Chapter1
Charity looked up in time to catch the rusty red metal door before it slammed into her face. Someone bumped into her backpack from behind before offering a murmured apology.
Grimacing at the near miss with a busted nose and public ridicule, she pushed out of the lecture hall and peeled off to the side. Students poured out around her into the dark of night, half-asleep and happy to be done with the late class and on their way home.
They had no idea how good they had it. None of them did.
She stilled in the moment, inhaling the crisp ocean air. Santa Cruz was heaven. The mild climate, the cool city buzz, and the thick nature in the surrounding hills. That she attended college here was beyond fantastic—it was a dream come true. One she feared she’d wake from.
“Night,” Donnie muttered as he passed by. One single look at his perfectly styled hair, uber-trendy clothes, and perfect face quick-started her heart.
“Nuuun.” What the heck was that? Had she suddenly started speaking in Wookiee?
She shook her head, desperate to be cool at least oncewhen speaking to this guy.
“Nine—t. Night!” she finally got out.
He didn’t glance back as he walked away, his friend Mason falling in step. Together they were like a shining beacon of prestige and designer clothes. She would never earn a place in their super-trendy and wealthy social circle, but that didn’t hinder her from watching their nice backsides.
She grinned at the thought and swept her gaze out toward the trees, taking one more moment to savor the lush natural surroundings. A soft itch between her shoulder blades invaded her thoughts. Someone was watching her.
An unobtrusive figure caught her notice out of the corner of her eye. She glanced that way.
A dark-haired man stood just off the pavement beside a large redwood tree, mostly bathed in shadow except for a slice of light that cut across his lips, showing a grin.
He stepped forward, the movement strangely blurred, too fast for the nonchalance of his poise. His weight was perfectly balanced with a fighter’s grace, as though he were ready to spring forward.
Tingles of apprehension worked up Charity’s spine. Growing up in a low-income area with a lot of crime, she knew the signs of an attacker. She knew that her five-foot-five frame, small demeanor, and dainty features practically screamed: I’m vulnerable, take my money. Usually a hard stare backed with her fighter’s confidence could make a cracked-out thug think twice.
This wasn’t a cracked-out thug. This man was dangerous—she could read it in the loose readiness of his body, in the lean muscle gained from violence, in the predatory stare meant just for her.
Skin crawling in a way she hadn’t experienced before, she turned away from the trees and headed across campus, making for a bright patch of light from a lamppost. A muffled roar from the distant surf merged with her soft pants, her breath speeding up as something primal coiled within her, urging her faster. She glanced back, wondering if this character was as quiet as he was abnormally quick.
The space near the tree lay empty. The man was nowhere to be seen.
She ripped her gaze forward again, half expecting him to be waiting in front of her with open arms and a smile.
Nothing.
The concrete walkway ahead of her, which led down some steps and wove between buildings, lay dark but for that lamppost, and mostly empty. He’d vanished without a sound.
Laughter rang out to the right. Her heart skipped a beat. Two people her age, a man and a woman, sauntered out from a building, arm in arm.
She let out a shaky breath and kept her fast pace. The soft itch between her shoulder blades turned into a burn. Not only was the watcher still out there somewhere, monitoring her progress, but now he had company. She could feel it.
Adrenaline fueled her body, boosting her senses. She reached another set of stairs and took them two at a time.
“I agree,” she heard not far away.
Charity jumped and swung that way. A patch of trees sat in a large gap between buildings, collecting shadows and secrets. Nothing moved. No more voices drifted on the wind. Someone had been there two seconds ago, and now the area was deserted.
“What the hell?” Charity breathed out, moving again. She felt like prey. Like something being toyed with.
She increased her speed, intent on getting the hell out of there. She hadn’t survived one of the worst neighborhoods in America to get taken out here, just as her dreams were unfolding. To hell with that.
Around the last bend, before the walkway emptied out into the busier thoroughfare near the parking lot, a familiar smell greeted her. Designer fragrance heavily applied, mixed with lilac lotion.
Samantha!
A surge of protectiveness stole Charity’s breath. Her roommate was somewhere nearby, likely clueless to the danger pressing in on her.
Charity rounded the bend and, as expected, found Samantha sitting on an otherwise empty bench, so focused on her phone that she was oblivious to the night around her.
“Sam, what are you—”
“Oh my God!” Sam jolted and clutched her phone to her chest. Upon seeing who it was, she let out a deep breath and sagged. “Charity! You scared me!”
“What are you doing sitting out here by yourself?” Charity asked, stepping closer. She glanced around, her skin still crawling. The watchers were out there, somewhere, in viewing distance yet still hidden.
