CHAPTER 1
Emily
Omen
When the strap of my bra snapped, fanned out like a goose taking flight, and took a bend in the road just so it could whack me in the face, I knew it was a bad omen. Getting dressed had seemed like a necessary step. Not a step forward or a step backward. Just a step. At least it was something. Better than just sitting there. Better than waiting for something to happen.
But I had to admit—the sting of the strap against my cheek had felt almost enlivening.
I stared at my face in the plate-sized mirror of my bedroom wall, floating my fingers over the strap-length redness on my cheek. And I decided, to a 99 percent certainty, that the pleasure of physical pain didn't mean that I had been reduced to masochism. After weeks of having the emotional quotient of a rock, feeling something, feeling anything, was better than the numbness that had engulfed me.
Though I did wish that my human need to feel hadn't left yet another blemish on my cheek.
The other bruises and cuts, the ones that Victor had left behind, were just a pale pink now—easily concealed with a touch of foundation. I supposed that the newest addition to the facial collection was a reminder that, no matter what I tried, big or small—even getting dressed—I would never be quite the same again.
I realized how bad of an omen the breaking of my bra strap was when I remembered that this was my one and only bra. The other one had already been eaten by the demonically possessed washing machine at the Laundromat.
I sighed, pulled myself away from the reflection in the mirror, and tied a knot to hold what was left together.
Meatball was hiding under my bed, where I longed to be. He had adjusted pretty quickly to our new existence—like moving in with me was just a vacation, a change of scenery. Within minutes of Carly dropping him off, he strolled around the place like he was renting it—sniffing everything, leaving his scent in creative places, like my roommate's bedpost. He wagged his tail, he jumped around, he begged to go out to run and play. To him, nothing was different other than the setting. It was as if nothing were wrong, as if Cameron were coming back. There were days when I envied him for his ability to forget so quickly. But sometimes I felt like he was a traitor. Cameron was something we had once shared, but only I was left with the pain of his memory.
I couldn't even think of Cameron's name without my breath being cut short, feeling like I was going to throw up. Cameron's face colored my every thought, like everything I was seeing and feeling was through the veil of his beautiful face—like I was looking out through a window, and Cameron was my windowpane. It was excruciating.
If it hadn't been for Meatball, I would have never left the house or the couch. I would have never gone to the supermarket to buy dog and people food; Meatball refused to eat anything unless I joined him. If it weren't for him, I would have never gone to the supermarket to buy food, only to be stopped at the cash register because my card rang insufficient funds. Meatball's needs, Meatball's life, Meatball had kept me alive for the last few weeks.
I was officially broke.
I hadn't been to work since May, since I had been taken from my lackluster life and thrust into the underworld—Cameron's world. This was the world where I had longed to be so that I could stay with Cameron. Now I belonged nowhere.
After missing work for over three months, I had lost my job, though my salary had stopped coming into my bank account only a few weeks ago. The fact that it took so long for the school to figure out that Emily Sheppard, a once-dedicated student employee, wasn't showing up for work every day would have normally hurt my feelings. Nowadays I was indifferent to this.
While I was getting dressed, my dog—it was still hard for me to call him "my" dog—remained sulking under the bed. My bed was still the same. Still stilted on top of the milk crates I had stolen last year from the darkened parking lot of the corner store. After Meatball had spent his first night in his new house endlessly pacing around me, I had pulled my stuff out from under my bed so that he would have a space of his own, one that was—and would forever be—within my space.
And the burrow under my stilted bed was where Meatball had plastered himself ever since my roommates had started filtering back a few days ago. He had grown too comfortable with our seclusion. Now we were being interrupted, overwhelmed.
I had expected Spider's and Victor's minions to burst through the door, realizing what a liability I was. While Cameron had never shared too many details with me, I knew enough about them and their criminal enterprise to cause major problems.
But Meatball and I had been left alone for weeks. And before we knew it, my roommates had started coming back, like everything was normal. Normal had never been my thing, and I wasn't about to start now. Everything had changed. I had changed. Maybe Spider and Victor didn't see me as a threat. I was just a girl, right? Little Emily Sheppard, nineteen years old, sheltered by the Fortune 500 Sheppard family, could never be a threat to the underworld.
If only they knew how much I despised them.
If only they knew how much my hate fueled me.
Meatball's big head was the only thing that was sticking out from under the bed. When I leaned down to pat that big head of his, he flattened his ears and closed his eyes. Apparently he was still mad at me for having ordered him to not bite anyone's head off as my roommates came back, one by one, carrying baskets of the clean clothes their mothers had carefully packed for them. They came back from summer break with tans and absolutely no money saved.
I came back from my so-called break completely lifeless.
Meatball and I mostly kept to ourselves, staying hidden in my room, leaving only to go outside or make a quick meal. We avoided run-ins with the others as much as possible. Avoiding others had basically been my life before Cameron. So, as far as I knew, no one noticed a difference in me. Other than the fact that I now had a very hairy roomie living under my bed.
I rubbed Meatball's ears while he pretended that he didn't care, though the low rumble betrayed him.
I was about to switch my pajama bottoms for jeans when I noticed my curtain door flutter.
"Just a minute," I called out, pulling my bottoms back up, knowing full well that I wouldn't have a minute. Hunter had already poked his head through the curtain door.
"That wasn't a minute," I snapped, letting the elastic of my pants snap back to my waist.
He folded his arms and leaned into the doorframe. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."
I knew he was trying to be cute. But I had no smiles left in me.
I sat on the floor and dug my flip-flops out from under the bed. They were a little wet and had canine-sized punctures along the toe line.
Hunter stood waiting and cleared his throat.
"What do you want, Hunter?" I wiped my chewed-up sandal against my shirt and narrowed my eyes at Meatball, who was looking a bit sheepish.
"I need all of your rent checks for the year. The landlord insists that everyone needs to provide checks for the whole year upfront so that he doesn't have to worry about the kids who'll quit school midyear and take off without paying...
