Page 280 of Depraved Boys

As we approached certain death, my fear notched up from nine to ten to eleven.

Then it dialed forward to twelve.

I didn’t know how things worked after a person died, but if there was an afterlife of any kind, there was no fucking way in hell I would let myself be shackled to Cormac. With the belt no longer restricting my movements, I sprang out from my seat and jumped.

Jumped a split second before the Aston Martin leaped off the mountainside.

I became weightless for a heartbeat while velocity warred with gravity. Pushing aside Newton’s laws of motion, I cradled my head in my hands for the inevitable landing. It came with a painful thud, a roll, a crunch, and then darkness.

The throbbing in my head was nothing compared to the pain searing down my left side. My arm was either broken, dislocated, or shattered into several pieces. It hurt so much, I couldn’t tell the difference. My left hip also throbbed in time with my head.

“Willow?” A voice echoed through my empty skull. “My name’s Wesley, and I’m a paramedic. You’ve had a nasty accident, but you’ll be okay.”

“Ark?” My throat was so dry, I could barely form words. From the jerky movements and slight incline of the smooth surface beneath my body, I guessed I was on a stretcher being carried up the mountain.

“How is she?” shouted Sebastian’s voice.

“Stand back,” said someone else.

“Willow!” Leopold’s voice broke.

I cracked my eyes open to find a female paramedic staring down at me, her blonde hair backlit by the sun. “M-my phone.”

Her face morphed into a frown. “Don’t worry, it’s probably in the car you jumped out of. I’ll tell one of the officers to fetch it for you later.”

“No.” A flash of pain made me squeeze my eyes shut. I tried to raise my right arm, but it had been secured with a strap. “Down my top.”

Something squeezed my right arm so tight, it felt like it would burst. My eyes snapped open. I lay in a hospital bed, and the curtains were drawn. Hopefully, this didn’t mean that the staff thought I’d somehow contributed to my situation. Jumping out of a moving car was an act of self-preservation, not recklessness.

The pressure continued on my forearm, making my fingertips tingle. With a groan, I glanced down at a blood pressure cuff. Oddly, it was the only source of pain anywhere in my body, making me wonder what kind of medication they’d given me. Especially considering my left arm was in a cast.

“Wills?” Leopold stood, his wide, aquamarine eyes roving my face and body. “How are you feeling?”

My drug-addled mind marveled at the way his golden hair framed his high cheekbones, full lips, and strong jaw. Leopold was a work of art that I’d somehow become lucky enough to acquire. I let those thoughts drift to the back of my mind to ask, “What happened to Cormac?”

“He’s alive,” Leopold growled. “And under police guard.”

Relief whooshed out of my lungs. Not that I had forgiven Cormac for his actions, but driving a car off the side of the mountain was too easy a way out.

“And Seb?” I asked.

“He listened to your recording on the drive back up to Carlisle and sent it to Mr. Pinkerton.”

A doctor pulled open the curtains, frowned at Leopold, and then checked my vital signs. He explained that I had broken my humerus, severely bruised my hip, and was lucky to escape my ordeal with a mild concussion. I grimaced. There were some parts of that hair-raising trip through the mountains I wanted to forget.

After the doctor left, Leopold grabbed my right hand and pressed it to his lips. “I’m so glad you survived Gibbons. You should have seen what he did to Geraldine.”

“What did he…” My words trailed off. Miss Claymore’s text had said enough.

“It makes what he did to Ashley seem tame,” Leopold said.

“You listened to the recording, too?” I asked.

“Seb emailed it to me.” Leopold shook his head. “Shit, I never saw that coming at all.”

The curtains parted, and Sebastian stepped through, followed by Prakash, who wore the same school uniform he’d been arrested in the morning we’d found Bianca at the bottom of the east wing. My heart flipped like a crepe, and a breath stuck to the back of my throat.

“Kash,” I whispered.