My captivity, my abuse, my torture, and my attempted murder were now only quiet echoes among the spectating trees lining the edge of that deadly, sinister lake.
The way they should be.
Maybe it was a tactic, or maybe it was Rusty—something he had control over. And if it was, I was okay with it. I was grateful for it.
He may not have come back for me, but at least he cared enough to do something good.
That’s something I’ll never forget.
“You finally making that move, huh?”
The crunch of asphalt under heavy-soled boots sounds behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know who it is. Keaton’s voice was the glue between the broken shards of my shattered heart.
His broad, muscled shoulder brushes against mine, shoving me playfully, and I try not to wince from the pang that shoots through my entire body like an electric volt. Everything is more painful today. The ache in my bones is almost unbearable, searing and subtle, a constant throb that promises permanent housing.
How do I live with this?
“Yep, ’bout time, right?” I laugh beneath my breath, keeping my head turned down and not glancing at Keats when I feel it rattle my broken ribs.
Forty-eight hours ago, Rusty walked out of my hospital room, and twenty-four hours ago, I discharged myself. After leaving the hospital, I walked slowly to my apartment, where I slept for what felt like days but was only hours, before deciding I would snatch up the wad of cash Keaton had left on my kitchen counter all those weeks ago and take his advice.It was time toleave.The air in my lungs was a privilege, and I had no intention of taking that for granted.
The truth is, I wasn’t safe in Shadow Heads anymore, and the town of Devil’s Peak had stolen too much from me. I needed to get the fuck out of here before it came back for its third andfinalround.
You know what they say about things coming in threes.I wasn’t willing to find out if the saying had any intention of keeping its malicious promise.
I was going to LA like Keaton had suggested.
Not for Harlen, not for Cameryn or Tyler,but for me.
It was a dancer's dream, one that brought my mother’s to fruition, and maybe it had the same promise for me.
I close my eyes, biting into my bottom lip as it trembles.
“You’re looking more and more likeherevery day, you know.” Keaton’s voice pulls me from the thoughts scratching through my skull. He is talking about our mother, and he only speaks the truth—I’m a spitting image of her. My cherry locks are the exact same color, the creamy pale skin wrapped around my bones just as stark, the naturally full pink lips, and the bright blue glacial eyes that hide behind my unusually long eyelashes.
I miss her…so much.
I tilt my chin up at him, a small smile touching the cushion of my lips. “That’s probably the nicest compliment you’ve ever given me, Keats.”
Keaton’s eyebrows pinch, his matching blue eyes casting their shadow over my face. My heartbeat doesn’t pick up pace under his scrutiny. I already know that the mess staring back at him can easily be put down to having a bad fall. The brutal wounds are what lie beneath my black tracksuit, the ones Keaton will never see or know about. Because he will not stop until he finds the men that did this to me, and I want more for him.
I don’t want him to spend his life chasing revenge.
That’s my purpose now.
I knew he was grinding on his molars, his jaw clenched so tight I could almost see them busting out of his gums.
Keaton’s scabbed knuckles wrap around my chin. He tilts it upward until my eyes latch onto his. “What the fuck happened to you, B?”
I snort, shaking my head out of his grip quickly. Only, he grasps me that little bit tighter.
Oh, the brotherly love.
“I had a bad date with the concrete.” I drop my bottom lip.
My response flies way over his head, and the lines between his eyebrows etch deeper as he tries to understand. I shake my head again and shove his chest, stepping back with widening eyes when he still looks so damn lost in thought. His black t-shirt sits even tighter around his arms than it did a couple weeks ago.
“I fell over.” I make it a little clearer for him this time, walking my fingers through the air, then slapping my hand into the palm of my opposite one. “You know, one foot in front of the other, but I tripped.”
