The End by Gwenda Bond & Rachel Caine & Carrie Ryan

Author:Gwenda Bond & Rachel Caine & Carrie Ryan [Bond, Gwenda]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Serial Box Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

3.

Ryan volunteers to drive to the Island, one of the oldest and most pretentiously named gated communities in Lexington. It’s only an island if you consider New Circle Road a body of water, and it’s not far from campus. Mom and Dad used to take me there as a kid sometimes, when we rode bikes together. We took a special delight in pedaling past the guard shack and over the causeway, crossing the manmade lake surrounding the ooh-la-la big houses.

I can’t quite shake my fear from the night before. Obviously. I ask Ryan to pick me up because I’m a little afraid to get in my car. The Lexington Police Department popped up on my caller ID this morning and Officer Matthews left me a message to call her—I decided not to. I can’t trust anyone there right now, certainly not the last person I talked to about Brockman. After Brandon’s death, I’m being more careful. Instead, I put on more makeup than normal for some fake confidence; I’m determined to put on my best Mackenzie front.

Ryan says it wasn’t the Order who had the cops shake me down, at least as far as he can tell by putting out a few feelers to his buddies.

The GPS prompts us into the driveway of a red brick McMansion with picture windows. “Are you ready for this?” Ryan asks as he parks and turns off the truck.

I shift in my seat to face him. “Are you?”

“Not in the slightest.” He pauses. “I hate that I know people who do this stuff—I hate that your cousin got sucked into it.”

“I’m not sure how deep in she was,” I say. “It may have been a convenient way to get rid of her.”

Ryan doesn’t speak, but I can tell he has something he wants to say by the steady stare he gives me.

I glance over at the house to see the front door open and a well-dressed guy in his thirties standing there waiting for us.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Do you really want to know?” He’s hesitant.

“Have you met me?”

He considers, then says, “She was into it, Mace. At least a little.”

I remember my mom’s comment about her grades. And I want to ask him a million questions about what he saw Delilah doing and when and with who. But I let it go for now.

“Okay, good to know,” I say. “Well, not good, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.” He sounds apologetic. “I just thought you should have all the facts.”

“Let’s go get them. He’s waiting.”

Ryan follows my gaze to the door. “Wow, courteous. Or eager.”

We get out and walk up an impeccably maintained stone path in a yard like a lawn service ad. It’s one of those perfect green postage stamps, every blade the same length, no dandelions. I’ll never understand how they manage that. Growing up, our yard had fresh dandelions the next day, no matter how hard Dad fought them.

Max the friendly neighborhood drug dealer opens a glass outer door to meet us on the porch.

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