Jane made a face. Michael was nothing like Daryl.
The last time she saw him, Michael wore a plain blue shirt, making his eyes look blue when they were really green, and light brown slacks.
He was pretty hot, Jane allowed. His voice was low, crisp, and very German. It definitely added to his level of attraction.
"Hey." She fluttered her eyes open and looked between the two, who were both waiting intently. "I just thought of something."
"What?" Sophie asked, quirking a brow.
"How are you going to know if Michael is telling you the truth?" Jane asked. At the befuddled look of her two friends, Jane elaborated. "I assume you're going to Michael to straight up ask him if he was the one behind Cillian's murder?" At Sophie's nod, Jane gave her an obvious look. "So how are you going to know if he's telling the truth? I'm a mental. I can read his mind, especially if he gives me access to it."
Brielle opened her mouth, probably to try and get her to stay again. Jane was ready to argue, but thankfully she didn't have to. The brunette shut it and looked over at Sophie for guidance. Sophie, like Brielle, had no counter argument. Jane didn't hide her smirk.
"Don't worry," she told Brielle. "I'll sleep in."
It was petty, but Jane felt a small victory over the brunette. In all honesty, she was doing her best to attempt to forgive her. Like she said before, if it had been her grandfather or Daryl being used against her, she would have done whatever it took to ensure their safety, and she wouldn't even apologize for it, even if it hurt the people she cared about. The one difference was the fact that Cillian had raped Jane, and nothing had been done about it.
That's not Brielle's fault, a voice told her. The fact that Cillian raped you was no one's fault but Cillian's. It wasn't Brielle's and it certainly wasn't yours. The fact that nothing was done as a result of that rape in order to make Cillian pay is not Brielle's fault. You can report the rape to the police now, Jane. You could have reported it back then, but you didn't. Why?
“I don't think now is the most appropriate time to answer that,” Jane muttered silently. “But the long and short of it is, it's still hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I was raped. He wasn't violent. He didn't threaten me. He just kept insisting until I gave in.”
Rape is rape is rape, the voice insisted. Consent is the key factor here. You didn't consent to it. He knew you didn't want it. Maybe some outside parties might think rape is too dramatic a word to use, but that doesn't make the word improper. It's a legal fact. He raped you. You haven't reported him. Your anger and frustration with Brielle is understandable, but I think it goes deeper than her betrayal. I think it's you projecting you guilt at your inaction onto an easy scapegoat.
"Okay," Jane said, and popped open one eye only to realize she had said that out loud. She smoothly covered it up by offering a bright smile. From the way that it pulled at her face, she knew the smile was too bright. "You guys ready? I'm going to sweep."
At their eager nods, Jane closed her eyes and reached out for Michael. She found him rather quickly, locating him just down the street from the academy. Jane furrowed her brow and kept her eyes closed for a longer period of time than necessary. Why would Michael be right down the street from the academy? Wasn't that risky? Wouldn't Ethan know he was there since it was so close to the academy. If Ethan was anything, he was resourceful. There was no way he couldn't know.
Right?
The problem, the same voice pointed out, is that while Michael is dangerous, he's not necessarily a criminal. Well, he wasn't before this. If Ethan knew Michael was there, he couldn't really do anything about it, could he? Maybe Ethan did know about Michael and hadn't done anything just so he could keep an eye on him.
But if that were the case, he would know Sophie was taken. He would have known Jane was kept there. He would have known and not done anything about it. There was no way Ethan would have let them stay there with Michael if he did know.
So maybe he didn't?
Jane was giving herself a headache.
"Down the street," Jane said as she opened her eyes. "We don't even have to steal a golf cart."
"Well, that's a relief," Brielle said.
"Wait, he's down the street?" Sophie asked, looking just as confused as Jane felt. "Does Ethan—"
"That'll be a good question to ask after we interrogate Michael," Jane said. "Are we ready to go?"
"Hold it," Brielle said, causing both Jane and Sophie to stop mid-step so they could look at her. "So, we're just going to walk up to his mansion, no problem, and nothing's going to happen to us? He's not going to do things to Sophie and lock Jane and I in the basement?"
Jane looked at Sophie, because Brielle made a good point. For someone who practically stalked Sophie to the point where he kidnapped her schoolmate in order to exchange her for Sophie, he was dangerous. There was no way they could simply walk up to his door in the middle of the night without some kind of repercussions ...
Right?
As crazy as it sounded, that was exactly what they did. Jane was keeping her mind focused on any potential threats and Brielle was prepared to shift and get help if need be. Sophie didn't necessarily have to prepare; if they were threatened, she could use her strength to either rip a branch off a tree and smash it in someone's face or something similar. Jane didn't care as long as the job got done. However, no one stopped them. Not when they reached the house. Not when they went all the way to the front door.
Which was odd.
At the very least, shouldn't Dianna be here, guarding him like the bitch she was?
Jane laughed under her breath, and Sophie hushed her.
When they reached the door, all three of them were tense, ready to fight or flight. Jane, for whatever reason, was holding her breath. Her body was positioned like she was ready for a fight, taking in any surrounding objects she might be able to move with her mind and use as a weapon, if need be. There wasn't much by any means, but it would appear as though Michael had an affinity for potted plants. If he threatened them, she could just drop one on his head.
