Hate Me

Me: He once told me that the key to lying is to convince yourself it’s the truth.



Cooper: That’s also the key to passing a lie detector test.



Madder than a wet hen.



7:30pm



I log into the airplane’s Wi-Fi and get an instant message from Grandpa.



Grandpa: Been digging into the history of this company. Here’s an interesting fact. Vincent inherited a decent chunk of money when his mother and stepfather were killed, which he then immediately used to buy out a small production company. Guess which one it was?



Me: I have no idea.



Grandpa: The one that made A Day at the Lake. Remember, when it was first made it was pretty low budget. So in buying it, he automatically had the ability to do a remake. But based on what I’ve been told by the investors we’ve bought out, his decision to do the remake came this spring. I’m assuming that coincides with when he met you.



Me: Wow. How many investors do you have deals with?



Grandpa: Four out of the six. Those four were pretty eager to sell. They believe this movie has become an obsession. They were also worried because he’s not investing in as many movie futures as he used to. He’s well-known in the industry for being golden in selecting them.



Me: When will he find out that his investors have sold?



Grandpa: He found out today when we delivered a letter of intent to take control of his company. I wish I could’ve been a fly on the wall for that.



Me: Me too. Thanks, Grandpa. I love you.



Me: And Grandma. Please tell her I love her. Like, in case something should ever happen to me. You know?



Grandpa: If something happens to you, I’m killing the bastard myself. You have my promise. He won’t get the luxury of jail time. But I’m definitely glad you’re hidden away at school while this is all taking place. He’s going to be madder than a wet hen.



Me: A wet hen?



Grandpa: If you’d ever seen one, you wouldn’t have to ask.



Me: Believe it or not, that makes me feel better. At least I won’t worry about him getting out of jail someday and hurting my sisters.



Grandpa: Exactly. And I love you too, Hotshot.



Grandpa: Wait. Sam just messaged me and said he met you in California today.



Me: Yeah.



Grandpa: Says it was confidential.



Me: Yeah.



Grandpa: Damian called me yesterday.



Me: That’s nice of him.



Grandpa: Are you going back to the club tonight? After that girl was killed?



Me: Yes.



Grandpa: There’s a reason you wear camouflage when you’re hunting, Keatyn.



Me: I’ll be wearing it tonight. And I’ll be in a duck blind.



Sorta.



Grandpa: I don’t want to end up owning some stupid movie company because you went out and got yourself killed. You understand me?



Me: Yes, sir.



Grandpa: I admire your courage, Hotshot. Text me when it’s over and you’re safe. I’ll stay up.



Me: Grandpa, thanks for understanding that I have to do this.



Grandpa: We’re cut from the same cloth. And don’t worry, I WILL NOT be mentioning this to your grandmother.



Me: Thank goodness.



Cooper meets me at my plane and introduces me to two of his friends. Both are cops who will be joining us tonight. They’ll be following Vincent when they’re off duty to make sure nothing like what happened to the girl from the club happens again.



Before we go into the club, I tell Cooper, “If something goes wrong—like if he takes me—promise me you’ll come and get me.”



“I’m going to do more than promise.” He points out my locket to his friends. “Tracking device number one.” Then he clamps a surprisingly stylish thick bangle bracelet around my wrist and says, “Tracking device number two. It operates in a different way, but if he scans you, he will find that and your locket easily.”



“Do you think he would?”



“Hard to say, but we want to be prepared. And this little beauty,” he says, holding up what looks like a little blister pad, “is the best one. Top dollar, espionage kind of stuff. Bend at the waist and flip your hair over.”



I follow his instructions and feel him stick it right by my hairline.



“Okay, flip back over. Guys, did you bring the scanner?”



One of the guys nods and hands him a small scanner. He runs it across me and quickly finds both my necklace and bracelet, but when he runs it across my shoulders it doesn’t go off. The guys all nod.



We get to the club and meet up with the staff. They all know that we’re planning to have a memorial for Leighton tonight.



“We just want to give a big Fuck you to whoever did this to her,” Marla, the woman in charge of the dancers, says. “Also, ladies, do not go out with anyone you meet here. Even if they are a VIP. Not until her killer is caught.”



The girls all nod. Some are crying.



Marla speaks to the doormen. “Every person who walks through the door tonight will get stamped with the chaos symbol. For those of you who don’t know, Leighton was wearing a temporary tattoo on her hip and it was one of the few places she wasn’t stabbed. I think you all know my pet name for this place is Utter Chaos, even though I can’t get the boss man to give it an official name. So, we’re going to celebrate that. Now, let’s have a silent moment for Leighton.”



Everyone lowers their heads for a few moments.



Then Marla claps her hands and says, “All right, everyone to work.”



Once I’m dressed and ready, I talk to Troy, who won’t go in the DJ booth tonight until the program starts.



“This is going to be like New Year’s Eve on steroids.”



“I hope so.”



“You look very hot.”



I'm wearing a neon pink push-up bra, which is peeking out from my teeny black dance top. And, with it, an ass-skimmingly short flirty black skirt. “All the girls are dressed this way.”



“I sure hope he shows up.”



“Me too. Although, if he does, he's going to be pissed. He was notified today that four of his six investors have been bought out and that he’s probably going to lose control of his company.”



“That your doing, too?”



I smile. “Shhh.”



“Keats, do you ever do anything small?”



“Not anymore. Wait until you see the ending.”



“Ending?”



“Well, the big finale, so to speak. Provided all goes as planned.”



“That’s the part I’m worried about. What if it doesn’t go as planned?”



I pat him on the back. “Do me a favor and think positive. Also, I have a big favor to ask you.”



“Another one?” Troy laughs.



“Yeah. Do you know someone who either works for a delivery service or would be willing to pretend to?”