What did they want with Charity? Couldn’t they tell that she didn’t have anything worth taking?
A low laugh drifted on the night air, filled with sex and heels and wicked daggers.
Charity reached for Sam’s hand without thinking, grabbed her wrist instead, and yanked her to standing. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what—are you serious right now? With the grabbing?” Samantha twisted away. “Why are you being so pushy? It’s really unflattering, Charity.”
Charity recoiled, strong and efficient when in combat mode, but completely out of her element when dealing with her elite classmates, Sam included. If making people feel small were a superpower, her roommate would be wearing spandex.
“Come on,” Charity urged, sans touching. “You shouldn’t be sitting out here by yourself. It’s dangerous.”
Sam crinkled her nose and shook out her wrist, though she started to walk. “Are you kidding? This campus has, like, zero crime. I’m fine. There were a ton of people walking by before you came.”
“Something is out here tonight,” Charity murmured, peering into the darkness surrounding them.
Sam flicked her long blonde hair over her dainty, bare shoulder. It wasn’t exactly off-the-shoulder sweater season, but Sam made it work. “Honestly, if you’d been in this much of a hurry after class, I wouldn’t have been waiting here all night.” Her right three-inch designer heel hit a divot and her ankle wobbled, but she continued her strut like a champ. “It’s been forever. What kept you?”
“My class only ends a half-hour after yours,” Charity said, feeling the burn between her shoulder blades lessen to an itch. That man and his crew had dialed back their attention. Good news.
“Yes. At ten.” Sam checked her watch. Diamonds glittered in the light of a lamppost. “It’s ten twenty. Where have you been?”
The path opened up, revealing a two-lane road flanked by sidewalks and backed by forest. Cars slowly passed by, pausing at crosswalks for pedestrians heading for the parking lots or the bus. Many of the students on campus dressed like Charity—jeans or leggings paired with sweaters and shirts. Only a small group wore the kind of wealth donned by the likes of Samantha and Donnie. They were the out-of-towners, mostly. The people not rich enough to buy their way into Yale, but plenty rich to deck themselves out in hundreds if not thousands of dollars of clothes and apparel.
Charity had no idea how she’d ended up riding the edges of their circle. It was madness. Plenty of people would kill to be in her shoes.
Well…not in her shoes exactly, since each had more than a couple of holes—the sole was coming off the right one, and the left one was always mysteriously damp. But people would line up to get the scraps Charity didn’t mind accepting, like random rides, a cheap room off campus, and leftover food (Sam thought leftovers were beneath her). A little attitude was a small price to pay for the perks and benefits of being Samantha Kent’s friend.
“I didn’t realize you’d be giving me a ride,” Charity said distractedly. The itch of the watcher continued to fade the closer they got to the street. She sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders. Her new friend didn’t plan to follow them home. Maybe he hadn’t been interested in her, as such, but the school’s expensive equipment. A high-level thief would probably be that stealthy and intense. She’d only known the low-level kind, jerky and drug-addled.
“Jet and I are taking a break,” Sam said, her sashaying hips catching the attention of two different guys. “The passenger seat is free. I mean, honestly, what guy trades his car for a new surfboard?” She huffed and shook her head, glancing at the people in their vicinity and giving each a dismissive once-over. “He was insanely hot, but clearly his priorities were completely off. Daddy would throw him out of the house if I brought him home.”
Of course, Daddywould never meet any of the guys Sam saw. She’d have to be with them for longer than a couple weeks for that.
“Jet was a stupid name,” Charity said, pausing on the sidewalk for a car to pass. Sam was already stepping onto the crosswalk. Tires chirped on concrete as the guy behind the wheel slammed on his brakes.
“I know, right?” Sam said, flicking her hair again. “I mean, at first I was like—that’s kind of cool”—she made a line in the air with her hand—“Jet. He calls himself”—she did the line again—“Jet. Not many people can give themselves names and make it work.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“Totally. Ugh.” She lugged her purse to her other shoulder. “I hate how heavy my handbag is.”
“That’s why backpacks have two padded straps—”
“Anyway. Finally, I realized that he was a total dweeb. He wasn’t even good in bed. I’d been totally fooling myself.”
“Dweeb? How very eighties of you.”
“I know. Eighties trends are coming back. I’m using the words to go with them. Rad, right?”
“Not really.”
“Hurry up. I need to get home and go through my closet. There is this totally fetch party tomorrow night and I need to wear something great. It’s exclusive. They actually mailed invitations. Not email, but mail-mail.”
“Snail mail, they call that.”
