Page 112 of Web of Lies
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I breathe, trying to remain quiet.
“Did he fucking say Death and Famine? What was up with that?” Seger asks as we unlock the door with caution and peek out. I shrug, confused by the whole interaction.
“Stop!” Zepp says in our ear again, urging us to shut the door. My heart leaps from my chest again. “Whoever else was in that classroom is walking down the hallway right now.” With a hard swallow, we ease the door shut, locking it once again. Whoever walks down the hallway briefly stops outside his office door. Their shadow seeps in through the cracks of the locked door, almost like they’re coming back for round two. The shadow outside the door slowly dissipates, leaving Seger and me to ourselves.
“You guys will not believe this. I don’t even believe it,” Zepp whispers in our ears. Seger and I exchange a look.
“Chase is fucking right. You have a flair for this dramatic shit,” Seger grumbles.
“Ugh, listen, you’re in the clear, she’s gone out the front door now, and she’s down the path,” Zepp says through a long breath, done with us and this entire situation.
“And who is she, exactly?” I whisper as we step out into the dark hallways once again. The hallway is as dark as it was twenty minutes ago, but the noises died down, leaving us to walk towards the side door we entered through.
“Zoe,” he says through a breath. My body slams into an invisible brick wall, halting all movement, scrambling my brain. Did he just say? Oh—No. Not her. Why would she?
“Like… Hartbrakers Zoe?” Seger stutters through his words, taking my hand in his.
He squeezes our fingers together three times, looking over at my stunned expression. I’m sure I’m a sight to see. My mouth wide open, my heart exploding on the inside, with sweat forming all over my body. But he doesn’t comment. In fact, it’s like he knows I can’t move on my own right now. He pulls me down the hallway at a fast pace, looking back every so often to make sure I’m processing this weird turn of events—processing, processing. My mind is like an old nineties computer, barely functioning. It has that slow wheel spinning on the screen, churning repeatedly.
“Yeah, that’s exactly who it was.” My heart falls into my stomach at the sound of her name.
“Really? Zoe? What was she doing with—holy fuck, she slept with our principal?” I gasp at the thought of Zoe having to do that or wanting to do that at all. She’s cool, laid back, and friendly. Throughout this entire time of chaos, she’s been nothing but kind to me, showing me compassion when no one else stepped in. And now this? Is anyone real, here?
“Well, it was definitely her.” Zepp sighs again, sounding worn out from this whole crazy ordeal. He’ll probably have a long white beard, gray hair, and a cane to support him when we return.
“That makes her ten times more suspicious then. What the hell is she doing with him?” Something within my gut tells me something has gone horribly wrong within her world for her to sink to that. Unless—for some strange reason—she loves him? No, no, she’s only eighteen. That must be some sort of manipulative behavior on his end. No typical eighteen-year-old would fall for her principal like that. Right? I’ve never seen her with anyone at school. She seems to fly under the radar, despite how famous she is outside of these walls.
Seger fake gags, holding tight to my hand. As we make our way back to my apartment, we barely dodge the pesky security guards walking the first-floor halls.
“I can’t believe you guys went on some super mission and left me to sleep,” Chase grumbles, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands.
“Ya didn’t miss much,” Seger says through a tight smile, slapping him on the shoulder.
Chase grumbles again, sitting back down on the couch. “Besides Zoe—oh Zoe.” Chase shakes his head, probably reliving his fan moments. He seems to love her music and career, but this whole screwing the principal thing has gotten to him. “She’s smarter than that, and I don’t… I don’t get it.” We’ve once again been left with more questions than answers, even after a fact-finding mission. Hopefully, the USB in my hand will give us a few more answers than questions.
I move toward my computers just as Zepp takes his Bluetooth out of his ears. “Thanks for everything.” My fingertips roam over his soft cheeks, taking in the curve of his jaw and sharp cheekbones.
I once read about their mother, Tristy Logue-West. Young. Beautiful. Smart. A supermodel in the prime of her life, who fell head over heels in love with their father from the moment she saw him at a runway show. Of course, he was at least 30 years older than her. They married six months after knowing each other and stayed that way for three years. It’s some sort of record for Corbin West, only staying in relationships for a year or less, besides her and his current mess of a wife, Corey. Hence, why he has fourteen kids spread across the world; he leaves one relationship and jumps into another. It makes me wonder if Tristy had survived life-stealing cancer if they’d still have a marriage. Zeppelin and Seger West were only his fifth and sixth kids. The rest of the children came in close succession to them but never publicly claimed their father—only their littlest brother, Hendrix, mothered by their stepmother.
Looking at them, I get where their beauty comes from. The twins have their mother’s model cheekbones and proportioned faces and could probably be in magazines themselves. They have their father’s rockstar looks with their lean, muscular bodies. Both sides of their gene pools were generous to them. But it’s more than that for me. Even though they’ve grown up the way they have, they’re both so grounded and relatable. Never stuck up with turned-down noses on other people.
His fingers curl around mine, resting on his cheek. “I wouldn’t have let you go at that alone. You needed eyes; I was your eyes.” He gives a jerky nod, conveying all the feelings he won’t let me see. Frustration. Concern. Even love makes an appearance. The most prevalent emotion singing like a canary in his moss-green eyes is fear. Fear for my safety. Fear of getting caught. Fear of all of this going bad.
“Sorry, I’m stubborn.” A ghost of a smile crosses his lips. His eyes roll into the back of his head, leaning back against the computer chair, groaning at the ceiling.
“Too fucking stubborn. Come bend over my knee and let me spank the defiance out of you,” Seger groans, sitting next to Chase, running his fingers through his hair. “I swear it’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes.” A breathy laugh escapes from between my lips.
“All right, should we see what the fuss is all about?” Zepp asks, holding his hand out. I comply, giving him the USB we created, letting him get to work.
His fingers fly against the keyboard, the screen coming to life. Everything once on the headmaster’s computer is now before our eyes, no longer encrypted and ready for consumption. Folder after secret folder floats onto the screen, deep folders, only Shaw has laid eyes on, until now.
Zepp starts the lengthy process of going through his files. Some are personal, but nothing damaging. There are no photos of his family. There’s nothing really in the standard files. It’s not until he digs deeper that we find something.
“It’s a list,” Zepp says, scrunching up his face.
“A list of what?” Chase grumbles through his sleepy voice, barely conscious again, leaning his head against Seger’s, who fell asleep an hour after we got back from our mission. I guess the adrenaline rush finally caught up to him and the after-effects rendered him useless. But my, does he look precious. They both do with their eyes closed, supporting their heads together. Seger looks at peace, slightly snoring. His beautiful face relaxed from all the tension he held earlier.
Zepp swallows hard, leaning over the monitor. His forest green eyes meet mine, flashing more concern than I’ve seen in a long time. “It doesn’t have any context to it,” he whispers to me but quickly pulls me into his lap. Wrapping his arms tightly around my middle, he turns my body, so I see what he does. Tension fills every muscle of my body, stealing my breath. My throat clogs, my brain turns to mush. Processing. Processing. What. The. Fuck?
