Page 60 of Tell Me Why
I lunge for her, flipping her onto her back, stomach dropping to my feet. Red hives are scattered across every inch of her skin and her lips have turned a sickening shade of blue. A breakfast tray sits on the desk. Something must have contained nuts.
Pushing out a curse, I sprint to the bathroom and wrench open the bottom drawer of the vanity where I keep several EpiPens. I grab one, tearing the package open as I rush back to her, driving the needle into her thigh with enough force to bruise her.
Seconds crawl by like hours—time fractures as I pull out my phone and dial 911. By now, curious faces crowd the doorway. I toss my phone to the nearest person. “Talk to the dispatcher,” I bark, voice raw with both anger and fear.
Pulling Eve into my lap, I cradle her head and press my fingers against her throat. She has a pulse, thank God, but it’s fluttering and faint. Her skin feels cold and clammy, and the sight of her struggling to breathe ignites something murderous inside me. How did this fucking happen?
Minutes later, EMTs push their way through the door with their equipment, ordering me to give them space. Memories of my brother flood back, and suddenly my own lungs tighten. I stagger back, watching them work on her, feeling utterly fucking helpless.
The EMTs fire questions at me as they take her vitals. I answer mechanically, never taking my eyes off Eve. Gradually, she begins to stir, and relief crashes over me.
“We need to take her to the hospital for observation,” an EMT tells me.
“Yeah,” I reply in a daze. “I’ll follow you there.”
As they strap Eve to a stretcher and carry her downstairs, I notice a piece of paper where Eve was lying. I pick it up. It’s written in the Burning Crown’s coded language—the one created by our forefathers over a hundred years ago.
I know your game, and I play it better. Checkmate.
My mind races. Who wrote this? Most members know the code, and Austin was the only person authorized to handle her food—but I’d beaten her nut allergy into his skull repeatedly.
There’s no way this was an accident.
Someone wanted Eve dead.
I shove the note into my pocket and head downstairs. Jackson and Ash find me on the porch as Eve is loaded into the ambulance.
“We heard the commotion from the living room,” Ash says. “What the fuck happened?”
“Someone tried to kill her.” The words come out as a snarl. “Tell security that no one—and I mean fuckingno one—leaves this house. Everyone gets questioned.”
“Questioned?” Jackson laughs like I’m overreacting. “You seriously think someone did this on purpose?”
I could show him the note, but at this point, I don’t know who I can trust, so I decide to keep that little piece of evidence to myself.
I step into Jackson’s space, my face inches from his. “I don’t know what to think,” I hiss. “But until I find out exactly what happened, we assume someone in this house wants Eve dead.”
“It was probably just an accident, man,” Ash says, backing up slightly. “People are idiots. Shit happens.”
My eyes are locked on the ambulance as they shut the doors. “This wasn’t an accident.” I tap Ash’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince, then I sprint across the lawn. “No one leaves the house until I get back,” I shout over my shoulder. “If anyone tries, break their fucking legs.”
When I get to the hospital, I’m relegated to the same sterile waiting room I paced while my brother fought for his life. The same stark white walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, and cold plastic chairs. Every second that passes feeds the inferno building inside me.
Pacing, I check my phone obsessively, until finally a nurse calls my name and leads me through a maze of corridors to Eve’s room. Beeping machines fill the tense silence as I enter. She’s hooked to an IV, oxygen, and a heart monitor, but she’s sitting up, alert.
“The doctor will be in shortly,” the nurse says before wheeling her cart out.
“You look better,” I say, moving to her bedside. “How do you feel?”
She presses trembling fingers to her temple. “My head is pounding,” she says, voice raspy. “Everything aches.”
“That’s normal.” I looked it up while I was in the waiting room. “You had a severe allergic reaction.”
She blinks up at me. “What happened?”
I exhale slowly, fighting to maintain my composure. “I’m still piecing it together. You were alone when it happened. I had Austin bring breakfast up to you. Do you remember what you ate?”
She glances down at her hands, one finger tracing the tape that’s holding her IV down. “I don’t remember eating anything.” She pauses, her forehead creasing. “I drank some coffee...a vanilla latte, I think.”
