Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 23

Cooper had been dreading this confrontation all day.

He stood outside of Vincent's house, staring up at the dilapidated husk. The house

was small—smaller than Calla's—and the off-white fence that circled their front lawn

was broken in many places, the paint peeling away. The house itself was in similar

disrepair, with one of the front shutters hanging off of its hinges, barely holding on.

Empty beer cans littered the front lawn. Cooper kicked one of them to the side as

he climbed the crooked porch steps, his heart hammering in his chest. As close as

he and Vincent were, he was still terrified to have this conversation. And he was

especially uncomfortable having it here, of all places.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the screen door. After a moment, he knocked

again, harder this time, the flimsy screen rattling in its frame. The doorbell was

broken; he didn't even try to use it.

A chorus of loud barks broke out from within the house, claws scrambling across

hardwood floors. Cooper winced as one of the dogs started scratching the front

door, barking frantically.

A booming voice roared for quiet. The dogs whined and scurried away from the

door, buying Cooper just enough time to wonder why the hell he'd come over here

in the first place. He shivered as a gust of wind tore at him, brown leaves and beer

cans scuttling across the ground.

Yep. This was a horrible idea, he thought, about to turn and run—just as the door

swung open.

Cooper stepped back as Mr. Townson pushed open the screen door, squinting

down at him. He was as tall as his son, but whatever athleticism he'd once had was

long gone. He scratched his large gut, sizing Cooper up and down.

He could smell the beer on his breath as Mr. Townson snorted. "Been a while since

I seen you ."

"Dad." Suddenly Vincent was there, just over his father's shoulder—a younger,

leaner, nicer version of the man in front of him. He looked exhausted, his hoodie

stained and gym shorts thrown on backwards. "Sorry, Coop. I didn't know you were

coming."

Cooper glanced at Mr. Townson, who grunted and shuffled back into the house,

throwing up a hand. "You've got ten minutes, Vinny. Coach wants you at the field in

an hour. You miss practice like that again, boy, and I'll—"

"Sorry, sir," Vincent mumbled, closing the screen door behind him as he stepped

onto the front porch. "I'll be quick."

Cooper followed him to the porch steps, where they both sat. Vincent leaned

against the rusted iron railing, clutching one of the bars like a lifeline. Cooper

supposed the railing had been black at one point in history, but the iron had long

since ruined, crumbling to rust.

Vincent said nothing. He stared dejectedly out at the lawn, shoulders hunched

against the autumn air. He had to be cold in those gym shorts, but if he was, he

didn't show it.

Neither of them liked being here. The situation at hand only made it even more

miserable.

Cooper wanted to shout. He wanted to hit something. His hand throbbed at the

thought, already sporting new bruises from his run-in with the locker earlier that day.

"So," Cooper started, terse.

Vincent heaved a great sigh, burying his face in his hands. "I screwed up, Cooper."

No. Cooper's spirits sank. No no no no—

"Why?" he burst out, his voice almost desperate. "Why did you do it?"

Vincent rubbed his face, still not facing him. "I didn't mean—"

"Oh, c'mon. " Cooper couldn't bear it. He thought he might explode if he sat still for

one more moment. He stood and paced back and forth across the lawn, kicking

beer cans as he went.

He couldn't believe it. He'd spent the better half of the day agonizing over his insane

plan to work alongside Calla as she hunted a killer. With each passing hour, what

had seemed like a natural alliance—a predator guarding prey from an outside threat

—felt more and more like a colossal mistake.

But he'd done it to save his own skin. And really, he'd only been in

that situation to begin with because of Vincent. He'd fought to save his friend's

reputation, to protect him from the wild rumors that would already be running

rampant were it not for Cooper's swift intervention.

He'd divulged all he knew to a murderous psychopath to save his friend. A friend

whose hands no longer looked as clean as they once had.

"Coop—"

"What are we gonna do?" He ran a hand through his hair once, twice, three times.

"And by the way, dude, you're welcome. I saved your ass earlier. Y'know, since you

couldn't bother to show up to school. Calla knows. She's threatening to tell

everyone."

