Page 81 of Disorder (Elite of Elmwood 2)

Fury simmered in my blood. “Gladly.” I shoved out of my seat.

Anger tears shined in Angie’s eyes as she shook her head at me. “We couldn’t have one nice dinner as a family. You just had to ruin this, didn’t you?”

“As you’re so keen on reminding me, it’s what I’m good at.” With that parting statement, I stormed from the room. I’d never been so glad to walk away from a meal.

What a shit show. We never made it to dessert; not that I cared. Was anyone surprised about the outburst? Not at all.

As I climbed the stairs, I remembered the text I had received but never checked. Turned out I had a handful of messages and two missed calls, all from the elusive Brock. Quickening my pace, I slammed my door shut, and since it didn’t lock, I bolted myself inside the bathroom to call him back. He answered on the first ring as if he’d had his phone in his hand, waiting for me. “Why is she there?” his deep voice immediately demanded.

It had only been four days since I last heard his voice, but to my ears, it felt like months. My heart flipped in my chest as I leaned against the bathroom sink. “To gloat. To rub it in that she won.”

“Are you okay?” he growled, and when I didn’t answer immediately, he repeated the question.

I sat on the edge of the tub and bit out, “Like you care.”

“Firefly,” he said, a tad tensely.

I sucked in a deep breath, realizing I didn’t want to fight with him. “I’m fine for now. But I can’t stay here much longer.”

“You don’t have to,” he vowed, saying the exact thing I wanted to hear. “I’ll come get you.”

A chasm of pain, hurt, and longing opened up in my chest. “Don’t bother. Besides, your girlfriend is here. Wouldn’t want her to see you sneaking into my room.” I wanted to ask how his fake relationship with Ava was going, but at the same time, I didn’t want to know. Just thinking about her in his lap, running her nails through his hair, or kissing those soft, skillful lips sent me into a dark place. In my head, I knew Brock wasn’t mine. He was free to date or fake date whomever he wanted. But in my heart, Brock was mine. And only mine. Even after I told myself not to fall for the jerk.

* * *

My first night back in the Pattersons’ house of horrors was nightmarish. I slept like shit. The bed had nothing to do with my restless sleep, as it was literally one of the most comfortable things I’d ever lain in. How could I close my eyes with Carter down the hall able to creep into my room at any time?

The winds howled outside, ramming against the house with enough force to rattle the windows. I jumped up out of bed for the twentieth time, staring into the shadowy room, searching for signs of movement or eyes glowing in the corners. Storms didn’t bother me. I rather liked them. It was the shadows that lurked inside that concerned me.

The floor outside my bedroom door creaked, and my head whirled in that direction, intently watching the door handle to see if it moved. It was difficult to tell, given I was sleep deprived, and the shadows were dancing and laughing at me.

On a frustrated groan, I flung back onto the mattress, head hitting the pillow with a soft thump. I gave up on sleep after that. What was the point in trying to force my body to do something it refused to do?

I watched the sunrise from the floor where I sat by the doors that led out to the balcony. Such a beautiful sight; the sky glowed a watercolor of deep reds, pinks, and purples. I skipped breakfast. Shelly, one of the staff, brought me a carafe of hot coffee, and I thanked her profusely. I did my best to ignore the looks I got from the staff, the glimmers of pity or expressions of worry. They never came out and asked about my injuries, but I could see they were curious. How could I blame them? They worked inthishousehold. God fucking knew the shit they saw.

I was sipping my third cup of coffee when the house phone on my desk rang. I stared at it, debating whether to ignore whoever was on the other end. Since mainly only the house staff used this line, I hit the speaker button. “Hello.”

“Ms. James, you have a friend to see you,” Shelly said from the other end of the line, her kind voice echoing through my room.

My brows drew together. “A friend?” I echoed doubtfully.

“Yes, a Ms. Clarke is here to see you,” she explained, a hint of excitement brimming in her tone, like she knew how much I needed a friend right now.

OMG. Mads! “I’ll be right there,” I said, quickly disconnecting and rushing out of the room. Too much time had gone by since I’d seen her. We talked and texted, but it wasn’t the same as hanging out in person.

As I approached the first floor, tendrils of excitement burst inside me. I missed her so much, her no-bullshit attitude. Her ability to make me feel like I belonged. Her friendship, and keeping me sane.

My lips grew into a broad grin as I caught sight of her hovering near the door. Her jaw worked tiredly over a piece of gum as she turned in my direction at my approach, lips splitting into a smile.

“You’re really here,” I shrieked, giving her a tight hug.

She squeezed me back, smelling faintly of smoke and mint that mixed with her shampoo. Her long hair was straight and sleek, honey highlights gleaming from the sun streaming through the glass windows that framed the door. “They kept me away long enough.”

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?” I guessed, knowing Grayson wouldn’t want her anywhere near this house.

She shrugged, her mouth still curved upward. “What they don’t know what hurt them.”

“God, I love you, bish.” I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her upstairs to my room before she disappeared on me. I was hungry for company, to not be alone in this hellhole, even if it was just for an hour. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

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