I Dare You (Ruin Me Duet #1)

Prologue

“Is she dead?”

“She looks fucking dead.”

“I had economics with her y-y-yesterday. Who would want to”—sniffle—“hurt her?”

“She was such a nice girl.”

These whispered conversations are exchanged between classmates as they circle the bloodied corpse of Rebecca Bloom. She lies face up in her university gym. More people gather out of morbid curiosity rather than calling for help.

One too many serial killer documentaries will do that, it seems, leaving us desensitized to real life. We all stand numbed to the reality that someone is fucking dead.

I’ve never seen Rebecca look anything but perfect.

Blonde.

Blue-eyed.

Cheerleader.

She’s the epitome of every ’90s rom-com stereotype.

She has the perfect boyfriend, Bobby Harris, who, of course, is the college star quarterback.

They were crowned prom king and queen in high school, and their legacy, it seems, has carried through to college. However, they are the couple everyone secretly envies.

It was disgusting that two people were that attractive.

They made you feel bad about yourself because us normal folk knew we would never be like them, no matter how hard we tried.

Some people are just born perfect.

However, Rebecca is now anything but.

Her pristine cheerleader outfit is soiled with ribbons of her dried blood. Her hands are folded across her chest, and her long hair is spread out with precision around her face. She still wears the promise ring Bobby gave her in the tenth grade.

“Bobby, no!”

But it’s too late.

Bobby’s sneakers shriek against the vinyl as he runs to where we are, studying his very dead girlfriend.

“Move out of the way!”

“Bobby, man—”

But Bobby ignores the warnings and shoves aside anyone who stands in his way. He soon stops dead in his tracks, however, when he sees what we’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes.

“Becca?” he gasps, turning a ghastly shade of white. “Becca…no.”

He drops to his knees beside her, confirming he’s probably one of the only people not to watch The Crime Channel. He scoops Rebecca into his arms, which may seem like a romantic gesture, apart from the fact that her head flops backward with a wet squelch and hits the floor with a dull thud.

The sound echoes off the walls.

It seems the gash on her throat was deep enough to decapitate her.

Everyone takes a moment to process what transpires before their eyes in a deafening silence.

This isn’t a Netflix documentary. This is real fucking life.

The gymnasium soon fills with terrified screams.

Some vomit uncontrollably.

A girl faints.

The sight of Bobby cradling a headless corpse in a cheerleader’s outfit is apparently too much for some.

The commotion finally alerts two teachers who wander in, about to query what the fuss is about, until they see Bobby and what’s left of Rebecca.

Her decapitated head sits on her neck, eyes wide open, staring at us with her pink mouth agape. Whomever did this slashed her lips so her forever smile now resembles the Joker.

“Oh my…GOD!” shrieks a female teacher, covering her mouth in horror.

The gym erupts into pandemonium as more teachers and students enter, as word has spread that Rebecca Bloom is dead.

The scene is pure bedlam.

The fire alarm blares, and we’re drenched as water cascades from the overhead sprinklers.

Reality kicks in, and we realize our behavior isn’t appropriate, but only after it’s already been livestreamed, of course.

Students burst into tears, hugging their peers tight, sopping wet. Teachers attempt to mask their morbid curiosity and act as expected, but as with anything gruesome, no one can look away.

The football coach gently coaxes Bobby to let go of Rebecca, but Bobby shakes his head, spittle running down his chin as he screams for everyone to stop looking at him.

Somerset University will no longer be remembered as the perfect school, but rather as the place where Rebecca Bloom was murdered.

So now, the question is, who killed her?

A real-life whodunit.

And in the sleepy little town of Hollow Banks, everyone will soon become a sleuth…and a suspect.

This is the most exciting thing to happen since Mary Atkins claimed to have seen the face of Jesus Christ in her morning toast.

Leaving the chaos behind, I wear a somber expression, mirroring the students’ sorrow as I wipe away unseen tears. Yet the instant I step outside, my frown transforms into a broad smile.

Not as wide as Rebecca’s, though.

I stifle a chuckle behind my hand.

Rebecca’s death will be mourned, but not by me, and that’s because I’m glad she’s dead.

I hated that fucking bitch.

As I walk past the mourners, I’m ignored because I’m no one.

But it’s the quiet ones, they say, to look out for.

I mean, anyone could be the killer.

Everyone is a suspect.

Even me.

So I guess let the sleuthing begin.

Just who am I?

I’m no one, remember.

Happy hunting…