Page 94 of Shadowed With Fear

“What’s he talking about?” I ask.

Grayson doesn’t respond, packing up the rest of his stuff as Henry finally gets the old window open enough for us to climb through. The room faces the woods surrounding the abandoned part of the shipping yard.

“Grayson,” I say calmly.

He sighs, dragging a chair over for me to climb through. He taps the chair for me to climb up.

“Ethan’s gone, and as far as Brahm has seen, so is Issac.”

“Okay? That’s like kind of good, though, right? Issac made it out?”

Henry snorts, looking at me from the side of his eye. “Yeah, but that’s not even the best part, is it Grayson?” Henry taunts. But Grayson doesn’t say anything, fury burning in his eyes.

“Marcus is dead.” Henry deadpans. “Overdose,” he laughs. “They fucking found him by the car.”

“Shut up, Henry. We don’t need this right now. Let’s fucking go.”

Grayson nudges me through the window, and I drop unceremoniously to the ground. The other two followed quickly, leaving the window much more gracefully than I did. They weave in and out of the trees, Grayson dragging me behind him by my hand firmly in his own.

When we reach the truck, no one speaks as they pile in, leaving me wedged between Grayson and Adam, Brahm driving and Alex in the passenger seat. Henry follows closely behind us on his own bike.

Traffic is sparse as most people abandoned their cars, taking to the woods for cover. As we cruise through the empty streets, making our way to Grayson’s house in silence, my mind only focuses on one thing.

If Issac was so excited to watch Ethan fight, then where the hell was he?

Grayson

“Up and at ‘em, sweet girl. We got shit to do today!” I yell from the door of my bedroom. Dahlia’s curled up in a cocoon of my blankets, her nose barely peeking out from the comforter covering her face.

She groans, untangling her arm to flip me off. I chuckle, walking over to kiss the part of her nose I can see.

“We’re spending the day in my studio,” I coo, and her eyes snap open.

“You’re studio? In the garage?” Her voice is hopeful, excitement shining in her sleep dazed eyes.

“Yes, D. The studio in my garage.”

She’s out of bed before I have time to move away from her, blankets soaring through the air. Her ass jiggles from beneath my t-shirt as she runs down the hall, bare feet padding against hardwood.

I could get seriously used to this.

From the kitchen I can hear her rummaging around with the pots under the sink.

“You make coffee, I got the pancakes!” She shouts at me. After a quick shower, I walk out with the towel wrapped around my waist, wet curls dripping.

I get the coffee pot started as she hums by the stove, back to me.

When the water starts percolating, I walk up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, planting a kiss to her jaw.

“So, all I got to do is say we’re playing around in my studio, and you wake up a happy go-lucky girl, huh?”

She smacks me, pausing when she notices her hand hitting my wet skin.

Dahlia turns around, assessing me. Eyes lingering on the way the towel sits on my hips, the light blue fabric contrasting with the dark ink swirling around my torso.

She licks her lips, coking her head to the side.

“Why did you get roses?” Her fingers run lightly along one of the black and gray petals, before following along the path of thorns crisscrossing my stomach and up along my ribs.