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It’s only been a few months and I’m back to being a total priss.
Reminding myself that I’ve slept in worse places than a shitty motel, I square my shoulders and stride across the moldy carpet with my head held high. A car accident couldn’t bring me down, and this shit won’t either.
Luckily, the bored clerk behind the counter doesn’t ask questions when I request a room. In fact, he barely looks up from the magazine in his lap as he takes my money and tosses me a plastic key.
The room isn’t quite as bad as I expected, but it also isn’t much better. A stained mattress lists to the side on the sagging bedframe, but the sheets at least look clean. I do a quick check for bedbugs but don’t see any evidence of them on the bedding. The bathroom is substandard, but acceptable, with yellowing porcelain and a toilet with age rings inside of it. There is a tiny window above the tub and I note with satisfaction that I could probably fit through it if the situation calls for a quick escape.
I’m already thinking like a girl on the run.
A few minutes later, I hear three loud knocks on the door and hurry to open it.
Drake enters with a sour expression on his face. “You didn’t know that was me.”
“Who else would it be?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “I think you’re taking this James Bond shit a little too far.”
“We don’t know if someone is still gunning for you. I’d like to avoid another trip to the hospital if it’s all the same to you.” He looks around the room, his lip curling in disgust. “What’s that smell?”
“Sewer gas. I don’t think the toilet has been flushed in a while.” I cross my arms over my chest, more than a little amused to see that he can be just as prissy as the next rich bitch. “You didn’t exactly pick the Four Seasons.”
“There is only one other hotel in town. It’s where everybody’s parents stay when they come to visit campus,” he says quickly. “I don’t think checking in there will help you keep a low profile.”
I pick up a pillow that is flatter than a board and toss it to the other side of the bed with a sigh. “Probably not. I’m not exactly excited to be staying in a roach motel, but it’s better than sleeping on the street or at a bus station, which I have definitely done before. However, if this place has bedbugs, I will find a way to share the infestation with you.”
“Always with the threats,” he says with a sigh, but there is almost an amused look in his eye. “I’m not sure how long it will be before I can come back. Do you need anything?”
He backs toward the door, attention already moving on to other things.
“Wait…” I stop, realizing I’ve said it with no clue of what I’m going to say. As sad as it is to admit it, I don’t want to be left alone here. “What are you going to do next?”
“Go back to campus and try to figure out a way to get Havoc House off your back. Maybe figure out what happened last year while I’m at it.”
“I spent the last three months trying to dig up the real story,” I scoff. “What makes you think that you’ll be able to find out anything?”
“There are plenty of people willing to talk to me who won’t tell you a damn thing. Olivia wasn’t a part of St. Bart’s in the way that I am. And no one in Havoc House would say anything to you.”
I cock my head to the side, annoyance rising. “Tell me what you already know.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ll tell you when I have a better idea what we’re dealing with.”
“Because you know one of them had something to do with it, right?” I stare at him, at that face beautiful enough to grace magazine covers. Drake’s beauty is a trick, like a demon in disguise, to tempt the souls of women too stupid to know better. “I’ve always known that this trail ends at Havoc House. You told me you know who ran Vaughn and I off the road. Which one of your sicko friends beat my sister nearly to death, do you think?”
“That’s enough,” he snaps.
I keep talking like I don’t even hear him. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the prime suspect is the guy who basically kidnapped me and held a gun to my head. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t turn Vaughn into the cops right now?”
“You don’t know that he had anything to do with what happened to Olivia.”
“And you don’t know that he didn’t. Or does your friendship extend to being his accomplice?”
Drake looks pained for a split second, then the stony mask descends on his features. “I can’t exactly ask him about it, now can I?”
“Why not?”
“Vaughn is in a bad way. He won’t be getting out of the hospital anytime soon.” Drake doesn’t look at me as he says it.
I try to decide how I feel about that.
My eyes narrow, my gaze never leaving his face. “I can’t say that I’m all that torn up.”
