The Collector (21 page)

Chapter Forty-two

Party Charlie

Charlie doesn’t call. This tiny fact crushes me like a bug.

Earlier today, I had a clear goal: keep Charlie safe. But now I’m just trying to hold onto my freaking sanity.

I feel like a maniac, pacing the floors of my hotel, replaying everything she’s ever said to me. Her words, they’re like pieces of a puzzle, and I’m sticking them together to see what they create. What does the picture say? Does she feel the same way I do? Am I sure?

At 10:00
p.m.
, I decide I can’t wait another minute. I change into a button-down shirt and pull on a belt. All in all, my wardrobe takes thirty seconds to update. About as much time as I ever spend getting ready, but tonight it feels like an eternity.

Grabbing my car keys, I go outside and slide inside Elizabeth Taylor. Even this small act brings on a pang of nerves. After all, she’s the one who named my ride. I’ve known Charlie for nine days, yet she’s touched so much of my life that I can’t escape the thought of her.

I blast the radio and drive to where I know I’ve seen Preston Road. Then I head down it until I see Parker. Turning right, I see short, squat houses kept in pristine condition. It’s a neighborhood built to emulate the rich.

After a few minutes, the houses become farther apart, and I decide I’m headed in the right direction. I may not have the exact address for my GPS, but I shouldn’t have a problem finding Natalie’s pad. Party locales are almost always in the middle of nowhere so the po-pos don’t bust them. I lean over my steering wheel and catch a glimpse of cars parked alongside the road. As I get closer, I realize just how many there are, and I know I’ve found the place.

Parking Elizabeth Taylor, I kill the engine and click off my seat belt. I’m about to head inside when I stop. It’s been forever since I’ve come to a party alone. Not like I care—it just feels strange. This must be what dorks feel like. I decide I’ll pour a little out for the nerds of the world next chance I get.

I walk up the long driveway and open the door. I’m three steps inside when a girl dressed as a slutified sailor runs toward me. I recognize her immediately as Natalie, the chick who talked Charlie into skipping this afternoon.

“No. Stop,” she says, stabbing a manicured nail in my direction.

I wonder what I’ll do if she tries to kick me out. Maybe I’ll join an alien conspiracy group, decide anything’s possible.

“Take off your shoes. Do you see this?” She points toward the cream-colored carpet. “My parents will kill me if anyone jacks it up.”

“Then prepare thyself because you’re having a party, sweetheart. That carpet’s hours are numbered.”

“Off,” she repeats. “Now.”

“I’m not taking them off,” I tell her. And I mean it. If I have to wrestle her to the ground, my babies aren’t coming off. “Where’s Charlie?” I quickly add.

“She’s in the barn.”

“You have a barn? Seriously?”

“Take your shoes off.”

I try to move past her, but she steps in front of me.

“I will mace you,” she says. “In the face…I will mace you.”

As I strategize how to come at Natalie—like a linebacker, or a raving lunatic, or perhaps both—I spot Annabelle near the back of the house. I think I must be imagining things, but no, it’s her. Charlie must have made a quick climb up the social ladder to get herself and her friend an invite to this party.

“Annabelle,” I call out. She doesn’t hear me, or if she does, she doesn’t acknowledge my presence.

Sensing I might make a break for it, Natalie pushes a palm to my chest. “Down, boy.”

“Woman, you’re getting on my last nerve.” I consider going around the house to avoid taking off my beloved reds, but I need to talk to Annabelle. Shaking my head, I kick off my Chucks and throw them in a heap with the others near the door. “Happy?”

“Elated.”

“I care.”

“This is my house, you know?”

“Whatev.”

I move past her and toward where I last saw Annabelle. It seems she’s disappeared into the crowd. I’d love to pick her mind, get the lowdown on Charlie before I face her. Is she still pissed? Still being weird?

But it appears I’m on my own.

Grabbing a beer from the kitchen counter, I make my way out back and immediately search for her. There are people everywhere, even more than at Taylor’s party a week ago. Some are dressed in costumes, and all are completely plastered.

A chick in a cowgirl getup grabs my hands and starts to sway to the music. She’s dancing like it’s a slow song, though it’s anything but.

“Dance with me,” she slurs. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”

What?

“Gotta go, babe.” I push her onto the closest guy I see. When she lands in his arms, he smiles like I just handed him a bib and a warm teat—which I kinda did. “Where’s the barn?” I ask the guy.

