My fingers twitch, itching to grab her. Instead, I ease back, crossing my arms across my chest, and watch. I notice Brian Porter smiling on with glee at the scene.Fucking tool.
Meagan stands, forcing my attention back to her as she storms away from the table.
I watch as she makes her way for the exit, stopping at the threshold. She stops short of leaving the diner, pausing with a hand on the glass. She turns and shouts, “I hope you assholes and that stupid bitch get everything coming to you. You all fucking deserve the hell that’s about to rain down on this town!” Then, she shoves open the door and stomps out.
I’d say I was embarrassed, but I’m too busy being happy that this date is over. Brittany wasn’t terrible. We grabbed coffee, and that was that. Sam’s date was— well, it wasn’t. I refused to have that conniving skank within breathing distance. I had her meet me at the diner, then had Mary hand her a note that said, ‘Not even if it would save the world from ending would I be caught dead on a date with you.’
It was worth the screaming Wes’s dad gave me about the rules. What wasn’t worth it was the punishment the Council gave me. I have to take her out next week or else— and I didn’t want to know what theor elsewas.
Sighing, I get up from the table and drop my money to cover the meal.
Fuck this dumb ass Selection process.
* * *
A blaring ringing wakes me.I’m not sure when I fell asleep. After the date with Meagan, I came home and tried to do some more work on the lead we got on Madeline. We’re so close to finding her. I can feel it.
The phone stops ringing before I can reach it, and I lift the illuminated screen to see I have twenty missed calls and ten unanswered text messages. Then, just as I’m about to unlock my phone, it lights up. Sebastian’s name flashes.
“What’s going on?” I ask, answering the phone.
“Meagan’s dead,” is his response.
The grogginess I felt a second ago dissipates.
“What?” I question, trying to ensure I heard him correctly.
“We got the call. You need to get your ass down here now. This shit doesn’t make any sense,” he says.
Fuck!
I was just with her.
“I’m on my way,” I mutter, hopping out of my bed to find my keys and head for my car.
This is starting to feel like some B-list horror movie.
It takes me five minutes to pull up to Meagan’s house. The scene mimics Summer’s— cars pull up outside, our security team is running checks and no police presence.
As I step in the door, the pungent smell of cooking skin hits my nose.
“They’re down this hall, sir,” one of the men from security informs me, and I walk down the hallway on the left.
The vile smell increases with each step. The guys are once again clustered together when I make my approach.
“What happened?” I ask.
Wes and Owen step aside, allowing me access to the room. I pause, waiting for someone to answer, but when I see that no one is going to, I step into the room teeming with security.
Thomas isn’t here. At this rate, the man might put Ariah on house arrest.
My focus locks on the half-charred torso of Meagan— still hanging partially from her tanning bed. I’d think this was an accident— that maybe she turned it up too high and fell asleep, but as I approach, I notice her face. It hangs at an awkward angle, and her eyes and mouth are sewn shut. However, that’s not the wildest part of what I’m seeing.
Turning, I ask, “Have you seen this?”
They all step into the room, but it’s Owen who answers, “Yes. Now, what does it mean?”
I turn back to Meagan’s body, leaning to ensure I’m seeing correctly. Embroidered into her forehead is ‘snitches get stitches.’
