Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

‘What’s going on?’ Mrs Potts voice makes my head lift, relieved, until it collides with the underside of the solid desk with an almighty crack.

‘Ouch!’ I yelp, my hand going to the top of my head and rubbing frantically as I drag myself to my knees. Mr H is still mumbling nonsensical words behind his palm, and Mrs Potts is standing at the doorway, taking in the mayhem that she’s walked in on. I keep my hand on my pounding head and point to Mr H with my spare. ‘He’s found a rat on the CCTV footage,’ I tell her, hoping she isn’t as squeamish as me and will rid the screen of the horror before Becker’s gramps passes out.

‘A rat?’ She’s barrelling towards me fast, rounding the desk and thrusting her face in the screen. ‘Oh I say,’ she breathes, moving back. She actually moves away, making me wonder how big that damn rat actually is. I’m moving back to my apartment immediately.

I watch in stunned silence as she, too, slaps a palm over her eyes. Her other hand rests on Mr H’s shoulder, offering support in his moment of need. ‘I don’t know how to work these damn fancy computers, Donald.’

Great. So now it’s down to me to sort this out. I drop my head back on a moan while I summon some bravery to face the horror movie playing out on the monitor. ‘For God’s sake,’ I mutter, trudging across the office and rounding the desk. My eyes are half closed as I muscle past Mr H and Mrs Potts, trying to distort the images as I search for an off button.

Half closed, but they are also half open, and they can see the screen like my eyes have a magnifying glass held in front of them. My string of motions cut dead. As does my heartbeat. There’s no rat, but what I’m looking at makes that more of a regret than a relief. ‘Oh . . . my . . . God,’ I choke over my swelling tongue. ‘Oh my God!’

‘Make it stop,’ Mr H cries.

I can’t. I want to, but I can’t, no matter how loud my brain is screaming the orders to shut down the computer. I’ve been rendered incapable of movement. Through shock.

Because what’s on the screen is certifiably shocking.

Me.

Palms spread on the wall in the corridor outside this office.

Naked.

Make it stop!

With Becker smashing into the back of me like a wild wolf on speed.

And I just stare at it, mouth hanging open, eyes set to pop out of my head, while his dear old grandpa and Mrs Potts hide behind their hands next to me. There’s no sound coming from the footage, but that is only a mild consolation.

Make it stop!

I fly into action and reach behind the screen, grabbing the first cable I lay my hand on and yanking it out. I could collapse to my arse in relief when the screen finally dies, leaving blackness. Though the mental images will never leave me.

The silence is agonising. My palms are resting on the desk, my eyes closed, as I try to catch a breath. I should leave – hope that this will never be mentioned or thought of ever again. It’s a big hope. I’ll never be able to look old Mr H or Mrs Potts in the eye again. I’m mortified. I want to open the drawer of this desk, shove my head in, and shut it repeatedly. It’ll probably be less painful than the embarrassment I’m feeling right now.

‘Well,’ I laugh like a blundering fool. ‘At least there are no rats.’ I want to cry. I’d take a million rats, dog-sized rats, and let them crawl all over my naked body if I could rewrite the last five minutes of my history. But I can’t. And I’m devastated.

Pushing myself up by my palms, I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat. ‘Good afternoon,’ I say, forcing my feet into action to take me away from this God-awful awkwardness.

I could be drunk, if my stability is anything to go by. I’m shaking with embarrassment. I wish I was drunk. In fact, I’m going to find some alcohol right this minute and drown my humiliation.

Shutting the office door behind me, I find the nearest wall and let my forehead meet it. Repeatedly. Nothing can redeem me. It’s bad enough that they warned me against getting personally involved with Becker. They didn’t like the thought. I bet they positively hated the sight.Chapter 16I drag my dejected body down the corridor, through the Grand Hall, and into the courtyard. I need fresh air. Or water so I can drown myself. The round stone fountain catches my eye as I wander across the cobbles. ‘Too shallow,’ I say to myself, as I rest my arse on the edge, performing my customary flinch at the soreness. I look over my shoulder into the water again, gauging the depth as my reflection shimmers up at me. I only need a few inches. It’s doable.