1. Hellena

1

HELLENA

I deal in trust.

It's a complex currency.

Hard to earn, easy to lose. Especially mine. I've built up a little nest egg around me, a safe haven of work/home/school/fun that is pretty well-founded and paid up in full. Well, at least as far as the trust goes. I could always use more money. Overall, though, things are looking up for my master's program in the fall.

But even I make mistakes sometimes.

"What's missing from this envelope, Hellena?"

"An apology letter…?"

"Smart ass. It was rhetorical. Yesterday was the first." Aunt Rachelle taps her finger twice.

"I know. I'll write you a check right now." I snatch my purse and dig for a pen. Aunt Rachelle holds one out for me, looking more than a little put out.

"Not the point and you know it. I bet you don't miss your deadlines paying your little party friends." The remark is right on the money, so to speak. I curse under my breath at the fact that she knows exactly how I make my money.

I don't try to hide it, but it's also not precisely ‘above board.' How is anyone supposed to make enough money to pay for college working some bullshit minimum wage job on campus?

Been there. Tried that.

And I'm careful.

It's the one thing I appreciate about growing up the way I did. Head. On. A. Swivel. Always pay attention to the details. Never pay late.

Except where Aunt Rachelle is concerned. It's easy to let stuff slide with family, to let my guard down. I shouldn't take her for granted, and I never want to take advantage of her kindness. But at least she won't break my fingers or bash my knee in with a baseball bat like Uncle Tommy used to do to guys who "forgot" to pay.

Mom never let me ride along again after she found out that he'd let me see.

"Hellena?" That one pencil-thin eyebrow is a jet black check mark above Rachelle's left eye, pointed sky-high like her temper when she's on a rant. She's always such a drama queen about this stuff. Her "house rules".

Her first rule has always been that I earn my keep since I showed up on her doorstep eight years ago, even though she's pretty well off. Her late husband left her a LOT of money.

But that's totally reasonable. I want to take care of myself. Contribute.

She can just be so nit-picky. Not that I can really complain. I love living here with her.

That's just Rachelle.

The woman never raises her voice at me, she just says things… sharper, with those little gaps between each word so I can't possibly miss any of them. It's kind of cute. She's never had kids of her own, but she likes to play Mom to me, and I can't say I don't enjoy it a little. Even if I am twenty-four years old and should be entitled to a couple of days of grace…

I know it just comes from a place of wanting me to be responsible, to be productive and do things the way you're supposed to in society.

I try .

Why is it that I can hustle side gigs like nobody's business, juggle a thousand details, but when it comes to the daily dull, I can't seem to get a handle on anything? Routine. Class. Get good grades, get a degree, get a good job.

Be normal.

Doesn't help that I got a late start going to school on my own dime. I'm already the odd woman out in most of my classes, being two years older than the majority of the bachelor's students.

So take that and the little voice that's always whispered, "Fuck normal!" in the back of my head… I can't seem to get certain things right.

Aunt Rachelle snatches the check away from me dramatically before she sighs and waits for the other thing I always have to give her. A hug. We both chuckle softly as we do, and she pats me on my back before I grab my stuff from beside the dining room table and head for the door.

"Just two classes today?"

"Yeah, but I got…work stuff after. Won't be home 'til late."

"Mmhmm. I won't tell you to be safe, but…"

"I always am! I love you!" I can imagine her rolling her eyes as I rush out the door, slip into my piece of crap car, and key the engine.

It's only a five-minute drive to campus from Rachelle's place, thank goodness, but parking is always a pain in the ass. I usually leave early and walk, but today, I have too much to do.

After class, that is.

The list rolls through my head as I creep along, trying to find any spot remotely close to my last class.

Meet up with Jake, bump up his in-time, call the keg guy to make sure they have the address right, confirm the dancers with Myra because she always flakes on me, pick up the snacks…

Welp. Not a spot to be found.

Back lot it is.

Which means I'll have to huff it to class and from class. I'm going to be a sweaty mess by the time I get to the frat house to set up.

