Jax studies me for a flutter of a heartbeat then nods as he straightens his stance. “Yeah, let’s go into the room.”
I pull a wary face. “The room? That sounds … ominous.”
“It’s just a soundproof room,” Hunter insists, lacing his fingers through mine. “Stop being scared of us, little raven. We’re here to protect you, not harm you.”
A soundproof room? Yeah, that sounds normal. And what do they need to even soundproof anyway? Screaming?
I sigh internally, still not convinced they won’t hurt me, no matter what they say. Not after what happened today. Not after what’s happened to me almost all the days of my life since my parents died.
“You’re such a freak,” he tells me as he shoves me into the janitor’s closet. “Do this school a favor and leave. No one wants you here, you freak.”
“You killer,” his friend adds, stepping up behind him and sneering at me.
Blood is trickling down my forehead from when they shoved me forward and my head slammed against the corner of my locker. I want to cry from the pain, but I refuse to. I always do in front of the bullies. I just wish they’d leave me alone.
At my old school, I had a lot of friends. Now I have no one. Dixie May made sure of that when she told everyone what I was once accused of.
Killing my parents.
I don’t even know why Dixie May doesn’t like me. My aunt and uncle don’t either. My aunt, though, is just a bitch about it. My uncle … he seriously despises me. At first, I thought it was because he believed I really did kill his brother, but I overheard him telling my aunt how much he loathed my dad and how much he hated having to take care of me.
“This is where you belong. In the dark, by yourself, where no one has to look at your stupid face,” the guy who shoved me into the closet says as he reaches for the doorknob.
I don’t even know his name. Sure, I’ve seen him around, but other than that, we’ve barely crossed paths. Except for this morning when he showed up and shoved me into the locker before him and his friend then shoved me into this closet.
I put up a fight, but these guys are a lot bigger than me. Doesn’t mean I’m going to back down, though.
“Shut up,” I growl out as I stumble to my feet, ignoring the dizziness spinning in my brain. Then I storm toward the door, preparing to fight like my dad taught me, but the door is slammed in my face.
Tears prickle my eyes as I grab the doorknob and push on the door. It won’t budge.
“Let me out!” I shout as I bang on the door.
Laughter echoes from the other side.
“I bet this feels familiar, right?” one of the guys mocks from the other side of the door. “Just like your jail cell.”
“I was never in prison,” I mutter, sinking down into a crouch and wrapping my arms around my legs.
“Liar,” he says. “Have fun in there, killer, locked up just like you should be.”
When it grows quiet after that, I figure they left.
I should get up and open the door, go to class. Instead, I stay where I am, rotting in the dark, just like my soul already is.
“Hey.” Hunter’s warm palm against my cheek draws me out of memory lane. Worry floods his eyes as he examines me. “You okay?”
I give an unsteady nod. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you just zoned out for, like, a minute straight.” Hunter chews on his bottom lip. “Where’d your mind just go?”
“Nowhere,” I quickly say then sweep my gaze across the three of them. Zay appears genuinely puzzled, Hunter looks worried, and Jax's expression is neutral. But they’re looking at me, like really looking at me, and that makes me squirm.
What if they can see my vulnerability, my self-hatred? From my past experiences, allowing bullies to find your weaknesses is never a good idea. Not that I’m positive these guys are bullies … Honestly, I'm still somewhat confused about what they are and what they want from me.
Maybe I need a timeout.
“I’m going to go get dressed.” I back away from Hunter and Zay and pick up my clothes from off the pool table. “Where can I do that?” I don’t direct the question to any of them in particular since I'm still not sure whose house I'm in.
Silence stretches for a moment, then Jax motions for me to follow him. “Come on; I’ll find a room for you.” He starts down the hallway.
I hurry after him, squeezing between Zay and Hunter on my way.
“You sure you’re okay, little raven?” Hunter calls out after me with a hint of worry lacing his tone.
“Yep,” I assure him without a glance back. Then I rush down the hallway, telling myself that I am okay.
That I always am.
But what happened today on the bridge proves that, deep down, I’m really not.
Chapter Ten
Jax makes no effort to speak to me, and I let the silence be, not really in the mood to talk anyway. The memory of being locked in that closet was a total buzzkill, a reminder of how ugly my life is and how ugly it will always be.
And I deserve ugly for what I did to them.
