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“How did you meet Phoenix?” I ask at last, breaking the silence. Rory looks down at me, surprise on his face, and I watch as he thinks it over, considering.
“College is the easy answer,” he admits, not missing a step. “We had a math class together our freshman year, first semester. He was…different,” Rory explains. “He was in rough shape. Lashed out at everyone, especially me anytime I riled him up. I thought it was funny for a while. Until he flipped out on me and pinned me against the wall in the bathroom.” His smile curves, widening over his lips. “It was hot as hell. I kissed him.”
“Right then? Before you were even friends?” I can’t help the shock that makes my brows twitch upward, and Rory chuckles in spite of himself.
“Right then. I just grabbed him and tried to devour all of that anger that was eating him up inside. He punched me, by the way. But then kissed me back the next day, so it was okay. I wasn’t lying when I’ve always known what I want, Bailey.”
“Yeah, I guess you weren’t.”
“I’m really glad you never punched me. I would’ve let it happen. And I guess if you still want to, that’s on the table.” He flashes me another quick grin, and I shake my head in response.
I’m not going to punch him.
“Who was the first person you killed?”
That causes him to stop, and Rory turns to look at me. He’s not as tall as Phoenix, so I can meet his gaze without tipping my chin back. His hand comes up, and he touches two fingers under my chin, as if he needs to hold me there to keep sight of my eyes.
But I’m getting better at eye contact. With him and Phoenix, at least.
“You ask the strangest questions. Even Phoenix didn’t ask me that formonths. He was too afraid to know before the idea became appealing to him. But that’s not why you’re asking, are you? It’s not so you can figure out if you want to be like me.”
“You’re right.” If I’m going to be a murderer—as weird as that sounds even in my own head—I’m not going to use Rory as a business and ethics model. It’ll be for myself. For my own feelings, or to do something that can’t be done another way. “I just want to know, I guess. I’m incredibly curious, okay?”
“Yeah, you really are.” He lets go of my chin and starts walking again, taking a few moments before he speaks. “I was seventeen, she was sixteen. We were dating, and she cheated on me. I got upset, and she thought it would be cute to have her boyfriend come threaten me. Only, he didn’t stop at threatening.” His voice is clipped, words almost cut off when he says them, like he wants to get this over with as quickly as he can. “When he tried to slam my face into a mirror for the second time, I grabbed one of the broken pieces in the sink and stabbed him with it. He was nineteen, and huge. Obviously, everyone knew. I mean, my bloody hands and that same blood all over him were a dead giveaway.” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug.
“But I was never charged for anything. It really was self defense, after all.” But his voice darkens as he speaks, and I’d give anything to see his face. “If they’d seen how I taunted him, how I made sure it hurt as much as it could, then I doubt I would’ve gotten away with it so easily. Does that scare you?” His eyes are suddenly back on mine, like he’s looking to catch a reaction before I can hide it.
“No.” My reply is honest, through and through. “He deserved it. Why would self-defense bother me?”
“Because I stuck my finger in the cut and wanted to see if I could rip it open like moth-eaten curtains?”
“Okay, well, I’m still not upset. Could you like…” I lift my fingers, wiggling them back and forth. “Feel his jugular under there? Was it slippery from all the blood? That would’ve been pretty epic of you to like, grab his jugular with your finger and rip it.” Hypothetically, of course, I add mentally, for my own personal benefit.
“…You are a violent little thing. Vicious, too. Has anyone ever told you that?” From the other side of the trees, the lights from the gym loom in the darkness, illuminating the parking lot.
“A few times,” I admit. “Mom says it’s because I play with dead things, and girls shouldn’t play with dead things.”
“Interesting.” He doesn’t leave the trees completely, but does glance at the cars as he walks. Finally he stops, and I recognize the old Jaguar as the present Jayden’s dad gave him for graduating high school. Even now it looks messy, with dirt and mud sprayed up the sides and dried in clumps.
If that were mine, I sure as hell would be taking better care of it. Rory kneels, settling back on his heels as he stays within the darkness of the trees. Stillness creeps over him as I sink down beside him, and it strikes me that he has to be good at the waiting game, especially by now.
I don’t tell him thatwaitingis one of my weak points. My weakest, if we’re being honest. But I settle down on the ground beside him, leaning against the tree to my left, and tell myself that I’m going to do the best I can, given what I have to work with.
We don’t have to wait long, and I’m definitely grateful for it. The last of the big lights from the public gym are flicked off, and when the doors open, Jayden comes out, talking to someone who veers off from him almost immediately to go in their own direction.
Immediately fear seizes me, and for a moment I’m sure I’m going to vomit.
“ThankGod,” Rory mutters, getting to his feet in the darkness of the trees. “If we’re going to do this more often, we’ve got to teach you how to wait.”
“I waited just fine!” I argue, scrambling up and gripping onto his forearm without thinking.
“That is undeniably false,” Rory murmurs, his hand coming up to splay against my chest, as if he can feel my racing heart even through the jacket and the shirt underneath. “Put your mask on, Bailey. And stop panicking. You don’t have to do anything except be here, okay?”
He’d told me earlier that I didn’treallyneed to come at all, but that one of his rules with Phoenix was that they worked in pairs, at least for the kills that really mattered and they weren’t creating separate alibis for.
But I’d told him, forcefully, that I’d rather come to make sure nothing goes wrong.
Now, some part of me regrets that. Especially when Rory helps me, taking the mask in my trembling fingers and guiding it to my face so I can tie it around my head and flip my hood back up where it’s covering my hair. He puts his on next, with practiced ease, and reaches out to grip my shoulder.
