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“Because this isn’t a bad thing,” I tell him. “This is good.”
He slams to a stop in the middle of the room. “Is it? Because someone clearly wanted us to think she’s dead. And what if they find out she’s here with us? What if they try to kill her all over again?”
He has a point …
My stomach drops, but I’m distracted as my phone goes off. It’s Zay, so I answer it.
“Hey, we’re up—”
“Where the hell is Raven?” he snaps into the phone.
“In my room,” I reply. “Chill the hell out. She’s safe in there.”
“You sure about that?” Zay questions. I can hear the hammering of his footsteps, as if he’s running somewhere. “Because my asshole of a brother just informed me that they just won a round in the game because they did something to her.” He lets out a string of curses. “I knew throwing this party for him was a bad idea. It was a fucking setup so they could get close to Raven. I wouldn’t even put it past him to be the one behind the school closing.”
My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest that I can barely hear over it.
“What’s wrong?” Jax must notice the fear in my eyes.
I’m not surprised. We’ve been through a lot with each other, more than most people, and that kind of connection gives you the ability to read someone without them saying words. Zay is the same way, too.
And Raven.
I felt it from the moment I saw her.
Raven.
Raven.
Raven.
“Hunter?” Jax pulls me out of my trance.
“We need to find Raven,” I say, rushing for the door.
I just hope we’re not too late.
NINETEEN
JAX
There are so many painful moments in my life that the agony that constantly plagues my chest is a familiar thing. It’s so frequently there that I barely acknowledge it. But when we walk into Hunter’s room and I see Raven, that pain, it expands, swells, claws inside me and tries to rip me apart,
Part of me just wants to let it.
Because maybe it’d kill me, and death would be easier than what I’m seeing right now.
Raven is pressed up against the wall on the side of Hunter’s bed, and her skin is so pale, as if she’s sick. She also has a razor pressed to her wrist, and blood is trickling from a wound she’s currently making.
As Hunter and I walk in and take in the scene, we both pause. Freeze. Maybe secretly hoping time will stand still so she won’t have to feel any more pain.
She’s looking down, but when she hears us, she looks up.
Tears drip from those eyes.
Those beautifully haunted eyes that I’ve already written poems about.
I swear I can feel her pain mixing with my own. I want to take hers away completely, cut my own wrist and bleed for her instead. But I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think about anything but how broken she looks.
