Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BAILEY
“Do you know what this is about?” Sarah asks, looking over at a cranky as all hell Mrs. Parker, Dean Whitman’s assistant. She peers over the top of her glasses, not bothering to say a single fucking word to us, as usual.
“Thank fuck it’s almost winter break. This place gives me the creeps,” Kayda mutters.
“Don’t worry about her. The old bitch just needs a good dicking. I’ll send her a vibrator for Christmas,” Sarah whispers, causing us to laugh hysterically before we quickly check ourselves. It’s like I’m in high school all over again.
When Mrs. Parker rises from her seat, we stiffen, and she disappears into the dean’s office.
“She makes me nervous. My stomach is all messed up,” Kayda says, and I’m right there with her, but for reasons she can never know.
The things that I’m guilty of leave everyone in this room’s worst crimes for dead, and I have to get real fucking good at acting because I can’t let anyone know what I know.
“Will you get your shit together. We are grown ass fucking adults. We can walk our asses out of here anytime we want. Don’t let cobweb pussy get to you, girl. We’re about to have ourselves a vacation,” Sarah whisper-yells, and Kayda and I snort, choking back a laugh.
Cobweb pussy.
I don’t know how she comes up with this shit.
The office door swings open, and we jump by instinct. “Come through,” Mrs. Parker says, her thinly drawn eyebrows narrowed on us, before she turns and steps to the side, allowing us to pass through the doorway.
Dread immediately claws at my chest when I take in what’s waiting for us.
Behind the dean, three police officers lounge against the wall, arms crossed, each one looking like they eat battery acid for fun, and my stomach is doing somersaults.
I conjure every ounce of willpower I have to act as cool and as unfazed as possible, crossing the room.
“Ladies. Would you take a seat, please?” the dean says, and we do.
This isn’t the first time that I’ve been questioned by the police about what happened to Harley a couple of months ago, and I swear it feels worse every time.
When they left me, those masked, murderous fucking assholes, I had never been so humiliated in my entire fucking life. When Sarah walked in and saw me like that, chained to the ceiling, wrapped in nothing but a sheet, I could have died right there from sheer embarrassment.
I still can’t believe I was that stupid.
That trusting.
I allowed myself to get hurt again. By three men, no less. Three is now my unlucky number—no more threes.
Sarah, on the other hand, thought that it was the hottest thing she had ever heard and spent the duration of our taxi ride home explaining how jealous she was that I got railed in the most dramatic way possible by three men in masks, though I left out the details.
If I had told her the full story, that they fucked me with the hilt of a knife, that would bring a weapon into the equation.
For all of our sakes, I don’t want to raise any more speculation that would follow if it ever got out.
Is being with them the hottest thing I have ever experienced? Of course it is.
Have I been able to get them out of my head since? No, and I’ve given up trying.
Still, my mind and body continue to betray me, because in any other circumstance, I would have killed them for leaving me like that.
But in my dreams, I’m right there with them all over again. Wrapped in chains and hanging at their mercy, watching and listening to them fuck each other, before, during, and after they fuck me into another universe.
Never did I expect to share such a visceral connection with three faceless strangers.
A connection I had only ever felt with Roman, Jace, and Colton, three other assholes I don’t want to talk about.
But there I was, offering my pussy to them anyway like a goddamn sacrificial lamb, and I only have myself to blame.
“Miss Ivers,” Dean Whitman says, his gaze locked on a petrified Kayda.
“Y-Yes, Sir?” she answers nervously.
“You do not need to be present for this meeting. You are free to go back and pack your belongings for the holidays,” he says, and I can almost feel her sigh of relief from a mile away.
“Thank you, Sir. Happy Holidays,” she says, rising from her chair.
“I’ll call you,” she whispers to Sarah and me, before leaving the room.
My gaze flicks to Sarah, her eyes not once leaving the three officers still standing with their arms crossed.
Their eyes are locked on Sarah, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say that they’re shocked to see her. Do they know her? What did she do?
