Locked
He fucking locked me in.
My fist was poised to slam, when I paused. The open window blew silky air on my skin. This wasn’t the first time I’d been locked in my tower.
Abigail Crowne had perfected climbing out windows.
“Hey, are you Abigail Crowne?” Some kid sidled up next to me, trying to get a look at me under my baseball hat. “You are. I’ve seen your vag!”
“Congratulations,” I said with faux cheer. “You’re almost as special as a used tampon.”
He muttered something about me being a bitch and walked away.
This night sucked.
I tugged on the bill of my baseball cap, hiding my face. The key with doing a DiCaprio was not to stand out. Whoever looked the least wealthy got the most props. Gray tended to take it to the extreme. Someone actually gave him money tonight.
I pulled T2 from my bra—the only spot I could put anything—spinning it around on my finger, rose gold catching the light.
I missed Theo.
Stupid, broody Theo and his cocky smile. His slightly slumped shoulders, like he didn’t give two shits if people noticed him—but that’s all I could do.
I’d read each page of his mother’s diary before I left. She’d lived in Crowne Point and the one guy she’d slept with skipped town. She never saw him again, though she didn’t love him, and by sleeping with him she’d been forcing herself to be someone else.
A lot of the pages were rambling thoughts of a teenager, but each she addressed to him, sometimes to Theo or just “baby boy.”
When I’d finished, I hadn’t realized how much time had passed until the sky was dark and it was time to meet Gray.
My siblings hadn’t included me in anything past the boat ride, and I wasn’t sure where they were. So I drank in a dark bar, elbows on the sticky counter, occasionally rebuffing assholes. Everyone looked in their early twenties, and a few maybe younger, in their teens.
With nothing else to do, I opened the browser on my phone, searching for private investigators, toying with the idea of hiring one for Theo’s mom, but guilt kept me from sending them an email. It felt wrong to do this behind his back.
Gray and Gemma appeared, sprinting out of the basement, laughing. A few seconds later, a mob followed them, yelling words in Spanish I couldn’t catch.
I set my drink down.
“Ladrón!”
Thief.
I sat up straighter.
I came outside in time to hear Gray say, “I didn’t steal shit. I just let that fat ass dog out for a much needed walk.”
“Vete a la mierda, maldito ladrón!”
Gray doubled over, holding his gut and onto Gemma for support.
My Spanish wasn’t as good as my French or Swedish, but I caught enough to know the guy was pissed.
Sirens sounded in the distance and Gray and Gemma pointed at me. “We gave it to her.”
Everyone focused on me at once.
“¿Dónde diablos está mi perro?”
Something about a dog, and once again, not happy with me.