“One of the valets does.”



I get a package out of my bag. It’s addressed to Vincent Sharpe at his office. “Do you think he could deliver this tomorrow? At, say, four?”



“Sure. What’s in it?”



“Just a photo.”



Troy is getting ready to ask more questions when Cooper comes backstage and tells us it’s time.



Which means Vincent is here.



“Oh, good. I was afraid he wasn’t going to show up.”



“All right, girls. Take your spots. Cage girls, get loaded up,” Marla instructs.



I get in the cage as it is hoisted into the air and swung out over the dance floor. The eight cage dancers sprinkle a few black rose petals over the dance floor.



I watch as a few people dancing look up to see where they're coming from.



Right before the cages start their decent, the music completely stops and the lights go out.



Troy speaks into the microphone. “A few days ago, one of our dancers was brutally murdered. She left work and never made it home. Everyone, please be vigilant when you leave any club and never go home with a stranger. Tonight, we're going to honor her life, starting with a moment of silence for our friend, Leighton Wall.”



The place goes completely silent.



After a few moments, Troy yells, “Leighton, girl, R.I.P. This utter chaos is for you!”



The cages hit the platforms, causing the bases to suddenly light up, tonight in her favorite color: neon pink.



Pink beams of light shine down, spotlighting each cage and the spunky crazy song I chose starts playing.



I start dancing like I've never danced in my life.



Each dancer’s skin is covered in artistic neon pink scrolls and numerous glow-in-the-dark chaos tattoos.



The song is upbeat and sassy, about a trouble-making girl.



Partway through the beginning of song, I notice Vincent near my cage trying to get a closer look at me.



When he gets close enough, I bend down, grab a handful of black rose petals, and throw them out of the cage directly at him.



Then I grab more and let them fly out of my fingers as I spin around.



Vincent plucks one out of the air and studies it.



Yeah, asshole, those are for you. A black rose petal warning, because you and your company are going down.



When the song gets to the part about flipping off the world, I raise both my middle fingers into the air and salute Vincent, which gets the crowd cheering.



I dance more.



I love this song.



Suddenly, nets in the ceiling open up and thousands of black rose petals fall like confetti over the dance floor.



Once all eyes in the vicinity are back on me—particularly Vincent’s—I blow the crowd a kiss, then bend over, flip up my skirt, and reveal the big block letters running across my naughty Santa underwear.



When the crowd reads the slutty FUCK ME message on my shaking ass, the guys jump up and down, scream, whistle, and cheer.



And make some very naughty comments.



It’s awesome.



And, finally, I see the response I was hoping for: pure rage in Vincent’s eyes.



That's right, be mad at me. Just me. No one else. I’m going to be way more than trouble, Vincent. I’m going to be your worst nightmare.



A hurricane of problems.



When the song finishes, a hush spreads through the crowd, except for a little murmuring as they try to figure out what’s happening next.



The spotlights leave the dancers and a single pink light shines on six men dressed in black, who are now filing into the club.



You hear gasps and cries from girls as they walk by, and everyone else is straining their necks to see what’s going on.



The men work their way through the crowd, carrying a coffin, and come to a stop in front of my cage.



When the spotlight shines back on me, I’m on the floor of the cage, my eyes shut and my body still.



I hear the cage open and feel Cooper's strong arms pull me into the coffin.



I lie motionless as he makes the sign of a cross, folds my arms over my chest, whispers “All’s good” to me, and then shuts the coffin lid.



If things go as planned, they will lead a processional of bouncers, waitresses, and clubgoers out the front door.



I lie still in the coffin, trying not to be creeped out.



This was the perfect exit for me. There’s only one way Vincent could get close to me tonight.



And that’s to start shooting people, which was Cooper’s worse-case scenario.



I’m just praying I don’t hear any shots.



I would never forgive myself if a gun fight started in a crowded place like this.



The sound I do hear is a big relief.



The beating of helicopter blades slicing through the air.



I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding as I feel the casket being loaded into the chopper.



Once the door shuts, Cooper opens the lid, so I can roll out of the coffin. I stay on my knees and sneak a peek out of the window, quickly spotting Vincent in the crowd.



As the helicopter lifts into the air, pink, red, and gold fireworks shoot into the sky.



The combination of the cheers, the fireworks, and the helicopter is deafening.



I watch the fireworks and pray that Leighton knows how sorry I am.



That I never meant for anyone to get hurt.



“That was freaking nuts!” Cooper says. “And safe. He didn't even have a chance to touch you.”



“He looked mildly irritated when I threw the black roses at him, mad when I flipped him off, and completely pissed when the guys started cheering at the message on my underwear.”



“Message on your underwear?”



“Yeah. I didn’t mention that to you.”



Cooper narrows his eyes. “What’d they say?”



“Fuck me.”



“Oh, Keatyn. Jeez. We want to make him uncomfortable, not homicidal.”



“He’s already homicidal.”



“Yeah, you’re right. It was a good plan.”



“And honored her, I hope.”



The cop says, “I heard there was a very large anonymous donation made to the family's fund today.”



“I heard that too.” I smile. “Oh, Cooper! Do you have my phone? I did something else,” I say, while firing off a quick text to let both Aiden and Grandpa know I’m okay.



“What?”



“How long do you think it will be before he’ll want to leave?”



“If I were him, I’d be getting the hell out of there and never coming back,” Cooper states.



“You should have seen his face when Cooper closed the lid on the casket,” the cops says. “If I weren’t armed, I would have been scared.”



My phone dings with a text from Billy the valet.



I read his message and laugh. “It seems that Mr. Sharpe’s Porsche is somehow missing from the club’s parking lot. He just about blew a gasket."



Cooper and the cop both start laughing hysterically, part of which is probably just a release from the stress of tonight.