Sarah has always had the carefree, tell-it-like-it-is kinda energy, so if she’s in some sort of trouble, it’s not like her not to talk about it. If not for anything, then to try to make the best out of a bad or awkward situation.
That’s one of the reasons we bonded. There was no pretending with her, but reading the room, it’s obvious she’s hiding something, judging by the scowl on her face.
There’s an entire novel’s worth of things I haven’t told her recently, and she’s allowed to keep secrets, too.
“Miss Asher. Miss Bellamy,” he turns to face Sarah, “you were called here today because we are about to embark on winter holidays, and I wanted to inform you that Miss Asher can no longer stay in your dorm room.”
My entire world implodes, only to reform into a pit of relief.
A dorm issue.
Thank fuck for that.
I thought we were being called here to talk, once again, about who and what killed Harley Philips.
Those monsters were smarter than I gave them credit for.
Harley was found two days after Fright Night.
Well, there was nothing left of him to recognize.
They discovered that a body had fallen into a wood chipping machine at the local logging plant, and at first, investigators weren’t ruling out foul play.
At the time, no one had been made aware that we were broken up, which meant they came looking for me first.
I told them that he had cheated on me, but we had broken up mutually, understanding that we were just too busy for a serious relationship, and parted ways amicably.
I also told them to talk to Chloe. That perhaps his girlfriend, also known as the mistress, might have known something about his disappearance. Eventually, they referred to his death as a drunken accident, and nobody has talked about him since.
“Now, before you voice your concerns,” the dean continues, “I’ve tried to pull some strings to have you transferred into another available room.
However, there aren’t any. The new year brings new faces, and everything is already spoken for,” Dean Whitman explains, and now that I can actually process what it is he’s actually saying, I inwardly panic.
I’m about to be kicked out of the dorms.
“Sir, she can stay with me as long as she likes. I really don’t mind,” Sarah adds, and bless her for having my back in all of this.
After Harley’s death, because he had been staying in my old dorm room with Chloe, it was turned upside down by local police and investigators, so nobody minded that I stayed somewhere else.
But now that all the dust has settled, I suppose things ought to go back to the way that they were.
“What about my old room?” I ask because a lot has happened since I caught Harley and Chloe together, and I really don’t care if I have to move back there.
“Unfortunately, Miss Bellamy, it’s against university policy to share a single dorm room with another, for insurance and liability concerns.
As for Chloe,” he goes on, “she has expressed that her pain and suffering would be too much to bear if she had to room with you. You understand, don’t you?
” he says, not sounding the least bit solemn as he taps his pen on his desk. “Your father, Mr. Graystone—”
“Stepfather,” I correct. The only thing worth claiming about that man is his son.
“Right. Your stepfather, Keith Graystone, and I are good friends. He and I were discussing the situation, and he had assured me that you would be more than willing to move into the house with your stepbrother, Roman.” All the air leaves my lungs, and I can feel Sarah’s eyes burning into the side of my face.
Why the fuck is he talking to my stepfather about this?
It has nothing to do with him. Years ago, he had offered for me to live with the boys, and as tempting as that was, I declined.
They hate me, that much has been made very clear, and me living with them, especially after everything with Colton, is a nightmare waiting to fucking happen.
“With all due respect, Sir, Keith isn’t at liberty to make decisions of any kind for me, much less about my living arrangements.” I can feel the anger simmering beneath the surface of my skin, and I do my best to keep as calm as possible.
There are three fucking cops looking right at me, and now that I think about it, why the fuck are they here if we’re not discussing Harley’s death?
“He thought you might say that, which is why he already discussed it with the boys. He explained your situation, and after the tragic, distressing events that transpired in October, they agreed that it was probably your best option,” he says, not realizing just how wrong he is.
It is not my best option. My best option would be to continue to sleep on a mattress on the floor in Sarah’s dorm. It’s a single! The only person I’m annoying with my presence is her, and she said that it was okay.
Roman’s father has never done anything out of the kindness of his heart in his entire life.
The fact that he got my own mother to turn on me is proof of just how controlling he really is. He’s the most calculated, narcissistic man I have ever met, and I’ve met my fair share of assholes.