Vincent finally looked at him, desperation in his eyes. "I'll make it right. I'll tell

everyone the truth myself—"

"Why? So you can go to jail ?"

Vincent deflated. "You really think I'll go to jail?"

Cooper stopped and looked at him, dumbfounded. "Dude. Is that an actual

question? For murdering someone ? Where else are you gonna go, Willy Wonka's

Chocolate Factory?"

"Wait. What?" Vincent leaned back, his thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Murder? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, I don't know." Cooper threw up his hands. "Jacob Stein? Y'know, the dead guy

you threatened to kill?"

Vincent's frown deepened. "And? I didn't touch the guy."

Cooper stared.

"Wait a damn minute." Vincent stood and walked down the steps, towering over

him. "I thought we were talking about Astrid and Calla."

"What?"

They stood facing each other, standing on opposite sides of the cracked concrete

walkway, wearing matching looks of bewilderment.

Cooper broke the silence first, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

"Okay. Explain."

Vincent grimaced. "I was kind of hoping you'd go first."

"Nope. Pass."

That brought the ghost of a smile to his lips, but it was gone just as quickly. He sat

back down on the steps, and Cooper hesitantly followed his lead. "Fine. I met up

with Astrid after the game Friday. She said she wanted to talk. Like, actually figure

things out. Find a resolution, or whatever."

Cooper gestured for him to continue.

"But she didn't want to talk ." Vincent kicked a nearby beer can, looking

uncomfortable. "All she wanted to do is make out—"

"Your sympathy points are plummeting."

"—and when I told her to stop, to take a freaking second and actually talk to me, she

blew up. The girl is terrifying, Coop. I didn't know what to do."

I know a thing or two about terrifying women, he thought.

"Screw her, then." Cooper paused. "Figuratively speaking. Don't actually—"

Vincent groaned, ignoring Cooper's tangent. "And then she showed me the picture. I

swear, when I get my hands on that Sahein kid..."

"Pause." Cooper held up a hand. "Picture?"

Vincent's eyes were filled with thunderclouds. "Some yearbook twerp thought it'd be

funny to take a picture of me and Calla. We were just messing around. The whole

thing was totally taken out of context."

"Okay..." Cooper followed so far.

"Anyway. I guess Astrid got her hands on it somehow. She got pissy. And for what?

She has a boyfriend . She can't tell me who I can and can't talk to." He buried his

face in his hands. "So I kinda...stretched the truth?"

Cooper's eyes narrowed. "Stretched what truth?"

"I told her that Calla and I have been hooking up," he admitted in a rush, refusing to

look at Cooper. "I just wanted to get under her skin. If she wants to act like I'm the

bad guy...well, I might as well be the bad guy, right? Christ. I never meant to start

some stupid rumor!"

Several pieces fell into place at once. "So...when you said you were gonna come

clean..."

"I meant I'm gonna set the record straight. I wasn't saying I killed anybody, dude."

He sighed. "I owe Calla a huge apology. I never should have involved her like that.

She didn't do anything wrong."

That last statement was so ludicrous that Cooper couldn't help himself; he started

to laugh. And the more he thought about it, the worse it got. He doubled over, tears

gathering in his eyes.

And then Vincent was laughing, too, for no particular reason except that Cooper

probably looked like a crazy person. Soon they were both rocking back and forth on

the stairs, lost in a fit of laughter brought on by stress, exhaustion, and relief.

Cooper gasped, his sides aching. He wiped at his eyes. "Well."

"Dude." Vincent was still grinning. "Did you really think I killed Jacob? Is that why

you came here?"

"I've been freaking out all day," Cooper admitted. "Your timing was kinda horrible.

You literally never miss class."

Vincent shrugged, guilty again. "Sorry. I guess it does kinda look bad, doesn't it?"

"It does," Cooper murmured, more serious now. "You've been threatening the guy

ever since he came after me. And now he's dead." A shrug. "It doesn't look good, I

can tell you that."

Vincent frowned, worried now. "s**t. I was just trying to avoid the girls, honestly.

