Dirty Girls

by Lily White

  No wonder Nolan didn’t want me anywhere near these people. They were all psychopaths masquerading as spoiled rich kids.

  Is this what bullies did when they had blown past the usual boring pranks and careened head first into true torture?

  Struggling to get away, I bit the back of Soren’s finger. He grunted from the pain, but tightened his grip, holding my jaw shut with one hand, while pulling me against his chest with the other. Locking his arm around my waist, he held me in place regardless of how hard I fought to break free.

  Eyes wide, I watched as Quinton placed the noose over Becky’s head, her face stained an angry red from how hard she was crying.

  Nobody moved to help her. Nobody lifted a damn finger to stop what was about to be cold-blooded murder for everybody to watch.

  They just laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world, like it wasn’t unusual for a pledge to be slaughtered for daring to say anything about the group.

  Quinton directed Becky to step up on the concrete railing, but she refused at first, fighting it just as hard as I was to get away from Soren. Two more people moved out through the balcony doors and after a few minutes of struggle, they eventually forced her to up onto the half wall, her body teetering in place because her legs weren’t strong enough to support her.

  Quinton held on to her, though, handing the back of the rope to one of the guys behind him.

  With her hands tied behind her back and her eyes now blindfolded, Becky was audibly crying, her voice filtering down and over my backyard while she begged Quinton not to kill her.

  And still, nobody moved. Instead, they all just laughed and carried on, about half of them chanting for Quinton to shove her off and hang the bitch out to dry.

  Tears streamed from my eyes and down my cheeks. There was no way this was happening. But they weren’t the only liquid falling in this backyard. Within seconds, there was a stream of another kind running down Becky’s legs to drip from the railing of the balcony.

  “Fucking sick bitch pissed herself,” Quinton yelled just before shoving her forward.

  Her lips parted on a bloodcurdling scream, but when the rope should have caught to hang her in place, when her body should have come to an abrupt stop as her neck snapped to echo over the audience, the end of the rope slipped over the railing to trail above her, a large splash erupting from the pool when her body went under the water.

  Two people jumped in after her, while everyone laughed and talked.

  “I can’t believe she fucking pissed herself...”

  “She’ll never live this down...”

  When Becky’s head broke the surface of the water, she coughed violently from the liquid in her lungs.

  My stomach heaved just as Soren bent down again to whisper against my ear. “You’re welcome.”

  His arms relaxed and I ran from his grasp toward the house, knocking people aside not giving a damn when they yelled after me to watch where I was going.

  Three seconds away from heaving all over everyone’s shoes, I barely made it to the downstairs bathroom in time to curl over the toilet and vomit.

  My body shook violently as my stomach emptied of everything inside it, the taste and scent of bile assaulting my senses while sweat dripped down my forehead.

  Was that Soren’s idea of a prank? Even worse, had I caused it by taking offense to Becky’s cruel words and daring to ask a favor of the devil for revenge?

  My heart was tap dancing in my throat a headache coming on like a sledgehammer to the skull. I couldn’t stay at the house any longer. Couldn’t stomach seeing Soren again after what he had done.

  Panic had taken over and without thinking clearly, I ran from the bathroom to search the house for Grady’s keys. Finding them in Soren’s jacket pocket, I ran outside with the hope that Soren’s rule that nobody block the driveway was obeyed.

  I should have known it would be. None of the pledges dared upset the King of Winter Ridge.

  Shoving that thought aside, I couldn’t complain when it left the Porsche open to pull away.

  Without giving much of a damn how much trouble I’d cause by stealing the car, I jumped into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

  I didn’t know where I was going or how long I’d be gone. I just knew I couldn’t stay at that house for another minute.

  Put simply, I couldn’t face the fact that what happened to Becky was partly my fault.

  I wasn’t a monster. Not like Soren and them. So why did it feel like I was slowly turning into one, all because I’d ignored my brother’s warning and had gotten too close?

  The engine roared as I sped off, Teagan’s ghost sitting shotgun beside me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jonah

  A heavy sigh blew across the table, the sound full of frustration, anger, dismay and dead ends. Although it was Simon’s lungs that had expelled the breath, I felt the same, my thoughts equally as jumbled and distraught.

  “So, what do we have? A whole lot of nothing, in my opinion.”

  His hand slammed against the table. Mugs rattled over its surface, a single pen rolled left until falling from the edge to the floor with a quiet click.

  “There’s nothing here that points directly at our killer. Not a damn thing. It’s like the son of a bitch knows exactly what we’ll be looking for and erases every last trace of it.”

  Leaning back against my seat, I watched Simon run his hands through his hair, fingers tugging at the thin strands. If he weren’t careful, he’d go completely bald before he turned forty. Not because of heredity, but from the stress of his job.

  “Is it time for us to look in another direction?”

  My question was a gentle prodding, one I hoped would lead him away from the chase after Soren. If anybody had been spinning their wheels, it was Simon. Two years and, still, he couldn’t pin down the one person he swore was responsible for the murders.

  Bleary eyes peering up at me, his forehead wrinkled with a toxic combination of fury and exasperation.