She stopped by her sleek, champagne-colored Porsche and swished her hair over her bare shoulder before opening her door. “The words were in this old-fashioned cursive font, but all loopy. It looked handwritten. Like someone actually used a fountain pen and wrote on the paper.” She pushed the seat up and dropped her handbag into the back before jabbing the button to open Charity’s door. “Only a handful of people were invited.” She preened as she sat in the car. “I am on a very short list, and I’m only a freshman.”
“Awesome.” Charity got into the front passenger seat, touching as little as possible so as not to dirty anything, dropped her bag between her legs, and closed the door after her.
“It totally is.” Sam’s voice rang with excitement. She absolutely lived for parties and status. This sounded like both rolled up into one. “Jessica got invited too, thank God. We’re going to go together so we don’t look like losers showing up alone.”
“Good call.” Charity draped the seatbelt over her middle, adding just enough to the conversation to fly under the radar. It was what kept her so firmly at the edge of the social group. “Power in numbers.”
“God you’re weird.”
Or maybe not.
Besides the weird maybe-thief she’d seen on campus, it felt like a normal night, with a normal amount of awkwardness. Charity certainly didn’t expect her life was about to change forever.
Chapter2
“Hurry up, Charity!”
“Sam, no way. I am not going to that thing.” Charity put a hand on the open textbook in front of her. “I’m busy tonight.”
Samantha stalked into the room like a runway model, her shimmery metallic dress flowing over her curves and stopping just below her crotch. Her Underoos were going to get some breeze this evening. Black straps from her four-inch stilettos crisscrossed over her ankles, and spangled bracelets tinkled as she irritably placed her hand on her hip. The woman could be tenacious when she wanted something, and she really wanted Charity to go to the exclusive party with her.
Jessica had called to cancel. She hadn’t wanted to, but she’d gotten food poisoning and could barely get off the bathroom floor. Sam was devastated. The party was invite-only, she couldn’t do the inviting, and now she’d have to go alone, since she’d die before missing such a swank gathering.
Unfortunately, not ten minutes later, Sam had received a phone call inviting Charity to the party in Jessica’s place.
“Charity, no normal student sits in their room on a Friday night. Not even the biggest dweebs. You’re coming. And hurry, because Richard said we should come earlier than the invite said.” She popped out a hip. “Something about the caterer.”
“Richard?”
“The guy offering you the chance of your lifetime.” She paused. Charity offered her a blank look. Sam rolled her eyes. “The guy on the phone? Inviting you to the party?”
Charity schooled her expression into one of defiance. “Sam, I have a test coming up, and this book isn’t going to read itself.”
Sam’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows dipped low. “Firstly, if you download text-to-speech, it will absolutely read itself.”
Charity paused in her rebuttal. “Really?”
“Second, you’re getting straight A’s, you’re an overachiever, and everyone hates how you make them look bad. You don’t need to study tonight. You need to go to this party.”
“Yes, let’s talk about that.” Charity leaned an elbow on her ramshackle desk. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that a rich dude who sends out fancy invitations with incorrect times would allow you to bring your roommate? I mean, I’m not exactly keeping up with the Joneses.”
Sam scoffed. “Clearly they knew I’d hate to go alone, and they’re making things right. It’s a smooth move, if you ask me. They’re letting me take my little project.” She gave Charity a sarcastically sweet smile that received a glower in return.
“Who are they, anyway? I know plenty of dicks, but not one Richard.” Charity grinned at her joke.
Sam didn’t get it. “They”—she drew out the word—“are influential and important, and they think I am worthy of their time.”
“You’ve managed to answer my question while simultaneously ignoring it—”
“And they invited you, which means you are coming. I will not go to this party by myself, Charity. I simply will not.”
“Well, you’re going to have to because—”
Sam’s voice lowered an octave as she said, “Charity, I did not beg my parents to move you in here so you could sit in your room like a librarian and piss your life away.”
Damn it. She was bringing out the big guns.
“I’m studying for a test, though,” Charity whined. “That’s the opposite of pissing—”
“I could’ve left you in that tiny dorm room. Remember that place? Peeling paint, weird smell, probably mold in the closets. I could’ve let you huddle up in the corner, with all the other nerds, and listen to someone snoring all night. I could’ve, but I didn’t. Do you know why?”
“You secretly loathe me?”
“Because you can be cool. That’s why. You need to have friends, Charity. You need to be reminded to file your nails. And you need to get your ass to a few parties once in a while. Let me help you. Get up, get dressed, and let’s go!”
Samantha stomped from the room with hips and breasts flying, making a counterargument impossible.
