Mr. Mysterious: A Mister Standalone (The Mister Series Book 4) (13 page)

“This is why I’ve called you both here today.”

“Both? What are you talking about? Cindy has nothing to do with this.”

“Perhaps,” my mother says, smiling at the beautiful girl who just happened to drop into my life. “We can always hope, anyway. Can’t we?”

Cindy’s eyes go big. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, dear. You wouldn’t.”

I want to ask so many questions, but I know my mother better than anyone. She’s being cryptic, and when she gets in one of those cryptic moods, there’s no getting her to say more than she feels necessary. So instead, I huff out a long breath of air and sit in the chair next to Cindy, resigned to the fact that Mariel Hawthorne is in charge here.

“The letter came from the Silver Society. Have either of you… heard of it?”

“No,” I say, my patience just about done. “But I’ve certainly seen those envelopes before.”

“And the invitation?” my mother asks, cocking one eyebrow at me.

“No.” I shrug. “It wasn’t an invitation.”

“What was it?”

I have never told her this. Never told anyone this. Nolan got a glimpse of my evidence back in his house on Martha’s Vineyard, but it was only a glimpse. He has no clue what I was up to that night back in college.

“Was it a game, Paxton?”

How to explain to your mother that you were playing
that
game,
that
night? And how to explain that the two cannot possibly be related, even though they must be? They must be related. Silver envelopes have followed me my whole life. I asked Perfect about it just yesterday, while all that shit on Martha’s Vineyard was being wrapped up. He denied having seen any silver envelopes. But he called me back later last night and told me about the scavenger hunt he sent Ellie on. He used silver envelopes. Did that count?

Hell the fuck yes, it counts. Why the fuck would he use silver envelopes?

He didn’t have an answer. Said they were nice. Sophisticated and elegant.

And then Nolan. I asked him too. And he said he sees them everywhere. Even back in school, he said he got an invitation to a party but he threw it away and never went.

Was this
his
invitation?

I get up so fast, my chair scrapes across the dusty barn wood floor. “I need to call Delaney.”

“No, you do not, Paxton.” My mother is calm and cool. Unfazed. Collected. “Whatever is going on with him is not related to you.”

“He said he got an invitation back in school and it came in a silver envelope.”

“Nothing,” my mother repeats, “to do with
you
. And you haven’t answered my question. In what capacity did you use—or see—silver envelopes back in school?”

“I’ve never seen one,” Cindy says. “Do I need to be here for this? I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“I’ll deal with you later, Cynthia.” Cindy winces at the name. “But for now, please be still and let Paxton answer.”

I exhale again. Long and loud. “It was a game. I was playing a game that night.”

“This game have a name?” my mother asks.

Cindy shifts uncomfortably in her seat. When I look over at her, she bites her lip.

“Ransom,” I say. “It was called Ransom.”

“Were you playing with
that girl
?”

I nod. Slowly. Guiltily. “I was.”

“What did you do to her?”

“Nothing she didn’t ask me to do.”

“Was anyone else playing?”

I nod.

“The other Misters?” Cindy asks, leaning forward in her chair.

I shake my head.

“Who?” my mother demands.

“The other girls from some new house. First-years, I think. I don’t remember their name.”

My mother takes out her phone, taps the screen, studies it. “Kappa Delta?”

“No.”

“Alpha Chi Omega?”

“No,” I say. “I told you, they were new. They weren’t Greek.”

It’s my mother’s turn to let out a long breath of air. “Well,” she says softly. “OK. I don’t know who they could be then. How did the game end?”

“With me in jail, obviously.” So pissed off. I look over at Cindy. She won’t even meet my eyes.

“No, Paxton. You didn’t go to jail that night. How did
that
night end?”

“I don’t know, with… fuck. I don’t really remember. It’s been ten years and it’s all kind of a blur these days. I just remember waking up with people shouting at me. Jesus fuck, who cares? The only thing that mattered was I ended up in
jail
.”

“You don’t think your little game had anything to do with those charges?”

“Do you?” She stares at me with that cold, hard look I remember growing up. “Yeah, of course I think it’s related. How the fuck could it
not
be related? It was called Ransom, for fuck’s sake.”

“
Language
, Paxton,” my mother practically growls.

“Did you kidnap her?” Cindy asks.

“Stay out of this,” I say, irritated.

“Sorry,” Cindy says, putting both hands up like she’s surrendering.

“Did you kidnap her, Paxton?” my mother asks, her question devoid of emotion.

“It’s called Ransom. So yeah, I fucking took her. Like I was
supposed
to.”

“What did you do with her?” Cindy again.

Jesus fuck. “Does she really need to be here?”

“She really does. What did you do with that girl, Paxton?”

“I fucked her. OK? I tied her up, made my ransom demand, and then we fucked. We laughed and we fucked. I didn’t even know Perfect had taken her out that night. I didn’t know anything about what Romantic was doing with her. I didn’t know shit, other than I was playing
the game
.”

Long, loud exhale from both women as they sink back into their seats.

“Did you use a silver envelope?” my mother asks. “For this ransom demand?”

