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Rich bitch.
Always Rebels.
Slut.
I drop each one, shaking my head as I pinch another one between my fingers, holding it open.
I’m going to kill you with my car.
My face falls a little.Okay, that was…specific.
I turn the paper over, seeing if there’s a name on it, but no one signed their handiwork on any of these little treats. I know they’re just trying to scare me, but that one was weird.
Slowly, I lift up another note.
I liked watching you this morning.
I narrow my eyes.
I study the words as my pulse kicks up a notch, and I read them again.Watching you this morning…
Remembering what I was doing in bed when the phone rang—what I was doing with Hunter sitting right there—I feel something crawl up my spine.
Even if Hunter registered what I was doing underneath the covers, he wouldn’t write this note.
But it looks like a guy’s writing. Blue ink, block letters, small. Jagged. Kind of like Kade and Hawke’s penmanship.
I turn the paper over.
She used to touch herself in that bed too.
Will you do it for me again tonight?
I drop the note.
I stare at the pile of papers.
It could be a coincidence. Maybe? Everyone knew where I slept last night. They could just be taking a shot in the dark. Messing with me.
I scoop all of the notes in my hands, crumpling them in my fists, and toss them onto the floor of my locker. I don’t want to keep them, but it’s evidence if any of these threats turn out to be real.
A shake rolls through my body, and I slam the door shut. I’ll do a better search of the house when I get back this afternoon.
I head to the cafeteria, noticing a Pirate skull and crossbones flag hanging upside down on the wall above some lockers.
I inhale a deep breath before I pull open the door. I don’t have anyone to sit with, even if Hunter does have this lunch period. He made that clear this morning.
I can’t hide out, though, either.
I walk in, my ears suddenly flooded with noise. Dozens of conversations go on to my left and right, the legs of tables and chairs meeting the floor as students sit or rise, and music plays somewhere, probably from someone’s phone.
And then, just like that, it starts to quiet.
Conversations fade, movement slows, and all I hear is the MXMS song playing from a table near the windows.
I scan from one side to the other, spotting Farrow and his crew at a table far to my right. Hunter sits on top of it, his foot propped up on the chair. A young woman stands close, between his legs.
Who…
