Chapter Thirty Eight #2
“Addy, what’s happened?” I implore, giving her a little shake, gripping her too tightly. “Where is Harper?”
“Kenneth wanted to give her something in the parking lot,” Addy manages to force through her chattering lips.
Her adrenaline is wearing off and the cold realization is setting in for both of us.
Shrugging out of my jacket, I wrap it around her shoulders and take off, my arms pumping as I close the distance between the dorm buildings.
Running the length of the parking lot, I skid to a stop at Harper’s cherry red Audi.
The doors are unlocked, her bags still in the trunk.
Skidding around, my dress shoe knocks something on the ground, a gentle rattle sounding as it skates beneath the car.
For the second time tonight, I’m on my knees, reaching for a truth I don’t want to admit to myself.
My hand curls around the cylinder as I retrieve the needle, my head lowering onto the tarmac. What have I done?
Kenneth has been right under my nose this entire time.
I’ve missed every clue, dismissed his strange ways as harmless.
I’ve been so distracted, I couldn’t see what was happening right in front of my face.
And even still, I want to believe that he couldn’t have done all of this alone.
That he’s another pawn being blackmailed, but the evidence covering our dorm room floor says otherwise.
This was premeditated. It’s personal. But why?
I’m back on my feet, dizzy and disorientated.
Wherever Kenneth has taken Harper, he can’t have gone far.
Taking off in the direction of the quad, I shove passed party-goers making their way to the main hall.
Naivety forces me to check each one, jogging up the line of those waiting to go inside, hunting for a silver dress.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he couldn’t go through with it.
Two smart suits lean against the building, all smirks and humor as they talk to their girl, until Huxley spots me.
“Clayton? What’s wrong?” Huxley steps forward, frowning at my open shirt and distressed hair. I almost stumble into him, the relief at seeing a friend is too much to deny.
“It’s Harper. She’s in trouble,” I start.
My words are hurried and incoherent, but I manage to force a brief recount through my trembling jaw.
Huxley’s hands grip my face to center my focus, whilst Garrett slides in to button up my shirt.
He shifts his shoulders and head in time with the music streaming from the hall, his face showing none of the malice that comes out of his mouth.
“So we find and gut the ginger bastard,” Garrett smiles, his eyes devoid of emotion. If I weren’t already worked up, I’d feel a trace of fear at his calm demeanor. Huxley shakes my shoulders, being the voice of reason.
“Go tell the Dean everything you’ve just told me. We’ll round up sophomores and check the campus.” I’m already shaking my head, my throat closing as the panic seeps in. We’re losing too much time.
“I should be…it should be me,” I start but Huxley stops me with a serious glare.
“You get help. We’ll look. Is there anywhere he might have gone?
” Swallowing, I reel off a list of places from the science labs to the gymnasium bathroom where the fire was set.
My chest compresses at the thought that Kenneth will try to harm Harper again, that he might succeed this time.
Huxley and Garrett kiss their girlfriend’s forehead before running off to deliver on their promise to help me, taking my shriveled heart with them.
I’m Harper’s savoir. I’m the one who vowed to always save her. It should be me who finds her.
“Dean’s office,” the blonde demands, pushing me forward. “Now.”
Time stretches on, the motions around me blurring.
One minute I’m outside the gothic building, the next I’m in the Dean’s doorway, shuddering and desperate.
The police are called, I’m told to stay put.
My foot taps on the hardwood floor, my ears pricking every time a figure steps into the room.
Beyond the window, red and blue lights flash, announcing the arrival of the officers.
Questions are fired, my answers vague and disconnected.
All I want to hear is her voice, or the news that she’s been found safe and sound.
I should be out there, searching. Rhys should be by my side, looking for the girl he claims to care for as much as I do.
That bastard needs to be fighting for her too.
Halfway through an interrogation, I stand and leave.
The officer calls after me, but I don’t stop.
My legs move as if their destination has been programmed, footsteps echoing down the hallway and out of the main door.
The atmosphere on campus has shifted dramatically.
Students flood the main courtyard, hundreds of bodies huddled in fancy attire.
The music has stopped, a murmur of worry and a sense of apprehension trickling through the crowd.
Addy lingers on the edge of it all, her cheeks tearstained as she holds the duffle from Harper’s trunk.
Officers swarm the area, Harper’s clothes in hand as their canines sniff and search.
Red and blue flashes bounce around the open space, uniformed officers wasting time taking interviews.
No one here knows Kenneth. He flies under the radar, that weirdly awkward kid no one wants to be friends with.
My gaze snags on the entrance of the hall, Phillip Waversea standing tall with his arms crossed and face twisted into a scowl as he assesses the disorder before him.
