I think the intel must be real, so I reach for my burner cell, pulling my knees into my chest as I tap out a message to Darrow. My finger hovers over the send button as I contemplate the enormity of this decision.
There is a lot resting on this, and it’s not black or white. It’s littered with gray areas.
Darrow can’t be trusted to keep our deal a secret. I’ve known that all along. He’ll love nothing more than letting the Saints know I was the one who betrayed them. It’s the ultimate payback.
When I entered into the agreement with him, I didn’t care because I didn’t give a shit about what the guys thought of me. If this goes down, it’ll mean war between the rival gangs. I want that to happen, need it to happen, because it’ll distract The Sainthood long enough to enable me to dig deeper. To locate the evidence I need to get justice. For Dad, and for me.
I’ve no doubt they’ll want revenge, but with a gang war to preoccupy them, along with the impending wedding, I figure it buys me some time. I wasn’t planning on being here when their time came to seek vengeance, because I’d have my new identity and I’d disappear. But now, that’s in limbo too.
I stare at the message, conflicted over what to do.
My gut urges caution.
If I go ahead with it, I know The Arrows will wage a full-blown war against The Sainthood. Blood will be spilled, and an increase in gang violence will be the new norm. And when Sinner finds out how it went down, he won’t just be gunning for my ass; he’ll be after the guys too for letting a woman gain the upper hand.
So fucking what? I don’t owe any of them anything. Especially not Saint. Just ’cause he’s given me a few mind-bending orgasms doesn’t mean he gets a free pass.
Stop lying to yourself.
I put the cell down on the dresser, resting my head on top of my knees, biting down hard on my lip and drawing blood.
If I do this, and the guys find out, they’ll hate me forever. Especially Saint.
Why does that statement almost induce a panic attack?
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
They deserve everything coming to them.
I pick up the cell again, moving my finger to the send button, hovering over it as I continue my internal debate, but I can’t do it. I can’t push the button.
Because I do care.
Fuck.
They have come to mean something to me.
See? This is why I don’t do feelings. All they do is fuck with your head and your heart and turn you into an overanalytical obsessive fool. And that’s when I’m most likely to make a mistake, because I don’t have a clear head.
But it’s more than that.
It’s about self-preservation too, and I can’t be hasty.
I need to put more thought into this, so I switch off the cell and replace it in the hidden panel of my Prada backpack. Then, I slip my feet into my Vans, grab my black hoodie, and head out to the hospital.
_______________
Monday rolls around, and it’s super weird driving to school without my bestie in the passenger seat beside me.
It seems the school board is taking the situation seriously, and they’ve been busy over the weekend. Security cameras are now mounted in the hallways, and they’ve added some new staff to the security team. A couple of mean-looking dudes patrol the halls, their eyes taking everything in.
The rumor mill is in overdrive, especially when Finn and Parker are no-shows, and gossip is rife about The Bulls gunning for their asses.
Couldn’t happen to two more deserving people, and I have zero remorse for the fact they’ll pay for my crime. I couldn’t give two fucks whether they live or die.
Beth is in my English lit class, and I wait until the teach has arrived before entering the room. I purposely head toward Beth’s seat, glaring at the girl sitting behind her until she gets up and moves. Then I spend the full forty minutes sending daggers at Beth’s back, breathing down her neck, kicking the back of her chair, and poking her with my pen.
She’s stiff as a board, and quiet as a mouse, enduring my torment, because I’m sure she’s freaking the hell out.
Finn and Parker are MIA, the school is scheduling interviews with students to try to uncover the truth, and, although there’s no proof, because the guys have sent the freshman into hiding—preferring to seek justice the vigilante way—if it comes out, she is most likely facing an aggravated assault charge. She’ll do time.
She knows all this, and she won’t want to do anything to draw attention to herself, so she stays quiet, and I get to torment her in peace.
It’s juvenile and petty, and completely beneath me, but I’ll take the enjoyment where I can.
By the way she hightails it out of class, I know she’s pissing her pants, and I fully intend to torture her any chance I get over the next couple weeks. By then, we should have a plan to ruin her.
“You enjoyed that,” Caz says, coming up to my desk as I stash my books.
“Not as much as I’d enjoy breaking her nose and shoving her teeth down her throat,” I honestly reply.
He slings his arm around my waist, steering me out of the room. “I’m starting to forget what it was like before you barged your way into our lives.”
“Dull and boring as fuck,” I quip, leaning my head on his shoulder in a rare show of vulnerability.
“Hey.” He stops in the middle of the hallway, tipping my chin up. “She’s going to be okay.”
“You don’t know that, Caz.” I shake my head, worrying my lip between my teeth. “What if she’s not? She’s my best friend. The only person I truly know to have my back no matter what.”
He brushes hair off my face. “We’ve got your back, princess.” He rubs his thumb along my cheek, peering deep into my eyes. “The question is, do you have ours?”
_______________
Thursday is one strange as fuck day. I wake up to Mom perched on the edge of my bed with her finger pressed to her lips. “There’s no cameras in here, right?” she whispers, anxiously looking around.
I rub sleep from my eyes as I straighten up in the bed. “No,” I confirm over a yawn. “I removed them. Why?”
She glances at the fading hickeys on my neck, frowning. “I need to ask you something.” She moves her gaze to my face, straightening up. “Did you take anything from the study after Dad died?”
If Mom’s asking questions, I guess something must’ve gone down or Sinner is resorting to her doing his dirty work.
Sneaky prick.
And he obviously thinks I’m a complete idiot.
“No, of course not,” I say, deliberately appearing confused. “What would I have taken? I did find Saint and the guys in there recently going through Dad’s stuff, so maybe, you should ask them.”
“I will,” she says, but she can’t look me in the eye, so I know she’s lying.
“What’s going on, Mom?” I’m not expecting her to tell me, but there’s still some teeny, tiny part of me that’s hopeful.
She stares at me for ages without speaking, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. It’s the first time we’ve been this close for weeks, and I’m only now noticing the purple shadows under her eyes and the newly formed worry lines at the corners of her mouth. Her voice cracks a little when she eventually speaks. “I know our relationship is a little tenuous right now, but I need to ask you for something.”