“What else?” I half-shout. Eye color, height, posture. I need to know all of it.

  “I don’t know. She was kind of tall, I guess. Or maybe shorter.”

  “That’s real helpful, Sherlock,” I grumble. I peer through the peephole, but there’s no one in front of our house.

  A gush of cool air hits my burning skin as I swing the door open and scan the sidewalk.

  But whoever she is, she’s already gone.

  From the penalty box, I scan the bleachers. Paranoia makes every hair on the back of my neck stand up. Someone is following me, and I need to figure out who before they cause trouble for us.

  Father must’ve hired them to tail me, to keep an eye on his troublemaker son. But if I’m being followed, they could find out what Juliet and I have been up to. They might already know.

  She trusted me to help her get rid of Ned Miller’s body. She’s trusting me to help her find the two monsters still breathing. I won’t let anything come between her and vengeance. Certainly not my father.

  Up in the bleachers, Valentine’s girl bounces and cheers when he blocks the puck from our net. Beside her, Juliet catches me watching her and smirks before flipping me off.

  But she’s in my jersey. She’s in my fucking jersey.

  Plenty of puck bunnies have worn my jersey before, but I never gave a shit. Only enough to brag that they wanted me more than any other asshole on the team.

  But Juliet? Wearing my jersey and letting everyone at this game know she’s mine? I want to make her strip down to nothing but my jersey before I fuck her in it.

  After the game, I barely register our win as the guys hoot and holler in the locker room. The place reeks of sweat and ass, the mild scent of soap from the showers mingling with the body odor.

  Rockefeller claps me on the shoulder, nothing but a towel slung low across his hips. He’s got a big, goofy grin on his face. “So what’d you have to do to win her over?”

  Behind him, Vanderbilt slips on a too-tight shirt with a scowl. “Must’ve cost him a few Gucci purses.”

  My hand curls into a fist, ready to deck him. “Juliet doesn’t care about shit like that.”

  “How did you manage that one?” Valentine slips around the corner, arms folded as he leans against the lockers with brows creased. “I knew she had some kind of morbid fascination with you, but I thought it was more like a scientist studying a cockroach under a microscope, not a crazy but cool girl who wants to fuck a deranged psychopath.”

  I shrug. “Must have something to do with my massive cock.”

  Even though he’s not my biggest fan, Vanderbilt snickers. Rockefeller barks out a laugh.

  Even Valentine chuckles before covering it with a cough. “You better not hurt her.”

  “What if she’s into that?”

  His eyes narrow at my smirk. “Don’t hurt her in a way she isn’t into.”

  “Relax, Valentine. I like this one. I plan on keeping her.”

  “Make sure of it. That girl? A lot of people care about her. You? Not so much.”

  I slip my shirt over my head, wet hair dripping onto my shoulders. He’s right. No one in this world gives a shit about me. Except Juliet.

  And if my father fucks this up by sending someone to keep tabs on me, if he comes between me and my little demon, I’ll kill him.

  “If you notice anyone lurking outside our house or following me around, let me know.”

  “You mean Juliet?” Valentine asks. “Hell no. I’ll let her do whatever she wants to you.”

  “Yeah, I’m not protecting you from her psycho ass,” Vanderbilt says.

  “Of course you’re not. She’d have you on your knees begging for mercy in seven seconds.”

  Vanderbilt smirks. “She’d have me on my knees begging for something.”

  I take a lurching step toward him, but Rockefeller plants a hand on my shoulder before I can swing at our teammate. “Relax.”

  “I’m not talking about Juliet. Someone else has been following me.” I nod to Rockefeller. “You saw her. So let me know if any of you spot someone suspicious lurking around.”

  Valentine fucks off back to his locker while Vanderbilt rolls his eyes. “Paranoid much?”

  Irritation stiffens my spine. “I’m not being paranoid.”

  Rockefeller chuckles before clapping me on the shoulder. “We’re all being followed by puck bunnies, bud. Welcome to minor hockey stardom. She just better hope Juliet doesn’t find out about her, or she’s dead.”

