Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
However, it’s me.
“Hey, it can’t hurt,” I mutter, placing a call to the number the last text message was sent from earlier tonight. I doubt anyone will answer, but they might. Either way, they’ll see we’re not afraid to tell them to fuck off.
It rings once. Again.
Then, someone answers.
Leni watches, eyes wide, hands folded under her chin. At first, all I hear is breathing on the other end—heavy, raspy. “Who is this?” I ask, watching her, listening hard.
Again, they keep me waiting until finally, they speak. “Someone who’s gonna make you pay for what you did.”
Three beeps sound when they end the call.
One thing I know for sure. “That wasn’t somebody our age,” I mutter, calling back, my blood boiling now.
“How can you tell?”
“Just the sound of their voice. It was a man, older.”
This time the phone rings and rings with no answer until finally, I’m sent to voicemail. It’s that automated recording, telling me the number I reached without giving me any other information.
“You think you know what I did?” I growl, staring at my brother while Leni chews her lip like she’s trying to bite it off. “That’s fine. And I know what you did. Why don’t you show yourself, you piece of shit? Come out of hiding. Let’s talk about this face-to-face.”
With a glance at Leni, I add, “And you’ll find out what happens to people who threaten what’s important to me.”
It’s not anywhere near what I’m thinking or feeling, but something tells me that’s not the last time I’ll have the chance to tell whoever this is exactly what I’m thinking.
Though next time, I won’t use my words.
25
COLT
“How’s that head treating you?” my psychology professor asks as I pass his desk on Friday afternoon after class. Most of the others have already left, with me bringing up the rear. I’m still moving a little slowly, even three days after the crash—the pain in my back and shoulders isn’t as bad, but my knees hit the steering column, and there’s still a little soreness.
“Getting better all the time. I’ll have to take a little time off from modeling,” I joke, and he laughs.
“You just take care of it. Any dizziness or sudden pain, get yourself straight to the hospital.” Because being a psychology professor apparently makes him an expert.
Really, I know I should be grateful someone cares, and I am. That’s why I give him a quick salute before heading out of the lecture hall, my mind on finding Leni. We’ve both been a little slower than usual since coming back to school yesterday—there was no way I was hanging around, cooped up in the apartment all because of a swollen bruise on my forehead and a few aches and pains elsewhere.
“Oh, you can’t handle being locked up, but I’m supposed to be okay with it?” Nix’s complaints echo in my memory as I step outside, glad for the sunshine. I reminded him I’m not the one who recently committed murder, even if it was for a good reason.
Leni is waiting for me on the bench in the quad, the halfway point between our two classes. What have I ever done in my life to deserve the happy little smile she wears when she sees me approaching? It feels unfair. There are times when I’m sure she’s going to wake up one morning and realize this has all been a mistake, that she can do so much better. That she can love someone who won’t put her life in danger. It’s only because of my association with Deborah that she was ever in that bitch’s crosshairs in the first place.
“How was class?” She reaches up to kiss my cheek, lingering there an extra beat. She’s been like that since the crash. Everything feels a little more significant than before. That will ease up with time, once she feels a little more secure again.
“The usual. No big deal. Though I did get a few looks from people who were trying not to stare at this.” I touch a finger to the egg on my forehead, which I’m sure is going to turn into a beautiful, sickening shade of yellow and green before long. I’d wear a ball cap to at least hide it under the shadow of the brim, but my forehead is too swollen. It would only end up hurting—not to mention looking weird.
“Well, now you can rest up a little. Maybe it’ll look better by Monday.” Her endless optimism is sweet. Something tells me it’s going to take a little longer than that.
What we need is a couple of days spent recuperating, though. She’s right about that. And when we get home, I’m more sure than ever. Nix is sprawled out on the sofa, looking pissed. He doesn’t even brighten up when Leni comes in. “Finally. I thought I’d be sitting here alone all day,” he mutters, scowling like we’re the ones who dictate when our classes land during the day and how long they last.