For the first time in my life." He glanced over at Cooper. "What did you mean,

before? You said Calla knows something."

Cooper hesitated. He wanted to tell Vincent everything. About Calla. About Cooper's

impending doom as number six on a killer's roster. But Vincent would never let

something of this magnitude go unresolved. If he knew about Calla's threat to frame

him for the murders—one of which she may or may not have committed herself—he

would take it to the police, consequences be damned. He'd fight to clear his name.

The problem? He couldn't clear his name. Not right now. He had no alibi for those

murders. None. Even worse, he had motive. Calla had made an excellent point there

—Vincent would make the perfect scapegoat.

Cooper couldn't let him ruin his future based on an impulse. Which meant for now,

he couldn't know about Calla. And he sure as hell couldn't know about the

murderous web Cooper had tangled himself in.

"I guess I didn't realize what she was talking about and jumped to conclusions,"

Cooper told him, shrugging.

Vincent pursed his lips. "I'll talk to her. Explain everything."

He was about to object—Vincent needed to stay away from Calla, now more than

ever—when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and stared at the screen, his heart

fluttering uncomfortably in his chest.

Rachel Smith wanted to know if he had a date to the winter gala.

"You dog ." Vincent leaned over and read the message. He grinned, punching

Cooper's arm. "Finally. Some good news. Go with her, moron."

"Is she asking me?" Cooper stared at her message, bewildered, while he rubbed his

throbbing arm.

Maybe she's just asking for a friend, he mused, scrambling for any feasible

explanation. Because Rachel Smith wanting to take him to the winter gala wasn't

feasible. Not at all.

He thought of the way she'd giggled that night of the Halloween party, pulling him

along through the crowd, her small hand so warm and soft in his. She couldn't

possibly want to go with him. Could she?

"Yes she's asking you, you dweeb." Vincent cursed. "I forgot about that stupid

dance. Astrid was supposed to be my date."

"You have, like, a million options." Cooper hesitantly typed a response back, his

fingers clumsy. "Just take one of your groupies."

"But the groupies are boring . " He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through

his contacts. He opened his mouth to add something—perhaps to debate the pros

and cons of said boring groupies—when the screen door suddenly burst open.

Mr. Townson scowled down at them. "I said ten minutes, boy! Get your bag. Now. "

"Yes, sir." Vincent hurried to his feet, running inside. He threw Cooper a look over his

shoulder. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Cooper followed suit and stood quickly, not wanting to linger while Mr.

Townson watched him. "See you."

He hurried to his Mustang. Once safely inside he slumped with relief.

Vincent isn't a murderer.

It felt naive, to trust someone's word so easily. But this wasn't just someone. This

was Vincent. He'd known the guy for his entire life. He owed him his loyalty. He

owed him his trust.

Cooper laughed to himself. Had he really ever thought, even for a moment, that

Vincent had been guilty of murder?

Pulling out his phone again, he felt half-tempted to text Calla. He wanted to

celebrate. He wanted to gloat. She'd been wrong about Vincent. Dead wrong. Her

theories were just that— theories.

But of course, it all meant nothing. Not without hard proof. Cooper may not need

the validation, but Calla would. She would hold this threat over both of their heads

as long as she could. Without evidence proving his innocence, Vincent remained in

danger. His reputation, his future, was still at stake.

And so was Cooper's life. He'd almost forgotten why he'd made that deal with Calla

in the first place. To protect his friend, yes. But also to protect himself.

Shoving down the impulse to celebrate, Cooper instead opened Rachel's latest text,

giving his mind something else to focus on.

His heart skipped a beat. She wanted to go to the winter gala. With him.

Unable to help himself, he fist-pumped the air—as high as the low roof would allow.

Trying to hide his grin, he put his key in the ignition and sped off, letting out a little

whoop of victory as he turned the corner.

Rachel wanted him to be her date. Vincent was an innocent man. And Calla, for

once, had been wrong.

Despite everything—despite all the death and horror and secrets—Cooper felt like

the happiest sixteen-year-old on the planet.