I have this list of names tucked underneath my pillow. The names consist of every person I can link back to the night of that party. Every night before I fall asleep, I take it out and read over the names. Repeatedly .

Each letter is branded into my mind like the scars they left on my back. I see the names when I shut my eyes and when I open them .

Beside each name, I have a vague list of details I’ve scourged up about each one of them. The details are limited since I haven’t been able to get close enough to any of the suspects to find out more about them. If I approach people who know Travis and his frat buddies and started asking questions, I’d probably be viewed as a stalker. If I approach the guys personally … If I can even manage to do that without vomiting … they’d assume I was up to something and make good on their threat of destroying me and everyone I care about. They have the power to do so. Just like they have the power and money to make every bad deed and crime they’ve ever committed disappear. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow them to keep getting away with hurting people—I reach around and trace my fingers along my back where vertical scars brand my flesh— hurting me .

As I lay on my bed with the list in my hand, I try to come up with the best way to get revenge without getting myself killed. Revenge can be dangerous. And maybe I shouldn’t be thinking about it because it’s dangerous and risky and may not be the right thing to do. But I can’t stop thinking about making them suffer like I am .

“If you so much as tell a single soul,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ll fucking end you and every goddamn person you care about, got it? And you know I can, Wynter. Just like your father, I’m capable of just about anything. Unlike your father, I can get away with it.” His lips brush my ear, his scent nearly drowning me. “And you want to know why? Because I’m a fucking god around here .”

Tears spill from my eyes, blood running down my back and legs. I feel broken inside. I feel helpless. I want to die .

Then, deep in the back of my mind, another emotion sparks to life. An emotion I never felt before. I want to fucking end him. Rip his life away with my bare hands …

I blink from the memory as tears burn my eyes. When they were hurting me, I imagined, if I survived, tracking them down and killing them one by one. I soon learned I’m not a killer, though, and don’t possess killer instincts. So I settled on revenge .

Revenge .

Revenge .

Revenge .

The word consumes my mind so much that I barely think about anything else. I just wish I could figure out a way to find out more about these guys. Since I haven’t come up with a solution to that yet, I decide to start by finding out who this Maci is so I can warn her to stay away from Travis Marilellie .

Collecting my phone off my nightstand, I go to type Ari a text. Normally, I’d call him, but lately, like with Beck and my other friends, he’s sensed something’s been off with me. If he hears my voice, he may ask if everything’s okay and I don’t think I can hear that fucking question again today .

My mind wanders back to when Everette asked me that question. How he smiled and winked at me, as if I wanted him to flirt with me .

“Stupid fucking asshole. He’s just as bad as them,” I attempt to convince myself, but the truth is, Everette didn’t really seem like Travis or the rest of his shithead, psychopathic friends. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s just a nice guy who tried to cheer me up. And what did I do? I acted like such a bitch .

I frown as I remember how big of a bitch I was .

“Fuck, I need to stop thinking about him. Who gives a shit if I was a bitch to some guy I’ll never see again? I have bigger things to worry about. Besides, just because he seems like a nice guy doesn’t mean he is .”

I restlessly tap my fingers against the side of my phone until I calm myself down. Then I lean against my headboard and send Ari a message .

Me: Hey! I need a favor. Can you get me a list of all the Maci’s that go to our school ?

In typical Ari form, he doesn’t respond right away. Not that he’s flaky. Ari just isn’t the type of person who carries his phone around with him twenty-four seven, waiting for texts to roll in .

I used to be one of those people, the kind who responded within seconds, who thought my social life was everything. Now I ignore messages most of the time, just wanting to be left alone .

To kill time, I take a few more hits and try to take a power nap, even though I loathe closing my eyes. But I need to catch some z’s .

Rolling over, I kick off my boots, rest my head on my pillow, and shut my eyes. But every noise, every tick of the clock, the neighbor’s dog barking, a scratching noise that’s coming from God knows what throbs against my brain. The images come next. The sharp fragments of that night .

Music surrounds me, along with laughter and chatter. The lights are so bright. So blinding. So dizzy .

Or maybe I’m dizzy .

Why does it feel like my head’s spinning ?

Hands settle around my waist, fingers digging into the sliver of skin between the bottom of my shirt and the waistband of my name brand jeans .

“You okay?” a guy whispers in my ear .

His voice sounds familiar, but through my hazy brain, I can’t put a face or a name to it. Maybe Travis? But his scent doesn’t match Travis’s .

Where did Travis go anyway? Why am I here—wherever here is—alone ?

My head bobbles back, and I squint against the lights as I try to get a good look at him. “I’m … not … sure …”

His face is a blur, but his toothy smile stands out against the flashing lights above. Or maybe it’s the stars. I’m not even certain anymore if I’m outside or in .

Did I drink that much ?

When I shake my head, the blurriness amplifies, my surroundings shifting into a giant blur of bright lights that sting my eyes .

“Come on; let’s go get this started.” The guy loops an arm around my waist .

Even though I have no desire to, I lean into him, unable to hold up my own weight. “Where … are we … going ?”

“Somewhere fun.” He drifts his fingers downward from my hip, winding around and cupping my ass. “Fun for me anyway .”

Chills break across my skin as my stomach ravels in nauseating knots .

“No …” I lift my hands to shove him away, but they remain limp at my side .