Striding forward, the hushed whispers grow louder, following me as I barrel through those who aren’t quick enough to get out of my way.
I don’t stop to listen, refusing to add to the gossip rippling through Waversea Academy.
With one destination in mind, I storm towards Rhys’ frat house.
It looms ahead, not a single light shining in any of the windows.
Running up the porch steps, I pound my fist on the door, anger splintering against the wood.
How dare he hide out when Harper needs us.
He doesn’t get to only love her when it suits him.
I’ve always considered myself a calm person.
The type to predict every outcome before I act.
To plan ahead in hopes of preserving a future that isn’t bleak.
Clayton Michaels is a survivor, a protector for the little guy when the big bad wolf comes to call.
But whilst I was so focused on keeping Harper safe from Rhys, another enemy has crept in to threaten her wellbeing.
Kenneth had better run far and fast once she’s back in my arms, because I will stop at nothing to repay every inch of harm caused to Harper’s precious body and mind.
I will kill him for this, and I’ll happily serve the jail time for it.
I’ve realized all too late that there is no future left to protect if Harper isn’t in it.
When my pounding isn’t acknowledged, I ram my shoulder against the door. I know Rhys is in there, otherwise he’d be front and center for the media storm that’s about to hit the courtyard. Once, twice, and on the third, the door cracks from its hinges and buckles inward.
The silence that greets me is suffocating. The air inside is thick, laced with the faint tang of copper. Unable to penetrate the darkness, I flick on the hallway light and sharply intake a breath at the sight before me.
Rhys stands at the base of the stairs, exactly where I last saw him almost two hours ago.
Frozen. Hollow. Red circles his sunken eyes.
His shirt hangs open, half untucked, the once-crisp white now smeared and stippled with red.
Blood drips lazily from his fingertips to the floor, each drop landing with a soft, wet patter that cuts through the stillness.
His hands are torn to ribbons, fingernails split, skin shredded.
There’s blood under every nail, ground deep as if he’d clawed at himself, at the walls, at something he couldn’t escape.
He doesn’t move when I step closer. Doesn’t flinch or jerk away like he usually would.
His cold, blue gaze is locked on a vacant spot of the floor, the faintest tremor in his shoulders the only sign that he’s still breathing.
The self-hatred in his eyes is unbearable.
An abyss of guilt and loathing so raw, it twists something in my gut.
“Rhys?” I say, my voice hoarse and too loud for the quiet around us.
His gaze slowly drags up to meet mine, but it’s as if he’s staring straight through me.
Of all the things I expected when bursting in here, this wasn’t it.
He’s weaker than I’ve ever seen him, like witnessing the fall of an empire.
All that’s left is a heap of rubble that can’t be pieced back together again.
A vibration sounds against the floorboards, Rhys’ phone lighting through its cracked screen.
I bend to retrieve it, noting the multiple message icons.
Holding the device up, he doesn’t move whilst I use his face recognition to unlock the phone.
The words splintered and difficult to read, but I squint, making out the letters that fill my heart with dread, and explain Rhys’ fragmented demeanor.
Message after message, taunting and gloating.
KD: I hope you said goodbye.
KD: You’re to blame.
KD: She’s not yours anymore.
The latest message has an attachment, and with a trembling thumb, I open the image.
Harper’s head is slumped against the door of my truck, her pink-tinted hair covering her face.
She’s not on campus. She’s growing further out of reach.
Tossing the phone aside, I head towards the broken door and lift it.
My biceps burn, my body screaming in protest. Just as the first news van pulls up outside, I place the door back against the frame, blocking out the world beyond.
Turning back to Rhys pitiful stance, our eyes lock, his expression blank as he watches mine twist. Whether I like it or not, this is the world I’ve become a part of.
Both Rhys and I are to blame. We ruined Harper, we dragged her into this, and we’re quickly running out of time.
Closing the distance between us, I grip the back of his neck and jerk him into focus, a faint snarl hitching his top lip. Good.
“Whatever this is, snap the fuck out of it. Harper is in trouble. We need to work together,” I seethe.
Forcing myself a step back, Rhys’ eyes flash at last, his gaze drifting down to his crimson-coated hands as if seeing them for the first time.
His lip continues to curl, causing it to re-split where his lip ring recently sat and blood to pool down his chin.
He looks like a demon of vengeance, and that’s what I need right now. What Harper needs.
Tilting his head one way and then the next, his neck cracks, his shoulders shuddering as if he’s coming back to himself. When he glares at me, I stand tall against the promise of carnage in his cold eyes. When he finally speaks, his voice is a cracked plea.
“Tell me what to do, and consider it done.”