  “Okay, Jonah. You keep shoving me in another direction than I’m running, so who would you like to suggest is doing this other than the guy I already have pegged?”

  Since the night I’d spoken with Olive and Soren at the diner, I’d spent every day speaking with whoever would talk. Simon continued running in the same circles, but I’d stuck to my training and considered all the possible paths leading away from the obvious.

  “We both have been looking for an answer connected to the kids in Soren’s circle-“

  Simon raised his voice to interrupt me. “Probably because both Teagan and Maia were connected to him. It’s Occam’s razor, Jonah. The simplest answer being the right one.”

  Taking a moment to ensure he was done, I met his stare without backing down.

  “Or maybe a simpler answer would be that none of the kids in Soren’s circle had anything to do with this. Have you stopped to consider that there could be a killer lurking near Winter Ridge that has nothing to do with these kids, and he’s picking them off because they’re easy targets?”

  He grinned, only one corner of his mouth tilting up, the expression not reaching his eyes. It was Simon’s nonverbal way of calling bullshit. His message that he’d tuned me out before letting me begin.

  “Let me guess: You drew up a profile. Isn’t that what the feds like to do? Use a bunch of old crimes to make guesses about the new ones?”

  Shifting his position, he rested both forearms on the table, his cuffs rolled up to the elbows and the buttons of his wrinkled collar undone.

  “I’ll wager to guess you assume our killer is a white male in his mid twenties to late thirties. That he liked to hurt animals as a child and was the victim of domestic abuse in his early years. You probably believe he works a dead end job where he’s powerless, so he takes it out on women who are weaker than him. Both Teagan and Maia were blond, so maybe they reminded him of his mommy who either beat him when he pissed his pants or was beaten in front of him by a daddy w
ho drank too much.”

  Quirking a brow, I couldn’t say it was a bad profile. But it wasn’t along the same lines as mine.

  “All of that would explain the viciousness and mutilation. But it wouldn’t explain the bathing of the bodies, the makeup, or the ways the bodies were displayed as if to embarrass the victims after death.”

  I knew he was blowing me off by the way he shook his head. He scrubbed a hand down his face as he leaned back in his chair, air pouring out of his lungs like an old balloon deflating.

  “Maybe his mom was a cosmetician. Or a hair stylist. Or maybe he is simply a sick freak who likes to fuck them after they’re dead. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Head falling back, he closed his eyes, exhaustion overtaking him. A bark of laughter shook his chest.

  “Hey, doesn’t that freak brother of yours like to dress up dead things? Where was he around the time the murders happened?”

  The urge to reach across the table and slam his head against the surface was undeniable. I was more professional than that. Simon’s attempt to push my buttons by dragging Calvin into this was petty at best.

  “Busy with the funeral home, I imagine. He has no need to kill in order to spend time with death.”

  “To play with dead bodies, you mean? Maybe that’s how he gets his kicks. Kills them, dresses them up, and then waits with wringing hands for the body to be found and returned to him. It drives up business while also giving him the satisfaction of ownership.”

  Brown eyes met mine. “Even in death, the police hand the body over to him, no questions asked.”

  It was an instinctual response for my fingers to curl into my palm. But rather than give away the anger I was feeling, I stretched my hand over the surface of the table instead.

  “Stop dismissing what I’m saying. It wouldn’t be the first time a psychopath ran around this state taking out women. Washington has a reputation for breeding killers.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, fuck, Jonah. Are you kidding me? This isn’t the fucking seventies. Times have changed and you’d do yourself a favor by catching up.”

  “A copycat, maybe.”

  My suggestion was laughed off.

  “I won’t deny there are people who love studying up on all the sick and demented shit that can be found in this world, but I highly doubt that’s the motive here.”

  Grabbing a stack of papers, he tapped the edges against the table to straighten them before slipping them in an accordion file to his right.

  “I think we both need some sleep. You especially. You’ve stepped right off the edge of logic and have fallen headfirst into fantasy.”

  Maybe he was right. But I suspected he wasn’t. I was the only person attempting to view the whole forest while he kept ramming his head against a single tree.

  Still, there was no point in arguing.

  “That’s a good idea. I wanted to head to Crayton anyway to speak to Calvin. See if there’s anything we missed about Maia’s body before her funeral tomorrow.”

  Another shake of his head.

  “Three weeks that girl has sat in a freezer because her damn parents couldn’t be bothered to cut their European vacation short and come home to bury her. It’s no wonder these kids are so crappy to one another. That shit starts at home.”

  Agreeing with him for the first time that night, I stood from my seat, grabbed my jacket and keys from the table, and crossed the room to the door.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Distracted, Simon didn’t bother glancing up. “Yeah, tell the freak I said hello.”

  Refusing to let his stab at Calvin bother me, I made my way out of the station and climbed in my SUV. The drive to Crayton would be a short one, but my stomach rumbled in reminder that I hadn’t eaten much that day. I made the choice to go a little out of the way to the only convenience store close by.

