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Those familiar eyes burn a hole right through her.
Thisis the true face of Blood Hood.
15
Trevor Vanderbelt.
He stares at her from across the room. Ocean eyes are dead and dark… pits of nothingness.
He lifts the gun slowly, lazily, like he knows he has some time to spare, doesn’t need to rush—or even as though he’s relishing in this moment, this moment with the Glock in his leathered grip, Preston knocked out on the chair and slumped over the bedside… and most of all, Billie frozen on the bed with no way to run and no one to save her. Not even if she cries out for help, not with these strangled vocal cords burning in her throat.
Still, she musters enough to speak in a hoarse, wheezy sound, “You…”
His lashes lower over deep blue eyes, an unshielded layer of exhaustion in his stare. “Don’t be a cliché, Billie. Yes, me. That’s pretty fucking obvious right now, isn’t it?”
Still, a stunned breath loosens from her lips, her chest deflates, and her stupefied gaze stays fixed on the familiar All-American guy across the room.
A face made for Abercrombie, bleached blond hair parted down the middle like curtains, a look snatched straight out of the Backstreet Boys, and that stupid motherfuckin’ Lacoste polo-shirt he seems to wear every day of his life.
Trevor.
Of course it’s fucking Trevor.
Billie isn’t even shocked. Stunned, yes. Confused, definitely.
But shocked?
No, that’s not what she’s feeling right now with that damn gun aimed her way.
It’s realization she’s consumed by. It crushes down on her like the weight of the sea.
Throat aching with the bruises of Blood Hood’s grip, she croaks, “It wasn’t Tonya…” Her voice is so weak that she doubts Trevor can make out what she’s saying from all the way in the shadows of the corner.
Trevor adjusts his grip on the gun, as if to make a point of it, as if to remind her of it. She’s reminded all right. Her gaze flickers over the sleek black—and lands on the dark red wet patch on the heel.
Her lashes flutter as her eyes dart back and forth between the blood on the gun and the bloody patch on Preston’s head. Takes her a moment longer than it should to piece it together, that Trevor knocked Preston out. But her mind is slow to work under the daze of sedatives.
Trevor traces her thoughts seamlessly, no sedation to blunt his sharp mind. “You’re the lucky one. I’m partial to knives,” he says with a smirk, an empty gesture devoid of any emotion. “But for you? Well, I’m in need of another scapegoat. Someone to pin this on. You seem like more of a gun gal.” The corners of his smirk dig deeper into his cheeks and he tilts the gun. “Actually we both know you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty… Right?”
She swallows, hard. Her throat burns in protest.
“If it makes you feel any better,” he starts and takes a casual-like step out from the shadows, “Kate was going to be the one to take the fall for this. With Tonya, obviously,” he adds with a one-shoulder shrug.
Billie’s hands twist deeper in the sheets.
Her heart hammers against her ribs, pounding blood through her sweaty body. Gingerly, she slips one leg out from beneath the blanket.
Trevor continues, “It would’ve been too easy to orchestrate the perfect crime scene. Kate’s self-inflicted gunshot to the head, right next to your body. The cops would think Kate took out Tonya after getting her to do her dirty work… then blew out her own brains when everyone was dead. That was the plan,” he sighs. “Until she got to that fucking phone and called the cops too soon. I didn’t have enough time. But it’s ok. I have a backup plan.You.”
Billie slips her second leg out from under the blanket—and this time, his sharp eyes dart to the movement. But he doesn’t make to stop her. And she slides off the bed, slow.
The bare soles of her feet flatten on the cold vinyl floor. The reminder of her stab wound comes too late, and it’s the searing pain that shoots up her thigh that unsteadies her. She drops in a heap.
Her gaze shoots up at Trevor.
He’s moved only another step or two. Apparently in no rush to put a bullet in her head.
Still, she stalls. Stalls, hoping that someone, anyone, will come into the room and save her.
