8. Olivia #4
I duck behind a tree, flattening my back a few yards from the treehouse. Peeking around the trunk, I catch a glimpse of Mack with tiny jogging shorts, no shirt, and sweat dripping down his chest. Waffles trots beside him with his tongue lolling out and panting for water.
This is not good. Not fucking good at all.
“Fuck,” Mack grunts, stopping outside the treehouse near the rope ladder, attempting to catch his breath.
Red tints his cheeks, and his chest expands and deflates when he puts his hands on his knees.
“I think I’m dying,” he dramatically tells the dog through heavy breaths.
I swallow hard when his head tilts back, and his hands go behind his head as he stands tall, attempting to pull more oxygen into his lungs.
His eyes drift, taking in the sky and then…
“What the fuck?” he shouts, dropping his arms to his sides.
He stares up at the treehouse with furrowed brows.
“Stay here,” he grunts, pointing at the dog.
Like Waffles would try to follow him up? I snark in my head.
My eyes widen when he climbs the ladder. Nope. This is not good. Not fucking good at all. Why is he even going up there and…
“What the fuck!” His angry shouts permeate the air. “What?” Emotions leak into his voice now as he disappears inside the treehouse. And then a loud single roar rattles my chest and makes Waffles back up a step.
Before I can even make a move to escape the fury wafting off Mack, he’s down the ladder with a twisted expression, putting his phone to his ear.
“We have a fucking problem,” he growls into the phone. “Someone wrecked the fucking treehouse. First, the grave? Now this!” he shouts, taking a few steps in my direction. “Someone is after us.”
Fuck.
I stiffen against the tree, forcing myself to melt into the bark so I’m not seen.
“Get every goddamn camera you can get your techy hands on and find me the person wrecking Liv’s shit!” he shouts, hanging up the phone and forcing it into his small pocket.
Waffles whimpers the closer they get to me, causing Mack’s footsteps to stall.
Silence descends on all of us. Me hiding behind the tree; them a few feet away after discovering my crimes.
If he finds me here, he’ll finish the job he started five years ago.
Or worse. He’ll drag me to their mansion and hold me hostage.
Fuck. How did I get myself into this situation?
Right, I let my emotions get the best of me.
I suck in several breaths, counting my erratic heartbeats as they pound in my chest, rapidly filling my ears with the constant thrum of beats.
Go home. Go home, I beg inside my brain. I’m not mentally equipped to confront him in the middle of the woods, because who else would have damaged the treehouse? Only the person standing near the scene of the crime.
Waffles’ whimpers fill the air again.
“I’m okay,” Mack grunts, hopefully petting the top of Waffle’s head.
“I’m…okay.” More hesitant this time. Like he’s trying to convince himself he’s okay when he really isn’t.
That makes two of us, asshole. He blows out several breaths, seeming to calm the rage inside him.
But why does he care so much? “Someone is destroying what I love.” Emotion-filled whispers fill the forest air, turning bitter the moment they hit my ears.
“Someone will pay,” he hiccups softly. “They’re trying to erase her, Boy.
They’re taking pieces away from me. Again.
And I—” He stops suddenly when his phone rings, and he answers in a steady voice. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
I bristle at his words. Destroyed what he loved? No. He’s the one who did that when he held me by the shoulder and forced me to my knees while Franco sliced my throat, and then they left me to die.
He destroyed our love. Everything about it. He doesn’t get to cry about me or my mom or my sister.
It’s his fault. He deserves to have my things broken and slashed.
Just like he left me.
I sag in relief, counting the steps it takes him until I no longer hear anything but the silence again. That was too close for comfort. Too fucking close for Mack and me. Even Waffles. But the earnest emotion in his voice has me off balance.
Getting too close to any of them right now is dangerous. I can’t risk glimpsing them until I know what they have in store for me. Kill me? Leave me be? Will JJ open his mouth and tell them I’m still out here?
The possibilities are endless.
As I make my way back to my dorm, the world passes me by. I’m a zombie on a mission. Get to my bed and don’t leave for a few days. Or hell, maybe forever. Sorry, Jonathan, I can’t complete this mission because I’m broken beyond repair now.
The moment I enter my empty dorm suite, go into my room, and lock my new lock, I send a quick message to all my professors that I’m sick and won’t be able to attend class for three days.
That should be enough time to get my shit together, right?
That should be plenty of time to gather myself and prepare to face the boys who murdered me.