Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Anyway, the women in question aren’t actually from your town,” Sariah continued. “They were all found outside town limits. Naked. Posed. And stabbed at least fifty times.” “Thank you,” she addressed the waitress who had gone a little pale at Sariah’s mention of dead bodies.
“Anyway,” she focused back on me. “They were all sex workers. Which unfortunately are commonly victims of serial killers, and the police don’t treat their lives with the reverence they deserve.” She shook her head in anger.
I agreed with her on that one.
“We should start a podcast about it,” Sariah suggested thrumming her hands together.
It did not surprise me that Sariah knew all the details of these murders. She was a child of this generation, and we were all obsessed with serial killers. Well, not we because I did not share that same fascination. I had nightmares every time she made me watch those true crime shows with her.
It did surprise me, however, that she was proposing this at all, especially right now, considering everything going on.
“We are not starting a podcast,” I told her.
She pouted at me. “Why not?”
“Because everyone and their dog has a podcast these days,” I pointed out the obvious. There were a lot of other reasons too, like us being in college, me being pregnant and having just split my family in two.
“No, every toxic white guy has a podcast,” she argued. “They’ve ruined the medium for everyone.”
She wasn’t entirely wrong, although I still loved podcasts when I had the time to listen to them.
“No one, not even the cops, have caught on yet,” Sariah whined. “Partly because they’re still a part of a patriarchal institution that looks down on sex workers and also because all of the cops around here seem to be idiots. Except for the new sheriff in Garnett who is actually quite well regarded, but it seems like he’s more focused on the Sons of Templar.”
I stared at her. “He’s focused on the Sons of Templar,” I repeated, suddenly worried.
She nodded, sipping her coffee. “I wouldn’t worry,” she waved her freehand at me dismissively. “They don’t have anything that isn’t like a decade old.”
My stomach twisted. “How do you know what they do and don’t have?” I asked her carefully.
She looked sheepish.
“Sariah…”
“Ollie might’ve hacked into their system,” she confessed, hiding behind her cup.
“You made Ollie hack into a law enforcement system?” I yelled at her.
“She offered.”
“She did not offer,” I countered.
“Well, I may have asked her,” she grimaced. “But she was more than happy to do it.”
I rubbed my temples. Here I was, thinking that Sariah was getting better when really she was convincing our roommate to commit federal crimes.
“I think we should investigate at the very least,” Sariah continued, inspecting her nails.
“Is that why you came here?” I asked her. “Because you want to start a podcast?”
She looked shocked and offended. “No, I came here because my best friend is knocked up, and I figured she needed moral support.” Her features smoothed and her lips relaxed as she reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “The serial killer thing is just like … a bonus.”
“Women are dead, Sariah,” I scowled.
Her expression was somber. “I know. And I can’t change that. But maybe we can make enough noise to make sure that they take this serious enough, and no more women die.”
Her eyes shone with passion, with desperation. My heart hurt for her.
“How long are you staying for?” I changed the subject.
Her eyes lit up even more. “Until we go back to school?” she asked hopefully. “As long as your mom and Swiss don’t mind me staying.” She looked out the window, probably thinking about this morning’s scene. “I could always bunk at the clubhouse,” she said thoughtfully, a wicked and familiar glint in her eye.
“Mom and Swiss would be happy to have you,” I replied quickly. The last thing Sariah needed was to be tangled up with an alpha badass right now.
“You’ll be a good buffer,” I decided.
“You’re not going to be staying at the club?” she asked tentatively.
I toyed with my straw, even though my milkshake was long gone. I thought about the way Elden had yelled at me. Then the horror on his face once he’d realized what he’d done.
I wondered if my father wore that same horrified expression after the first time he hit my mother.
It was cruel of me to be comparing the two. Especially considering Elden had had a gun pointed to his head in the moments before that outburst, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t trust my feelings right now. My heart.
“I don’t know,” I sighed.
Sariah stared at me for a long time. “He’s not your father, Violet,” she said softly.
I fought against the burn in my throat that came with her words, and even though it was my first instinct to tell her I knew that, I couldn’t get the words out.