Page 122 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

But she doesn’t answer me. Instead, I have to walk further into the room, rubbing my arm through Cass’s hoodie and setting my teeth against the bad feelings bubbling to life in my chest. “Reagan?” I call again, and I barely get her name out of my mouth before the door opens, revealing her surprised expression.

“I didn’t think you cared enough to come check on me,” she says, a smiling curling over her face. “Your concern for my well being is noted and very appreciated.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, her customary grin back on her face.

Now it’s my turn to stay quiet. I stare at her, wondering whether I should pretend I don’t have questions and just go downstairs and watch the rest of the movie with her, or if I should let her know.

It definitely feels like one of my options might not end up in my favor, but I’m not sure what else to do.

“Can I talk to you?” My words are slow, measured, and even. I don’t want to sound like I’m accusing her of anything. Not yet. “Up here, where Sophie doesn’t give us those big sad eyes?” I smile at her, as if sharing an inside joke, and her own grin only gets wider.

“Always.” Stiffly, Reagan plops down on the edge of the bed, trying to hide her nervousness. But she’s not that good of an actor when she’s being confronted directly, and it only makes my heart race faster to see that she’s clearly expecting the worst.

“Sophie says her parents aren’t coming back until late tomorrow morning.” Reagan blinks at my words, and when she looks away from me to study the comforter beside her, I know I’m right. “Even though I swore you told me that they’d be back by eleven tonight. Remember?” I want to give her a way out, an excuse. Anything to make this less than what I’m thinking.

“They changed their minds,” Reagan tells me, looking guilty. “They called right before you got here. I figured I wouldn’t say anything and you could still leave after the movie was over. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to stay all night, too.” Her words are convincing, and she barely fidgets as I watch her, making this seem almost believable.

But not quite.

“Oh, yeah?” I move to lean against the dresser, hip cocked against it. “That’s fair, I guess.” I know she’s lying, but her shoulders slump slightly and she pushes to her feet.

“Sorry,” Reagan chuckles. “Let’s go finish Scooby Doo and the…” she trails off, squinting. “Yeah, okay, I have no idea which one we’re watching. The only one that really matters is Zombie Island. That’s what you’ve always said, right?” She flashes me a quick smile that I don’t return.

I roll my shoulders in a shrug. “Sure. Can I ask you one more question, though?” She’s already walking, and by the time she stops, she’s level with me and glances up at me, her eyes curious.

“You can ask me anything, Winnie,” Reagan murmurs earnestly. “You should know that.”

But I don’t know that. And whatever’s going on here isn’t making me believe it, either. I scuff my foot along the floor, gazing over at the bed as I think.

There’s no easy out for this one.

Not one that I’ll believe, anyway.

“How’d you know?” The question comes out slow and patient. But Reagan just looks at me.

“How did I know what?”

If I ask her this, if I finish my question, there’s no going back from it. My stomach twists and flips, like my own internal Olympic gymnast is kicking at my insides when I gaze at Reagan with everything in me screaming to make up a lie or brush off my question.

Because this won’t end well.

It can’t.

“How’d you know I found a hammer in the slaughterhouse?”

She doesn’t answer. Reagan stares at me owlishly, and I can almost see the excuses forming behind her eyes. But I shake my head, frowning. “Don’t lie to me, Reagan. I didn’t tell you that, so don’t try to tell me that I did. The only person who knew about it was Cass.”

Reagan looks down at the floor, studying the carpet like we’ll be tested on it later.

“Can’t you just let it go?” she murmurs. “Everything would be so much easier if you let it go.”

I swallow, taking a deep breath as I try not to step away from her. That’s enough of an answer for me, and I want to scream at her.

“Fine.” I won’t let it go—obviously—but I’m not prepared for an all out confrontation with Reagan, right now. “We’ll talk about it some other time.” I move toward her, only for her to step backward, blocking the door with her slim frame.

She glances up at me, guilt across her features, and worries at her bottom lip. “I can’t…let you leave,” Reagan tells me finally. “I’m sorry, Winnie. But this is the only plan I can think of. I just need your help. Just for tonight, okay?”

Somehow I knew this was going to go poorly. But looking at her in the doorway, her eyes bright with anxiety and something else, I worry that this is going to go even worse than I’d expected.

“No. Move, Reagan. I’m leaving and I’m taking Sophie with me. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but⁠—”