Deep Betrayal

favor. Huge!” It was Gabby.
    I groaned mentally. I really didn’t have time for a favor. “What?”
    “I’m in Duluth with some friends, and Brady Peterman called.”
    “So?” I asked. I walked into the kitchen and I hoisted myself up onto the counter to sit.
    “He’s totally drunk.”
    “I’m not following you, Gabby, and I’m kind of busy.” I twirled my hair around my finger and flipped the ends back and forth against my nose.
    “He said a bunch of them were up at Marsden’s Orchard. He said I need to get up there and pick up Jack, but I’m too far away, and if Jack’s in half the shape Brady’s in, he won’t be able to get himself home. Obviously I can’t call Dad.”
    I rolled my eyes and exhaled. “Where exactly is he?” There was leftover mac and cheese in the pot in the sink. I dug out a mouthful.
    “Brady said Jack’s still at Marsden’s barn. Can you go get him? He’s not answering his phone. I’m afraid he passed out or something.”
    “You so owe me,” I said, sucking my fingers. “ Both of you. Maybe Jack should have thought about this before he got lit.”
    “Great! You’re a lifesaver, Lil,” Gabby said, and she hung up before I could say goodbye.
    The car keys hung on a peg in the kitchen. I tossed them in the air, catching them with an overhand grab, and walked out the door. Turning the key in the ignition, the car stutter-started, vibrating under the soles of my feet. The gas gauge hovered around empty, but there was enough to get me up to the orchards.
    Marsden’s was two orchards past the strawberry fields and hard to miss because of its old red barn that doubled as an everything-apple retail store. The faded and peeling paint made it look more pink than red, and the long, rectangular MARSDEN’S sign hung left of center over the barn door.
    The gravel parking lot was empty and a cardboard Closed sign sat propped against the window.
    “Great,” I said to no one. “Awesome.” The place looked deserted. Maybe Jack managed to stagger home on his own after all.
    I got out of my car and crossed the parking lot to the barn. I peered into the dark windows, but it seemed empty. “Jack!” I called, cupping my hands to the glass. “Jack, are you in there?”
    “Here,” said a voice from behind a dilapidated outbuilding, twenty yards from the barn. “Help me.”
    I strode toward his voice, preparing to scold him for being so stupid, but what I saw stopped every scathing word in my throat. “Holy …! Jack! Are you okay?” I ran to him and dropped to my knees.
    Jack Pettit lay flat on his back, stripped naked. His hands were tied over his head to a rusty ring on the side of the building, his legs tightly bound together with bright blue duct tape that came up past his waist, immobilizing him witha sadistic merman’s tail. Someone had written FREAK on his chest in black Sharpie.
    How many people did it take to hold him down? Gray dirt caked his face. Tears plowed wide tracks down his soiled cheeks. I couldn’t help but take a breath at the realization that Jack was—in this grotesque state—closer to his original desire than he’d ever been before. If Pavati came back … if she said that she wanted him after all … would he want this life? Now that he was vulnerable and beached, would he choose this life if she wanted him in hers? Would I, if the choice was mine?
    My hands came up to do something—anything—but I stopped at the prospect of pulling all that tape off. What would come with it? “Please tell me you’re wearing shorts under there.”
    “Damn it,” he said, fighting back tears. “Why did it have to be you? Why you? ” Veins pulsed at his temples.
    “You don’t want my help? I can leave, y’know.”
    Jack looked up at me, panicked.
    “Gabby called,” I said. “Brady called her and told her where you were.”
    “Don’t tell my dad about this,” he whispered.
    “Why would I do that?”
    “Or Gabrielle.”
    I promised, although I didn’t think he stood any chance of having Peterman keep his mouth shut. Chances were he’d sent pictures to everyone he knew. There were probably pictures popping up online already.
    I surveyed the bindings and tried to figure out how to get him free. I couldn’t find where the tape started.
    “Cut it,” he said. “Don’t rip it.” Sweat beaded above his upper lip.
    “I don’t have anything to cut it with,” I said.
    “Check your glove compartment. Check your trunk. You’ve got to have