Ugh. Change of clothes? I scan the car for my bag.

Check.

The jog across campus blurs by, a few familiar faces and the odd wave, a smile as I pass. I've been studying business at Sanctum Harbor State University for the past three years. It's exactly what you'd expect, a lot of brick and white pillars. The classic, stereotypical movie university. The campus is nestled right in the center of Sanctum Harbor, spreading from just shy of the hills where all of the rich folks live to the edge of "The Woods", as everyone calls the bulk of the residential neighborhoods.

Everything you see is what you'd expect in the Pacific Northwest and a smaller-sized city along the coast.

The campus is near the courthouse, the old square, the gentrified Main Street, and just far enough away from the docks that most people can pretend that the seedier aspect of Sanctum doesn't exist.

So, it's pretty much boring as shit.

But that's the point, right?

Except that Sanctum Harbor isn't your run of the mill town. Don't get me wrong, it's pretty quiet. Most people have never even heard of it. It's tucked away in a nook of the coast, ringed by hills and cliffs. Which is why it was a perfect place for pirates and outlaws to start a town a few hundred years ago.

Makes it sound exciting.

Not that there are any ‘pirates' left, other than people like me trying to make ends meet. It's the sort of place where people go who don't want to be found. You see it more down by the harbor, the old shipyard, the darker side of town.

You get a lot of "mind-your-business" looks from the average joe anywhere in Wharfside.

That's just as true up on the hill. Every one of those silver-spooned tools in their mansions came from dirty money. Scandals, embezzlement.

I mean, I don't really care, no judgment… but Rachelle says this place has always been a haven for… nonconformity. For the ones who don't fit in with the rest of the world. Guess I wound up where I'm supposed to be. As long as I can figure out how to stay afloat.

Learning has always appealed to me, so I went to college as soon as I could afford it.

To pack my brain with knowledge, know-how, and just about anything that might help me along my way. It seems like if I could unlock all the useful things—math, business, history, and the rest of the basic stuff people are supposed to know—I could succeed.

Then I can force out all the other things that I've been taught, the stuff that's been built in. Survival instincts. The hustling "money is power" mentality I grew up with.

You'd think that being used as a bargaining chip for my stepdad would have made me revolt against that sort of behavior, but here we are. I still have to get by.

Ride-alongs with Uncle Tommy and collections with Uncle Mickey showed me ways to play the odds in my favor. I wonder how things would have played out if they hadn't died. Tommy drank himself to death. Mickey died in an… accident. With my protectors gone, things changed.

So, I learned harder lessons. How to set my boundaries, how to set my rules.

When I'm done with my studies, when I ace the tests, well, more like B- the tests, I immediately get to work on making that dream come true. Every day. Working on the life I swore I would make for myself here.

And if that means I have to break the law, or at least a few rules to get there, then so be it. I can always clean up my act later, right?

"Yo, Michaels!" a familiar voice yells at me from across the quad.

"Hey, Jake! I was looking for you!" It still takes me a split second when I hear that last name, to remember that it's mine now. A final gift from my mother, a new identity that my stepdad knew nothing about.

I guess that's one benefit to being married to a criminal. She had access to people who knew how to help you disappear. It was all waiting for me right there at Rachelle's house in a box she mailed to my real father's last known address.

Jake rubs the back of his neck and gives me a look like he'd asked me something.

"Sorry, I kinda spaced out. A lot on my mind."

"Iz cool. Just making sure we're good for tonight? My boy's gonna meet us there with the lighting rig. Set up at seven?"

"I was hoping for a little earlier…" I whip out my notebook like the nerd that I am. Lists keep my brain from over-cluttering and shutting down. "6:30?"

"Alright, alright. I can make that work." He walks with me up the stairs before splitting off for his class. "Oh! I almost forgot, Dax told me that Lainie said that Todd told her to tell you to swing by Theta Kappa to see him between classes if you can."

"Uh…OK? Why didn't he text me?"

"No clue. Just passing it along."

Weird.

