COMPLEMENTARY [GxG]

Chapter 14 | Holy Death

They found the Rembrandt. The bust is all over the news, dominating headlines. The police tracked it right down to the warehouse on the outskirts of L.A. where Eris took me, and along with the painting they found over twenty kilos of meth and cocaine. They made several arrests—I recognize one of the mugshots as that baby-faced guy at the party I saw take Eris' painting to the back—and have put out a warrant for the real culprit: Ximena Leyva, art dealer and luxury real estate agent, who likely fled the country.

Information about her is scarce—she supposedly keeps a low profile, and they say Ximena isn't even her real name. They're now investigating all of her previous auctions, clients, and sales, hoping to track down more missing artwork.

Does William have something to do with all this? His name is absent from all the headlines, but one of the main publications is the news agency he's working at. Did he tip off people at his press? How could he so blatantly use the intel I gave him? If the police decide to investigate everyone who attended that party, it could put me at risk. I never asked to be involved with any of it. I have mountains of homework to catch up on—I really don't need to be summoned to a police station and grilled about why the hell I went to L.A. with Eris Lugo.

William's gone on a trip to I-don't-even-know-where, so it's not as if I can confront him at the moment. But during lunch the day after the news breaks, as I'm sitting in the library like usual, someone decides to confront me.

Vanilla invades my senses. Something sharp and cold digs into my neck. And I press my legs tight together as she yanks my braids back and says against my ear, "You're so scared of dying. How would it feel for it to be me?"

All I can think about is the feeling of her straddling me, holding me down at her art studio. Now she's holding a knife to my neck, and instead of scaring me, it makes me laugh.

"Wouldn't be smart of you to stab me here of all places," I manage to say.

When she presses the knife deeper into my skin, I gasp, arching my back, and I'm ready for her to cut me when she pulls it away.

"I fucking trusted you," she hisses. Her hand is still in my hair, and she pulls harder, forcing my head upward until I meet her gaze. "And you snitched."

"Why," I say. "Why did you trust me?"

She lets go of my hair with an aggressive push but doesn't move from behind me. I can hear her breathing heavily.

"When did I ever give you a reason to trust me?" I ask.

She doesn't answer.

"You wanted to trust me," I continue. "You wanted someone to confide in about your mess, when I was the last person you should've told."

She sits in front of me at the table, posture slumped and relaxed, nothing like the way she stares me down. Her shirt is tight and low-cut, exposing the lacy edges of her bra. The black bra I saw on her bedroom floor. Oh no. I close my eyes, hating myself for looking. For imagining, for a split second, what she looks like under her grimy clothes.

"This is a dangerous game, Persephone Baines."

The way she uses my full name puts me more on edge than her knife. And she's right. There were big players at that party, and I leaked the information. It would be far too easy to connect it to me, but I don't think William is so much of an idiot he'd implicate me in this story.

"Let me guess," Eris says. "You told your journalist uncle."

"I didn't tell him everything," I admit, because what use is there in denying it now? "Besides, he wasn't the one who wrote the stories that have been coming out. How do you know this wasn't already an investigation? How do you know this wasn't already planned to take Ximena down?"