by Lindsey Iler
Glass Heart Broken
Glass Heart Academy
Lindsey Iler
Published by Lindsey Iler, 2020.
Glass Heart Broken
Copyright 2020 Lindsey Iler
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actions events is purely coincidental.
Editing by Katie Mac
Proofreading by Deaton Author Services
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Playlist
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
A Letter to You
Acknowledgement
Stay Connected
About the Author
Playlist
Take It out on Me- Bohnes
Let’s Hurt Tonight- OneRepublic
Killing Butterflies- Lewis Blissett
BLAME IT ON THE KIDS- AViVA
Yes & no- XYLO
STFD- TeZaTalks
Hate Myself- NF
Prom Queen- Molly Kate Kestner
COPYCAT- Billie Eilish
I Don’t Give A...- MISSO, Zeale
I’ll Be Good- Jaymes Young
Love Is a Bitch- Two Feet
Be Yourself- Harrison Storm
Paralyzed- NF
Walk Through The Fire -Zayde Wolf, Ruelle
Say It First- Sam Smith
Love Me Whole- MISSIO
Listen here!
Dedication
TO THAT BITCH, CORONA VIRUS.
IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU, THIS BOOK WOULD HAVE BEEN FINISHED MONTHS AGO.
YOU, MY FRIEND, CAN SUCK MY METAPHORICAL DICK.
Chapter One
Marek
To say I’ve fucked up is an understatement. Fucking up is calling your girlfriend by the wrong name. Fucking up is leaving the damn ice cream out all night to find a mess on the counter. What I’ve done, what I’m doing, goes way beyond a mere fuck up.
I rub the stress knots in my neck, ready for another series of questioning. Sitting in an interrogation room for almost twelve hours has a way of putting things in perspective.
“Tell us where you were the night Reed Weston went missing!” Officer Franklin shouts. His folder lands on the table between us. I’m sure it’s full of doodles and drawings, considering they have nothing on me.
In the last forty-eight hours since I’ve been in here, two detectives have accused me of crimes I didn’t commit. I’m capable of a lot of things, but murder isn’t my kink. The only pain I give a girl is derived from pleasure.
“I’ve already told you where I was, or are you too dumb to actually listen?” This isn’t my brightest move, but it’s the only tool I have. Sarcasm and the truth used together are more likely to piss off than appease, but I’m entertained.
“Okay, let’s say that’s true, that you were at your house. We found your fingerprints on her bedpost and semen all over her sheets,” Officer Striker chimes in.
“Since when is fucking someone a crime?” I snap. “Is this the best you have? And where was this evidence a year ago, huh? Don’t think I’m dumb enough to think you’re just now testing every fiber you found in her dorm room.”
“Listen up, you little shit. We will find out your motive behind killing Reed Weston and Georgina Matthews.” Officer Franklin stands from his chair and looms at me over the table. “And once we do, I’ll be the one throwing your entitled, psycho ass behind bars.” Slamming his palms on the table won’t force me to confess something I didn’t do. Neither will Striker sitting across from me, his eyes wide with intimidation, hoping I’ll blurt something in a ruse to get out of here.
“Again, the only thing I have to say to you is ‘where is my lawyer?’.” I grin, knowing damn well this will piss him off more.
They’ve procrastinated, claiming he’s been called. After the first twelve hours here, that has proven to be a bald-faced lie. They’ve tried to isolate me, make me believe I’m alone in this.
That’s complete bullshit. Outside these walls are three guys who would have our lawyer’s ass in the seat next to me, no questions asked, in less than an hour after the handcuffs snapped in place. William either has a damn good reason why I’m still in this hell hole, or someone’s making it impossible for William to get to me. Either way, it’s not working in my favor.
While I’ve been waiting for my lawyer, they’ve used every tactic in their playbook. They’d opened with a plea for my humanity, followed by a quick costume change from good cop to bad. Clearly, Officer Franklin and Officer Striker need to return to whatever shit-hole police academy they attended because they’re shit interrogators.
“Stand up,” Officer Striker demands. This whole tag-team duo they have going on isn’t effective in the least.
I do as he says, shifting and twisting my wrists to lessen the pain of the cuffs pinching into my skin. He grabs my bicep harsher than necessary and drags me down the hall to toss me into my home for the foreseeable future.
Finding a way to get comfortable in a cell is a different mental game. Four walls, three made of cement, one steel door, and a whole lot of empty space is enough to make a man weak. My pretty boy face is not meant for any jail time.
These asshats think if they prolong this process, I’ll slip up. I’ll give them a small crumb worthy of putting my ass away for as long as the public believes I deserve.
Only an idiot confesses to a murder he hasn’t committed. Correction, two murders.
“Marek Hawthorne,” the officer says through the glass window, “you’re free to go.”