Not that Todd would need to see me on the day of his party. He's always on my case, like I haven't done this for him before. The guy's going to be a hell of a micromanaging dickwad at his dad's company, I'm sure.

Still, it eats at me through class, what he might need.

The clock chimes noon and I'm out the door.

If I hurry, I should be able to run to the frat house, grab a sandwich at the rec center, and make it to Communications. Then I can haul ass to the other six errands I have to do before setup starts. Getting there late means I'll have to dodge shouting baseball caps and polos while they get warmed up for a rager.

Sometimes, I can't believe they're willing to pay me for doing all of this. But I guess I've never known what it's like to have the kind of money that buys not having to mess with normal errands. Planning.

Hey, it makes me a buck.

Add to the fact that a lot of the guys and way more of their "guests" aren't twenty-one yet, so somebody's got to get the booze. Which raises the cost for my risk. It's a very beneficial symptom of rich kid detachment, not having a clue how much stuff costs. To be fair, it's taken me years to find all of my contacts, gain trust, and learn how to keep it all under the radar. Trust is more valuable than money most of the time.

Especially in Sanctum Harvard University's little underworld.

My little underworld.

I've created this little pocket of people skills, provisions. And it's not just booze and parties. It's fake IDs for some, trading skills, writing papers for cash, some tutoring hookups, and the occasional test answer acquisition. Because I always know a guy. That's the point. I get things done for people.

I'm really good at it.

Even if I do feel like I'm playing with fire too often. Which is exactly the feeling I get as I race across campus to Theta house. What could Todd need to see me about that couldn't have just been a phone call? Text?

I catch too many eyes on me as I run down the length of the gym building. Yes, I have tits. They bounce. Soak it up, boys. A couple of guys in basketball jerseys yell something about my big ass, and I give them the finger without looking at them.

I hate being… bigger… sometimes.

A lot of people know who I am on campus, at least in rumor. And you'd think that would buy me a tiny bit of respect? Nope.

Douchebags will always be douchebags. Just like the guy I'm going to see about this party tonight. Guys like Todd whom I would never, ever date, and who would never date me except as a "pity lay".

One of them said as much at one of my parties last year. He wound up with a Dixie cup shoved in his mouth and a black eye. They all thought I was pretty fucking cool for it at the time.

Not a wise choice in the long run. Risky.

I try not to resort to violence. Ever.

Especially dealing with jackass frat boys who've had too much to drink. They're entitled enough when they're sober. Not to mention the fact that they all play sports and work out constantly. Any one of them could take my head off with a punch.

That's what boobs are for, I guess. Distract. Defuse.

"Damn, fun bags, slow down!" One of the Thetas laughs as I hop up the steps, his buddies chuckling and giving him high-fives.

"Why should I? I hear you're the fastest around, Five-Second Phil!" I whip back at him, jerking open the screen door. The cluster of jocks around him erupts in howls of laughter. Got him.

I try not to let that stuff bother me. Mostly because there's nothing I can do about how I look.

I run. I work out. I dance.

And it's painfully clear that I'll never look like Rachel Marsden, Todd's girlfriend, who's giving me the death stare from the couch as I huff into the kitchen.

She's fake tanned. Petite. Flat-chested, until she and her mom got matching boob jobs.

The gaggle of Barbies around her look like her clones. Every one of them has an ego the size of their daddy's yacht.

I'm pale. I'm chunky.

Even though Aunt Rachelle swears that I've got curves like my grandmother. Apparently, she was stunning. Voluptuous, gorgeous. And I'm a spitting image of her.

I can see it sometimes, when I wear just the right outfit. When I put on the right makeup and get my hair to behave.

But it feels like it takes so much work to even start to like the way I look, so I try not to think about that shit. I've got too much going on and things to get done.

"Todd!" I shout and tap on the counter since there's no way for me to get into the crowded kitchen.

"Uh, yeah, hang on."

"No. I got class in fifteen minutes. Hurry up!"

"Damn, Michaels, laying down the law," he chortles, squeezing through the press of his friends. "Thanks for coming. I wanted to ask you about something." He nods for us to head out back, looking around to make sure no one is paying too much attention.