He nods toward the woods, and I spot a dirt path winding through tall, barren trees.

Why does everyone’s backyard here look like a set for a horror movie
?

I kill my beer and shove it in the guy’s hand. His tongue is so far down the girl’s mouth, he doesn’t even notice where it came from. He just wraps his hand around it and moans as if the empty can just added to his overall enjoyment.

I make my way toward the path but stop before setting foot on it. Glancing around, I notice a pile of white socks. Guess I’m going barefoot. I pull off my own socks and toss them in with the rest. It’ll be the last time I ever see them, because I’m sure as hell not chancing picking up someone else’s on my way out. The thought alone makes me cringe.

Dirt from the path rubs between my toes as I follow a barefoot couple holding hands farther ahead. It takes a solid five minutes of walking before I see the barn. I have no idea why anyone would build this thing so far from the house, but my guess is someone in Natalie’s family is enjoying less-than-honest recreational activities out here.

The barn is red, which brings a smile to my lips. I do enjoy red barns. I mean, if there’s one thing in this world that’s meant to be red, it’s a barn. And that’s a damn fact.

Inside, I can see people dancing and sitting on squares of hay. Above their drunken heads, multicolored lights are strung across wooden rafters. In the center of the strands, a small disco ball dangles on a cord, spinning and casting dots of white light across smiling cheeks and laughing mouths. This barn was built for partying.

My eyes take in everything before landing on her—on Charlie. She’s standing on a bale of hay and is dancing back-to-back with another girl. Draped over her slender body is confidence I’ve never seen before. Confidence I was all prepared to teach her about. I notice it in the way she moves, the way she laughs. My mouth falls open when I see what she’s wearing.

Thin, bare legs stretch out from tiny, barely there white shorts. She raises her arms over her head and does the drunk-girl anthem scream. As she does, her low-cut red silk blouse tugs upward, exposing her midriff. I want to walk right over there and flip her over my shoulder. I want to rip that shirt back down so the guy sitting near her, ogling her, will mind his fucking manners.

But I wait. I want her to see me, and I want to see the look on her face when it happens.

She turns in my direction, and my heart pounds something furious. And then it stops, right there in my chest, just forgets its purpose and refuses to function. Her eyes don’t fall on me, but no matter, mine are on her. Her lips are pulled into a wide smile, and she’s laughing at something Ogle Boy is yelling up at her.

Charlie’s mouth has always been beautiful. Full, plump lips. A small pink tongue. A delicate line running from the bottom of her nose to the top of those adorable lips. But her teeth, they were always wrong—a stop sign on a busy highway. The only thing that kept her from being every dentist’s fantasy.

But as I step closer, I see I’m not imagining things. That her teeth are white and straight and that everyone she smiles at seems drawn to smile right back. Her mouth, it’s become contagious. Addictive.

A secret weapon that just reached its fullest potential.

She’s asked for more beauty. And I wasn’t there to stop her. I shove my way toward her, and she finally spots me. Her face pulls into a smile, the biggest I’ve seen tonight.

Then it’s gone.

She jumps down from the bale of hay and storms away from me to the other side of the barn, pushing past people as she moves.

“Charlie,” I yell.

She keeps going without turning back.

I run to catch up to her, and people start to stare. I don’t care. I don’t give a rat’s ass about anything but her.

Charlie reaches the back of the barn. There’s no door. Nowhere for her to go. She turns and faces me, her eyes blazing. “Get away from me,” she growls.

The sound of her voice shocks me. It makes my muscles feel like glue, sticky and thick. I reach out to touch her but stop myself. I’m afraid she’ll pull away.

Terrified she’ll insist I leave.

Chapter Forty-three

Playing Games

“Charlie.” I say her name so softly it hurts my throat. Like her very name is too much for me to manage. “Please. I have to talk to you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she spits. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Some dude walks up between us, stands near Charlie. “There a problem?”

He glares at me, and I fight every impulse to rip his head from his shoulders.

“Move. Away,” I snarl.

The guy stares at me for a moment, his eyes running up and down my frame, sizing me up to see if he can take me. Realizing he can’t, he raises his hands and moves away, the look on his face saying he never cared in the first place.

I glance back at Charlie. She’s eyeing me like I did something unspeakable to her, like she’s found me out. Still, I can’t walk away.