I stand, a grin on my face when the door opens to my freedom. The detectives stand in a firing squad line, ready to take aim at me as I do the one thing they fear. The clock behind their heads tells me I’m getting out just in time to miss the evening meal. Thank fuck.
“Looks like I’m walking, boys.” The cocky grin on my face is one of pure satisfaction for coming out on top of this.
“We’ll see,” Officer Striker says, blocking my path to freedom. His eyes scan up and down me, and a nasty sneer graces his mouth. He sees trash when he looks at me. The feeling is mutual. “Don’t get too comfortable, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“All I am is comfortable,” I retort, earning a shove in the back from the goon escorting me.
In the lobby, William, my lawyer, hunches over the countertop, signing paperwork. He turns, a shit-eating grin in place when he spots me.
“You look like shit, Marek.” William extends his hand for me to sha
ke. I place mine in his, thanking him for springing me. “Wasn’t that hard since these asshats don’t have anything to hold you on.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. How could they arrest me if they don’t have even the smallest reason to?”
William hangs his arm over my shoulders and ushers me outside. The cool air hits my face. Anything beats the hot stench of that jail cell. Piss and sweat are a smell I won’t soon forget. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess they don’t hose those cells down between occupants.
“Listen, kid, whatever game is being played, you’re one of the players.”
“Someone is trying to set me up, then,” I suspect out loud. “But why? What purpose is there to put me behind bars for forty-eight hours, knowing damn well they have nothing? And where have you been? Next time, try not to let me sit in a jail cell for days.”
“You interrupted my vacation, kid, but at this point, the better question is who has the police in their pocket.” William nods at his car parked near the curb. “Hop in, and I’ll give you a ride to campus.”
“This is inconspicuous.” I laugh, ducking into the flashy yellow sports car.
“Yeah, well, you get to a point in the game where hiding doesn’t benefit you.” He winks.
On the drive, I rest my head against the cold window. A scenario runs through my mind, overtaking every thought I’ve had since being handcuffed. Palmer witnessing me being taken away and holding onto my hand until she had no choice but to release me, isn’t something I want to relive.
“Palmer,” I whisper, sitting up a little straighter when I realize something that I should have seen from the moment they’d asked about her in the interrogation room.
“That girl you’ve all been messing with?” He darts a glance at me. How does he know? As if he can read my mind, he chuckles. “Byron doesn’t keep secrets from me. He knows it’s wiser not to because of situations like this one. Who is she?”
“You already know, then,” I answer.
“You’re right, I do, but I want to hear it from your mouth.”
“She’s Reed’s sister,” I start, but stop. Flashes of memory take over. Palmer beneath me, writhing on my sheets. My silver blade resting against her pulsing throat. Her completely unmoved, willing to take whatever it is I have in store for her. “I shouldn’t equate her to something so simple because it’s more than that.”
“Is she a link I’m going to need to connect with during this?” William is far more than just our lawyer. He’s our lifeline. He’s alumni, but unlike the rest of them, he doesn’t give a fuck about the order of things.
“Palmer’s part of this. I’m sure Byron already told you how we used her to force out Reed’s killer, and it worked, until it didn’t.”
“Byron got a little knife happy.” William fills in my unsaid blanks. “I knew that bastard couldn’t keep himself under control for too long.”
William may be my lawyer, but he’s much more than that to Dixon and Byron. I don’t know much, and I think they prefer it that way. Whatever kind of relationship they have, it runs deep. William never bats an eyelash when he hears of the things we’ve done, or when we need help out of a situation. He’s one of those types. No questions asked. Swoops in to save the day and swoops right the fuck out.
“Palmer’s been attacked twice on campus, which was the whole point, but along the way, lines were crossed.”
“Feelings can’t be involved if you’re going to play games like that, Marek. You know that.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes we can’t control the shit around us, and I don’t think any of us saw Palmer bulldozing through us like she did.”
“Like sister, like sister,” William whispers. His voice is distant in remembrance of Reed. “It appears the Weston sisters have a knack for pushing into places they don’t belong.”
“Palmer is a force to be reckoned with,” I state, thinking about where things were left with us.
“Last I knew, she was still up at the house, so prepare for that force to come rushing back into your life in a minute.” William turns into the driveway and slows as we reach the front. “I saw the shit she did to you boys’ room. I thought Reed was a tough one, but it seems little sis may give you all a run for your money.”
“You coming inside?” I ask as I open the passenger side door and get out of the car.
“No, I better not. We’ll be talking soon, but in the meantime, behave as if you aren’t guilty.”
“It shouldn’t be too hard since I’m innocent.”
“Maybe for this, but I’m sure there’s plenty more skeletons waiting to trip out of you boys’ closets.” He jabs a finger at me. “Be good. Stay out of trouble, and we’ll chat soon.”
