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“Ollie might’ve hacked into their system,” she confessed, hiding behind her cup.
“You made Ollie hack into a law enforcement system?” I yelled at her.
“She offered.”
“She did not offer,” I countered.
“Well, I may have asked her,” she grimaced. “But she was more than happy to do it.”
I rubbed my temples. Here I was, thinking that Sariah was getting better when really she was convincing our roommate to commit federal crimes.
“I think we should investigate at the very least,” Sariah continued, inspecting her nails.
“Is that why you came here?” I asked her. “Because you want to start a podcast?”
She looked shocked and offended. “No, I came here because my best friend is knocked up, and I figured she needed moral support.” Her features smoothed and her lips relaxed as she reached across the table to squeeze my hand. “The serial killer thing is just like … a bonus.”
“Women are dead, Sariah,” I scowled.
Her expression was somber. “I know. And I can’t change that. But maybe we can make enough noise to make sure that they take this serious enough, and no more women die.”
Her eyes shone with passion, with desperation. My heart hurt for her.
“How long are you staying for?” I changed the subject.
Her eyes lit up even more. “Until we go back to school?” she asked hopefully. “As long as your mom and Swiss don’t mind me staying.” She looked out the window, probably thinking about this morning’s scene. “I could always bunk at the clubhouse,” she said thoughtfully, a wicked and familiar glint in her eye.
“Mom and Swiss would be happy to have you,” I replied quickly. The last thing Sariah needed was to be tangled up with an alpha badass right now.
“You’ll be a good buffer,” I decided.
“You’re not going to be staying at the club?” she asked tentatively.
I toyed with my straw, even though my milkshake was long gone. I thought about the way Elden had yelled at me. Then the horror on his face once he’d realized what he’d done.
I wondered if my father wore that same horrified expression after the first time he hit my mother.
It was cruel of me to be comparing the two. Especially considering Elden had had a gun pointed to his head in the moments before that outburst, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t trust my feelings right now. My heart.
“I don’t know,” I sighed.
Sariah stared at me for a long time. “He’s not your father, Violet,” she said softly.
I fought against the burn in my throat that came with her words, and even though it was my first instinct to tell her I knew that, I couldn’t get the words out.
“Sometimes men yell,” she shrugged. “Because they don’t know how to properly express their emotions. Because they’re really just toddlers. Because they’re scared. And I will say, I don’t know that man very well, but he stood in front of a gun declaring how much he loved you.”
My heart rattled at the mere memory.
“It is still not okay for him to yell at you like he did, though,” she added, eyes brimming with passion. “And he owes you an apology centered around a nice purse or multiple orgasms,” she winked. “He’s not your father,” she squeezed my hand.
I nodded, hearing her words. Knowing that they were technically true, but my heart couldn’t trust them.
Couldn’t trust him.
Because even though my father was buried, I didn’t know when he’d stop haunting me.
If he’d ever stop haunting me.
