Page 517 of Lessons in Cruelty

No sign of visible forced entry.

Everything in its place.

Downstairs, that is.

So I headed upstairs, receiving an extra-strength dose of déjà-vu from Tuesday.

But there was no chance of finding Haven in her room today. I could tell the house was empty. The rooms, unoccupied.

I assume everyone is still at whatever frat or sorority house they slept over at, recovering from hangovers. Which means there’s little chance of being interrupted soon.

The Greek system is nothing but a bunch of entitled kids forming rebellious syndicates so they can party and fuck and bully as much as they want to without consequences.

AHC tolerates them like any other college, because it’s easier to clean up their messes than deal with the backlash of putting an end to an age-old tradition. Especially since cleaning up those messes involves money, and parents are generous when their children have misbehaved.

I knew what I’d find before I even saw the neon-yellow tape on Haven’s door.

It’s unlocked, and all it takes is a light tug on the tape to open a gap large enough for me to step through.

This wasn’t a break-in.

Ransacking someone’s room to find valuables is one thing. Whoever did this wasn’t looking for money or jewelry.

They—he—sought catharsis.

Haven’s mattress is slashed.

The duffel bags on the floor have been split open. Tattered, ripped clothes spill out like polyester intestines.

Revenge masked as vandalism.

There’s only one person I know who’s remotely capable of this level of malicious destruction.

Question is, what pissed off Kai this much?

But it’s not a matter of what, is it?

It’s a matter of who.

I’d love to let this play out a little longer, see how badly my pets maim each other before I step in, but it might be time that I intervene in this clusterfuck of a relationship. Wouldn’t want them ripping themselves apart before I can.

I take my phone out of my pocket and access my hidden apps folder as I turn to leave. If Kai took something, it wasn’t of import to me.

I’m almost at the foot of the stairs when I hear the kitchen door open. Guess someone else knows where the spare key is. I hesitate, listening intently, then slowly retreat up the stairs, avoiding the creaky one.

I’d rather not have to explain my presence to a vapid sorority girl right now. Especially if there’s a chance she might burst into tears or something equally hysterical.

I plan to slip into a room until I can leave undetected, but then I hear a familiar sigh.

Haven appears on the stairs a moment later, limping and wearing some jock’s football jersey.

Fuck, she’s a mess.

Traces of makeup smudged into her lower lashes, hair chaotic.

But she’s my mess, and I’m not going anywhere until I know who the fuck thought they had the right to dress her in their clothes.

Chapter 65