Stupid whores.
“When can she come over? I’m bored at home.” E’s pouty face pulls me away from the dark thoughts in my head.
“I said I’ll talk to her mother. I can ask Nash’s mom if he wants to come over for a playdate today?”
“He’s got his cousin’s party,” he grumpily replies.
“Well, how about I call up some of your other friends from school and ask them to come over? I can get a bounce house and McDonald’s, and you can have a spontaneous summer party?”
“Yay!” He jumps up, crawling through the gap in the front seat to hug me. “You’re the best mommy ever. Thank you.”
Crisis averted. For now. “Come on, buster. Let’s get you into the hall before you’re late for rollcall.” I open my door, and Leon grabs Easton, while Bobby retrieves his backpack from the backseat.
Leon leads the way through the parking lot, heading toward the front entrance to the large redbrick building, as Bobby guards us from the rear. We have just reached the bottom of the steps when I’m jostled from behind. Screams ring out, and I almost take a tumble when Bobby staggers into me from behind. It all happens so fast, but I react immediately, thrusting Easton at Leon, aware there’s some threat.
Blood rushes to my head, and adrenaline floods my veins as I spot someone tall in a hoodie racing toward me out of the corner of my eye. The next thing I know, I’m sprawled on top of Bobby on the ground with another body covering me. Piercing screams and shouts surround me, and whoever is on top of me jerks, grunting as if in pain.
“Are you okay?” Bobby asks, frowning as he eyes the stranger on top of me.
“I’m unhurt but struggling to breathe,” I admit as the weight of the man covering me crushes me on top of my bodyguard. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I rasp.
“I might have a few bruises, but I’m fine. I’m sorry, Vivien. They caught me off guard, shoving me from behind.”
Whoever is on top of me shifts a little, but they are making no move to get off me, which means the threat must still be present. I’m conscious of being pressed between two men, and there are various camera flashes going off.
There are always a few paps waiting at camp each day, hoping for something like this. Honestly, I wouldn’t altogether rule out them setting this up just to get a story. Interest had grown in the initial aftermath of the interview Dillon gave confirming he was Reeve’s long-lost twin. Reporters chased me for quotes, but I remained tight-lipped and the interest leveled off pretty quick. According to the text I received from Ash, the media is hounding Dillon for more information, so he has deflected some of the heat away from us.
“Shit, man,” Leon says from above me. “Did that crazy bitch hurt you?”
The weight is lifted off me, and air whooshes out of my mouth as the sounds of a scuffle ring out in proximity.
“Let me go, asshole!” a woman with a high-pitched voice says. “I’m not the one you should be holding! Arresther!”
Leon helps me to my feet while my mysterious rescuer bows his head, bending over at the waist and breathing heavily. I whip my head around, relieved to find Easton safe, with one of his instructors, at the top of the steps. He’s crying, and I want to go to him, but I need to find out what’s going on first. I need to ensure the threat has been neutralized. I blow him a kiss before turning around, hoping to reassure him with a smile.
Two camp security officers are restraining a skinny blonde with long stringy hair. She’s thrashing about, trying to get free while snarling at me. “You fucking murdering bitch!” she shrieks. “Reeve should never have married you. You got him killed! He should’ve married Saffron, but you stole him away from her.” Spittle lands on the asphalt beside me, and I fold my arms around my body, schooling my features into a neutral line, even though I want to take out her jugular.
Three photographers draw closer, taking pics, and I refuse to give them anything juicy to report.
“Fuck off,” a man with a familiar Irish accent says from beside me, and I jerk my head around to Dillon, attempting to disguise my shock. The photographers are trigger-happy, snapping more pics as Dillon takes a step toward them. “I said fuck off,” he snarls, yanking the camera from one of the men. He throws it to the ground and stomps on it.
Well, shit. I guess that’s one way of dealing with it.
“I’ll sue your ass!” the photographer yells, grabbing Dillon by the scruff of the neck. He must be a rookie because no experienced pap would lay hands on a celeb in this situation. He’s just ruined any opportunity he might have had to take legal action against Dillon.
Good. We don’t need any more freaking drama.
The hood of Dillon’s gray hoodie falls, and I barely manage to stifle my shocked gasp. I didn’t realize he had dyed his hair again, and it takes me back in time. Messy white-blond strands fall over Dillon’s brow as he shoves the guy away.
“Dillon, look here!” the second photographer says as sirens blare in the background. These idiots clearly have no sense of self-preservation. Dillon stalks toward him, leaning a little awkwardly on his left side and I spot the tiny trail of blood he leaves in his wake.
Oh my God. He’s injured.
Panic bites me in the face. “Get Easton,” I tell Bobby. “We’re leaving.” I face Leon. “We need to get out of here before more paparazzi arrive. Can you handle the police? Tell them we want to press charges against her. Send them to the house, and we can give statements there. And can you talk to the camp coordinator too?”
He nods once. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry,” Leon adds before following Bobby back up the steps.
The woman is still hurling obscenities at me, but I tune her out as I advance on Dillon before he does something that will land us in even more hot water.