Total pages in book: 186
Estimated words: 176552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 883(@200wpm)___ 706(@250wpm)___ 589(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 883(@200wpm)___ 706(@250wpm)___ 589(@300wpm)
Quantitative Reasoning, my ass.
When was I ever going to use this skill in the real world?
I needed a break.
With a quiet sigh, I plugged my phone into the charger and sank back into the couch, curling my legs under me. It wasn’t that late, a little after seven, but the sky outside was already swallowed in darkness. No masked assholes had shown up, though. So that was something. The last text I’d received was from earlier that morning, and the words had etched themselves into the back of my mind like a splinter I couldn’t dig out:
Every friend group has a weak link.
I wonder which one of you will snap first.
I didn’t reply, but I briefly wondered if I would be considered our weakest link. Now it felt like a matter of when, not if, the next shoe would drop. This was one of those things I was actively trying not to think about, especially while home alone. Arianna, Roxxi, and Cloe wouldn’t be back for almost another hour or so. They each had something scheduled that had been planned long before this whole Marked thing came about. I’d chosen to stay back. I needed to prove I could be home alone. I couldn’t spend the next few weeks jumping at shadows and screaming at creaking floorboards.
I promised to call the second anything felt off. The house was locked up tight. Every door was double-checked, and all the curtains were drawn. The glass company and whoever was installing our security system were scheduled to come out that weekend. Rational Sanjana said we were fine at the moment and there was nothing to worry about. The other part of me wasn’t so easily convinced. Someone had been inside our house. Someone called out to me at The Nest. When I told the girls what I’d heard and showed the accompanying text, none of them played it cool.
Cloe launched into a full-blown legal rant. Roxxi said we needed to carry fuck around and find out bags at all times. Ari suggested we do something drastic to make our Huntsmen second-guess who they were messing with.
And that was another problem entirely.
We didn’t have the first clue about who any of the Huntsmen were or how many had placed their wagers on us. The one who sent that text could have been anyone inside the diner or lingering outside.
When the washer began to play its tune for a completed cycle, I grabbed my hydrobottle to refill and remembered there were still toaster strudels in the freezer. Small comforts. I filled the bottle with ice and water, the sharp clink of cubes echoing through the kitchen. After popping two strawberry strudels into the toaster, I took a long sip as I headed downstairs. The wooden steps creaked beneath my fuzzy socks.
Our basement wasn’t as nice as the rest of the house, but it was finished, clean, and organized despite the fact that no matter how many times we mopped or swapped out Febreze plug-ins, it had a faintly damp, unmistakable basement-y smell that mingled with the synthetic sweetness of Midnight Linen. There was not much down there except a few boxes of seasonal decorations and some of Roxxi’s biker gear.
The bright red front-loaders along the far wall stood out like they were trying to be cheerful. I knelt in front of the washer and opened the door. Steam drifted out as I started transferring the damp clothes into the dryer beside it, the soft thump of wet fabric hitting metal forming a quiet rhythm. A light thud followed by a creak from above me had my hand stilling.
My gaze lifted to the ceiling.
Every nerve in my body went tight. I slowly stood, letting the last shirt drop into the dryer, and shut the door gently, trying not to make noise. For a moment, I considered the possibility that it might be Ryder. He had a habit of showing up without warning, but it was Thursday, and Ryder always hit the gym with the guys after his team walkthroughs. I turned toward the stairs, and the music from the TV abruptly stopped. One second it was there, faint but steady, the next, silence.
I knew without a doubt someone was inside the house.
There was no way someone had broken in, though, right?
Unless…
I thought back to the window in my bathroom. It was on the second floor, still taped up. The climb wouldn’t be difficult for someone who knew what they were doing. Ryder and I had scaled worse during our late-night escapes. I patted my hoodie pocket and then scanned the top of the washer and dryer for my phone.
“Goddamnit,” I swore under my breath, realization crashing down. I’d left it in the living room, plugged in to charge. What was wrong with me? I needed a class called Dumb Bitch Economics because clearly, making good choices was not my strong suit. I stood there, trying to convince myself I was imagining things, until footsteps crossed above me.