Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Kade used to be so impressive. I didn’t want him. I idolized him.
“You stood up for me when we were kids,” I whisper, holding back my sobs. “You were strong, and you always win.”
Always. I think his force will rival his father’s someday in working a crowd, closing a deal, or spreading his influence.
I shrug. “You win.”
His brow creases, and I see his jaw flex.
“I’ll be home in a few days,” I tell him, “and I’ll leave next summer, either for college or training, and Hunter will be alone. And I’ll be alone, but it was worth it.” I pause, trying to hold back the sadness. “I’m glad it was him.”
I take my clothes and backpack off the table and leave, walking back through the house and out the front door.
Once my clothes are on, I climb on the bike and speed out of the driveway before Aro or anyone tries to catch me.
As I turn onto the highway, I catch Hunter in my rearview mirror walking out the front door and watching me go.
I cry behind the helmet, tears blurring my vision so much I have to pull over. I remove my helmet and let the tears fall.
And then I smile through the sobs.
How instinctual it was in that moment. In a single moment when he admitted he would do what hurt him most if it meant I was happy.
It was that quickly I knew… He’s the one I grabbed. Not Kade.
I never wanted to let Hunter go.
Hours later, thunder cracks across the sky, and I open my eyes, unsure if I got to sleep or when. My head pounds behind my right eye and courses up my forehead, over my scalp, and down the right side of my neck. I sit up, still fully dressed, even in my jacket and shoes as I look at the rain pattering the window through puffy eyes. The drops are small but constant.
The rocking chair above swings slowly with the wind, and I look to see my door still closed.
Standing up, I wince and rub the back of my neck as I walk to the window. Hunter’s bedroom is dark, and I don’t see his car on the street. Granted, I can’t see much of the street from this vantage point.
Walking to the desk, I grab my new phone that Hunter got me and press the button, seeing that it’s almost midnight. I forgot to put it on the charger.
I start to walk back to my bedside table, but I see something on my desk and stop.
Turning on the desk lamp, I scan the little folded-up pieces of paper, some in intricate triangles and squares like the kind we passed in class when we were younger, before we got a phone.
These weren’t here this morning. Were they here when I got in tonight? I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain in my head. I don’t remember. I was still crying a little, avoiding calls from Hunter, Aro, and Coral. I laid down on the bed, awake for a long time, running through endless scenarios in my head of how I might be able to be with Hunter and be happy, despite Kade hating us for it.
I look around, finding the room empty and nothing changed.
Someone was in here, though, and I hope it was while I was gone and not while I was asleep.
I open one of the notes, seeing it’s written in blue ink.
Library. After school. 2nd floor. -D
Deacon? The brothers were Conor and Deacon. It could be him.
I drop it to the desk and open another.
Lift your skirt up.
I raise my eyebrows. Wow.
And then he writes, More.
It’s the same penmanship, like Hawke’s, Hunter’s, and Kade’s. Block letters, a little ragged, as if written quickly. I picture them in class, her taunting him.
I take another note and open it.
Feel me licking it right now. I know you can feel me.
Licking it? An image of Hunter in the back seat of his car flashes in my head. I swallow, scanning the rest of the note.
I want you so bad, they write again.
It’s the same writing. Same blue ink. The messages aren’t signed, but it looks like the same person. D.
You’re not going to kill me? someone replies underneath in black cursive.
Not tonight, D replies.
My heart starts beating faster. It has to be Winslet MacCreary and Deacon Doran. They were in school, and he was writing these to her. Did she fear him? Was this a game for them?
I open another.
You know, I jerk off when he comes at you at night? He waits until I’m in bed before he descends from the attic like some nightcrawler to feed on you. As if I won’t hear your headboard pounding against the other side of my wall at one o’clock in the morning.
I glance at the wall behind my headboard, imagining Deacon in the room on the other side. Chills climb my spine, all the way up to my neck. Who was she in here with when he was over there?