"Do we knock?" Brielle whispered.
"I'm almost positive he locks his door," Sophie said.
"Sophie could just rip off the door from its hinges," Jane suggested.
"I would appreciate it if you did not do that," a voice said from the other side of the door.
Each girl jumped, and immediately prepared for the worst. However, the door opened—no creak whatsoever—and there stood Michael in nothing but a muscle shirt and pajama pants. His hair was not combed to the side; instead, it hung naturally with a slightly boyish curl to it. He didn’t look all that intimidating. In fact, he looked … dare she say, friendly? Would friendly be too nice a word for someone as crazy as Michael?
“If you had knocked, I would have opened the door,” he told them in a low drawl.
“What are you doing up?” Brielle asked, confused. It was then that Jane remembered Brielle knew his habits, his patterns. She didn’t need to read her mind to know that it took everything in her to either beat the crap out of him or to run miles away without looking back.
“Where’s Dianna?” Sophie asked.
“Are you going to hurt us?” Jane decided to throw in the ring of questions.
Michael grinned, his eyes sparkling in amusement. “Which question should I answer first?” he asked. He pointed at Brielle. “I’m awake because it’s just me here.” He looked at Sophie. “Currently, I have no idea where Dianna is, or your brother, for that matter.” His eyes darted back to Brielle, and then Sophie. “You look beautiful, by the way.” And then, finally to Jane. “No, I’m not going to hurt you.” He shifted his shoulders. “Now I have a question for the three of you: why are you here by yourselves?” His eyes rested solely on Sophie. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”
“We want to know if you killed Cillian,” Sophie said.
“And if yes, why?” Brielle said.
The look on Michael’s face was genuine confusio
n. His brow pushed together, his chin tilted down, and his lips pursed together. He looked between each girl, almost as if he were trying to see if they were telling him the truth or if they were trying to trick him. Jane wasn’t sure if someone could fake that, but with his time and experience on earth, it wouldn’t surprise her.
“Cillian’s dead?” he asked. His tone matched his face; Jane would give him that. If he was lying, he was good at it.
“You don’t know?” Brielle asked flatly. “You’re the one who threatened to kill him if I didn’t help you. Who else would it be?”
“His body was hanging on our gates, his innards hanging in a pile in front of him,” Sophie said. “Blood was everywhere. It was,” she had to pause in order to get her stomach under control, “disgusting.”
Michael’s forehead flattened and his mouth crinkled in disgust. “I would never do such a thing,” he told them. “You may not believe me, but I’ve come to believe that all life is precious. The only reason I threatened Cillian in the first place is because I learned what happened to Ms. Cabot.” He indicated Jane with his hand. “Initially, he was a loose end, yes, but I would have paid him off.”
Brielle scoffed. If she had been afraid about confronting Michael, she definitely didn’t show it. “And we’re supposed to believe you?” she asked. “Take you at your word?”
Sophie looked to Jane. “Is he telling the truth?” she asked.
Jane blinked once and looked back at Michael. “Would you be willing to let me read your mind when you answer?” she asked. “So I can make sure you’re telling the truth.”
“Absolutely,” Michael said.
“Okay,” she said. “Just keep your mind open, and I’ll be able to read your thoughts without any blockages. And, if there are any blockages, I’ll be able to detect them.” She gave Michael a warning look.
He nodded once and turned his focus to Sophie. Jane kept her eyes on Michael, but visualized a golden tether emitting from the crown of her head and reaching for Michael’s. Roots sprung from the tether and sunk into his head, burying deep, past the skin, bone, and deeper than scientific knowledge. She nodded when she was set.
“I did not kill Cillian,” he told Sophie, in that same genuine voice. “I didn’t even know he was dead. I have no idea who would kill Cillian. But”—here, he looked at Jane—“I give you my word, I will look into it. I will find Cillian’s murderer.”
Jane looked at Sophie. Both she and Brielle were waiting for Jane’s declaration of innocence or guilt. She swallowed.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” Jane said after heaving a sigh, “but he’s telling the truth.”
25
Sophie's head was still spinning by the time the three left Michael’s mansion. He hadn't killed Cillian. She had been right. The fact that he let her leave the place made her pause, as though she were waiting for the other foot to drop. His looked regretful, like he didn't want her to leave, and for some reason, this made her heart jump. He wanted to keep her, yet he was letting her leave. It must have been one of the most difficult things for him to do. Sophie didn't want to admit that she felt sympathy for the guy, but if she said that, she'd be lying. Instead, she swallowed every word on the tip of her tongue and chose to remain silent. She didn't want to say anything that might lead him on, make him think there was actually hope for the two of them when there absolutely wasn't.
Despite the fact that her head was on straight and her heart belonged to Will, her body was pulled to Michael, just as always whenever he was around. She was glad that Will was nowhere near her in this moment because she was sure that biological desire was written on her face, clear as day. And, regardless of how much Will understood body chemistry and evolution, seeing her programmed to desire someone else would hurt him more than he would ever say, more than he would ever show. She knew it because if their positions were reversed, she would feel the same way.
