Page 159 of Unsuitable

Because there’s a picture of Damien Doyle.

And on either side of the picture of Damien are pictures of two men I don’t recognize.

I step closer to the photos, and my stomach empties.

The photos of the men I don’t recognize have a big red X marked over their faces.

Damien’s is the only photo that doesn’t have an X.

Why would—

Oh God.

Oh, holy fuck no.

Just like a blow to the head, it hits me.

A sick, hollow feeling starts to form in my gut.

Three men.

Haley. Kas.

Rape. Murder.

Red crosses mean…are they…dead?

Oh, fuck.

Damien’s alive.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

God. No.

I turn, more than ready to leave this room, and my heart practically falls out of my chest.

Kas is standing in the doorway.

His chest is bare, and he’s wearing the black pajama bottoms he went to bed in.

“Is there any room I can keep you out of?” He doesn’t smile.

And I nearly piss my pants.

His eyes run over the room, and he sighs. He folds his arms over his chest and leans his shoulder against the doorjamb.

His impenetrable eyes meet with mine. Then, he parts his lips and says calmly, “So, I guess you have questions.”

Thirty-Seven

Questions?

Do I have questions?

Of course I have fucking questions!

But, right now, I’m trying not to piss my pants, and I need to restart my heart to normal function because it’s decided to stop working properly.