I nodded and lay back down. “Yeah.”

He poised the needle above my skin. “Which one first?” he asked, and I immediately knew what he was asking. Which one was I going to kill first.

“Chad,” I replied softly. “The oldest one.” The worst one.

He nodded and I tensed as he gouged sharply into my flesh.

Seventeen

“Hey. Earth to Samantha!” Jase is waving a hand in front of my face. We have stopped at the end of the Venice Beach boardwalk and all of the crazy that lies along it. I can see a guy juggling fire, a middle-aged Filipino woman belting out bad karaoke, and plenty of body builders still working out at the bank of metal gym equipment that sits in the sand.

Memories of being a teenager flood through me. It even smells the same. I have to force myself to pay attention to Jase as he speaks.

“You want to eat?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “Let’s swim,” I say, drawn to the ocean like a magnet. I kick my borrowed shoes off and leave them on the sidewalk, stepping off into the gloriously warm sand. It feels blissful. It feels like home.

Jase smirks. “We don’t have bathing suits.”

I shrug. “My underwear will work,” I say, tugging my shirt off and throwing it on the ground beside the shoes. I unzip my pants and shimmy them down, kicking them onto the pile as well. I am wearing only a black bra and matching bikini-cut panties, and I know I look good.

I look back at Jase and laugh. “Come on,” I say. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Scared of getting arrested,” he says devilishly. “I don’t wear underwear.”

“Oh,” I say, raising an eyebrow. “Well, at least roll those jeans up and step into the water with me.”

I leave him on the sidewalk, cussing at his laced boots as he tries to pull them off, and run across the sand and into the water. Diving underneath the surface, I keep my eyes firmly closed in case my contact lenses should become dislodged. Between my tattoo, my contact lenses, and trying to remember my fake name, keeping this disguise up is starting to get really annoying. And it’s only the beginning.

I surface again and kick my legs, the salt water a welcome cleansing from the horrors of the past few days.

Jase hovers at the edge of the water. His toes are barely getting wet. He has removed his leather jacket and shirt, and I can appreciate his six-pack and build from where I float lazily. The gangly boy I left has morphed into a very attractive man. His tattoos are completely different to Elliot’s – mostly gang related – and when he turns to look up the beach, I catch sight of his Gypsy Brothers tattoo. It looks identical to the one Dornan sports, and my stomach roils. Turn around, Jase.

He does, wading in a little deeper so that the water laps at his ankles. “Come out here, you pussy,” I tease him.

“My jeans’ll get wet,” he says. I stick my lip out and pout dramatically. He laughs at that.

“The water’s soooo good,” I say. He fishes his keys and cellphone out of his pocket, throwing them on the sand just out of the water’s reach. Nobody will touch them. He’s a Gypsy Brother. They pretty much own Venice Beach.

He strides into the water, up to his knees. The bottom of his jeans are immediately soaked with salt water.

“Further,” I call, kicking backwards.

He shakes his head and doesn’t move. I swim towards him, a devilish grin on my face. “Don’t–” he warns, but before he can finish his sentence, I pull his arms, making him keel over into the water. He surfaces, laughing and spluttering, and my heart feels a little less heavy.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Welcome,” I reply. “Told you the water was good.”

He just shakes his head, smiling in amusement.

He watches the horizon for a moment before speaking more seriously. “So are you, like, my dad’s old lady now?”

I almost choke. “What?” I splutter.

“My pop. Are you guys, like, an item?”

My smile is completely gone, and I press my feet firmly to the sand beneath us. But he has posed an interesting question. Does Dornan consider us in a relationship, no matter how short our acquaintance has been, no matter how blatantly dysfunctional?

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. Because I don’t. The unexpected closeness with Dornan has presented both a blessing and a curse – I have unparalleled access to him, his club, and his sons, but at the same time, if I continue, I will have to spend the majority of my time with the person I hate more than anything in the entire world, the person who ripped my entire existence apart and stole everything I ever cared about.

“I think he’s pretty smitten,” Jase says, and I don’t know what I hear in his voice – jealousy? Resignation?

I shrug. “I only just met the man. All I wanted was a job at your burlesque club.”

