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You know that thing about walking into a pub alone and everyone in it turns to look at you? I can confirm that it’s also true for police stations. I keep my head low as if I have something to be ashamed of, and I try to ignore the dozens of pairs of eyes burning into my scalp.
I make it through the station and step outside quicker than The Flash. Someone give DC my number.
When I’m free, I take a deep breath and lean against the wall to steady myself as the world tilts. Streetlights along the road become a kaleidoscope.
For almost sixty seconds, I regulate my breathing. My Apple Watch will be happy that I’ve finally done one of those breathing exercises. Not that it’s worked much. I still want to kill Casper, though I’m no longer faint.
He called thepoliceand told them I was breaking into his parents’ house. I can’t get my head around why he would do that. Surely he can’t hate me that much.
One thing I do know: Casper Hart is a dead man.
The bus stop isn’t far from the station and, thankfully, I don’t see anyone I know as I wait for the number seven.
I make sure that my fingertips are pressed dead against the card as I flash the driver my pass. The hand wipes I had in my bag weren’t good enough to scrub the ink completely away.
Yeah, I have inked fingertips.
Fuck you, Casper.
I find a seat in the middle of the bus where no one else is around, the shock only just wearing off, leaving me cold and confused. It’s not like you can smell the police station on me, but I’m not taking any chances.
How utterly stupid I was to believe that Casper could behave like a normal human and be reasonable. It was obviously an impossible task for him to keep up. He’s completely lost his mind now, though. I want to know how he got the police to arrest me when I’d made a lawful entrance, but I’m going to guess it’s down to the fact that he’s loaded. The family line of work would help, too.
My eyes well with tears that I will absolutely not allow to fall. I’m not crying over that bastard, no matter how scared I was. He would just love that. Me rocking up home after being arrested with blotchy eyes. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
The bus seems to take twice as long. I’ve taken this route a few times before. Though, from the post office, not the police station.
Fucking Casper.
The driver breaks a little too sharply, and I’m glad I haven’t got to my feet yet. I mutter as much of an enthusiastic thank you as I can muster, then get off the bus. The stop is just down the road from my house, and I can see Casper’s stupid car in his drive.
He’s been to his lecture and made it home while I was answering questions in a police station.
I hate him. I hate him. Ihatehim.
I can’t wait to talk to his parents. They will soon know what their arsehole son has done to me today. I want to ruin his life.
Walking past his car, I clench my hands into tight fists so that I don’t accidentally key his shiny paintwork. The car, I like. It’s his face I want to scratch.
Reggie answers after I bang on the door with my fist so hard it’ll probably bruise.
I’ve never felt rage like it. I want to end him.
“Where is he?” I growl.
Reggie, obviously noticing murder in my expression, takes a step back. “Whoa. You mean Casper?”
“Where?” I repeat. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Kitchen. Hey, what’s he done?”
I don’t bother to stop and explain it to him. I’m on a one-woman mission. Reggie steps out of my way as I storm through the hallway and into their kitchen. All I care about right now is slaughtering Casper.
“Ainsley, wait up. What’s going on?”
But I’m too focused to stop and talk to Reggie.
Casper’s leaning against the counter with a coffee in his hand and a smug smile on his face that I want to slap from him. How dare he be smirking as if this is funny? I want to take a screwdriver and shove it right into that dimple by his cheek.
