“Yeah, Hazel, what is so complicated about calling the Vigilante Choker to come and help get me down from a fire escape?”
Livi spurts water across the table. She slams down her glass and Wright hits her on the back as she coughs.
I wipe specks of water off my neck and glower at Wright.
“What?” Livi squeaks, the fact that she was able to actually speak out loud a testament to just how bad the situation I’ve found myself in is. Not that I didn’t already know that. It’s hardlylike with Tommy, where I didn’t see the red flags until too late. Flynn’s wearing his red flags like a badge of honor, waving them at the bull.
Three signs the guy you’re dating is no good: 1. He puts cameras in your house. 2. He follows you out at night and 3. Oh yes, he’s a convicted serial killer.
“I’m serious, Hazel, start talking,” Wright demands.
Kacee arrives then, a tray of tequila shots balanced on one hand.
“Oh, look, drinks,” I say, using the distraction like a pro to delay the inevitable.
We take the shots off the tray, and I slam one back before Kacee’s even left. Then I snatch desperately at the lemon slices because oh my god tequila is disgusting.
The sourness bursts through my face but when my eyes clear Wright and Olivia are still pinning me with dual “start talking” stares.
I draw in a deep breath, like the air itself can shield me, and begin. “The night he broke out of Drayford, I didn’t hear the alarm. He climbed in through my bedroom window.”
“Holy shit.” Wright’s jaw drops.
Livi reaches for one of the shots.
“Yeah, not exactly how I planned to spend my evening.”
Gunfire flares in Wright’s eyes. “Did he hurt you? Because if that motherfu?—”
“He didn’t hurt me,” I rush to reassure her because once Wright gets started there’s no stopping her, and the last thing this situation needs is one slightly unhinged vigilante hunting another, more unhinged, wanted by the FBI, vigilante.
“So… whatdidhe do?”Livi’s fingers trip over one another as she signs.
I take another shot. “He watchedFriendswith me. Then I fell asleep and he, uh, carried me to bed.” I tell myself it’s the alcoholmaking my chest heat because it can’t be the faint memory of being held in Flynn’s arms. It just can’t be, because it’s insane that the first place I’ve felt cared for in years was in the arms of a serial killer.
“Well, shit,” Wright blinks and leans back against the booth.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Is he threatening you?”
“Kind of the opposite? He got me a new alarm system. One with window sensors.”
Wright snorts.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“A serial killer is stalking me!”
Wright lifts a shoulder, her tongue playing with the piercing on her lip. “I mean, technically, tonight, you called him.”
I cross my arms and look between my two best friends. “Okay, you guys are not nearly as freaked out by this as you should be.”
Wright shrugs again. “Vigilante honor code?”
“He’s not a vigilante, he’s a murderer,” I snap. Someone coughs and I look over to see the guy at the table next to us staring at me with wide eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. I force a smile and wiggle my fingers at him. “We’re, uh, writing a play,” I say.
