Page 71 of Defiant Beta

A mattress spring squeaks, footsteps hurry this way, and the door flies open.

“Yeah?” She smiles at me, holding the door closed so I can’t get a look behind her. That seems deliberate. An overly sweet smell drifts from her room.

“Just wondered if everything was okay.”

“Fine.” Her smile widens a touch. “Thanks for asking.”

She shuts the door, and I still don’t move.

I knock again.

There’s no mattress squeaks this time. No hurrying to open the door. Probably because I didn’t wait for her to get to her bed.

“Yes?” Her smile is a little tighter now. A truer representation of what is going on in her mind than the fake smile she keeps flashing me.

“You seem a little quiet. Back in school, you were louder.”

She blinks at me. “Right. Well, thanks for that. Bye.”

She closes the door.

I stick my foot in the gap, not ready to end this conversation yet.

Her eyes dart to me, widening in fear, reminding me that there might be another reason she’s up here in her room, quiet and pale-faced.

Three guys abducted her, probably stuffing her in the trunk of their car. From the bruises on her face and the belt marks on her back, they tortured her. Maybe they did something else to her.

“Sorry.” I pull my foot back. “I didn’t mean to scare?—”

“You didn’t,” she interrupts, lifting her chin. “What do you want?”

“Just…” My eyes linger on the bruise on her right jaw, and I want to rip into the men who took her. Those marks are not from a fist. They’re too oddly shaped. Someone hit her with something. Then I notice the dark finger marks around her neck.

Someone choked her.

What the fuck do I say? Something is wrong with her, and I don’t know what to say to help her.

She stares at me. “Just what?”

I have no fucking clue.

I started off on the wrong foot, and I amstillon that wrong foot. “Back at Haven Academy, I said I’d take you to Paris.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you say no because of my beard?”

She stares at me. Then she closes the door.

I don’t knock again.

I’ve said enough.

Scratching my itchy beard, I mutter curses at myself as I make my way down the stairs of our rental. None of us is a fan ofthe ultra-modern, but it’s nice and private, which is all we want and need.

Vincent and Levi sit at the kitchen island, their heads together, working to cut down our suspect list even further.

"She's not eating." I lean against the kitchen counter, muffling a yawn.

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