  Chapter 15

  Juliet

  Brandon hands us white nightgowns, and Autumn and I take them with shaky fingers. My stomach churns with nausea, legs weak and trembling.

  He’s going to make us sleep here. After everything those men did to us between these walls, he expects us to somehow close our eyes and turn our brains off for the rest of the night.

  The tears on Autumn’s face have dried, her hair a mess, and I can barely stomach looking at her. But the only other options are looking at Brandon or the floor, and I refuse to let him see how much he’s broken me.

  I slip out of the white dress I wore for him, now covered in disgusting fluids, and toss it as hard as I can at his face. He catches it with ease and I slip on the nightgown while Autumn does the same. She’s a robot beside me, each movement stilted and awkward without a hint of emotion on her face.

  The thin fabric reeks of mothballs, but at least it’s clean. At least our torment is over.

  I’m going to kill him for this. For all of it.

  Brandon takes us both by the elbows, and I jerk away from him. “Don’t touch me!”

  Before, his touch was a strange, confusing mixture of nauseating and comforting. His touch made me special. Now, it’s nothing but repulsive.

  A crease forms between his brows, mouth curving down. An expression I’ve never seen on his face before.

  One that scares me.

  Brandon’s grip on my elbow is sturdy as steel this time, unshakable as I try to jerk out of his hold. Autumn lets him guide her without protest. She’s done fighting.

  Wordlessly, he leads us out of the room and down an empty hallway, our echoing footsteps the only sound until he drops Autumn’s elbow to turn the knob on another door.

  Run, I mouth to her. For these few seconds, she’s free. At least one of us will escape.

  But she only stares at me with empty eyes, and she doesn’t budge.

  She’s too late.

  Brandon opens the door to reveal another man waiting inside, preparing a lineup of tools beside a workbench. The buttons on his shirt are open halfway down, revealing the plane of his chest. Before he even speaks or turns to face us, I know he’s different from the other men. His slacks and shiny shoes would be a costume on them, but they’re a second skin on him.

  When he finally turns to face us, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and gives us a close-lipped smile that, in any other situation, I might mistake for warm.

  But the tools beside his workbench are sharp, glinting under the singular fluorescent lightbulb above his head.

  “Welcome.” That one word is enough. Enough to make my mind scream at me to get the hell out of here.

  I try to wrench out of Brandon’s grasp, but he shoves me and Autumn into the room, keeping the door shut from the other side as I scream and try to pry it open.

  “Fuck you!” The shout tears through my throat.

  When we’re dead, I’ll find him in hell and kill him all over again. Make it long and insufferable.

  Someone pulls on my arm, and I jerk away like a feral cat, but it’s not the man in the room with us.

  It’s Autumn.

  Her eyes are round with fear as the man pulls her toward him with a twisted smile.

  My heart lurches as I grab for her hand. “Don’t touch her!”

  But I’m too late. He tugs her toward him harder, her cry like a kitten caught in a predator’s jaws, its mother too far away to save it.

  When he’s got her fully encased in his arms, the man gives me a sour smile that turns my stomach leaden. “Pay attention. You’ll do everything she does.”

  I can’t watch what he does to her. I drop to my knees and cover my ears, but I can’t drown out the sounds of her gags, her heaves, her cries.

  But none of it compares to her screams.

  They rattle my eardrums, worse than something from a horror movie, and all I can do is rock and hum and cover my ears and squeeze my eyes shut, the tears still flowing out because there’s nothing I can do. I can’t help her. I can’t stop him.

  My eyes are still glued shut when I realize Autumn’s screams have stopped. When I feel the warm liquid seeping around my knees.

  I dare to open my eyes.

  A crimson pool flows around my knees. Stains my white nightgown.

  Blood. Autumn’s blood.

  And she’s not screaming anymore. She’s not Autumn anymore.

  My heart pounds harder than it ever has in my life as I slowly straighten, trying not to make even the smallest sound.

