheart? You wanna come in and have a drink?”
“I heard you’ve got a video of me.”
I say it flatly, and boldly, cutting out the bullshit and getting right to it.
Justin laughs. “That what this is? This your plan? You gonna come over here and seduce me or some shit to call it off?” He snorts, smirking at me again. “Shit, you can have a taste, sweetheart, but I’m not going to—”
“Justin, do you know how old I am?”
He frowns.
“Huh?”
“How old am I.”
I’m eighteen. Justin assumes that, but he doesn’t know that.
“You’re eighteen,” he growls.
“Am I?”
Slowly, his face pales, and he swallows thickly.
“Yeah, you are. You’re a senior.”
I shrug innocently. “Lots of people turn eighteen during their senior year.”
Justin swallows again.
“I was just curious if you aware of the age of the girl you filmed having sex.”
My words hit him like a slap, and his face goes white. He swallows thickly again before he shakes his head, trying to force a smile to his face.
“Fuck off with this shit. Prove it.”
I smile sweetly as my hand slides into my back pocket.
“Gladly.”
I pull out the new fake ID showing my age being a year younger than I actually am, and hand it to him. He snatches it, pale-faced. But when his eyes scan the card and narrow at the birthday, I watch him crumple.
“Oh holy fuck…” he says breathlessly, his voice hoarse.
I just smile sweetly.
“Yeaaaah.”
“Those—Porter, and Becket… they both committed—”
I shake my head. “Not Beckett. Not in this state. Porter maybe, but only if I was going to press charges, and I’m not.” I smile, sighing. “But, a video?” I make a face. “Pretty sure that’s a Federal crime, Justin.”
His face is white as a sheet, his eyes wild and terrified.
“I—I—I didn’t know—” he trembles. “I didn’t share it or anything,” he chokes out. “No one’s seen it but me, and I’ve only got one copy, on my computer!”
“Destroy it,” I spit.
He nods eagerly, still white as a ghost.
“Yeah, I—yeah of course!”
“But even then,” I muse, looking away and shaking my head. “Well, needless to say, Justin, I think I’m going to be pressing charges.”