Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection.
But Renna knows her life is nothing but a golden prison coated in pretty lies that keep her muted and small.
Her day...
"He saw her before he saw anything else in the room"
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The mansion sat at the end of the gravel drive, hulking and mean, shutters sagging like drooping eyelids. Gargoyles gawked from the roofline like they'd been mid-scream for centuries.
Perfect place for six arseholes to pretend we weren't trespassing.
"Fuck," George muttered, staring up. "This place looks like it eats priests for breakfast."
"Priests don't drink whisky, Georgie boy. We do," Cameron said bouncing, like the devil himself had dared him.
"You're not nicking bottles, Cam." Isla's voice cut through the night, sharp as her ponytail whip. "You get caught, you're rotting in jail. And I'm not visiting."
"Correction." Cameron flourished the pilfered keys like he was performing a magic trick. "We get caught, and you will be visiting, because you're in it with me."
Freya rolled her eyes. "You're not Danny Ocean, Eriksen. You're a caffeine-addled biology reject who thinks Tesco meal deals are a food group."
Cameron pressed a hand to his chest. "Low. And true. But still low."
I stayed quiet, watching Renna out of the corner of my eye. She looked like a bloody arsonist at a fireworks display, practically humming with energy. Her smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, hand swinging casually close to mine, just begging me to catch it.
I bent close to her ear. "Still time to turn back, Lancaster. Don't need you fainting on me when the wallpaper starts breathing."
She tilted her head up, eyes shining with something dangerous. "Faint? You're the one who'll be running. I'll be the one laughing."
I bit out a laugh. "You couldn't scare a toddler."
Her grin sharpened. "But I can torment you."
Yeah, no shit.
The gates towered above us, rust bleeding down the bars. Cameron jammed the key in, the metal shrieking loud enough to wake the graveyard.
We all froze. The night guard sat five metres away, chin sunk into his chest, bottle clutched like a lover. His snore rattled through the night.
"Smooth," Isla hissed.
"Perfection takes time," Cameron muttered, wrestling the lock until it gave a miserable click.
"Sounds like your sex life," Freya said, deadpan.
We slipped through the gate one by one. Renna stuck to me, her hand catching my sleeve like I was her personal shield.
"Scared, brave girl?" I drawled.
She squeezed tighter. "Scared of you choking on your sarcasm? Maybe."
I shot her a look, but she only smiled wider like she knew exactly what buttons she was pressing.
