The door handle rattles as Slade cringes and lets out a sigh. “It’s mine,” he admits, looking sick about it, but not sorry.
I shake my head in disbelief as betrayal tears through me. It shouldn’t. There’s absolutely no loyalty between me and Slade, but that’s the way its been since day one and I shouldn’t have expected any different. I get my jeans up my legs and pull my tank over my head, not caring about my bra, torn panties, or jacket still left on the floor. All that matters is getting to the fucking door.
“Will you just wait?” he yells as I reach for the handle and hastily unlock it. The door flies open and a second later, I’m out of there with both Damian and Slade at my back wondering what the fuck just happened.
I don’t wait around for them to catch up to me. I run.
Chapter 17
I’m getting fucking sick of this not sleeping bullshit. First, it was the weekend without my knife, then it was the effects of seeing that old photograph of Lucien, and now this.
Last night, the boys helped me to see that I was strong enough to move on and just when I thought I’d suffered through the worst and was coming out the other end, I go crashing back down.
Why the hell was Lucien texting Slade? There’s no way that those two just happen to know each other. I’m the common factor and that tells me that Lucien knows about not only me but Blake too.
All this time I was beginning to build a life here, I thought Blake and I would be able to thrive. I was making a name for myself and setting us up with a future that we could be proud of. We would have had to work our asses off trying to get to where we wanted to go, but it would have been worth it. And to think Lucien was sitting back and enjoying the show the whole damn time.
I feel like such a fool.
We haven’t been safe here at all and what’s worse is that I brought all this bullshit to Shay and Ben’s front door. What if he comes for us? What if he…no. I can’t think like that anymore. I survived. I can’t keep thinking of myself as a victim.
I can’t sit here and wait for him to come. We have to fight. We have to do something, but first…Slade.
I knew Slade was a dick, but to be in league with Lucien? It stings. Slade and I are by no means friends or even on good terms…apart from that whole eating my pussy like a fucking pro thing. I thought things between us were starting to get better. I mean, he hadn’t tried to humiliate me in a while. The air certainly wasn’t clear between us, but it was getting clearer. Until now.
I’ve stayed up all night trying to work out what their connection could be and how the hell it comes back to me but I keep coming up blank. If Lucien tasked him to find dirt on me, then he’s picked the wrong guy as the only thing Slade Cruz has been able to find is my G-spot. Apart from being an ass, he hasn’t tried anything. I don’t understand this.
I glance over at the clock. It’s seven in the morning so I guess that’s an acceptable time to get out of bed. School doesn’t start until nine so I have two hours to kill and the only way that’s going to happen is by trying to get lost in my artwork.
I trudge out of bed while rubbing the palm of my hand. I was clutching onto my knife so tight all night that my hand quickly went dead, but I didn’t dare let it go. There’s something about the cover of darkness that makes everything seem so terrifying but now that the sun has risen over the horizon, I’m finally able to relax. I mean, you don’t see boogeymen coming out during the day, but then I guess it depends on the definition of what a boogeyman is. In reality, I suppose everyone’s version is different.
I find a hoodie and pull it over my head before walking over to my desk and clearing a space to work. I should probably get up and have a little breakfast or brush my teeth, but holing up in my room just sounds so good and I really doubt I’d be good company right now.
I check over my pencils and sharpen them before getting started, but I still struggle to free my mind.
I think over the text, picturing the words in my head as they appeared on Slade’s screen.
‘Is it done? Your time is running out.’
Is what done? And what’s he running out of time for? These very questions have plagued my mind all night.