Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
A thought came to me. A terrible, awful idea that unfolded with picture-perfect clarity, and suddenly the way forward was blindingly obvious.
I lowered my fists—sensing the rage leak away to be replaced with a cold, numbing calm. Everywhere but in my head.
Hissing, I pressed my palm against my aching temple. My vision blurred and a shadowed figure rose above the post. A painted, skeletal face exaggerated the shadows below his eyes and cheekbones too sharp to be real.
A blink, and he was gone.
It was just me and Cavendish, and the container.
Fingers closed over the handle. They weren’t mine for all that they were attached to me.
It wasn’t me who approached Cavendish.
It wasn’t me who unscrewed the lid.
Chapter Five
I was running.
Twigs snapped under my bare feet, opening cuts and stealing my blood. It hardly registered.
Noise spread through the forest. Ruckus Royale was beginning. Half the town surging on Westchester Drumlins, and bringing their drunkenness, libido, and the potential word of dozens of eyewitnesses with them.
I almost didn’t make it out of there before the first group of people arrived.
The party that started at the university would’ve carried throughout the square, sweeping through town and collecting revelers as they went. In the morning, there’d be messes to clean up and apologies to make. I wondered who I’d give mine to.
Leaping over a fallen branch, I ran faster than I knew I could. The farm was only a couple of miles away, but I was racing against a clock I couldn’t see. Was there an hour left, or had my time already run out?
A familiar oak tree lit in the starlight. Our tree. Ivy and I climbed and fell off this tree more times than I remembered. I was on the edge of the property line. I was close.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I flicked down for a second and glanced up. The towering shadow gave a shout.
“Hey!”
I smashed into it with all my weight, lifting us both off our feet. We crumpled in a tangle of limbs—both groaning.
“What the fuck?”
Hands grabbed and picked me up.
“Where you going so fast, darling? The party’s that way.”
Shapes came into focus. Four— No, five of them counting the one I flattened into the dirt. Cursing, he shoved up, smacking away a hand stuck out to help him.
Slowly, I backed away. The five of them came together, standing shoulder to shoulder as if they knew the impact they had in one large dose.
Various heights, shapes, sizes, hair colors, and builds, they shared two things in common: a black shape on their necks I couldn’t make out, but safely assumed was a tattoo. And an air of wicked danger that every man who knew he was handsome possessed.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, stepping back as they moved forward. “This is private property.”
“Taking a shortcut,” one said.
“And, to be accurate, it’s not private property,” said the guy I ran into. He tousled his hair, catching the dark green locks in the light. “No one owns that broken-down farm or the patch of grass it sits on.”
“Wrong,” I hissed. “I do. This is my home, so find yourself a new fucking shortcut.”
“Oooh.” Their jeers rippled hackles down my back. “She’s tough.”
“She’d have to be,” Green Hair agreed. “Everyone in this town will.”
They filed past me, brushing so close their lapels tickled my cheek and fingers skated over mine.
“Hope we run into each other again, darling,” he tossed over his shoulder. “We’ll have a chat about who owns what.”
They were out of mind as soon as they were out of sight.
I sprinted the last mile to the farm, bursting out of the trees to come up beside the barn. A heavy-duty lock secured the doors. Twice as big as the last one I broke into. I blew past it and rounded the corner, passing the barren pigpen for the awning that connected them.
Dropping to my knees, I pushed apart the loose wooden slates and squeezed inside. Harder to do when you’re twenty-one instead of eleven. My hips caught between the wood. I left skin behind, forcing myself through.
Clambering to my feet, I looked over a part of the home that would always be mine.
Farm equipment quietly rusted in every corner. Ever breathe in the scent of old hay? Musty and pungent, it carried the essence of the animals that came to graze and sleep, or the children that came to play. That was what became of my home—the one place I was happy.
It was now old hay, stinking of rotting memories.
Throat tight, I pushed down tears and turned my head to the loft. It should still be up there—shut away behind a lock even better than the one that tried to keep me out.
My phone went off again, the chime following me up the stairs. I answered.
“Rainey? Rainey!” Music poured out of the speakers. “Where are you, girl? You are not missing this party if I have to drag you out of that geek cave myself!”