Thinking about it fuels the fire inside of me. He will get what’s coming to him and I will savor every moment of shredding him with my own bare hands.
When I get down to the kitchen, I tap my screen and my fingers shadow over the missed call.
What the hell does he want?
9
Walking out of the bedroom, I leave the door open and step quietly down the hall. I hear someone talking—arguing actually. Yet, there is no one arguing back. It’s a one-sided conversation, and I’d know that voice anywhere. Taking a couple steps down the staircase, I’m shielded by walls on both sides. Sitting down, right before the wall turns to banister, I hold my breath while trying to listen. His words are muffled from the distance between us, but it is definitely Talon, and he’s definitely engaged in an intense conversation.
“I told you fifty fucking times that she’s safe. No one is going to lay a finger on her.”
Her? As in me?
“We are all well aware of the deal. Have been since day one.”
There’s a pause.
“You’re in no position to try and call the shots here. Seems you’re the one forgetting the arrangement. Now quit calling my fucking phone before you raise suspicion.”
There’s another pause, followed by the sound of a thud. When he stops talking, I assume it’s his phone meeting the countertop.
Getting to my feet, I go back up the stairs and tiptoe down the hall. Shutting my door quietly behind me.
What the hell was that all about?
News spread like wildfire of Josh’s disappearance. Every time his name was mentioned, it felt like a dozen whistles were sounding off in my ears, vibrating through my entire body. My knees buckled a couple times, but all things considered, I’ve held it together pretty well.
There are so many rumors circulating that I can’t keep up: he’s addicted to heroin and is staying with his dealer. He fled after his parents caught him raping his sister. Someone murdered him and dropped him in the ocean.
My mind has been replaying Talon’s one-sided conversation from last night and I’ve been racking my brain like hell trying to figure out who Talon was talking to. It could have been one of the guys, I suppose. But was he talking about me? And what deal was he referring to?
“I know you said that you’ll fill me in later, but please tell me why he is still following us,” Shay says, as she glances over her shoulder for the fifteenth time as we walk from third period to lunch.
Wyatt slides up to us and throws an arm over my shoulder. “She’s alive!” he singsongs.
The halls are packed with the senior student body as we all head to the cafeteria. Passerbys look at me and then their eyes shoot to Tommy, who is walking no more than six feet behind us. “Just ignore him,” I tell her, keeping my focus on the cafeteria doors in front of us.
“How are we supposed to do that?” Wyatt whisper-talks. “He’s been watching you like a hawk since you stepped out of his car this morning. Which, by the way, is really fucking weird because I’ve never even seen you talk to the guy.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I silently beg for them to stop talking. “How was the haunted trail the other night?” I ask Wyatt in an attempt to change the subject.
He drops his arm from my shoulder and begins talking with his hands. “Scary as shit. I may have accidentally grabbed Shane’s cock when I all but jumped into his arms.”
I laugh. “Accidentally my ass. You probably planned that shit.” Wyatt and Shane have a secret crush on each other. Well, they think it's a secret, but everyone knows. Personally, I think they need to just scream it from the rooftop because they’re cute as hell together.
When we reach the cafeteria, I stop and turn around to face Tommy with a hand on my hip. My eyes plead with him, and he knows exactly what I’m asking. When he shakes his head no, I stomp my foot like a child. “Really?”
“Really.” He nods in the direction of the line. “Your friends can come, but you will sit at my table.”
Shay and Wyatt exchange glances with each other and then look to me for answers that I can’t give them. Not yet.
“Come on,” I say to them, “we’re eating with Tommy today.”
“You two go ahead. I’ll pass,” Wyatt says. I’m not surprised. He hasn’t had the best experiences with these guys. Bullying is too kind of a word to use. They’ve made the lives of half of the student body hell just because they existed in their world. Yet, everyone still goes to their parties because there is free booze and zero parental supervision.
Shay leans in and whispers in my ear with her eyes on Tommy, “Would you mind if I sit this one out, too?”
Dropping my shoulders, I scowl. “Seriously you guys! You’re both ditching me and leaving me to sit with the likes of that?” I point to the table where Tommy’s buddies are sitting. I don’t even know all of their names, but I do know that the guy with the leather jacket and purple mohawk was caught selling pills out of his locker junior year. I don’t even know why Tommy associates with those guys. Sure, he doesn’t exactly belong with the jocks, but I get the feeling Tommy has more layers than the people he calls his so-called friends. He’s artistic and, every once in a while, shows a glimmer of kindness. Now that I think about it, he might be my only hope for survival in all of this.
With a shrug, they head to the line while I’m left there with Tommy. “Better get in line before all the good food is taken.” He grins, giving a nudge toward the line that is now stretched to the door.
“This is so stupid. Do you guys really think that I’m going to say anything? You think I want my friends to know what I’ve done. That I pushed Josh’s—” Tommy’s hand claps over my mouth.
“That…” he snaps. “That is exactly why I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He removes his hand and looks around, making sure no one heard us. Everyone is carrying on with their conversations about football, dances, and the luxurious life of a high school student. While I’m here. With him. Drowning in thoughts of dead bodies, asylums, and cliffs. “You can’t say his name. Ever. Got it?”
Tommy steps in front of me in the line, and I’m drawn to his back pocket that bulges out. It looks like a rolled-up newspaper stuffed in there with his black t-shirt curtaining it. I lift up his shirt from the back, curiosity getting the better of me. “Why the hell are you carrying around a can of spray paint?” I chuckle then let his shirt fall back in place.
His head turns while his body still faces the line. “Because you never know when an opportunity will arise.”
Sighing, I shake my head in disgust. “Please don’t tell me you huff that shit.”
“Not gonna lie and say I never have, but that’s not why I have it. I like art.” We take a few steps forward, filling the empty space as the line gets smaller.
“You mean you like graffiti?”
He turns around to face me, a look of wonder in his eyes. “How hungry are you?”
“Not at all.” It’s true. I don’t think I could even force myself to eat right now. Nausea is swimming around in my stomach, and if I let myself, I could probably throw up.