taken up residence in Bluewater a few years ago. He was sweet as sugar—but his previous owner had taught him to curse like a sailor.
“Evening, shitheads,” Frank squawked.
“Frank is very wise,” Emily said. “And I think he’d agree that you like Beck and should ask him on a date and smoosh his face and have all of his babies.”
I dropped my head back on her shoulder. “Oh god, is it that obvious?”
“That you like-like Beck?” She laughed. “Yes. Yes, it is. And from the look of this picture, I’d say he likes you too.”
I didn’t disagree—Beck and I had a connection. An intimacy, an honesty—that was why I’d pushed him to spill tonight. We’d already sparred enough to breach those walls, to hand each other parcels of vulnerability like rare jewels. I owed him that much in return after how I’d made him feel tonight, intentional or not.
“Fuckfaces,” Frank added.
“So wise,” Emily grinned.
Two hours later, after conquering the majority of my inbox and doing a wind-down meditation by the pool, I pulled up the picture again. The one of me and Beck. I didn’t stare at the two of us, our body language, the sweet way his fingers were curled in my hair.
I read the comments.
Every single one.
People seemed to hate the Mason family as much as they hated—or pretended to hate—me. Beck’s family had certainly been behind their fair share of fraud and money laundering, so of course the implications about the two of us were strange and far-fetched: Beck was seducing me for my money, which he was funneling to his parents. I was using Beck to get to his parents who I was paying to “take out” my enemies. The money I raised for Beck was going to his nonprofit, which was nothing more than a front. Beck was a criminal, therefore I was a criminal. My bohemian, love-and-light persona was a sham because would someone like me willingly associate with a family filled with violence?
My fingers pressed to my brow. That wasn’t necessarily a totally off-the-wall question.
Because I didn’t know.
The Luna who was more obsessed with her money than her values liked fitness instructors who also believed in what I believed in.
This new Luna—trying to navigate life after being exposed so painfully to the public—liked men like Beck, who were not vegan and had no money… but who had hope.
Did that make any sense?
I clicked over to my Instagram profile—the picture of me and Sunshine was still there, and it felt like it’d been taken a year ago instead of this afternoon. I pulled it up and experienced that same pinch in my gut. But I read the comments, every single one. And for the most part?
They were positive.
Even Jasmine had mentioned it in one of her many increasingly frantic text messages. That picture of you and the stray is solid gold!! People love dogs, Luna. Keep playing that angle. Are there any other dogs you can rescue and can you film it next time?
The issue being that Beck wasn’t an angle.
What I’d done wasn’t an angle.
Using it to improve my reputation, however, was.
I deleted the picture.
31
Beck
The next morning I got to Lucky Dog early. My nerves were heightened. It reminded me of how I used to be as a kid. Jumpy. After leaving Luna, I was restless all night—I felt guilty and kind of pissed.
It wasn’t comfortable.
Nor was the call I’d gotten from Elián, telling me about the picture of Luna and I that was online. Beck Mason’s parents are the infamous Georgie and Rip Mason, notorious for their violent club fights, extortion and racketeering out of the Miami Devils MC.
Yeah, no shit.
And the thing Rip and Georgie hated more than the cops was media attention.
I’d inspected the campus as the sun rose, relieved to find the dogs fine, happy, unaffected. But at half-past six, I wasn’t surprised when I heard the familiar roar of motorcycles, racing down the road right outside Lucky Dog. My ear picked out four, maybe five bikes. I’d stood outside my trailer, clutching a cup of coffee and scowled at the noise. There were plenty of riders who enjoyed the cool morning air. It didn’t mean it was the Devils.
And when they’d ridden past, tires squealing, I thought I saw leather jackets on all five of them. Skulls on the back of each.
But I couldn’t be sure.
I didn’t fucking like it. Them coming here, to me, I could handle.
What if they came for Luna?
Which was why when I saw—and then