  At his workbench, the man is busy with Autumn’s body, arms and hands moving methodically, but I focus my gaze on the door. I don’t want to see it. Don’t want to witness what he’s done to her.

  When Brandon brought us to this room, he knew we wouldn’t be leaving it alive. He left us here to die. To be murdered.

  I need to get the fuck out of here.

  The only other escape is a tiny window. But in the time I’d waste pushing it open and crawling out, he’d catch me.

  That only leaves the door. Where the other men wait somewhere on the other side.

  Autumn. Fresh tears blur my vision, but I blink them away. I’ll cry for her later. I’ll break into a thousand pieces knowing what happened to her, but right now, she’d want me to escape. She’d want me to run.

  Before the man can spot me, I lurch for the door and yank it open.

  A shout and a pair of footsteps thunder after me. They’re hunting me. They won’t let me leave this place of horrors alive.

  But I’m a runner. I’m fast. The fastest on the team.

  That’s what Coach liked about me. That’s what he told me, anyway. But what he really liked was that I was a vulnerable girl with absent parents and no one looking out for her. No one to stop him.

  Another set of footsteps joins the man’s behind me, both of them shouting at me to stop.

  But I reach the front doors, yanking one open and bursting out, surrounded by darkness and no one to help me.

  I race for the woodline while the men shout into the night. Autumn’s blood trickles down my legs, my heart drums in my ears, and my bare feet scream as I sprint over rocks and dirt and branches, disappearing into the woods.

  If they find me, I’m dead.

  “Did you manage to get into Trey’s phone?”

  For a second, I’m sure I must’ve misheard Sienna over the din of the hockey fans shouting to each other and the players from the stands after the game. But then I remember the lie I fed her. Right, Trey’s phone. Not Ned’s phone. “Not yet.”

  “Ask Finn when they leave the locker room.” She nods to the Devils leaving the ice, eager to strip off their gear and hit the weight room for a postgame workout.

  I spot Finn’s jersey amongst the players. Right winger. I’m slowly learning the positions as Sienna repeats them to me every game. Most of my knowledge about hockey I’ve acquired against my will.

  At this point, I don’t have a choice but to ask Finn for help. I’m obviously not getting into Ned’s phone on my own, and who knows how long Brandon will stay wherever he is. Who knows how long it will take him to grow suspicious of his friend’s silence and take off. “Yeah, I’ll ask him.”

  As most of the crowd makes its way out of the exits, a brunette remains seated, chin lifted, purse on her lap, and eyes trained on the Devils. On one Devil, in particular.

  The back of Trey’s hair is damp, sticking to his neck with sweat. He smirks when he spots me watching him and gestures to his own chest before mouthing, Nice jersey.

  Why the hell is the brunette watching him like that?

  He disappears into the locker room with the rest of the Devils and the brunette stands, descending the bleachers and heading for the exit. Her burgundy wool trench coat and shoulder-length, layered haircut tell me she’s not a student or a puck bunny. Something about her face is artificially youthful. Botox, probably. But by the slight lines around her mouth and eyes, she must be at least in her forties. Her nose turns up at the end, brown eyes soft, lipstick a matte pink, the rest of her makeup elegant but minimal, freckles across her cheeks that make the dark shade of her hair seem unnatural, and a mole near the corner of her eye that somehow makes her more regal.

  I nudge Sienna and nod to the woman. “Do you recognize her?”

  Sienna tilts her head, lips pursing. “Hmm. I think I might’ve seen her around before? She looks vaguely familiar, maybe? Definitely not a student, though. Maybe one of the moms.”

  I jump to my feet, rush down the steps, and march over to her before she can slip out of the building. She can’t be Trey’s mom back from the dead, so who the hell is she?

  “Juliet—” Sienna calls.

  Her shout catches the woman’s attention. She glances back and moves faster when she spots me. Oh, hell no.

  “Wait!” But she’s out the door before I can catch up, and by the time I burst out of the exit, she’s disappeared into the crowd leaving the dark campus.