“Can we go outside for a minute?” I ask. “I promise I’ll leave once you hear me out.”

Charlie steps close to me. She leans her head toward mine, her lips brushing my ear. Her voice is so calm, it raises goose bumps on my arms. “I want you to leave, Dante. I want you to stay away from me. You came for one thing, and I’m giving it to you.” She pulls back, and I notice her eyes have filled with tears. I reach up to rub them away, but she jerks away like I slapped her. Her head tilts, and her face swims with pain. “Go. I’m begging you.”

I came here tonight to protect Charlie, to keep her safe from collectors, from people trying to take her light. But I’ve already done it. It was me who asked her to sign that contract. Me who pushed her to fulfill it. Me who brought the tears slipping down her cheeks. She may have cared about me once, but that’s gone now. I can see it in the way she’s looking at me. She sees me for what I am. Arrogant. Egotistical.

Selfish.

I back away from Charlie, because as much as I want to protect her from what’s coming, I can’t stand seeing her cry while knowing it’s my fault. Charlie is generous and happy, a loyal friend and an honest person.

And she is beautiful.

Inside, Charlie glows—her soul’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. And on the outside, she’s even more beautiful. Not just the way she is now, though she is killing it tonight, enough to take my breath away, but the way she
was
. The bounce of her hair when she jumped on the bed, the glow of her skin when she told me about the charity, the curve of her mouth when she said she liked the sound the world made. And her eyes—I’ve never seen as much life in anyone’s eyes as I do hers.

Charlie is beautiful.

And I convinced her she wasn’t.

She knows what I did was wrong, making her feel bad about who she is. She went along with it for a while, maybe because she secretly desired traditional beauty and popularity. Or maybe because she sought my approval. And I bet…when I didn’t kiss her…she decided I wasn’t interested—that I’d been playing her all along. This last thought stings going down.

I take one last look at Charlie, her drowned eyes and parted mouth, and turn to go.

Not sure where I’m headed, I leave the barn and head for the woods. I don’t make it twenty feet outside before stopping. Charlie may hate me, and I have to live with the fact that I caused that. But there’s something much bigger to think about. In two days, I’m certain Boss Man will send another collector, or all his collectors, and force Charlie to fulfill the contract faster.

A jolt of nerves rushes through my bloodstream like a shot of adrenaline. I have to take my feelings out of this. If Charlie hates me, is disgusted with me, so be it. I won’t leave here without her. If I have to drag her out kicking and screaming, I’m not going to let someone hurt her the way I have—or worse.

My heart pumps hard as I march toward the barn. Nothing will stop me from rescuing this girl. Not even if she despises me.

I spot Charlie sitting in a circle of people, leaning against Annabelle’s shoulder. I walk toward the circle, but no one notices me over the music, which sounds much louder than before. Overhead, I notice someone has killed the multicolored lights so that the only glow comes from the disco ball. I swallow hard, then open my mouth to call for Charlie. I’ll make a scene. Yell her name over and over until everyone pushes for her to go just to shut me up.

But I stop before her name reaches my lips.

In the center of the circle, I see a bottle. More importantly, I see Charlie reaching for it, her fingers closing over the green glass. It spins beneath her hand, and every breath I’d been holding rushes out. My head spins. This isn’t the girl I know. The girl I met eight days ago would be inside, searching for a soda amongst the liquor, making awkward conversation with people who don’t care. But now she’s here. Playing a make-out game. Wearing way too little clothing.

She watches the bottle spin to a stop, and so do I, because my body won’t operate anymore. It’s frozen in horror, anticipating what I don’t want to watch. In my head, I make bargains with no one in particular.

Don’t let her kiss anyone, and I’ll start being a better person. I’ll eat vegetables. Save baby seals.

The bottle lands on a guy I can’t identify. From where I’m standing, I can only see the back of his head. Charlie leans forward, and so does the guy. I gasp like a chick, and my blood solidifies.

Please. Don’t do it.
Decide I’m too important. Decide you care too much. That you never realized it until now.

Charlie’s head tilts to the side, and her lips connect with the guy’s lips. With their heads turned like that, I can see that the guy she’s kissing, the guy who’s shaking with nerves, is Blue.

Something explodes in my chest. It turns my entire body inside out until all my organs, all my muscle and tissue, is exposed.

Red flashes in front of my eyes, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m storming toward her.

Moving like a hurricane.