Page 17 of Traithorn

The color drains from my face, but I control my breathing, keeping my face neutral. “What the fuck? Why?”

Anger—that’s what’s expected of me. Not the fear, the sheer panic, I feel filtering inside me. Because I know what’s in my fucking apartment. I should have called the cops when I saw the evidence oftheirtwisted fucking games, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I just wanted to forget.

I still do.

“Evidence points to you having a part in these murders in town. It’s best if you come with me to your apartment and talk to the chief.”

“Do I have a fucking choice?” I retort, anger turning my face red. Helockedthe car, making me unable to leave even if I wanted to.

Then, he does something that surprises me, which really shouldn’t considering who I’m with. His hand clamps around my throat, squeezing until my lungs burn with the need for oxygen. His eyes are two angry holes taking me in, breathing heavily through his teeth as if he’s acting on pure emotions, not thinking clearly. But he doesn’t let go of the grip, and despite knowing I can’t ward him off, my fingers try to claw through his skin so he can let me go.

“Watch your fucking tone with me, Isolde,” he spits in my face. “You’re on very thin ice, and one wrong move can send you to jail for averylong time.”

I think I’m losing my mind because that smirk on his lips shouldn’t be there. It’s gone in the next second, and as the oxygen disappears from my lungs and my body fights for air, I start hitting his arms with the last bit of energy I have left.

After what feels like forever, he finally lets me go, leaving me sputtering for breath. Unable to do anything. Tears gather in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall as he puts the key in theignition and starts the car, swerving his way out of the parking lot.

My chest is heaving as I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror, blue bruises already forming with the hard grip in which he held me. He’s just a conniving, manipulative bastard that I can’t find myself letting go of. Because being with a cop gives me some semblance of protection if my past comes knocking at my door.

Coughing, I stare at myself, not recognizing who I am anymore. They fucked up so much for me when they left. WhenImade them leave.

“Stop fucking sulking,” Casper snaps as we drive up the driveway to my apartment building.

I only glare at him, feeling my hatred for himfueling.

He unlocks the car, and the first thought that hits me is how much I want to escape from him. Run away. But that would make me seem even more like a suspect.

I had no part in these twisted murders, but I think I know who does.

And the hand in my fireplace? The cops won’t listen to my reasoning about it magically appearing there.

Heart hammering hard in my chest, it feels as if I might faint as Casper grasps my shoulder and leads me inside. He’s more forceful than he has to be, and it only makes that weird feeling in my stomach settle deeper.

Why am I even with him?

I don’t fucking know anymore.

It seems I can’t be protected fromthemany longer.

As we arrive at my apartment door, I see that it’s already wide open with at least five police officers inside my apartment. Shoes on, dirtying my floor.

“What the fuck is going on, Casper?” I seethe, barely keeping the panic from cracking my voice.

It’s clawing at my chest like some rabid monster, desperate to cut me open and force out the truth with the spilling of blood. Like a snare, ready to break my neck the second I slip.

I watch them tear through my apartment, creating chaos as they turn over drawers and scatter everything I own like it’s worthless. There’s not a single thing I can do about it.

Act normal. Breathe.

But I fucking can’t. A bead of sweat trails down my temple, and my hands are slick with fear, bracing for the looming threat. Will they arrest me, right here, right now? Or will they let me explain myself?

“There’s nothing here,” the police officer tells Casper.

For a moment, relief washes over me. Like a tsunami wave that’s finally retreating after its destruction. Then, I watch Casper’s jaw harden, clench, his fingers digging deeper into my shoulder. I try not to flinch.

Try, and fail.

“Something needs to be!” he shouts, and the officer stares at him with an odd look.

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