“Yeah,” I huffed, rolling my eyes. “They’ll chalk it down to high jinks and close the case. Hard policing isn’t exactly the forte of the Sandland police.”
Mum ignored my dig and shuffled over to sit next to Dad to show him the photos on her phone.
“Karen sent me these. Police have no clue who did it, although they have some suspicions. A dark figure spray-painted over the security cameras at the front of the house, and any cameras that weren’t vandalised were offline. It’s like they had a perfect window to do whatever the hell they wanted, whoever they are.”
Criminal damage and tampering with technology? Sounded like the fallen saint of Sandland had weaselled his way back into the good graces of the Renaissance men. There were only two guys I knew of who could tap into systems like that, and they were both in that crew.
“I shouldn’t say this,” Dad said in a low voice, like the Lockwoods were in the next room. “But Don has enough enemies to fill Wembley Stadium. I think they’ll have their work cut out for them sifting through that black hole.”
Mum hummed in agreement then leant forward to look at me.
“Maybe you should reach out to Jensen and Chase? They haven’t had an easy time of it lately. We need to stick together in these trying times. Plus, safety in numbers. I do worry about you being on your own sometimes, Harper. Sandland isn’t like it was years ago. These gangs are-”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Mum,” I said, cutting her off. My own safety was the least of my worries. If someone wanted to come for me, I was ready.
“All the same,” Mum added. “Those boys might not be going through the grief we are, but they are going through a lot.”
I tried to look contrite and empathetic, but I wasn’t. They’d had cars burnt. Cars that would probably be replaced today. A minor inconvenience for them. They had insurance. They also had people on the payroll who’d deal with that annoyance for them. They wouldn’t be phoning companies or getting quotes, organising salvage and recovery. That was beneath them. So why should I feel sorry for them when all they’d done was fuck us over? They deserved a bit of payback. Unbeknown to my parents, they weren’t grieving Brodie like we were. They’d moved on.
Suddenly, I felt tired of the scrutiny being thrown my way. Mum had sensed something wasn’t right, and I wasn’t ready to discuss it. I certainly wasn’
t prepared to tell them about my little visit to the Lockwoods yesterday, or my own crazy blow out at the Hardy’s garage.
Shit.
I’d caused criminal damage, hadn’t I? Did that mean the police would suspect me of burning those cars? I mean, I had an alibi. I was at home all night. But I also had a motive. A pretty fucking big one.
“I need some fresh air,” I muttered, suddenly feeling nervous. I grabbed a piece of toast from the rack so they wouldn’t pester me to sit down and eat, then I wandered over to the patio.
When I opened the door and stepped out into the garden, the icy chill made me shiver. The dew on the grass was a blanket of glittering frost, and I was thankful I had my Converse on this time.
I made my way to the bottom of the garden, the grass crisp and crunching delicately under my feet. I pulled my hoody tighter around my middle and hugged myself, trying to find comfort in my body heat.
And then I froze.
In between two fir trees, right where he liked to stand, was a collection of white pebbles, arranged to spell out the letters RIP. Underneath was a single white rose laid there like some sick homage. The fact that it was a white rose, like the one I’d thrown down to rest on Brodie’s casket, made me realise that he’d been there that day. He’d seen me. And he wanted me to know he had. This was another one of his sick and twisted games.
“You won’t win,” I said in a low, angry voice to nothing but the open air around me. “Play all the games you want, but you won’t win with me. I’m not fucking scared of you. You’re nothing, do you hear me? You. Are. Nothing.”
I kicked the stones until no evidence of their message remained, then I picked up the rose and stalked back towards the house. I stomped up the steps and headed for the bin, shoving the rose into it and then stormed back inside. I was done playing his hide and seek twisted shit. If he wanted to come onto our property, he needed to be man enough to face me. No more skulking in the shadows. No more secret messages and stalking. We both wanted revenge. We were both fighters. But only one could win. And that would be me.
I held my breath as she came out of the house, looking dazed and confused. No doubt she’d heard about my visit to the Lockwoods last night and it’d spooked her.
She knew I was coming for them and she was scared.
I liked her best when she was scared.
The way her skin paled and the brightness of her eyes. I wondered what it’d be like to have her close to me and feel that fear first-hand. The shivers and the way her skin would react to mine. The gasps that would feed into my own, and the taste of her… of her terror. I wanted to taste it. This girl was getting under my skin in so many ways I’d lost count. Like a needle feeding me the hardest drug. She was becoming an obsession. Crawling into my warped, broken soul to set up home there. I couldn’t go a day without watching her, following her, knowing what she was doing. But it was getting worse. I needed more. Her anger and her grief mirrored my own. She fed into my demons and made them hungry for more.
I stayed hidden in amongst the trees as she came nearer, so near that I could hear her deep breaths. She pulled her hoody closer around her, but it didn’t help. She shivered like a lost puppy and I couldn’t look away. Watching her so vulnerable, knowing I could step out at any moment and do whatever the fuck I wanted made something stir within me. Something I’d never felt before. For the first time in years, I felt alive.
She made me feel alive.
When she saw my tribute laid out on the floor, she gasped. I smiled, waiting for the tears to flow, but they never came. My feisty little thing was a warrior. She wouldn’t take my shit lying down, and I stood taller watching her, knowing she felt power from seeing what I’d done. I made her strong. I gave her strength.
But don’t get too cocky, little one. I can take it away again too.
And then she spoke, and hearing her soft voice calling to me made every single hair on the back of my neck stand up. She looked and sounded like an angel, even though her words were anything but angelic.