Page 53 of Endless Anger
“What thehell?—”
A branch breaks somewhere close by, as if someone is hovering a few feet away. Lucy immediately goes quiet. Footsteps thud on the forest floor, drawing nearer with each second that passes.
I recover her mouth and press farther into the tree trunk, moving slowly to make as little noise as possible.
My arm slides up, looping behind her neck, and I tuck her into me. She clutches my hip, clawing at my sweater.
It’s a tight fit. Our pelvises line up, every inch of our bodies plastered together while we wait in uncomfortable silence.
Her pulse beats a panicked rhythm against my chest.
I wonder if she can feel mine too.
She mumbles into my palm, her eyebrows knitting. I lean harder, sliding my gaze past the tree in a wordless explanation.
Her breaths start to come in thicker, uneasy bursts; they brush over my knuckles, and I focus on them as the noise dissipates.
Still, we don’t move.
A small whimper escapes her, crawling from the back of her throat. My eyes find hers; they’re tense and laced with confusion.
“Do you know who that was?” I whisper, straining to hear in case the hooded strangers return.
She nods.
Shit.“They killed her?”
I’m not sure why I phrase it as a question—I watched them pitch the girl’s lifeless body over the edge of the quarry and heard the distant splash as it plummeted into the water below.
If I witnessed all that and could put two and two together, there’s no way Lucy wouldn’t catch on. She’s the smart one.
Lucy blinks. Nods again. Tears well up in her eyes, and I grit my teeth, instantly desperate to keep them from spilling over.
I guess some thingsdon’tchange.
“Were you?—”
The sudden, frenzied sound of hastened footsteps interrupts my question. A startled noise rips from behind my hand, and her tears break through, sluicing over my fingers. My head swings toward the quarry, noting the group has dispersed, and I realize I may not have pulled us back far enough.
Every muscle in Lucy’s body is taut, on high alert, and I’m wishing I hadn’t fucking come to Fury Hill at all.
Relaxing my hold on her, I twist my torso, peeking out past the trunk.
She grips my biceps, her nails penetrating even through my sweater. When I look back at her, those blue eyes are wide and vast and completely terrified.
“It’sfine,” I murmur.
I can’t blame her for the fear. Three years of not speaking and me showing up on the night a classmate is murdered—I’d be hesitant too, at the very least. Though it’s a little irksome that she thinks I’d ever endanger her.
Bar fires notwithstanding.
Scanning the area, I don’t see anything alarming, but I resume my position anyway. She’s easy to hide from plain sight; I cover her body completely, tucking her in. Just in case.
My nose grazes her soft hair, and I involuntarily inhale the sweet coconut scent.
She trembles, shaking violently as we wait for the footsteps to cease.
When they do, they’re accompanied by, “Whoa, hey, sorry for interrupting. I’m looking for my cousin, not Casanova.”
