Another thing I’ve had ample time to mull over and... did she? Did Hailey kill Aalyiah?
No.
My sister took her own life. I get what Rhett’s saying. I follow his train of thought. Hailey’s guilty by association and until I met her, I was more than happy to lay the blame equally between Alex and his side babe.
Now, the doubt creeps in. The flashback I witnessed, the fear in Hailey’s eyes when she remembered Alex’s hands on her neck... it doesn’t make sense. There are more layers to this story than Rhett could anticipate.
More questions than he can answer.
My perception of Hailey was wrong from the start, but... I crack my neck, pushing thebuts aside. There are no fuckingbuts.
Aalyiah’s dead.
Hailey’s the reason why.
And I need payback.
“Got it,” I tell Rhett. “Accidents happen.” Butting the cigarette out on the pavement, I turn my back on Hailey. “I need to go. I’ll be in touch if anything comes up.”
“Good. Keep Dante in the loop. It was his condition when I asked to borrow you.”
He cuts the call while I nod, perfectly aware he can’t see it. My duty to Rhett comes from a blood bond, but the one to Dante is more important. I wouldn’t go behind his back no matter how Rhett felt.
Dante already knows more about my activities than my father. It will stay this way because there’s only one of them I trust with my life, and it’s not my father.
Shoving the phone in my back pocket, I enter the café, heading to the table where Hailey’s still furiously writing, most of her fineliners now capless, a pink dot staining her pouty mouth. She must’ve bitten the wrong end.
Her coffee sits untouched and cold, so I hail a waitress to order another latte, double espresso and two slices of apple pie.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Hailey says, eyes on the page, purple fineliner hovering half an inch above. “You stink.”
So she did notice I was gone. That’s... whatever.
“You on the other hand smell divine. There’s balance.”
Her soft lips twitch into a smile she desperately tries to bite back. “Why are you staring?”
“No better view in sight.” I lean back, offering her a false sense of privacy. “What are you writing about?”
She finally drags those blues up, her long ponytail swinging to her back as she straightens, moving both arms to cover the two-page spread.
“You already know I can’t remember the last two years, and you know my memories are coming back.”
She weighs every word, though I doubt it’s for my benefit. She’s making a list of pros and cons, wondering whether it’s safe to tell me.
She pulls her ponytail to the front, twisting it around her neck as she speaks. I’ve seen her do this enough that I thinkit’s nonconscious. She’s wired to hide her scars, bruises, and scratches. Either she’s self-conscious, or she’s done this so much it’s become second nature.
My hands ball into fists at the thought of someone making her feel less because of her imperfections. And then my mind flashes fucking red at the thought of someone hurting her.
Fuck. It’s been four days. Three interactions, and she’s already getting under my skin in the worst way.
I feel...protective.
Where’s that coming from?
I should be dying to wrap my hands around the porcelain column of this girl’s throat to squeeze the life out of her, not whoever hurt her.
Ishouldwant to kill her but... she looks so fragile I can’t even entertain the thought. She’s a civilian, caught in this game by her own stupid choices. Choices that led to my sister’s coffin being lowered six feet underground.
