My gloved hand reached behind me, grabbing the journal from under my clothes. I stood near my father’s desk—a grand mahogany desk that was practically the size of a small car. It probably weighed a ton, too. My first thought was putting the journal inside one of the many drawers on the desk’s either side, but I quickly found out they were all locked.
Of course.
It was time to improvise. I’d tried to teach myself lock-picking, but…yeah, that was not a skill I had, even after hours of practice. A desk lock was probably easier to undo than a deadbolt, but I still didn’t want to take the chance that I jammed the lock and broke a part of the lockpick inside. That would certainly clue him in to the fact that something fishy was going on.
Right now…right now the only thing fishy was me, but last year, well, let’s just say I didn’t like to think about it. Our father was not a good man. He might wear a smile, he might radiate a warmth that put you at ease—he might act like an upright citizen of the law—but he wasn’t. Daddy Dearest was actually a very bad man, and I needed to see his life crash and burn for what he did.
No, my father didn’t deserve a happy, long life outside of prison. He deserved to be on the other side of those steel bars, watching the world move on without him, knowing that everything he did only led to that point. I wanted him depressed. I wanted him to be as lost as Declan was after Sabrina died. Was that so wrong?
Probably. Probably a little too vindictive too, but if the world knew the truth, surely they’d feel the same. Hence the journal. Sabrina’s most private diary. The one that detailed things she didn’t want anyone to know. Only those closest to her even knew she had a second diary. Me? I didn’t need the diary to know. I’d seen the signs when Declan and Sabrina were together. I’d seen the same signs with Mom, way back when.
Almost ten years since she was gone. Didn’t really feel like ten years, but it was. I was much older now, much firmer in my thoughts, confident in my abilities and what was right and what was wrong.
God, I could still remember the day like it was yesterday.
Mom sat in front of her makeup mirror. It was a white, clean piece of furniture, the mirror resting on top, with a dozen lightbulbs almost blindingly bright. No shadows on her face when she sat there, when she looked at herself in her reflection. Well, no shadows other than the bruise on her jaw.
I always thought she was beautiful. Her hair was a honey-colored blonde, usually curled, and her eyes were the prettiest hazel you’d ever see. She always said I got my eyes from her. My hair color came from Dad.
At the time, I didn’t even know why I went into her room, why I wanted to see her. Maybe to tell her something stupid, something I was proud of. I was less than ten years old, so the details were difficult now to remember. But in the end, the reason I went to her didn’t matter, because that was the first day I saw the bruising.
She normally hid it behind makeup, which was why I never saw it until that day.
Her hazel stare spotted me approaching her in the mirror, and she turned her face toward me over her shoulder, giving me a smile. Her hand shook, and I noticed she held some kind of flat, circular thing. The makeup that was smeared on it was the color of her skin. “Will, what are you doing here?” She let out a short chuckle, but even then, even being so young as I was, I knew it was faked. “Just give me a moment, okay? Go downstairs and keep an eye on your brother.”
I didn’t want to go to Declan, though. Staring at Mom, I spotted the bruising, my child’s brain trying to make sense of it all. “Mom, what’s that?” I asked pointblank, as children often did. At the time, I knew something was wrong; I just didn’t know what, didn’t know how far or how deep it went.
Mom brought a hand to her cheek, lightly touching the skin that was off-colored. “Oh, it’s nothing, honey. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be right out.” And because she was my mom, because I didn’t ever think she would lie to me, I left.
Even now, recalling that instance today, I knew if I’d have been older, I would’ve handled things differently. I would’ve protected her, been better. I would’ve been the savior Mom needed instead of letting it go on and on until she died. It was why I couldn’t sit back and let Sabrina’s death mean nothing.
Our father had to pay for his sins.
I heaved a silent sigh, knowing I couldn’t just leave the diary on top of his desk. He’d see it the moment he came in tomorrow, and he’d dispose of it. No, no. I had to put it somewhere where it wasn’t necessarily noticeable straight away. Someplace it would be safe until his world crumbled down around him.
I ended up choosing a bookcase, shoving the journal in at the end of a row. It didn’t exactly blend in, but it did look like just any old book. It would have to do for now. Ash and everyone else was too wrapped up in their plan to catch Ray, but I couldn’t sit back and help them. This was what I’d set out to do all those months ago. This was it.
This was my destiny, to finally put that terrible man behind bars.
Tomorrow. I’d make the call tomorrow.
Tomorrow everything would change.
Chapter Five – Ash
I could not get over what Officer Melendez said. I’d already gone to my classes for the day, but Travis and Declan were still out. I didn’t think Ray would make an appearance on campus in the middle of the day, although, what the hell did I really know about him, other than the fact he was obsessed with me and wanted me to suffer for daring to fall for these rich Hillcrest boys?
Ray was a monster. A monster that needed to be taken care of, ASAP.
I was trying to do some homework—my grades had been on a steady decline, so I had to work my ass off this last month to bring them back up. My grades had never been a problem before. Some people hated tests and writing papers, but I found it all easy. Once you learned how a teacher taught, what they expected you to know on the exams came shortly after. It was a skill apparently not everyone had.