I feel very guilty right now. Very. Fucking. Guilty. “It was part of the game. They sent me the envelope and the card. They said make the ransom demand by cutting out letters from magazines. So I did. It was a
game
.” They both stare at me. “I didn’t
rape
her.”

Chapter Thirteen - Cindy

God, I feel awful being here for this. I shouldn’t be here for this. I stand up, walk the two paces that separates my chair from Paxton’s, and place my hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think you raped her, Pax.”

He looks up at me, eyes angry and red and hurt. “Who gives a fuck what you think?”

I recoil, stepping back on my heels. I’m just about to rip him a new one when he looks at his mother and he… deflates.

That’s whose opinion he gives a fuck about, I realize. Hers.

He’s right. I don’t matter. None of this is about me. He was the one accused of raping a girl ten years ago and he was the one who had to explain things to his mother after that happened. I can see they love each other. I can see they are very close. He respects her. She is tough and there is so much dignity spilling out of her blue blood, she practically smells like class.

“Thank you,” Mariel says. “for telling me the truth after all these years. And I’d like to say, Paxton, that never once—not even for a moment—did I ever think you were guilty of that crime.”

“So what?” Paxton yells. “The only thing that matters was the accusation, right? It’s enough, isn’t it? To ruin a guy. To take away all his chances. All his plans. Erase his future. Do you think I’d be doing what I do now if I had graduated from Brown?”

“That isn’t what matters—”

Pax slams his fist on the desk, scattering dust into the air. “It does matter, goddammit. It
is
what matters. I shouldn’t have had to make that fucking call. I shouldn’t have had to explain myself. I shouldn’t have had to do any of that. It was a fucking game. She was laughing. It was a joke. And those fucking bitches—”

“Who?” Mariel asks, standing up from her chair, both hands flat on the dirty desk as she leans forward. “Who were they? I need names, Paxton. I need
names
.”

Holy fuck. “I need to go,” I say, standing up and walking quickly towards the door. I unlock it, pull it open, and walk out before either of them can trap me there with their commands.

I’m somewhere on the backstretch of the Del Mar Racetrack. It’s dark now, we’ve been talking long enough for that to happen. The lights are on in the barns and there are a million people bustling around. Grooms and horses, trainers and owners. Just so many people it’s hard to reconcile the back room talk with the celebratory fun going on out here.

“Cindy,” Pax yells behind me. “Stop,” he says.

I keep walking, thankful I wore chunky-heeled shoes for this trip into the barn, because there is dust everywhere and the only thing between me and the filth are these platform sandals. I feel like I’m choking on it. Like this dirt represents all the disgusting things that happened to the Misters ten years ago. To my brother, I realize. Oliver was part of that. He made that same phone call. He had to explain himself too. He had to look my mother in the eyes and say, “They’re gonna say I raped her, Mom. And I just need you to be brave and tune it all out.”

And my parents had to call the lawyers, and Ronin. Fucking Ronin. And then Ford showed up, and Five. And…

“Cindy,” Pax says, his hand on my shoulder.

I realize I’m crying. Not like some little dribble, either. But a full-on waterfall of tears are streaming down my face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Why are you crying? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, I swear. And my mother can get a little intense. She’s sorry too. Stop,” he says, gripping my shoulder tightly now, making me halt. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

But I can’t even tell him, can I? Not without giving away who I am. And I’m not going to do that. I don’t think there’s a future for us after all. I think what’s happening here is me getting a big ol’ dose of reality. Of adulting. Or… coming to terms with a fantasy that will never be anything more than some teenager’s crush on a man she never really knew.

I never understood. But I do now. I understand what that accusation did to them. To Oliver, who hasn’t had a real relationship with a woman since. To my mother and father, who already had so much sadness to deal with over the years, and who had to put on their brave faces and say, “No! Our son did not do this.” And probably all my sisters as well. I was too young, I realize. Too fucking young and stupid to comprehend what that word really
meant
.

Rape.

“I need to go home,” I say quietly, unable to look him in the face.

“You can’t drive home tonight. It’s far, Cindy. Almost four hours away.”

No. Home is more than a thousand miles away and that’s where I want to be right now. With Oliver. And my sisters. I want to see my brother and sisters and my mom and dad. And give them all a huge hug. Say, “I’m sorry this happened. I’m fucking sorry I didn’t understand. And most of all, I’m sorry I ran away chasing some phantom man named Paxton Vance.”

I should’ve been concerned with Oliver. Why wasn’t I focused on what really matters? Him. His innocence. His reputation and good name. Especially after all the bullshit they went through when I was little

Oliver. My sweet, sweet brother. My
only
brother.

I should be looking for who set
him
up. I should give up on Paxton Vance and concentrate on the only Mister who matters. Match.

“Cindy?” Pax has been talking this entire time. I am wiping my tears away, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. But it’s dark where we’re standing. On the edge of the barn and the paddock area. There are a ton of people. Trainers, jockeys, owners all dressed up in their special clothes as they drink champagne and laugh and hope for their horses to come back winners.

“I’ll take you home,” Pax says, finally understanding that I’m not going to talk to him anymore. “But my mother will be very disappointed if we don’t at least stay for the race. It’s up next, then the day is over and I’ll take you home if you want.”