Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
The afternoon had consisted of a lot of searches that turned up nothing.
But Renn Thornwick left one comment on Hunter’s profile, two years ago, that happened to catch my eye.
The comment only said one word.
“Tonight.”
But it also had an emoji of a black heart right after it.
So I searched for that guy’s name, and I found…
This.
Proof.
My first definitive proof that Hunter was involved with truly bad people during his time in London, and that there is plenty of reason to believe he still would have ties to them now.
Why should I trust him at all, if he has secrets like this?
A bitter, acidic feeling sinks in my stomach.
Even back in high school, I always thought there might be more to Hunter than the image he projected to the world.
Or…
I wanted to believe there was more.
In his chaos, there was so much brightness, too.
He made beautiful art.
Paintings and sketches that showed talent that most high school kids couldn’t dream of.
And Hunter always had one thing I didn’t.
He was comfortable being alone.
He just wanted to be unbothered, when it came to anything other than a fight.
He hated people, other than Lune.
And after Lune died, Hunter’s only real friend seemed to be their family cat, an all-white fluffball with blue eyes named Pearl.
Could a true psychopath be capable of caring so deeply about things, when he wants to?
There has to be something more.
There must be.
I need to figure out the rest of the truth, sooner rather than later.
Another anvil lands on my chest as I look at my phone.
I have a message from Hunter.
Yet another terrible decision, letting you get my goddamn number. Now I have a literal fucking criminal texting me.
Guess what?
Yes?
You know that sedative that was used on you in the dart? The campus hospital doesn’t have any of it available.
I shift on the desk chair.
The sound creaks out into the empty basement.
Hunter is still on his own little mission to find out what happened to me that night.
Other than Wes, everybody else seems to have forgotten about it.
So what? The person must have gotten it from a different local hospital or pharmacy.
That’s the thing. There’s been a shortage of that particular sedative for over a year, and it only lasts for 6 months, stored properly. Whoever was using it must have their own means of access.
How do you even know what type of drug it was?
Easy. Went to the campus hospital, told them my back hurt, then while I was in the room alone, the nurse left the computer open. I searched your name, found the toxicology report.
Damn.
I also got into the student darkrooms in the photography studio. No one in there uses the brand of photo paper that was on your stalker’s pictures.
Great. So whoever took those photos was working independently.
Probably in their own personal darkroom. From looking at the class roster, no one in Onyx, Luros or Daggers even takes photo classes, either.
Great. So we have no leads, and no hope.
Chill. I’m going to figure this shit out. Whoever’s fucking with you will be punished.
Punished, huh? You going to spank them and call them a bad little attacker?
Not funny. Meet me after your football practice. We have a lot to talk about.
We do have a lot to talk about.
But what he doesn’t know is that the topic of conversation tonight is going to revolve around him, not me.
Honesty used to feel like it meant something, in Onyx Society, and I’m not letting Hunter rip all of that apart.
We’re supposed to tell each other our darkest secrets.
We’re supposed to know each other better than anyone does.
Confronting Hunter Knox may be a bad idea, but it’s exactly what I’m going to do.
The moment I’m on the football field again, I’m like a well-oiled machine.
My thighs and calves burn.
I’ve missed this.
As I run the football to the endzone, I remember what I’m actually good at.
Today is only practice, but I’ve been pushing myself to the limit, and I’m being rewarded for it.
“Play like that this weekend, and we’ll put fear into Tennyson for the whole season,” Coach Madrigal says as Weston and I jog over to the sideline.
Weston looks happier than I’ve seen him in weeks. “We’ve got their asses already,” he tells Coach.
“Still need to have respect for them, Knox.”
“Coach is right. We do,” I tell Weston. “I’ve seen you get too cocky on the field and fumble passes.”
Coach Madrigal is still smiling, though. “You two are playing better than ever. I’m proud of you. But don’t let that get to your head, either.”
He fist bumps both of us and heads over to talk to a couple of our new players this year.
“God fucking damn, that felt good,” Weston says, clapping me on the back as we enter the locker room after practice. “Ready to crush some Tennyson skulls in?”
“They’re still good players. Stay humble.”