[Book I of the Heart Series]
❝I'm sorry Ryan. But I will never love the face of my parents killer.❞
❝You can't, or you won't?❞
***
Queen Bee Maybelle Summers lived in a perfect little bubble.
Well, she did until the day her sizzling ho...
"May?" Jason called, wheeling himself into her room.
He hadn't heard her come in the previous night, but then again she usually came in extremely late.
He hadn't disturbed her all morning. She probably needed her sleep.
"Rise and shine you lazy padawan,"
He opened the blinds in her room and looked at her bed.
Immaculate as ever. The pillows were piled one upon the other, not the haphazard 'L' shape she usually kept them in when she slept. The duvet she usually used was neatly folded and kept at the foot of the mattress.
Everything was as neat and as well kept as it usually was.
But she wasn't there.
The thought struck him almost immediately. She hadn't come home.
If she had and had woken early she would have woken him too-or at least left a note for him.
She was paranoid like that.
Something had happened to her.
And there was only one person in the whole world who would want to hurt her. Well, if May's theory was to be believed-two, but he wasn't sure about that yet.
Ryan being a murderer was a much more simple thing to understand that believing her cock and bull story of someone controlling Ryan. But his theory had so many holes everything was pouring out. It didn't make sense. Why would Ryan want to kill his parents?
Jealousy?
That didn't seem like him.
But then again. He didn't really know Ryan.
But May wouldn't have dated a dolt like that, would she?
'Try to be optimistic!' came his therapist's voice, barging in like it always did.
Ugh, this was so confusing. How was someone supposed to be optimistic when their past kept haunting them?
Jason seethed as he picked up the iPhone that Mrs. Williams had gifted him a few years ago. Ryan had left his number under the door once, probably hoping it would get to May, but it didn't. Jason had seen to it.
He'd actually written a, 'At least text me,' on the note.
The urge to rearrange his features was life-threatening.
He punched in the digits and waited for the blithering idiot to pick up.
It was answered on the second ring. "May?" came a voice on the other end.
A whisper of a voice. As if something so incredulous had happened that the voice had raised an octave as a coping strategy.
"What the hell have you done with my sister, asshole?"
***
Next Update: Monday, 8th April 2019
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