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The grunts reached me first. Rough, primal sounds that sickened me. It was a sin against nature that Owen experience any pleasure, happiness, or satisfaction after what he’d done.
The day I returned from spring break, Owen broke into my room, dragged me out of the shower, and threw me at his buddies.
Owen stretched out on the bench, his head flung back. He didn’t see me duck behind the sequoia. He wasn’t paying attention to much of anything with Lindsay’s head bobbing between his legs.
They pinned me to the floor and groped me, laughing themselves sick while Owen snapped pictures. It wasn’t enough that they violated and assaulted me.
My twitching fingers traveled beneath my hem, finding the single page from Winter’s letter that would give me strength... and the switchblade taped to my inner thigh.
Owen sent the photos to every Royal and posted them on WinterSinclairIsAFilthySlut.com.
I crumpled the page over my heart, wetness running down my cheeks. It was natural that I cry, but the emotion filling me wasn’t sadness.
Despair, helplessness, frustrated rage were all I knew before I found the letters she left me and Mom. Those feeling lifted the barest fraction as I read, allowing an icy calm to chill my veins. I wasn’t helpless. I knew the way forward.
I knew what I needed to do for my sister.
Everywhere I went they flashed the photos in my face, but because the guys were blurred out and the dorm’s cameras were conveniently off that night, the dean refused to expel them. He said it was my word against theirs, and they all had statements from their lawyers swearing they were miles from my dorm.
Owen got away with it, Luna. After everything he did to me, he didn’t suffer a single second.
“He will, Winter,” I whispered. The blade slid free of its sheath. “All he’ll know for the rest of his short life is suffering. I promise.”
Owen grunted out his ejaculation, flopping back on the bench. “Nice, babe.”
Lindsay popped up and climbed on his lap. “My turn.”
“Next time.” Owen held her at arm’s length. “We should get back to the party.”
“What? Why? We don’t have to go so soon.”
“Your friends will be looking for you.”
“Screw them.” Lindsay tried to wrap his arms around her waist. “I’d rather be here with you.”
Owen threw her off. “For fuck’s sake, you can’t take a hint. I’m done with you and your sloppy blow jobs. Fuck off already.”
The knife handle tightened in my death grip. This was the soulless cockroach my sister dealt with every day.
Lindsay stumbled away, eyes wide. “What happened to your big crush on me and all that shit?”
“What happened is I got what I wanted. You can go now.”
“Asshole!” She swung and Owen caught her wrist, stopping her slap short of his cheek.
“Don’t try that again.” His voice dropped the temperature twenty degrees. “Get out of here, Lindsay. Now.”
She stomped off, shouting and cursing him out. I stayed low as she stormed past.
I shouldn’t have worried about getting Owen alone. His repellant personality drove people away all on its own.
Gripping the knife behind my back, I stepped out from the trees. If he turned around before I got close enough, all he’d see was another Sinclair girl to tear apart. It was fitting that’s how he’d die—underestimating Winter and the people who loved her.
Owen was never going to get away with hurting her—not while I lived.
I closed the distance, bare feet padding soundlessly through the grass. Strange how quickly I accepted having to kill him and the others in her letter. Though it made sense, their lives in payment for my sister’s life, I thought I’d have a moment of crisis when the time came. Everything I learned about right, wrong, moral, and lawful would come back to me, and I’d feel the drive to protect my soul, if not them.
Of course, I should’ve known that wouldn’t happen. My soul was scraped out the day my sister died.
Owen belched, pulling out cigarettes and a lighter from the depths of his wrapping paper. The wind carried his smoke into my nose.
Five feet.
Two feet.
I reached out my hand.
Yank his head back and slice. In one smooth move, Owen dies alone in the cold and dark, just like Winter. One move—she rests easier.
My hands didn’t twitch or shake. My heart slowed to a steady pace.
Winter... this is for you.
His hair brushed my fingertips. Raising the blade high, it fell in a graceful arc.
A hand clamped my wrist, stopping the knife short of Owen’s blissfully unaware self. Before I could think, a gloved palm clamped over my mouth and a band circled my wrist.
I screamed inside as I was dragged away from Owen, carried into the trees.
Chapter Five
“Mhh! Mhhh!”
Screaming and thrashing, I twisted my neck, trying to see my captors. The tight clamp on my jaw kept me pinned to his chest, preventing me looking up.
