Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
It’s a matter of habit to check for my phone at this point. I don’t expect to see a change, so when the app loads and my phone is located, my heart stalls.
It has moved.
Now my phone is on campus.
Wide-eyed, I drop the iPad and grab my burner phone. I take a picture of the screen and send it to Killian.
“Whoever has my phone is on campus right now!”
Should I ping it? It would make a godawful noise and draw attention, but what if he’s not in class yet?
Hmm.
I check the time and decide to wait.
If I’m going to press that button, I want to make sure the bastard is embarrassed. I want him flustered. I want every student in class staring at him, his instructor’s annoyance trained on him. I want to disrupt his class and make him flee until the sound stops.
And then I might just press it again.
My sense of restraint warns me that might be a good way to get my phone thrown in the trash, so maybe I won’t keep pressing the button, but I’m going to do it once. Let him know I know where he is, too.
The mere idea makes me feel a sense of control over my life I haven’t felt since I stepped foot in that basement. I feel calmer even though he doesn’t text me back. Maybe his class has already started.
Mine starts a moment later, but it’s hard to focus on what my professor is saying when all I can think about is pressing that button. I don’t want to do it too soon just in case the Rho Kappa’s instructor isn’t as prompt. I know I won’t actually see his reaction unless he’s in this class—which I consider unlikely—but even if I’m just imagining it, I want to make sure I pick the right time.
I wait until 10:34, then I can’t wait any longer. I press the button.
A grin claims my face and doesn’t leave for a while. I keep an eye on the time, knowing the sound won’t stop for two whole minutes.
I smile until 10:36, and the smile comes back on and off all through class when the thought of it passes through my mind.
I feel a lot better when I’m leaving class. I press the button again right before I leave the building, just in case we’ll be walking through the same courtyard. Let that annoying, loud-ass noise be an alarm that danger is coming so I don’t have to keep such careful watch.
Since Killian and I are leaving at different times today and I don’t have my car, he told me to wait by the coffee cart in the courtyard for his friend Ryan and he’d give me a ride home. That area is very visible, so I feel safe.
There’s a table I can sit at while I wait, but since this Ryan guy is doing me a favor, I decide to buy him a coffee. I open my phone to text Killian and ask if he knows what he would want, only to realize I never checked my messages again after I messaged him about my phone.
We were on the same page, though. He wrote back, “Wait until class has started and then ping it.”
I grin down at my phone, remembering those glorious two minutes. “I did. Pinged it again when I was leaving the building so I’d know if he’s close.”
“Good girl.”
His reply is casual and off-handed, but it does something to my stomach. Biting my bottom lip, I type back, “Any chance you know Ryan’s coffee order? I thought I’d grab him one to say thank you.”
“No, but I’ve seen him drink it black. I don’t think he’s picky.”
“Perfect. Thank you,” I text back, then I tuck my phone away since I’m next in line.
I order two coffees and take a seat at the picnic table. I check my iPad again to see where my phone is, but unsurprisingly, it has gone offline.
I probably pushed it with the second ping, but the idea that I was tormenting one of my tormentors right back made it a feel-good button. It’s only because I have any self-control at all that I was able to keep from pressing it every two minutes during class.
I take the burner out and shoot a quick text to Killian updating him about my phone.
“That’s fine,” he texts back. “I’ve already put out feelers. We’ll find someone who was in that 10:30 class with him, and as soon as we do, we’ll know which one of them has your phone.”
“What does Ryan look like, by the way? I should probably see a picture so I’ll know it’s him.”
Killian must be walking to class—or maybe finding a picture of his friend—because he doesn’t respond right away. I close the message and instinctively take a look around, but I don’t see any glaringly menacing men in the vicinity. Since we’re between classes, there’s a lot of movement in the courtyard. Lots of students making their way to their 12 o’clock class, some probably hustling since they have to come from the other side of campus.