My feet rubbed together under the table in the kitchen, and I bit the end of my pencil as I tried to concentrate. Markus was off making sure the second location was ready, leaving me alone with Lincoln.
I still didn’t quite know what to make of Lincoln. He was almost too broody; that, or he didn’t like being here, away from his Ed and his Butcher, whatever the hell that meant.
One thing I did know about him was to never mention the ginger. I had no idea who the hell the ginger was, but Lincoln was adamant that he still hated the guy, to which I could only say: uh, okay?
Lincoln was in the living room, twenty feet away from me. He was a bit like Sawyer, liking to lounge around in nothing but pants. I wasn’t going to complain, because he was a healthy male specimen that would make any girl or woman drool, but I did find his presence a bit unnerving. It was like, even though it wasn’t outright stated, I knew what he was.
A killer.
Lincoln was a killer, as was Markus, as Travis would be, once he graduated from Hillcrest. This was the family business Travis never wanted to talk about, for good reason, I suppose. If I came from a family of killers, I wouldn’t want to advertise that fact either.
My mind eventually got the better of me, and I set my pencil down into the crack of my open textbook, glancing over my shoulder at the silent man. “Can I ask you something?”
His dark eyes flicked to me, his mouth drawn into a thin line. “Why do I have the feeling that even if I say no, you’re going to ask me anyway?” Gruff, no-nonsense. It was almost too easy to imagine a man like that being a killer.
I chose not to answer his sarcastic response, instead saying, “When Markus and I were at the police station…”
“Yes?” Lincoln asked, tossing me a questioning, bored look. “You going to spit it out already?” Okay, in addition to being broody and almost too handsome, he was also rude. So not my type.
“Melendez suggested that Ray started killing those girls after he met me,” I finally said, speaking the words that honestly gave me nightmares the night before. I had
known that girl in the basement in the cabin was my fault, because I didn’t fight Ray sooner. I knew the old couple was my fault too, because he only hurt them to get a house to stay in while watching me. And Brooklyn…well, that one went without saying.
But each and every one of those fifteen girls that had been buried at the cabin before I ran away? Were they all my fault? All young and pretty, kind of like me. A way to temper his urges so he wouldn’t hurt me? Or…or did I make him want to kill? Did I push him over the edge he tiptoed all his life, simply by being the spark?
The space between us was silent for the longest while, until Lincoln sat up, leaned his hands on his knees, and stared at me with eyes so dark they were black. “That’s not a question, you know.”
Setting an elbow on the table before me, I buried my face in a hand. “I know. I just…what makes people want to kill?” Sure, I’d wanted to get back at Brooklyn for what she did, but even after knowing she was the one who hit me with her car didn’t lead my mind to immediately think murder.
“Different reasons,” Lincoln said. “Just like everything else. Some people want to kill because they’re curious, and once they feel the high they want to repeat that feeling over and over. Some kill because they have to—”
At that, I glared at him. “No one has to kill.”
Lincoln’s mouth curled into a smirk. “I don’t know what you did before coming to this place, but let me clue you in to something, Ash. Sometimes the darkness is too much. Sometimes you just need to feel warm blood running down your hands. Sometimes it’s what helps you sleep at night. Not everyone is as empathetic as you are.”
I…I didn’t know whether to be insulted by that last part or disgusted and freaked out by the first.
Lincoln turned toward the TV, apparently done talking—but after a moment, he looked at me again, adding, “Some people also kill because it’s in their blood. You’re lucky that the family has me doing jobs left and right. You are exactly the kind of prey I would’ve looked for, before. Away at college, almost friendless.”
My heart started speeding up at what he was saying. “I am not friendless—” My voice caught in the back of my throat. Was he saying if things were different and he saw me, he would’ve tried to kill me?
What the fuck was wrong with Travis’s family?
“Small frame, no muscles,” Lincoln went on, studying me from his spot on the couch, even though he was almost twenty feet away. “Even at your wildest, you wouldn’t be a match for me.” Spoken so seriously, so menacingly. I wanted instantly to be sick.
It was a good thing the front door opened and someone else walked in, because I had no idea what to say to the man. Markus freaked me the fuck out, but now…Lincoln was right behind him. After they helped with Ray, I never wanted to see either of them again.
Travis appeared, dropping his backpack as he glanced between us. He stood in the middle, having just emerged from the hall. When he drew his blue-eyed stare from Lincoln to me, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
Besides the fact that he should’ve waited outside of Declan’s class for Declan to be done, no, absolutely nothing was wrong. I had conversations like this every damn day.
Sarcasm.
“Lincoln was just telling me that he’d kill me if things were different,” I stated, getting exactly what I wanted the moment I spoke: Travis, riled up. Travis, turning his enraged stare to his brother.
I didn’t want to be a killer, but a drama queen? Oh, that was much more my style.
Travis fumed instantly, while Lincoln rolled his eyes and muttered, “All I said was she’s the kind of prey I would’ve looked for, before—”
“You do not say anything like that to her,” Travis growled, taking a few aggressive steps toward Lincoln, who didn’t even get up off the couch. I thought Travis was intimidating, but apparently Lincoln wasn’t impressed. “She’s mine.”
