Chapter 8
EIGHT
NEVE
As I sit in the darkness of my cocoon re-reading the text, I hear the heavy door to Darkmouth thud closed, and relief and regret both spear through me. Relief Cynthia is gone and she won’t have to deal with whoever the fuck this is, and regret that I didn’t warn her yet not to come back.
If I text her a message like that, she’ll be here in a heartbeat, ignoring my good intentions.
Besides, Casper is down there, so she’ll be okay on the way out.
There’s a back entrance up a grated staircase to the apartment floor, but we never even lock it because few people know it’s back there.
You’d have to climb a wall in the alleyway to get in.
I glance at the time the number sent the text.
Only a few minutes ago, which means Cyn probably won’t find them in the hall unless they’re just waiting there, but…
How do I know I should even take this seriously?
But how do I know I shouldn’t?
I briefly contemplate calling Nolan, but that’s a horrible idea.
He’ll get in his Mercedes and drive his ass down here and nothing I say will stop him.
Unless, of course, he’s tied up in lawyer bullshit and can’t look at his phone, but those two things very rarely go together.
Attorneys are glued to their fucking phones.
I tap my fingers on the side of my own as my heart drums inside my chest and I have to work very hard to keep the image of Jackson, dead, out of my head.
My stomach twists into knots.
A dry heave leaves my lips.
Is it Will?
I wretch again, getting on my knees and dropping my phone onto my queen bed as I dip my chin, coughing, my hair sticking to my temple, my lips, my cheekbones.
My stomach cramps and I feel dizzy, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to vomit in my bed. I snatch up my phone and run to the bathroom in bare feet, flicking on the light the moment before I crouch down in front of the—thankfully clean—toilet bowl.
I bow my head and try to breathe, my phone between my fingers, and pressed to the floor.
But after I squeeze my eyes tight shut once, I notice my screen light up.
The nausea miraculously floods away, leaving a cold chill in its wake.
I see the message as I sit back on my calves.
From the same number.
Unknown
3… 2… 1…
My breath catches.
Then, like they’re already there, a pounding starts at the door.