I didn’t want him to shoot my supposed ex-boyfriend – an innocent stranger – and then hold a gun to my head.

“My father’s not the kind of person you say no to,” he says seriously, squinting into the sun.

“And here we are,” I reply.

He doesn’t talk for a few moments, and I use the time to swim in a slow circle around him.

 “I’m sorry about my brother, hopped up on fucking energy drinks,” he says finally.

“Pardon?” I ask, stopping my breaststroke. I float in front of him, then put my feet back onto firm sand.

“Chad,” he says, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “People always think he’s high, but he’s not. He drinks those goddamn guarana drinks from the minute he gets up in the morning. Guy’s gonna have a heart attack one of these days. I’ve tried telling him, but …”

I can only imagine how that conversation went.

“I like those drinks,” I say, laughing. “Almost as much as I like beer.”

“Don’t touch the ones in the fridge back at the clubhouse,” he says. “Chad’ll murder you in your sleep. They’re all his apparently.”

I smile vacantly, a twisted idea beginning to form in my mind.

Guy’s gonna have a heart attack one of these days.

My smile turns into a shit-eating grin.

“What?” Jase asks, flicking water in my face.

“Nothing,” I say, flicking water back. “I was just thinking about how good that beer would be right now.”

 We drag dry clothes onto our wet bodies, and they cling to our skin as we drink beer and eat fish tacos on the sidewalk. It grows dark and I watch the fire juggler absently, thinking over the details of my plan.

My mind is suddenly racing so fast that I can barely concentrate on what Jase is saying.

Because I think I have figured out how I am going to kill Chad.

And it will be delicious.

Eighteen

It takes a week to organize my little plan, all the while being fucked by Dornan at every opportunity he can find. He fucks me in the shower, in his office, in his bed, and over a pool table. I thank the stars that he has not thought to fuck me on the stage of the burlesque club, because if he did, I think I would evaporate under the burden of my lies and he would surely guess that my real name is Juliette Portland.

 Ten days after my arrival, I enact my plan. It is a quiet Sunday afternoon in the clubhouse, and Chad is alone in the massive garage where all of the bikes are parked. There aren’t many bikes here today – Dornan and most of the club have gone on a ride, and Chad has had to stay back, having just had his knee operated on. I can immediately tell that he is pissed off at being left, and he is hobbling around furiously, clanging spanners and swearing at his bike as it sits on its stand, most of its parts on the floor in messy piles.

I saunter in and close the door behind me, an open can of his favorite energy drink in my hand.

“Hey, Chad,” I say, tilting the can as if I am drinking it. I don’t let a drop of the liquid touch my lips, though.

I mean, I don’t want to die.

Chad looks up, wearing an annoyed look, and his eyebrows bank together when he sees me.

“What the fuck do you want?” he asks, clanging more tools around. He does a double-take and stands up again, hobbling around the bike to me. He snatches the can out of my hand and I feign surprise. “Don’t drink my fucking drinks, bitch,” he says, slamming the can onto the counter next to him. I wait patiently as he continues to work on the bike.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” I say, leaning on the counter next to him, making sure he has a good view of my cleavage. It’s always a great distraction. “You shouldn’t drink so much of that stuff, you know. Your body can’t handle it.”

He snorts and throws his spanner to the ground, narrowly missing the bike. He reaches for the can and takes a giant gulp, sneering at me. Bingo.

“What the fuck you smiling at, bitch?” he asks, slamming the can back down beside me. Almost immediately, he appears confused, and I can only imagine how fast his heart is starting to beat. He becomes drenched in sweat instantly, and sways on his feet.

I shrug, making my eyes wide and innocent. “Feeling okay, Chad?” I ask, laughing as he crashes to his knees. He screams as his freshly reconstructed knee makes a meaty pop and a cracking noise, and I can only guess that the operation has been reversed quite severely.

“What the–?” he pants, clutching his chest with both his hands. I kneel in front of him so that we are eye to eye, and pat his head condescendingly.

“There, there,” I mock him as if he were a dog, “it’ll all be over soon, Chad. You won’t suffer as long as you made me suffer. That’s unfortunate, but necessary.”