Sophie hated the way her body responded to Michael, only because it caused her heart and her thoughts to soften when it came to him. Which meant she was more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. She bristled at the thought, but it made her realize that he, more than anything, was still human. He wasn't all good and he wasn't all evil—just like Ethan had said about Arbuckle.
"Five bucks says the guys are up waiting for us," Jane said as they walked down the paved road. They could see the academy light posts in the distance.
"Ugh, let's not think about them," Sophie replied, running her palm down her face. "My head is starting to pound with everything we've gone through, and I still can't believe Michael didn't kill Cillian."
"Let's not talk about that, either," Brielle muttered, her brown eyes resting on her shoes as she picked up her feet to walk.
"Can we talk about the amount of sass Brielle attacked Michael with?" Jane said with a grin. She nudged Brielle with her shoulder and the brunette laughed. "Can I be honest? I didn't think you had that in you. No offense."
"None taken," Brielle said. "I just ... I've had it, you know? With people pushing me around, telling me what to do. I let them get away with it to avoid confrontation, but now, I realized I didn't respect myself enough to stand up for me. And I want to change that more than anything."
"Aww," Sophie said, wrapping her arms around Brielle for a sideways hug while still attempting to walk.
It wasn't long before they reached the gates of the academy. And, just as Jane predicted, Will, Daryl, Kessler, and Ethan were in front, having a seemingly jovial conversation. Ethan looked completely casual with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. Daryl watched everything and everyone with his sharp black eyes—he was the first to notice the girls walk up. Kessler had blue eyes on the men he was conversing with, trying to read them, study them, so he could understand them in depth. And Will, Will was being his usual anti-social self, leaning his back against the black iron gates, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't appear to be paying attention to the conversation, and only perked up the minute his nose twitched, as if he could smell them.
"Well, well," Daryl said, deciding to speak first. His tone was sarcastic and choppy, like dangerous waves in the ocean during a storm. "Did you ladies decide to go on a midnight stroll?"
"Without telling us?" Kessler added, perking his brow.
Will just glared, and Sophie could tell he was doing his best to not unleash his temper on them. On her.
"Might we inquiry as to where you went and what you found out?" Ethan asked, a twinkling sparkle in his eyes. A twinkling, knowing smile.
Ethan knew, which meant Ethan knew where Michael was.
Sophie decided to speak. It was her idea to go to Michael; she should be the one to tell them. So she did. She told them everything. More than anything, she wanted to be able to look Will in the eye during her confession, but she wasn't able to do that during certain parts. She hated herself for it. She should be able to look into his eyes and be honest at the same time. It was something she would have to work on, to make herself a better person. A better partner.
"Why the hell would you leave without telling us?" Will demanded, and Sophie flinched at his harsh tone. She recognized it; he was lashing out because he was hurt. His guard was up and he was pushing away people who wanted to get close to him. This was all her fault.
“Because,” Jane answered, and Sophie noticed her eyes flash a dangerous shade of green. Jane was always willing to fight. “We didn’t think you’d approve.”
“You’re right about that,” Daryl said, his southern accent coming out in a mumble.
“Do you know how much danger you were in?” Will went on, almost as though no one else was there. Almost as though it were just him and Sophie. “Do you know the risk you took?”
“I—”
“We thought it was worth it,” Brielle said, coming to Sophie’s defense as well. “The information we gathered was worth it.”
"Information?" Will asked, furrowing his brow so low it nearly rested over hi
s eyes. "What do you mean, information? You didn't actually talk to the guy, did you?"
Jane looked like she was going to say something, but Sophie couldn't have her friends fight her battles for her any longer. This was about her and Will, and while Jane and Brielle had also left their male counterparts in the middle of the night, she needed to stick up for herself like Brielle and Jane both were.
"I don't know why," she began, "but I've had a gut feeling that Michael isn't the one responsible for killing Cillian." Before Will could comment, and judging from the look on his face, Sophie could tell he was ready to do just that, she explained. When she was winding down, she finally forced herself to look Will in the eyes, and what she saw there caused everything inside of her to pool into her stomach and slide down. He was hurt. More than angry and frustrated and upset, Will was hurt. She had hurt him. "Michael isn't a violent person."
Every man, save for Ethan, began to chime in with their opinion. Actually, Daryl and Kessler began to talk. Will tried but couldn't. He would stop, pause, try again, and get more frustrated. Jane inwardly rolled her eyes at the onslaught of testosterone, and Brielle listened patiently, though there was an edge about her. Sophie felt helpless, unsure how to explain something she only felt. Her friends believed her because they were her friends and trusted her judgment. Will, Daryl, and Kessler questioned that judgment because they wanted to protect her.
Actually.
Sophie clenched her jaw. "We found out that Michael didn't kill Cillian," she told them, raising her voice so she could talk over them. They immediately quieted. If adrenaline wasn't pumping through her body the way it was, she knew she'd be freezing. "This whole thing where you think you can tell us what to do because you're men and have more experience and we're girls who have no clue how the world works is getting old. I understand you may know better than we do, but the three of us got this information."
Stranger Series Box Set Page 66
