It was frankly astonishing Roan’s ability to flip the switch that fast. This was not an ability I had, although he taught me quickly.
“RAINEY, WHERE’S YOUR head at?”
I snapped to reality.
“You just lost half your breakfast,” Paris said.
I narrowed on Amy, disappearing the last of my avocado toast in her mouth. “Sorry.”
“You sound it,” I said, laughing.
Amy, Paris, Zara, and I huddled around a table in the student union, downing breakfast and conversation before we split in four directions. Naturally, there was only one topic on the agenda.
“You don’t think it’s true, do you?” Zara asked. “Jeremy and Micah? That’s just— Ugh.”
“You saw the sexts,” Amy threw in. “And the rest of it was just as horrible. Jonah carrying that girl into a room to sleep it off. That video should be forwarded to the dean. We shouldn’t be expected to sit quietly in class next to a rapist.”
“I don’t know that Dean Banks can do much,” I admitted, “but we definitely don’t have to sit quietly.” My grip tightened on my plate. “The rich and privileged don’t get to fuck people over without consequences.”
“Damn right,” said Paris. “I said the Crows would regret moving in on our town. Now they got the attention of Dante.”
Two gasps and a “really?” was her response.
It was hard for someone who wasn’t Bedlam-born to understand why that was a big deal. Harder still if their first introduction to Dante was listening to him beg and plead with the Bedlam Boys to leave him alone.
The single byline Dante appeared decades ago in an unofficial paper of a technically unofficial town. From the beginning, he reported the news those in charge denied to their last breath. Scandals, leaked documents, the truth of where the money went that was earmarked to pave the outer farm dirt roads. Hint: it paved the driveway to Mayor Harrow’s new summer escape, and it built the home on top of it.
Dante was a journalist before he became the crowner of the Ruckus Kings. This legacy lived on through the years, surviving the shift from print, to radio, to internet. When Dante chose a target, he wrung every secret from their life like water from a dishrag.
“He’ll find out the truth of what Jonah did that night,” Amy said, “and how close the Ellis brothers really are.”
“Can I ask you guys something?” I turned to Amy and Zara. “Even if the Crows run back to Hunter’s Crest, there were still a lot of people nodding their heads to what they had to say. If someone else is leading the pack, would you guys consider voting to split Bedlam in half? Bring back Crystal Canyon?”
“Of course they wouldn’t,” Paris cried.
Amy and Zara weren’t as quick to answer. They shared a look.
“I don’t want Bedlam to break up,” Amy said firmly. “And if half of what we found out about the Crows is true, I for fuck sure don’t want it split up to put more money in the pocket of a guy like Jonah. But a lot of what they said sounds nice.”
“You hate living under the Bedlam Boys that much?”
“No,” Zara said. “They weren’t lying about using the money they take from people to give back to the town. My mom lost her job and couldn’t pay the bills. The bank was threatening to take our house. She heard they helped another family on our street, and out of desperation, she asked me to speak to Cairo.
“He handed over six months’ worth of mortgage payments just like that. Even said she didn’t have to pay it back.” Zara dropped her gaze. “It may be selfish. I know a lot of people are angry about the payments. But I’ve never seen my mom that scared. I don’t care what people say about the Bedlam Boys. They helped my family when we needed it, and that’s good enough for me.”
I squeezed her hand. I knew that fear—the fear of losing everything. Hell, I was living that fear. If the Bedlam Boys had swooped in and saved me from losing the farm, I can’t say I’d look unkindly on their extortion either.
“But you’re still unsure of how you’d vote?” I asked, voice soft.
“That part is me not being selfish,” Zara replied. “Bedlam is stuck in the past. Hunter’s Crest has music venues, theaters, cafés, shops, hotels, everything. All stuff we could have here but the council won’t allow developers to cut down a blade of grass or touch a single historical building.”
“No one wants to live here,” Amy said. “There are more students attending this school than there are people living in Bedlam. And most of them are going to leave after they graduate.” Amy gestured at Paris, who flushed. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if Bedlam changed. Dragged itself into the future and was more like an actual town than a fiefdom. That’s all I’m saying.”