"Why are you being so weird?"

"Because I want you to get… good stuff for the party tonight. REALLY good stuff."

"Todd, you know my rules. The answer is always no." This comes up pretty frequently. They want hard drugs. I don't mess with that. Plus, most college kids freak when I tell them how much I think that shit costs.

"Come on, Michaels, don't be like that." Todd gives me his best grin, sliding his hands into his pockets. Does that bashful crap work on other girls? Not that he isn't hot. I know him too well, though.

I give him the flat look that lets him know that I'm not buying his act. "Dude, I've done six parties for you in the last two semesters. They've all been awesome, right?"

"Well, yeah, of course they're awesome. But this is the end of senior year, endgame for half the crew. I want this to be the biggest rager of all time! I want people to remember this shit for the rest of their fucking lives."

"I don't think anybody's going to remember shit if it goes like it usually does." I can't help laughing. "You planning on getting alcohol poisoning again?"

"Very funny. That was one time."

"Yeah, well, we had to call 911 to save your ass. Not the kind of attention we want tonight, right? So, no drugs. Not my game."

"True, true… that was pretty fucking crazy." Todd sighs, shuffling back and forth awkwardly. "So, you're telling me you don't know a guy? You know everybody, Hellena."

Asshole.

He's toning it down. Flirty, but warm. Still cocky, but he's nicer when he needs something. I hate that it works. When it's just us talking, without his buddies, like we used to freshman year… he's a totally different person.

He treats me like I'm cool, one of them.

Go figure. I like to be treated like a real person.

It's the only thing that actually eats at me about coming to these gatherings. They have a club, a culture . However shallow, or empty and vapid. They have a community and lots of friends, so many that they can afford to throw them away if they piss them off.

It's something I've never really had.

"Please, Hellena? For me?"

A huge sigh slips through my lips. "I–I may know a guy, but look, can't we just double up on… I don't know, the energy drinks or something? I'll use the glow in the dark food coloring in the drinks and get some black lights…"

"We've done that, though!" he protests like a spoiled little kid. "Is it a money thing? Cause you know I'm good for it." He leans in as he says it, getting quieter as a couple of girls pass us going back inside. The place is already full of pre-gamers and I haven't even started yet.

"Todd. I don't think you have that kind of cash. Especially this close to the gig. I don't even know if I'd be able to get anything in time."

"You'd be surprised… but I see how it is… playing hardball with me." Todd looks around nervously before crouching down and tracing a number in the dirt by the porch.

Holy. Shit.

That's too many zeros. He sees my eyes bug out.

"I ain't shitting you. My dad just gave me my graduation bonus early. So money. Is. No. Object." That smile pulls at his lips. He sees me giving in. "Come on, Hellena."

I hate the way he says my name. Like he'd ever be caught dead talking to me out in public.

But that kind of money…

It's enough to cover next year. And I wouldn't have to bust my ass all summer trying to find side gigs.

"And, what, you just have it under your bed?"

"Well, yeah, like half of it. Is that cool? I'll get you the rest tomorrow, like usual?"

"Uh. Yeah. Yes. Okay." Fucking rich people.

Who keeps ten K lying around? And do I even need that much?

I hate the whole situation.

Even more so a few hours later when I find myself standing under a dingy green awning on a side street behind a piss-soaked bar near the wharf, waiting to get killed.

All of my alarms are going off for doing this. I had to call a guy whose number I got from a friend of a girl one of my dancers met one time at a rave in Arbor Bend up the coast.

Rule number… whatever . I don't meet strangers I've never worked with in dark alleys.

But I've still got my "green" goggles on, dollar signs that keep telling me this will be fine. It won't totally bite me in the ass later. Or get me kidnapped now.

I'm two seconds from turning tail and running when I realize it's too late, one guy stepping out from the opening of the alley to block the entrance, the other guy slipping out from a doorway, a sick, gap-toothed grin on his face.

"What can I do you for, gorgeous?"