Charity blew out her breath and leaned heavily against the desk. When Sam had decided the dorm rooms were too filthy, noisy, and cramped for her to contemplate staying there, not to mention the horror of the communal bathroom, she’d cried to her daddy to fix the situation. He had rented this modest house in downtown Santa Cruz. He could’ve afforded something much nicer, but the low-budget accommodations were supposed to teach his daughter a little humility.
Yeah, right. She’d used his credit card to deck out most of the place with quality and trendy furniture the likes of which Charity had never even touched before, let alone used.
Surprise of surprises, Sam had asked her assigned roommate, Charity, if she wanted to move with her. And while Charity hadn’t minded the size of the dorm room, its faded and peeling paint, or even the communal shower, she had minded the incessant buzz of conversation and drunken laughter, which had proven a distraction from her studies. Charity had promised her mother that she’d make something of herself, and by God, she would fulfill that promise if she did nothing else in the world.
Too bad the good fortune came with a price tag.
Samantha hadn’t only wanted Charity along because she thought she was cool. Not even because she was quiet, respectful, and cooked and cleaned like she was hired help. No, Sam had insisted on Charity’s tenancy because she was fascinated by a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks. “Ethiopian poor,” Samantha had said as she glanced over Charity’s belongings, contained neatly in two thirteen-gallon garbage bags. Samantha just could not believe someone could live with empty closets, empty cupboards, a couple of pens, and a computer she got out of the lost and found.
Ultimately, how she’d gotten here didn’t matter. Charity was in bliss with her luck. She had a bedroom mostly to herself (guests used it, too), a big backyard to practice martial arts (which she’d always been strangely great at), and a clean kitchen.
Samantha knew all this, of course, and used it as her secret weapon when she really wanted something.
Damned foul play!
“Seriously, though,” Charity shouted, picking at her threadbare jeans and putting in a last-ditch effort to get Sam to relent, “I do actually have a test on Thursday. Plus, I don’t drink. How fun could I possibly be?” Into the ensuing silence, she yelled, “Spoiler alert: not fun at all!”
“There are plenty of other things to do besides drink…” came the disembodied reply.
“Like what?” Then it dawned on her. “I don’t do drugs, either. Super not fun. Happy with a pocket protector. Best left at home.”
“Donnie’s going to be there.”
Charity’s shaking head jerked to a stop. Fizzy excitement she couldn’t help bubbled up her middle.
First the big guns, then the low blow. That crush was so stupid, too. She couldn’t even talk to the guy. She stammered with a red face every time he said two words to her. God forbid he try for a conversation. He was too pretty for his own good. Too suave by half.
So why was she now contemplating going to a party she wouldn’t have any fun at, with a girl who would ignore her as soon as they got there, just to see him? She might as well pour paint on her head and label herself a social pariah.
Sam’s head popped into the doorway. “And he always looks good when he goes to parties,” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Fine, I’ll go,” Charity grumbled, hating herself for uttering the words. Hating Sam for making her.
She looked down at herself. One knee looked back up through the hole in her jeans. It wasn’t a trendy hole, either. It was a Kmart special hole in a pair of jeans so old they should’ve been shot and buried in the yard.
“What am I going to wear?” Charity called as Sam ducked away again. “Earlier tonight you called me a hobo tramp.”
Metallic black material flew into the room. It shimmered and sparkled before landing on Charity’s desk, washing across the surface, and then slinking down to the floor. Samantha popped her head back in, shooting Charity a poignant stare. “Don’t you dare spill anything on it.”
“Why do all of your going out clothes resemble something a cross-dressing rock star would wear?” Charity mumbled, picking up the dress. “Besides, I can’t wear your clothes. What if I do spill something? I can’t…”
She cut the sentence short, not wanting to admit that she could barely afford her hoodies, let alone an extravagant, fashionable dress. Some things were too awkward to voice, especially around people who didn’t understand the value of money, or how lucky they were to have it.
“Hurry up,” Sam called. “We need to be fashionably late, not late-late.”
Knowing a losing battle when she saw one, Charity lugged herself out of her chair and faced the smudged closet mirror. The shimmery fabric twinkled, light reflecting off the disco-ball material. She put the dress to her body, the fabric cascading over her baggy clothes, and took in her appearance.
A little color in her pale face would make her look like less of a vampire. A wider set to her flat brown eyes would definitely give her more wow factor. Maybe a curl to her mop of brown hair, or a highlight or two. Did they have time for a nose job?
She smirked at herself, moving away. Plain but perky. It could certainly be worse.
A shoe torpedoed into the room, smacking off the edge of the bed. Another shot in as the first was bouncing around the floor.
“Hurry up!” Sam shouted.
Charity fingered the dress and sighed. “How bad can this party be?”
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