“You’re being quiet,” Jax remarks, finally breaking the silence as he leads me down yet another wide hallway lined with doors and paintings.
“I normally am. Today was just a weird day.” I eye the paintings on the wall. “Did Hunter paint all of these?”
Jax glances at me warily. “He told you he paints?”
I nod in confusion. “Was he lying?”
He shakes his head, his intense gaze fixed on me. “No. He just normally doesn’t tell total strangers he does.”
“Really? Because, to me, he seems like the kind of guy who tells everyone everything.”
The corners of Jax’s lips tip into a shadow of a smile. “Sometimes he does have a big mouth, but he never talks about personal stuff, whether it’s his or mine or Zay’s.”
Hmm… I wonder if he’d still be saying that if he knew what Hunter told me about Zay and the raven.
He comes to a stop in front of a closed door and adds, “Something you should take note of.”
“I’m not a gossiper.” I stop beside him, holding my clothes against my chest. “In fact, I’m a great secret keeper. Not that it matters since I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be in your group.”
He doesn’t react at all, simply staring at me. Either he’s the most unemotional person ever or he’s very … controlled I guess is the right word.
“If you don’t want to, that’s fine,” he finally says as he extends his hand toward the doorknob. “But you might want to hear what we have to say before you make this decision, because Honeyton isn’t just some small town. It has a darker, dangerous side to it.”
“Yeah, but I’m not part of that darker side.”
“But your uncle’s the sheriff.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Because his job is to keep an eye on that darker, dangerous side of town. Unless he lets it buy him off. But that still comes with risks.” He pushes open the door as my lips part with a ton of questions. “That’s all I’m going to say for now. I’ll explain more after you get dressed.” He backs away from me. “When you’re done, head in here.” He stops in front of a door three doors down, pushes it open, and then walks inside without saying anything else.
His ability to dismiss things is impressive. I almost envy him because of it. But I also don’t know much about him either. Maybe there’s a deeper reason for why he hardly reacts to anything.
Frowning, I turn back to the open door and tentatively step inside, a bit apprehensive about entering an unknown room. But relief instantly trickles through me.
It's just a bedroom. A stunning bedroom with deep violet walls, a black ceiling, and antique light fixtures. A fireplace is on the far back wall, along with a curtain covered window, and in the center of it all is a massive four-poster bed covered with a purple velvet blanket.
Shutting the door, I cross the room, set my clothes down on the bed, and then head over to the window to peer outside so I can try to figure out where the hell I am. As soon as I draw the curtain back, my jaw nearly smacks the black and white checkerboard floor.
“Holy mother of … Where the hell am I?" I gape at what I'm assuming is Honeyton glimmering in the distance below the hill that this house is perched on like some freakin' royal castle. Hills roll in the distance, and the sun has set, the midnight blue sky sparkling with silver stars and moonlight.
Shaking my head, I let the curtain go then return to the bed to get dressed.
Once I get my shorts, shirt, tights, and shoes on, I move to put on my jacket, but something doesn’t seem right. I lift the leather fabric up to my nose and breathe in. Then tears burn my eyes. It doesn’t smell like my mom’s perfume anymore, but like freshly fallen rain.
A tear slips from my eye as another piece of her is ripped away from me. But I hastily swipe it away and suck the tears back.
I don’t deserve to cry.
Not about this.
Blood on my hands.
My parents’ lifeless bodies in front of me on the floor.
I can’t remember how I got here. Can’t remember anything after my mom told me to hide. The police officer, though, staring at me right now, has a horrified look on his face, like he knows exactly what happened. Then he grabs me and jerks me toward him—
I blink, slightly gasping as the memory fades. I hate when I have random flashbacks. Hate that I can never put all the pieces together. Although, deep down, part of me fears what will happen—what I’ll see—if I ever remember everything. The police had their speculations. I’d been known to have a temper, just like my dad. And with the blood on my hands … it looked suspicious. There were also a couple of witnesses who said they saw me fighting with my parents earlier that day out in the front yard, something I don’t remember at all. Weirdly, though, those witnesses went off the radar, leaving the police with hardly any evidence against me, other than how they found me that day. But my lawyer argued that I could’ve easily just found my parents, that I panicked and tried to resuscitate them, and that’s why I had blood on my hands. That my hands didn’t put the knife wounds in their bodies.