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“Jag. Jag? We’ve fucking got this, but you stay as far away from both of them as possible.”
Every memory from those years snapped through my mind like a steel-tipped whip.
“Jag!” Gunner shook me and I stared at him, finally seeing him.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yeah,” I finally managed.
He gave me a clipped nod, but a storm brewed in his eyes. It was then that I remembered Psycho’s message on the football field. “He knows where I am.” How had I forgotten that important detail?Because I’m obsessed with Ari.
“I’m sorry, what?” Gunner tilted his head and chewed on his toothpick.
“Too much happened with Peter and Ari after that. I totally forgot. But when we played the Hornets, one of their defense players tackled me hard then said that Psycho wanted him to deliver a message.” I focused on the ground, scrambling to understand what was happening.
“Come on, kid. Spit it out,” Rigs urged.
“He said that Psycho was watching me. I don’t know if Psycho was at the game, or saw me on TV, or maybe he had someone else keep an eye one me.” I looked at the men staring at me as if I’d lost my marbles. I had.
“How long ago was that?” Gunner asked.
“I think a few weeks. There hasn’t been any indication that someone is following me, though. None.”
“If he got that message to you, he knows exactly where you are.” Gunner scrubbed his face with his hands.
“It’s not like I was hiding. I’m playing ball for the best college team in the country.” Frustrated, I blew out a heavy sigh. “I can’t leave. Not now. Ariana is at Whitmore, and if Crimson and Psycho are working together, that mea—”
“That means they’ve most likely been partners in crime before the house fire. Not only was Ari used to set it, but for Psycho to draw you out and grab you.”
The realization dawned on me, a sickening feeling coiling inside my stomach. “If Ari . . . that means . . .” I couldn’t say the rest.
“If they know where you are, they know where she is, which means they know exactly how to get to both of youagain. Ari should have never left the East Coast to come back here.”
ChapterTwenty-Five
Ariana
Ipaced the length of my room, “Haunted” by Isabel LaRosa playing quietly from my Alexa speaker. Jagger had worked his way through my dreams, robbing me of any real sleep or peace. He hadn’t contacted me in five days, and the darkness I’d been battling was too heavy to fight alone. It was clear that I meant nothing more to him than a piece of ass.
Throwing myself onto my bed, I screamed into my pillow. Questions that only he could answer ransacked my brain. Even worse, I was still trying to process the fact that he’d murdered someone . . . for me.
I groaned as I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Dad was right. I should have stayed on the East Coast, then I would never have learned Jagger was alive. Betrayal seeped inside me, stirring the pain and anger I’d tried to bury over the years. Dad and Samantha must have known Jagger hadn’t died in the fire.
Pissed again at the lies that had torn apart my family, I stomped over to my desk and snatched up my brush and a hair tie. I had to talk to Dad about what happened and give him a chance to explain before I jumped to conclusions. But first, I’d had enough of someone else’s crap too. Once I pulled my hair in a ponytail, I checked myself in the mirror. What I was wearing wouldn’t work.
I hurried to my closet and grabbed my favorite jeans and an emerald-green top. In record time, I had fresh makeup on and was ready to leave.
Half an hour later, I parked behind the Black Widow Society’s building, stashed my purse under the back seat, then tossed my blue windbreaker on top of it. From the looks of it, only a few people were there, and as long as I set my car alarm, I felt my belongings would be safe.
I ensured my phone was in my pocket and slid my keyring on my index finger before I locked the car and jogged to the entrance. I hadn’t ever shown up unannounced before and wasn’t sure if anyone would let me into the building. There was only one way to find out. Spotting the black box, I pushed the white button on it. To my surprise, the door popped open, and I slipped inside. Before I took two steps down the hall, a hooded and masked figure stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
“Who are you here to see?”
I jutted my chin up and squared my shoulders. “The Black Mamba. Is he here?”
“You don’t have a meeting with him?” He folded his hands behind him.
“No. But I have to talk to him.”
