Could this be a setup?
It’s not unfathomable to think they’re on to me, no matter how careful I’ve been.
I mull it over for ages, debating the pros and cons, before I decide to Google Landing’s Lane. It’s an old abandoned army base straddling the borders between Prestwick and Fenton. I attempt to locate visuals on Google maps, but there are none, which is hugely interesting. If that is where The Sainthood stows their supplies, it makes sense it can’t be found. I’d expect them to protect it from prying eyes.
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.
