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Great.
“I have a feeling he’s going to go after you full force now, so be careful.” Travis lifted a tattooed hand, rubbing the back of his neck. He stood a bit too close, especially considering what he’d tried to do to me a few weeks ago, but I found myself unable to move away. “He’s off the rails now. He’s dangerous.”
Ah, see, that—that would be the problem. That would be the biggest problem ever, you know why? It was why I didn’t move away from Travis. It was why I didn’t tell the cops after the stunt Travis pulled. It was why my last boyfriend was not someone I could bring home to Mom.
I liked danger. I craved it like a druggie craved their next high. I was an addict when it came to danger, and knowing Sawyer was dangerous would only make me want him more.
“I’m not afraid of danger,” I whispered, my feet drawing us closer together. I shouldn’t move closer to him, but I did. I moved as close as I could without pressing myself against him. Travis stood rooted in place, watching me with serious eyes. “But you knew that already.” Of course he knew; it was why he was never arrested for what he did.
“There’s more than one type of danger,” Travis warned. “The kind you can get high off of, and the kind that kills you.”
“Which one are you?”
He grinned, and when he exhaled, I smelled the faintest traces of smoke. I wasn’t a fan of smoke in general, but on him? The smell worked, made me weak in the knees, all that shit. My eyes fell to his mouth, and I licked my lips, wondering if he’d taste like smoke, too.
“To you, the first kind,” he whispered. “But to everyone else…” He let his words fade away with their implication, and before I knew what he was doing, he grabbed my neck and pulled me against him, crashing his mouth to mine. Urgent, desperate, needy. The kiss conveyed so much, and yet it was over faster than you could blink. “Sawyer’s not like me. Watch out for him.”
My breath was stolen from my lungs when he kissed me, and it took me a while to say, “I’ll handle him.” When he gave me a look, I added, “And I mean I’ll handle him. Not you. I don’t need your help with this. If I need your help, I’ll ask for it.” I had a feeling Travis’s help would include the kind of danger I was addicted to.
“Okay,” Travis said. “You do what you have to do, but know I’ll be watching.”
Oh, great. Another stalker. But then again, I already knew that about him. Knowing he would keep an eye on me was not new.
He turned, starting to walk away, but I called out for him. Travis returned to my side with a smile, and I said, “I do need to know, though, if you were the one who did it.” I didn’t elaborate on what it was I meant, but I didn’t need to. Travis knew precisely what I was talking about, which was good, because there were too many people on the sidewalk nearby to ask him point-blank: did you kill Sabrina Salvatore?
“Tell me the truth,” I added when he was silent.
Travis’s jaw clenched. “No,” he finally whispered, holding my stare. “No, it wasn’t me. None of it was me.”
None of it, meaning what happened to Declan? If Travis didn’t kill Sabrina, then who did? And if he wasn’t the one who hurt Declan…who—
He could be lying, I supposed, but as I stared at him, I couldn’t help but believe him. Every word he said I believed, which was downright stupid. I was probably falling right into his trap, but a part of me didn’t care. A part of me wanted to see what he’d do next, how we could take this thing, whatever it was, to the next level. Level up.
“I would look closer to home,” Travis said. “What would Declan gain by hurting himself?”
I opened my mouth, ready to retort, but nothing came to mind, because Travis had brought up a point I hadn’t considered. What would Declan gain by hurting himself? How could he even say something like that?
Travis said nothing as he walked away, and this time I let him go, too confused to say anything more. He instilled doubt in me, and I didn’t like it. Who was he to make me question Declan’s story about that night?
As I walked back to the dorm, my mind was a whirlwind. That day Travis had my phone. Declan had texted me a lot, saying he needed me. I never asked him why he needed me, because our lives had been too busy lately, but now I wondered if Declan was a tad more manipulative than I thought.
No. No way. No way did Declan do that to himself…
If someone tried to kill him, they would’ve made sure the job was done. If they wanted to make it look like a suicide, the wounds would’ve been deeper, and he would’ve bled out before I got back.
I was halfway up the stairs to my floor when it came to me, and I had to stop, the realization too heavy.
Declan could’ve done it to himself, realized I wasn’t coming back in time, and then freaked out and called his brother, because he didn’t really want to die. All of it could’ve been staged, and if that was the case, I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.
Did I think Sawyer was capable of attacking someone? Yes. Did I suspect him of his sister’s murder? Maybe. With rich people, you never knew. But Declan…could he have attacked Declan like that and left him? I knew that if Sawyer had gone after him, he would’ve made sure the job was done. Completely done, meaning Declan was dead.
I walked slowly up the rest of the stairs and down the hallway. A few of the doors were open, but I didn’t pay any of the guys inside attention. I was like a zombie as I shuffled along, stopping before our door. Something new hung on our door today—a few of those sticky window clings that come out around holidays. These ones were fake blood, bloody handprints and all that.
Most of the other students had gone home over the long weekend, so I wondered if anyone else knew what happened that night. The kid working the front desk did, and one person knowing was all it took for rumors to spread like wildfire.
I set the bag down, peeling off the clings before shoving them inside the bag of food and unlocking the door. I found Declan vacuuming, a chore he did not often do. He still wore jeans, and a nice long-sleeved shirt that hid his scabbing scar. It had started to peel, and he constantly complained about how itchy it was.
His brown head turned to me, and he gave me a dimpled smile. “I thought I’d clean, since you ran out and got the food,” he said, the look he sent me warm and kind and…exactly the kind of look everyone would fall for.