  Pulling up to the store, I killed the engine and stepped out just in time to hear the roar of another car that was flying down the road. Turning to watch the headlights approach, I recognized the Porsche as it slowed enough to drive into the parking lot, the lights above the gas pumps shining against the paint job.

  It was my immediate assumption that Soren was behind the wheel, however when a clearly upset Olive stepped out, I couldn’t help my surprise.

  She was in her own world as she walked toward the store. But before reaching the doors, she looked up and noticed me, her feet stumbling over the cement.

  “Good evening.”

  Hesitating, Olive glanced around the empty parking lot before turning back to me.

  “Hey. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  She wasn’t happy I was here either, if her tone of voice were any clue. If anything, Olive was nervous. But that wasn’t the only thing bothering her. It was obvious she had recently been crying.

  Perhaps now was as good a time as any to speak to her. “Everything okay?”

  Changing her voice to sound more chipper, she was disguising her true state of mind.

  “Yeah. I just wanted to get out of the house for a little bit. Get some fresh air and a soda.”

  Except every word of that was a lie. I’d kept an eye on Olive Reid since last talking to her last. And while new injuries hadn’t been obvious since the night we spoke in the diner, she hadn’t spent a minute of her time alone.

  Soren was always guarding her. So where was he now if she was suddenly free to run around on her own?

  Slowly, I approached her, my lips pulling into a friendly smile. Olive didn’t need an FBI agent to talk to at the moment. She needed a friend.

  “Did you want to tell me the truth this time or should we keep pretending your face isn’t red from crying?”

  Her eyes widened just a fraction, the rims swollen by previous tears. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

  “One doesn’t need to be an investigator to see the truth written over your features.”

  Pausing, I stepped back to lean against a car. I hoped that appearing casual would let her move away from being defensive. “Did something happen at home? Is your brother okay?”

  Her body flinched as if she’d been slapped in the face.

  “I assume he’s fine. He hasn’t been around much.”

  Interesting...

  Dropping my voice so it was soft and nonthreatening, I caught her eyes and grinned. “You know, I hate to be a reminder of bad news, but don’t you think it’s a little dangerous to be running around Winter Ridge by yourself this late at night?”

  Olive shrugged before wrapping her arms around her abdomen. “I have nowhere else to go. And it’s like I said: I’d rather not be home.”

  “Why?”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but thinking better of it, she shook her head and mentally ran off in a different direction.

  “There’s a party and I don’t feel all that social tonight.”

  In all my years with the FBI, I had met some talented liars. Men who could make you believe you were crazy for knowing the truth. Women who could paint a beautiful picture of a reality that wasn’t close to the one they lived.

  But Olive? This poor girl might as well have had a neon sign that broadcast all her thoughts. Her body language revealed all there was to know about her.

  “What happened at the party?”

  “Nothing,” she answered far too quickly. “Just a bunch of kids being stupid, you know?”

  Nodding, I wasn’t lying to admit I understood. I’d grown up watching stupid kids. Had seen the extent to which they’d go to hurt another person if it made them part of the crowd.

  “I still don’t like the idea of you roaming around by yourself this late. Are you going home from here?”

  She shook her head, the ends of her long brown hair falling over her shoulders. “Probably not.”

  “I’m heading over to Crayton for a few hours. You can tag along if you like.”

  It was a stupid offer on my part, but the truth was I still wanted to speak to
Olive, and perhaps seeing something that might traumatize her would also have the effect of breaking her down so that she admitted all the secrets she was hiding.

  The latest victim lay on a metal table, a death in which Olive’s brother may have taken part. It was cruel what I was doing, but sometimes it takes a shock to the senses to finally tap a brain and reveal what it knows.

  At first I thought she would refuse the trip, but then a car could be heard in the distance, her head turning in its direction as if she were concerned whoever drove it was closing in on her.

  “Yeah, actually. You don’t mind driving all that way only to have to turn around and bring me back?”

  I smiled. “Not at all.”

  Her eyes glanced toward the street as the car drew closer.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Interested in her behavior and wondering who would be chasing her down, I held my position while she walked in the direction of my car.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go inside and grab that soda you were after? Since we’re here already and all.”

  Her muscles were so tense it looked like one touch would shatter her apart.

  “I changed my mind. Can we just leave now?”

  With the close proximity of the car racing our direction, I didn’t have time to drag my feet. Nodding my head, I walked past her to open her door, not waiting long enough for her to fasten her seatbelt before rounding the front and climbing into the driver’s seat.

  We had pulled out of the parking lot and were halfway down the road by the time a black Escalade sped past us, its windows too dark to see who was behind the wheel.

  After turning a corner and driving a few miles down the road, Olive visibly relaxed. Another few minutes were spent in silence before her head rolled over the headrest, big blue eyes peering my way.

  “So where are we going in Crayton?”

  “My house.”

  Surprised, she continued staring at me, her eyes studying my face. “I didn’t know you live in Washington.”

  “I don’t.” Turning to glance at her, I smiled. “Not currently anyway. I grew up in Crayton, but left when I graduated high school and went to college.”