I shut the door as he starts to reverse. In the driveway, I look up at the glass house. Our sanctuary and temporary protection. The problem with glass is, one small imperfection, combined with a little friction and movement, can spiderweb outward until there’s no more stability.
Palmer’s in there. Behind the glass walls, a girl I don’t deserve to breathe the same air as is waiting for me. Why else would she be here? It’s been two days. I figure she’d be long gone by now.
I open the front door and find Breaker and Dixon on the couch, both leaning forward and staring at the television screen.
“What’s going on, boys? Miss me?” I announce my entrance. Their heads shoot to the side. Breaker’s eyes widen, while Dixon fumbles for the remote. “What has your full attention on here?”
Breaker stands and wraps his arms around me, patting me twice on the back before releasing me. “You smell like shit, and we figured better safe than sorry.”
“With the arrest and all the attacks on Palmer, we figured we’d keep a little closer eye on the things happening on campus,” Dixon says, muting the television. “After a few detectives came up here to question us, we knew having the upper hand was necessary.”
“They questioned each of you?” I ask. Although we have nothing to hide, except our relationship with Palmer, I’m threatened by the idea of them being in our space.
“As soon as Palmer left, they were up here. I don’t know if they’ve talked to her yet, but they were asking some pretty strange questions, man.” Breaker says something else, but I’m too focused on the first part to listen.
“Palmer’s not here, then?” My head spins around as if I expect her to magically appear.
Breaker and Dixon turn their eyes on each other. A mixture of confusion and worry cross over their faces.
“Did you hear anything I said?” Breaker waves his hand in front of my face. “They checked our backpacks. Even went into Byron’s bag. Officer Striker damn near jerked my necklace out from under my shirt, demanding to see it.”
“Something isn’t right about their questioning.” Dixon tosses the remote onto the coffee table.
“I need to talk to Palmer to see if they questioned her, too,” I say.
“She hasn’t answered any of my phone calls and texts. Trust me, I’ve tried. She ran out of here pretty fast.” Breaker shrugs.
“But not before—” Dixon starts to say. Breaker smacks him in the stomach, silencing him.
I’m too worried about where Palmer is to give a shit about whatever has Dixon acting weirder than usual.
“Pull up her camera,” I demand, pointing at the screen.
“I took hers down. After everything that happened, it didn’t seem right to keep it up,” Breaker says. Always the saint.
“Fuck!” I shout, clutching at the ends of my hair. Frustrated doesn’t begin to explain how I feel right now.
If she isn’t here, it means she could be anywhere. It’s been quiet on campus since our shit went down on that rooftop. None of us have forgotten someone had herded her into the woods that night. Those memories are locked into our brains pretty heavily.
“Lucky for you”—Dixon clicks the remote, and Palmer’s dorm room appears on the screen— “I don’t hold the same moral compass as our boy, B
reaker, here.”
I push past them to stare at the television. For almost ten minutes, her room is empty, then from out of nowhere, she pops up in my sight. Her body is wrapped in a towel, and her hair is dripping wet.
Tension laces her spine. She’s trying her hardest to stand up straight, but the weakness is clear in her slow movements. When her shoulders start to tremble, everything in me splinters.
“Is she crying?” Dixon stands beside me. His eyes cut to me. What does he see when he looks at me? A conflicted man is what I am. “I haven’t been watching her. I installed it again, knowing there may come a time when we need to check on her. With the way she stormed out of here, I’m pretty sure we’re the last people she wants to see right now.”
“Can you blame her?” Breaker says, watching her. I’ve seen him with his little sisters. He looks at Palmer the same way he does them. Fiercely protective.
I slap Dixon on the shoulder. “Is there any way you can send her feed to my bedroom television?”
“You got it. What are you going to do?” Dixon asks.
“I’m going to go shower off this jailbird filth, and after that, I’m not quite sure.” My shoulders grow heavy with the thought of what went down the last forty-eight hours. “Where do we go from here?” I walk off before either of them can answer the rhetorical question.
“We’re glad you’re out!” Breaker yells. “We’ll deal with this shit like we always do.”
“Bloodshed, then?” Dixon says, and I turn on the balls of my feet, glaring daggers into his back. Breaker’s wide eyes give my anger away, and Dixon shifts to look at me. “I’m kidding.” He lifts his hands in apology. “We’ll deal with it together.” I hit the stairs in a rush, but hear Dixon whisper, “And a little bloodshed, if need be.”
“I heard that!” I shout as I open my bedroom door.
“You were meant to,” he calls over his shoulder. “And I didn’t mean Palmer’s blood. Just to clarify.”
Distracted by Dixon’s bullshit, I trip over something in the doorway. The light outside the window illuminates the room enough to provide me with an image I won’t soon forget.