His lips touch my ear. “Try all you want, Wynter, but you aren’t getting out of this .”

Tears prickle in my eyes, blurring my vision even more. “Why?” I manage to get out .

His laughter is hollow and sends a chill down my spine. “Because you’re Wynter Porterrsen, Walter Porterrsen’s only child .”

My stomach clenches, the alcohol I drank earlier threatening to come up. I may not understand everything my father does for his job, but he does do some sketchy stuff with a lot of terrifying, powerful people. If this guy is after my dad and is using me to get to him …

I swallow back the vomit. “Who … are … you ?”

His breath smells like stale beer as he breathes against my cheek. “The guy who’s about to destroy you. You can thank your daddy for that.” He kisses my lips. Vomit burns at the back of my throat. “Make sure to pass that message along to him. Make sure he understands what happens when he double- crosses us .”

I open my mouth to scream, but no sound passes from my lips .

I’ve lost my voice. I can’t speak. This guy, he took away my ability to use my voice —

My eyes pop open, and I let out a blood-curdling scream. Thank God I don’t live in an apartment anymore or my townhome. However, the nice, two-story homes that make up the neighborhood I live in are rather close. Hopefully none of my neighbors heard my scream and decided to call the police. Not that I’m worried I’ll get into trouble. I just worry that, at the sight of a uniformed officer, I may crumble and tell them about what happened that awful fucking night. And then what? The guys who hurt me will make good on their threat and come after me, along with everyone I love .

What if it doesn’t go down that way? What if the police come through and actually arrest them ?

That thought crosses my mind a lot. Sometimes I can almost convince myself that maybe it could be possible. That Travis and his hotshot friends will get in trouble for what they did to me .

To remind myself of how this town works, I grab my phone, open the internet app, and type in “Fairs Hollow” along with “Marilellie.” The first handful of pages that pop up are articles beaming of Travis’s family and their business, and then of Travis and his sibling’s achievements. His dad, Jack, is the current mayor, the family donates to charities all the time, and the kids in the family have won more awards and done more public good deeds than most of the families in this town all put together .

And that’s just the start of why I fear going against Travis and his friends .

Tapping to the next section of results, I skim-read the titles of the articles declaring how many times the Marilellies have been accused of a crime, some of which are very similar to mine, only to somehow turn the situation around so the victim gets accused of lying or of breaking the law. In the end, the Marilellies come out looking better than they did going in, whereas the victim usually ends up either in jail or ridiculed by the town .

“I hate fucking small towns and their stupid politics,” I grumble as I clear my search history, toss my phone onto my bed, and reach for my bowl, deciding it’s time to let Mary Jane ease away my pain .

I take a hit, the smoke saturating my lungs. Then I sit back and wait for the drugs to take over, to calm me, to take away my racing thoughts, but a few manage to snake through the hazy smoke .

“They won’t do anything,” my father told me the night I told him what happened to me. “In fact, if you go to the police, more than likely Jack Marilellies will find a way to get you arrested .”

“But I haven’t done anything!” I sob, the fresh wounds on my back aching along with my withering soul. “I’m the victim here .”

“No one’s a victim, Wynter,” he said with a drop of remorse. “Everyone has done something bad in their lives and anyone who says differently is a liar .”

Tears sprung from my eyes as he practically called me a liar, as if he was accusing me of lying about what happened to me .

“I’m not a liar,” I whispered as tears streamed down my eyes. “And the only reason this happened … was because of you. What did you do to these people, Daddy ?”

He didn’t even so much as flinch .

Didn’t react .

Didn’t care .

The scars on my back throb, reminding me that they exist. That I’m not a liar. That my dad is wrong. That that night did happen. That those guys broke me to get back at my father .

Sometimes, I fucking hate him .

Hate or not, my dad may not be wrong about me having done bad things. Or, at least he won’t be in the future once I get my revenge .

Revenge. Revenge. Revenge. My pulse pounds, red hot anger scorching through me so potently I nearly go blind. My fingers curl inward as I imagine what it’d be like to hurt the guys who hurt me, the anger consuming me, blinding me —

Ding . A text message pings, startling me so badly I drop my phone .

Ari: There are only two Maci’s in Fairs Hollow, one of which is a forty-year-old woman who lives over on the east side of town, and the other goes to the university. I’m assuming she’s the one you’re looking for. She’s a sophomore and her last name is Princingten. She lives in the Farris Hallow Subdivision in the east condos .

Her last name rings a bell, but I don’t think I’ve ever met her. That may complicate getting her to believe me. Still, I have to try .

Me: Thanks, Ari. You’re the best . :)

Ari: Anytime. Just glad I can help. If you need anything else at all from me, please let me know. We haven’t hung out in a while and I really miss you. I hope you know that .

His words make me feel a bit sad. I wish I could be the old Wynter for him, the bubbly girl who loved to hang out and party, but just thinking about socializing like that, of trying to have fun makes me feel sick .

Me: Thanks. I miss you , too .

I wish I could say more—I really do—yet I can’t bring myself to do so .

Pushing down my guilt, I sit up and lower my feet to the floor as I debate the best way to get ahold of Maci. I could just send a simple text, but that’s so impersonal. No, if I want her to take me seriously, I need to see her face-to-face. I just hope she’ll listen to me .