The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,209

“Can’t you tell me something about where we’re going?”

“Nope,” Ethan said, a sly smile playing across his lips. “Just that it’s somewhere no one has ever heard of Sutton Mercer, Emma Paxton, or Thayer Vega.”

I wanted to laugh. When I was alive, I had the notion that everyone had heard of me—everywhere. And it was sweet that Ethan had driven my twin all the way to Phoenix to get her away from the madness.

Once off the highway, Ethan turned down a dilapidated downtown Phoenix street lined with big Dumpsters overflowing with drywall scraps, broken glass, and empty paint cans. An unfinished apartment building loomed over the street, boasting a sign that said units would be available for rent starting in November. Taking in the windowless façade, Emma seriously doubted that claim was true.

“Okay, now will you tell me?” Emma begged when Ethan pulled off the creepy back alley and into a parking lot, coming to a stop in front of an old Art Deco–style hotel.

“Patience, patience!” Ethan teased, undoing his seat belt. He slammed his car door shut and stretched languorously, making a show of taking his time.

Emma tapped her foot. “I’m waiting.”

He made his way around the car and put his arms around her. “Waiting for what?” he asked. “This?” He lowered his lips to hers, and she kissed him back, relaxing into his embrace.

She smiled when they broke apart, her entire body tingling. Then she burst out laughing. “Wait a minute. Did you drive me all the way to Phoenix just so we could make out in public?”

“No, that’s just an added bonus.” Ethan turned and gestured to the Art Deco hotel. “We’re here to see a show by my favorite band, the No Names.”

“The No Names?” Emma echoed. “Never heard of them.”

“They’re awesome—punk rock but with a bluesy edge. You’ll love them.”

He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and led her inside the hotel, which was seemingly stuck in a fifties time warp. There were kitschy turquoise- and salmon-colored tribal designs on the walls, deco light fixtures, and even an old cash register behind the concierge desk instead of a sleek flat-screen computer. A metal sign pointed to the club at the back of the lobby, though it wasn’t particularly necessary—Emma could hear the thudding bass and amplifier feedback as soon as they swept through the revolving doors. The air had an odor of cigarettes, cheap beer, and sweaty dancing bodies. A bunch of too-cool-for-the-show kids hung out in the lobby, smoking and checking out the newcomers.

After they paid the ten-dollar cover, Emma and Ethan made their way into the club. The room was large, square, and dark except for the lights on the stage and a bunch of Christmas lights around the bar area, which was on a raised platform at the back. There were bodies everywhere—guys who refused to move, girls who swayed with their eyes closed, caught in their own musical dreams, lines of kids six deep, all with arms entwined. A few of them glanced at Emma with boredom. Any other time, she would have been intimidated by their aloofness, but today it was deliciously welcome. No one recognized her. She didn’t have baggage here. She was just a random No Names fan, like everyone else.

Emma edged toward the bar, tapping what felt like hundreds of shoulders and murmuring millions of ’scuse mes and sorrys. The noise on stage was so loud that Emma’s ears immediately began to feel muffled and full.

Ethan and Emma reached the bar, crumpling against the counters as if they’d just braved a hurricane. The bartender set coasters in front of them and they both ordered beers. Emma spied the last empty table, threw her bag over the back of the chair, and peered at the stage. A three-piece band was in the middle of a fast, growling song. The drummer writhed, octopuslike. The bass player rocked back and forth from one foot to the other, his long hair obscuring his face. The lead singer, who had shocking pink hair, stood in the middle of the stage, strumming violently on the guitar and singing seductively into the microphone.

Emma stared at her, transfixed. She had piled her hair on top of her head in a fifties-style beehive, and she was wearing a sleek black dress, black boots, fishnet stockings, and long, black silk gloves. If only she could be as uninhibited and cool.

“You’re right! This band is awesome,” Emma yelled to Ethan.

He smiled and clinked his beer with