Zay is held captive by the VP, Riggs, of the motorcycle club Snakes because her ex-boyfriend, Adam Lovett, owes them money. Little does she know, she's more connected to the club than she thinks. Will she escape? Will she end up six feet under? Unve...
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The storm outside is wild. Trees scrape against the side of the house. Rain hits the windows in savage sprays. And I think it started hailing about an hour ago.
I haven't left the room all afternoon. I hate talking about the past. Especially the past involving Peter.
I went to see him after Lillian's funeral. Bastard didn't even bother to show up. And the bastard tried to hit on me as we lay in his bed and talked about her. That's probably my fault, though. I gave off the wrong impression by lying beside him, staring at the ceiling. I missed Lillian, and by proxy, I felt that if I lay beside her ex-boyfriend, I'd feel like her ghost was right there with us.
It wasn't. Her ghost was gone before she even slit her wrists.
The funeral ended around three in the afternoon and I was zonked.
A zombie.
I dragged my feet to her dorm room. It still had yellow caution tape on the door. It made her room look like a crime scene. Maybe it was. I only had my suspicious, I didn't have any proof. The yellow tape was cautionary. There was so much blood that poured out of her, they had to lift the linoleum floors to redo them.
Flowers were scattered on the floor and cards were taped to her locker. I'd been by almost every day since she died. Laying fresh flowers and tossing out the dead ones. The day of her funeral was no different.
I was going to place a red rose I took from her funeral, the last piece of her I felt like I had left.
But I wasn't the only one going to her room. Peter was there, too.
"Hey," I said, startling him.
He swallowed hard. "Hey, Zay." He sniffed, wiping his cheeks. "Sorry."
I'd been crying for days but seeing him cry didn't sadden me. It angered me.
I knew he was the reason she died.
I just had to prove it.
He cleared his throat and slumped his shoulders. "I can't believe she's gone."
I hummed softly. "Me either."
He frowned, shaking his head as he stared at her door. Hiding something. It was written all over his face. Or maybe I just suspected there was something to hide, so I was looking for clues. Something to prove my theories.
Did he always flare his nostrils when he was deep in thought?
Did the vein in his forehead always bulge maniacally?
And his fists, were they supposed to be clenched at his sides like that? Or was this always how he stood?
No, maybe I was looking too much into my suspicion.
He flicked his eyes to me. "You busy?"
I shook my head. "No."
He nodded, walking toward his dorm room that was at the end of the hallway. "Come on."
