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“Not so sure I’m the sick one here.”
Realization dawns on me, thick and heavy, settling deep. I lose a breath. “This isn’t about me,” I murmur, my words cracking. “This was never about me. This was always about getting to Brant.”
“Can’t think of a more enjoyable way to get there.” He licks his lips knowingly, then sifts through his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Flicking one out of the carton, he holds it out to me. “Smoke?”
I stare at him with shock in my eyes before whirling around tugging at the door until I untwist the lock with shaking fingers, and race from the room.
Tricks. He’s playing tricks on me, twisting a beautiful thing into something wicked and perverse. Wyatt Nippersink is a devil, just like his sister.
How could I go that far with him?
Reality slithers through me as a geyser of hot tears pours out of my eyes. I feel gross and dirty. I’m a vile, nasty thing.
I stumble into the living room, my eyes searching desperately for Celeste and her brother, Tony. I need to get out of here. I need to get home, run into Brant’s arms. I need him to comfort me and wash away my sins. But most of the crowd has already cleared out, some guests still spilling out the front door as a police officer stands in the middle of the room, filing them through the entryway.
His back is to me, but I recognize him.
Kip!
It’s Theo’s partner, Kip. He’s been by the house plenty of times for summer barbecues. He must have gotten a noise complaint, then came by to break up the underage drinking.
“Kip,” I say in a desperate breath, rushing over to him, nearly tripping on my heels.
He spins around, doing a double take. “June?”
My tears are still falling hard. Mascara is surely smeared all over my face, making me look crazed. My hair is tangled from Wyatt’s fist, and my clothes are rumpled and crooked.
“Did someone hurt you?” Kip’s hands are on his hips, his angled features hard and angry as he approaches me. I don’t answer right away, so he repeats the question. “June. Did someone hurt you?”
Pulling my lips between my teeth, a new wave of tears begin to fall. “Yes,” I croak out, my eyes dropping to the floor with shame. “I did.”
He frowns, stalling right in front of me.
“Please, take me home.”
18
FIRST STRIKE
BRANT, AGE 23
My cell phone pings beside me on my nightstand, jolting me into an upright position.
I wasn’t sleeping. I can’t remember the last time I got a full night’s sleep.
I also purposely put my ringer on full volume because I knew June was going out tonight and I worry like crazy about her.
Reaching over to where my phone is charging, I swipe open the text notification.
Kip: I’m bringing your sister home. She was at a party and I think something happened. She’s okay, just a little worked up. See you in a few.
I reread his text message a dozen times.
I think something happened.
I think something happened.
I.
