Page 52 of Endless Anger
But not Beckett.
He doesn’t say anything. Just stares out into the forest, right in my direction.
I retch silently, afraid I may puke again, and keep my hand in place.
Finally, he turns away, but I don’t feel an ounce of relief. Only raw terror exists in my body right now, resurfacing when he tells the other two to hoist Celeste up.
A flash of shiny metal glints in the dark. Beckett raises his hand, lifting Celeste’s chin, and he murmurs something quietly to her. The other two murmur back, and I know it’s that Latin phrase from before. Ithasto be—the Curators love their dead languages.
He drives the metal object directly into her throat.
My mouth drops, a silent scream trying to escape. I slide my foot back, my limbs moving before my brain has fully caught up to what I’m seeing.
Horror courses through me, shaky and unending. Operating on autopilot, I push from my place beside the tree slowly, keeping my gaze on the group. Beckett pulls the knife from Celeste and then assaults her with it again. And again. Andagain.
She doesn’t make a single noise through it all.
When they start to bind her hands and feet together with some sort of rope, Irun. Back the way I came, my body vibrating with a vengeance.
I don’t get very far before someone grabs me from behind.
A large, warm hand slaps over my mouth, cutting off my shocked cry before shoving me against a tree trunk.
Milliseconds pass with me standing as motionless as possible, confusion and trepidation rendering me totally useless. Pinching my eyes shut, I mentally prepare myself for death and inhale slowly, catching an oddly familiar scent—metallic, like I’d expect, but also something soft and comforting, like cedar and grapefruit. The hint of cologne. Soft, clean cotton.
I open my eyes, letting them adjust to the moonlight again, and a new sense of dread fills my gut.
There’s no way…
My assailant reaches up with one arm, running a hand over his face. Several strands of his obsidian hair drape across his forehead, long enough to look effortlessly tousled. His sharp, clean-shaven jaw tightens, his pale skin smooth and glistening with perspiration. A silver hoop piercing his left nostril temporarily draws my attention—the sapphire stud is gone.
There’s a scar that cuts into his upper lip, making the full flesh bow, and I hate that I know exactly which fight with his cousin caused it.
The longer I stare, I realize that somehow, witnessing my roommate’s murder isn’t the worst thing that I’ll experience tonight.
Because before me are the fiery, endlessly angry brown eyes of a man I haven’t seen or spoken to since he ditched me three years ago.
Andhe’scovered in blood.
17
ASHER
“Long time, no see, pup.”
Even though it’s never been her MO, I half expect Lucy to try and hit me when I pin her against the tree. If she had any sense of self-preservation whatsoever, she’d knee me in the balls before I could effectively cut off her escape.
She doesn’t move a muscle. Shock lines the dark edges of her ocean-blue irises, mixing with the white-hot glint of betrayal. I can’t fault her for that, considering I swore to myself that I’d never step foot on this godforsaken campus again.
Things change.Peoplechange. All we can do is roll with the punches.
I soak her in, noting the years of distance have been kind to her. Two bright red streaks of hair frame her heart-shaped face, the rest as black as the night sky and just as silky smooth. It’s shorter than I remember, sitting just below her collarbone, and there’s a cut on her pale cheek, caked with dried blood and dirt.
My heart taps slowly against my rib cage, as if it can sense her presence.
I fucking hate that.
The scent of sweat and alcohol clings to the air. Her hand comes up, fingers curling over mine, and she tugs her mouth free.
