AllFreeNovel
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It’s a lot, to put it mildly.
We now suspect three students of being members of POP, but only one of them has that dreaded app downloaded to their phone.
Alissa Matthews.
Tylor Heard.
Patrick Malone.
The first two only have vague texts and emails on their phones, confirming dates and times—suspected POP meetings, based on the locations where they took place. They’re also in almost constant contact with a few suspected POP members.
But Patrick…
Patrick doesn’t just have the app on his phone. He’s an active participant in it. His vulgar messages still appear behind my closed eyelids, blinking errantly like a broken stoplight.
Let me see that bitch cry.
How much to shoot the fucker in the head?
Fuck, that’s a nice pussy. I love when it’s painted red with blood.
God, I’ve dealt with a lot of depraved and twisted people in my life, but Patrick takes the cake.
If I have to spend even one more minute surfing through that damn app, I’m going to lose it.
Every video I watch, every message I read, every picture I see… They all destroy a tiny piece of my soul. I’m afraid there won’t be anything left of me once this is all finally over. It’s why I always refuse Landon’s offer to help me go through the information—I don’t want to destroy him the way I’m destroying myself.
And the shit I’ve seen will destroy anyone, even someone as inclined to the dark side as Zane.
I slam my laptop closed with a heavy sigh and throw my head back against the top of the couch. It’s well after midnight, and silvery strips of light creep through the blinds, illuminating the tiny living room in our dorm.
The others are already asleep—they have been for over an hour now—but not me. Even if I wasn’t obsessed with finishing my task, there would be no sleep for me. Every time I close my eyes, I’m haunted by nightmares. By crying women and screaming men and dead bodies.
Bloody hell.
I scrub my fingers through my tousled hair and take another deep breath. I need another damn holiday after all this shit.
“Beck?” Ellie’s tentative voice pulls me out of my internal musings, and I turn to see her standing in the doorway of Ryker’s room, dressed in cotton shorts and a thin cami. Her brows are lowered, and her lips are pressed into a tight line.
“Go to bed, sweetheart. It’s late,” I reprimand, absently scratching at the stubble that has grown on my face. I really need to shave.
“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” She arches an eyebrow as she ventures farther into the room and perches on the armrest of the couch. Her gaze volleys between my closed laptop, the black bags no doubt visible under my eyes, and my wrinkled clothes. “Beck, when did you last sleep?” Concern edges into her voice.
I try to evade her question the best I can without outright lying to her. “It’s been a busy few days,” I confess.
“You look horrible,” she admonishes.
“Geez, thanks. Way to make a guy feel pretty.” I offer her a flirty smile, but I can tell it fails to meet its mark when her eyes narrow.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in wrinkled clothes in all the years I’ve known you,” she points out, grabbing at my sweater for emphasis. “And when did you last sketch?” This time, she reaches for my hand, holding it gingerly in her own and studying my nails. Goose bumps travel up my spine as she traces first one finger and then the next, stopping only when she reaches my pinkie. “You usually have charcoal smudges on your skin.” There’s a sad note to her voice I yearn to eradicate.
“El…”
“Don’t ‘El’ me,” she huffs, jumping to her feet while still holding my hand in hers. She gives it a tiny tug, but I remain where I am, rooted to the couch, a block of immovable cement. “We’re going to bed.”
“I can’t, love.” I offer her a tired, weary smile. My lack of sleep, compounded by everything I’ve witnessed on the dark web, is beginning to take its toll on me. Lead weights are connected to my ankles, keeping me tethered to the ground. Tethered to the damn couch. Unexplainable grief tunnels into my throat and forms a stiff ball of tension that proves impossible to swallow around. Grief…for the man I used to be. “I have so much I need to do?—”
“Beck.” She mimics my no-nonsense tone from before, releasing my hand and placing her hands on her hips.