  By the time I give up searching and head back inside, most of the Devils have emerged from the locker room. Trey, Damien, and Knox are swarmed by puck bunnies while Luke and Sienna are wrapped up in each other. Finn manages to extract himself from the group. Sometimes, he seems to like the attention; other times, it’s the last thing he wants.

  I race to him and grab his arm, and he grimaces. “I need a favor.”

  His brows furrow and he stares down at me wordlessly. Jesus, it’s going to take a special girl to deal with his silence.

  I thrust Ned’s phone toward him. “Can you get this phone unlocked for me?”

  He shrugs and takes it at the same time Knox appears behind him with his usual goofy grin, clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Whose phone are you trying to break into?”

  “Trey’s.” I return my attention to Finn. “So are you going to do it or what?”

  Finn is my last hope. I need to get into Ned’s phone and find texts or emails or something between him and Brandon. This is my only tether left to finding him.

  Wordlessly, Finn shoves the phone into his pocket.

  I glance at Knox for a translation, and he smiles. “That’s his way of saying he’ll do it.”

  The Devils are absolutely trashed after partying to celebrate their victory. Nearly all of them are stumbling home, even typically graceful Finn. Knox has fallen twice, and Damien has hip-checked a car’s side mirror and a lamppost, which he then proceeded to scold for five minutes. Sienna leans almost all of her weight against Luke, who isn’t exactly stable himself.

  I’m not used to being the only sober one in the group. One of two.

  Beside me, Trey is steady on his feet. We held onto the same plastic cups all night, eyeing each other as we both refused to drink. I wasn’t in the mood to get drugged, and apparently, neither was he.

  Sienna’s drunken smile falls away as she narrows her eyes at Trey, his hand wrapped protectively around my waist. Uh oh. I love my best friend—she’s the sweet puppy to my feral black cat. But when she’s drunk, the teeth come out. “Do you even know what her favorite color is?”

  Trey lifts an amused brow before gesturing to my typical monochrome outfit. “Gonna have to go with black.”

  “We all could’ve guessed that,” Knox crows.

  Sienna rolls her eyes. “That was an easy one. What’s her favorite number?”

  “Got to be thirteen.” Luke fakes a shiver running down his spine. I flip him off.

  “You know, I don’t think we’ve gotten around to discussing that very important information,” I tell her.

  Without hesitation, Trey says, “Seven.”

  I nudge him with my elbow. “How did you know that?”

  My favorite number is completely unimportant information and yet Trey knowing the answer somehow feels important.

  “What was the name of her childhood dog?” Sienna challenges.

  “Is this an interrogation?” I blurt.

  “Max,” Knox guesses.

  Damien runs into another lamppost, but it barely fazes him. “Bella.”

  “She’d definitely name her dog something cute like Teddy,” Luke says. “Ironically.”

  “All of you shut up,” Sienna calls. “This is Trey’s test.”

  He snorts. “Her parents didn’t let her have a dog.” Wow. He’s a better stalker than I realized. “She’s lived in Wakefield all her life, she was the fastest runner on her cross-country team, she’s majoring in psychology, her middle name is Anne, her birthday is February twenty-seventh, and she wants to be a school counselor when she grows up. How did I do?”

  “Great, actually.” Sienna brightens, satisfied as she flashes a smile my way. Trey is officially bestie-approved.

  My skin tingles. Even if Trey learned all of this information by stalking me, no man has ever cared enough to know this much about me before. Even Brandon barely knew specifics about me when he was manipulating me into believing he cared about me. Marcus definitely never gave a shit. All any man has ever cared about is what’s beneath my clothes, not what’s in my head or my heart.

  I poke his ribcage. “And your major is economics, your favorite color is red, your middle name is Aries, and your birthday is July third.”

  He grins down at me, squeezing my hip. “You’re almost as good at stalking as I am.”

  “Better,” I whisper.

  Sienna can’t stop smiling, a knowing glint in her eyes.

  When we reach the Devils’ house, Luke fumbles with his key until I snatch it from his hand with a huff and unlock the door myself. The Devils manage to squeeze their giant, stumbling bodies over the threshold.

 

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