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I’d blown out my brown hair and applied a light coat of careful makeup that didn’t quite cover the freckles on my nose. I told myself I’d made the effort because this was like a business meeting but I knew it was a lie: I’d made myself look nice for them.

For Otis, Wolf, and even Jace.

I’d even worn a low-cut top with my jeans, a sliver of carefully controlled cleavage on display like this was a first date instead of the most important negotiation of my life.

I wondered what my brother’s friends were like now — if Otis still had that intense way of observing the world, if Wolf still ran his thumb along his lip when he was thinking, if Jace was still a monumental dick.

Emphasis onmonumentalbecause Jace had always been huge.

I blushed thinking it, even though I was alone in the parlor, staring at my reflection, then turned away from the mirror in disgust.

Just because I was a technical virgin didn’t mean I had to act like one. And just because Jace had always been big and muscly didn’t mean he had a dick to match.

My reasoning was taking on a hint of desperation, but that was where my mind had started to go.

That was how bad things were.

Because the three guys who’d made my little fifteen-year-old heart beat faster? Well, I’d had five long years to grow up and I’d be lying if I said they hadn’t become the stuff of all my fantasies.

I know. Fucked up, right?

They’dmurderedmy brother. Or so they said.

But that was the problem. I’d never been a hundred percent sure they’d done it.

The police had charged me: my argument with Blake before the party (dumb, about nothing really), my DNA on the murder weapon, no alibi except a bunch of drunk teenagers who may or may not have spotted me walking through the party before the anonymous tip to the police.

Honestly, I couldn’t believe it at the time. But I’d lawyered up with the best criminal defense attorney my dad’s money could buy and resigned myself to fighting it when Otis, Wolf, and Jace had come forward and admitted to killing Blake.

I’d been relieved at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. Otis, Wolf, and JacelovedBlake. They’d been like brothers. And yeah, sure, they argued sometimes, the way guys do when they call each other names and hurl stupid insults. One time they even got into a full-on fight playing basketball, shoving and hitting each other until I came running down the path from the pool to the basketball court asking them what the fuck was going on.

But it was almost impossible to imagine them killing Blake.

The media didn’t care though. They loved the story, started calling my brother’s best friends the Blackwell Beasts.

It was too catchy not to stick, and the next thing you know, everyone was telling (not entirely untrue) stories about their infamous viciousness and dreaming up all the reasons they might have had for killing Blake.

I heard a rumble outside and hurried to the big front window, standing to the side to peek through the glass.

I’d half expected to see Jace on one of his bikes, but it was just a car, a sleek electric-blue sports car I couldn’t identify in the dark except to know that it was obviously expensive.

I pulled back from the window and paced to the fireplace, forcing myself to breathe, running through my plan, my arguments, as I adjusted my white blouse.

The engine cut on the car outside and for a long while it was dead quiet. I was starting to wonder if they were arguing in the car (I wasn’t dumb enough to think the decision to come had been unanimous), if they’d change their mind, turn around, drive back down the long private road through the woods.

Then a knock sounded at the door, the monstrosity of an antique door knocker echoing through the house like ghostly footsteps.

I took one last deep breath and walked to the door.

Chapter 6

Otis

She was still pretty.

No, not pretty, Gorgeous.

But she’d never known it and it didn’t seem like she’d figured it out when she opened the door and nervously invited us in.