Page 21 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

It makes me want to kill him again.

Ezra’s voice cuts through my haze. “Thatcher, are you even listening? We need to keep it together, man!” His eyes search mine, but all I can think about is how close I was to losing it last night.

How close I am to losing it now.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, my jaw clenching as I try to pull myself together, trying to push the memory back, burying it deep where it belongs. “I hear you, but we don’t know what happened, so stop acting like we’re fucking guilty.”

One of the officers notices us from the porch and starts walking over. Ezra glances nervously at him, his hands shaking.

“Just…don’t say anything stupid, alright?” I mutter under my breath as the cop approaches.

Ezra nods, but I can see the fear in his eyes, the tension in his posture. He’s never been good at hiding his nerves. Meanwhile, I keep my face neutral, pushing down the chaos swirling inside me. I can’t afford to let it slip.

The cop steps up, adjusting his belt as he looks us over.

“Morning, gentlemen,” the officer says, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. He flashes a badge at us before introducing himself. “I’m Detective Sanchez.”

He motions at me with his pen. “You the president of the frat?”

I tilt my head slightly, studying him for a moment before answering. “Yeah, Thatcher van Doren, what’s this about?”

The detective’s eyebrow rises at my name, but he doesn’t miss a beat, flipping open his notepad. “Van Doren huh?”

I try not to smirk at his tone and nod. “Yeah, that’s right,” I say, keeping my voice steady, casual.

Detective Sanchez taps his pen against the notepad, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Interesting name around here. I’m guessing you’re aware of that.”

I shrug. “I don’t really keep track of what people think.”

He studies me for a beat, like he’s trying to decide if I’m playing dumb or if I just don’t care. After a moment, he nods, flipping back a page in his notebook.

“Alright, Thatcher. Mind telling me what you remember from last night? You see Jack Parker at the party?”

I clench my jaw, thinking about Jack and Rhea upstairs, his hands on her. The memory flashes hot and sharp, but I keep my voice even.

“Yeah, I saw him. Everyone saw him. It was a party,” I answer.

“And when was the last time you saw him? Specifically?”

I pretend to pause to think, but the memory is all too clear. Jack collapsed on the floor, a rapidly growing halo of blood around his head and Rhea, staring at me, terror and shock etched into her wide eyes, her figure halfway out the window.

I blink back to reality and stare at the expectant detective. “Sometime after midnight,” I say. “Like I said it was a party, and I don’t keep tabs of my brothers’ whereabouts during bashes like that.”

Detective Sanchez doesn’t blink, just scribbles a note in his pad. “You see him with anyone? Girlfriend? Friends?”

Rhea’s terrified face flashes in my mind, but I keep my tone casual. “Girlfriend?” I almost laugh, and the cop observes me closely. “No. No girlfriend. Friends, though? I mean I didn’t really notice,” I shrug, knowing that Jack was on bad terms with the Reapers. He’s a fucking idiot for intertwining himself with initiates business. “People were all over the place, you know how it is. Hard to keep track of who’s with who.” Pausing, I run a hand through my hair. “You talk to Evan? He was the one who found him, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies simply, scribbling away. “He says he didn’t see anyone else in the room apart from him.”

Good. That dickhead Evan did as he was told.

The detective looks at me for a second, as if waiting for more. When I don’t say anything else, he flips his notepad close and glances at Ezra, who’s still nervously fidgeting beside me.

“If you think of anything else, give me a call,” he says, handing over a card.

I take it from him, briefly glancing at it.Ryan Sanchez…

“Sure thing, Detective.”

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