Mine. Like he owned me. I would’ve taken issue with it, but I was too busy watching the two brothers have a death glaring contest. So much testosterone in one room. Who knew these walls could handle it?
Eventually Lincoln muttered, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt your precious Blondie.”
Travis’s hands were fists at his side, and he walked towards me, not saying a single thing back to Lincoln. He still scowled when he sat in the chair beside me, his sapphire gaze studying me. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I just…I just asked him why people kill. I should’ve known somehow the question would be turned back around at me.” I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers getting caught in the pink ends.
Travis shrugged off his thin coat, setting it aside. He wore a dark shirt beneath it, the same color he usually wore: black. Black like his tattoos, black like his hair, black like his soul. Coming from a family like his, I was pretty sure your soul had to be either impenetrable by everything that was light and good, or so small it was just a black kernel taking up space.
Honestly, knowing what kind of family he came from made me a bit hesitant when it came to being with him. Did I want to be with a guy whose family pretty much killed for a living? They were like…contract killers, assassins, hitmen. I didn’t know things like that existed out of the movies. It was, quite frankly, scary beyond all belief, and knowing it was a whole different ball game than being unaware.
I could no longer claim ignorance when it came to Travis and his family. I now knew what they did—I was getting their help, for God’s sakes—so there was no playing coy. The truth was a bloody one, and it made me uncomfortable.
I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think about what it meant for Travis after Hillcrest. Was it so wrong to want to stay in my bubble for a while longer? Other eighteen-year-olds didn’t have to worry about shit like this, I knew. I, somehow, was just a lucky son of a bitch.
“Why are you so suddenly curious about their reasons?” Travis asked, leaning toward me. I smelled tobacco on him, and I found my nerves relaxing in spite of the subject matter of our conversation.
Killers. I was hanging out with killers while waiting for them to kill my killer ex. Who would’ve known this was where my life would go?
Lincoln spoke loudly from the living room, “Your girlfriend wanted to know if Ray started killing after he met her.” A pause before he added, “She wanted to know if she’s the reason he’s so psychotic.”
Travis’s tattooed hand reached for me, and I let him pull my arm to his lap. His fingers weaved into mine, holding onto me hard, almost possessively. “So what if you were the spark? Why does it matter? You’re not culpable for anything Ray has done, Ash, even if he started killing after being with you. It’s not your fault.”
The words were spoken quietly, almost whispered, and I closed my eyes as I listened to him, wanting to believe him, wanting him to be right. I didn’t want to blame myself for all that death; death weighed on a person, let alone multiple murders.
I leaned into Travis, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. It was not the typical kiss between us, but it would have to do. I was a bit too freaked out to even think about getting hot and heavy with him.
My mouth opened, and I was about to say something, to thank him for being a little saner than Lincoln, but my phone buzzed. I reached for it, my stomach sinking because a part of me thought it would be Kelsey, but the name that flashed on its black screen was not my old friend.
It was Declan.
Chapter Six – Declan
The police had caught me before my next class. They had a few questions for me, they’d said, and I went with them to an empty lecture hall, where they sat me down and asked me each and every question they had.
They were…they were all about my dad, which I immediately thought was strange.
The more questions they threw at me, the more confused I became. I was even more confused when, after answering all of their questions, they told me they’d get back in touch. As in, they would have more questions for me.
After
I was done with the police, I didn’t go to class. I’d be late anyway, and I knew professors hated that. Some of them, anyway. Instead I exited the building, glancing all around as I called my brother. I wanted to call Ash, but this, whatever it was, was a family matter. The police who’d questioned me were still inside the building, the sidewalks around me empty since classes were in session.
Will picked up right away. “Declan,” he spoke into the phone, “I was just about to call you.”
My heart nearly stopped in my chest. “Why?” Could it be he was going to call me for the same reason I was calling him?
“Hillcrest police called. They want to talk to me about Dad.”
I found a nearby bench, sitting on it. The wind picked up, the cool air whipping all around as I tried to piece it together. Was Dad in some shady business? Not once did I ever think he was. I mean, it was Dad. He was a good guy.
Eventually, I said, “They just talked to me about him.”
Will paused, and I tried to imagine what he looked like on the other line. “What did they ask?”
“Just general things about his personality, if I ever saw him sneaking around. I don’t…I think Dad might’ve done something bad, Will,” I whispered, a chill sweeping over my spine. Maybe it was everything going on with Ash and Ray, but my mind immediately went to the worst possible conclusion. Going to the worst conclusion seemed to be the only safe bet here in Hillcrest.
“I’m actually on my way now,” Will said. “I’ll let you know once I get there, okay? If they ask me the same questions.”
I nodded, even though I knew Will couldn’t see it. I hung up, slowly getting to my feet as I called someone else: Ash. She was not nearly as fast in answering as Will was, and my feet began to draw me through campus. The sky was a light grey; cloudy but not overly so. It wasn’t about to rain or anything—just gloomy, almost like it was an omen for what today held.
Killer: A Dark College Romance (Hillcrest University Book 5) Page 4
