Rest in Pieces Page 12

  He tilted his head, slightly shaking it from side to side. “What would that do?”

  “Just…” I reached up and latched onto the front of his shirt even as he squeezed my arms. “Trust me,” I said. “Don’t leave. Don’t tell anyone. And most importantly, don’t invite anyone into the house.”

  “Wha—”

  I yanked on the fabric of his shirt until he had to bend slightly or risk me tearing it. “Don’t invite anyone into the house,” I repeated. “Promise me that.”

  Our gazes locked and held for several moments—it felt like eons but was likely only a few seconds—before finally, he nodded. “Okay, fine,” he conceded.

  Relief echoed through me and I sagged against him. The soreness and aches in my muscles came screaming back as I pressed my forehead against his chest. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Maverick’s fingers loosened their hold and he slipped them around my back until they were pressed to my spine. “Don’t thank me just yet,” he replied. “I know there’s more to this story than you’re letting on.” My body clenched, but he soothed his fingers up and down my back gently. “I’ll let it go for now,” he said. “But you’ll have to tell me everything at some point. You’ll have to tell someone.”

  Maybe he was right, I thought. But… “Who said anything about that someone being you?”

  “Do you see anyone else here?” he asked.

  I didn’t. I didn’t have anyone else, but I knew—no matter how good it felt being in Maverick’s arms, to tell him about my family, even just a little bit—I shouldn’t allow myself to. I needed to protect him and his family. At least as long as I was living under their roof, but as soon as my eighteenth birthday hit, I knew I’d be gone.

  It’d be safer for everyone that way.

  Seventeen

  Torin

  Glass shattered against the wall and a small body slammed into me, shoving me into the door frame at my back.

  "Who is she?" Delia spat, her form vibrating with barely suppressed rage.

  "Who is who?" I asked keeping my tone even and my face passive. It only served to piss her off even more.

  "Do not fuck with me, Torin." Delia slammed a fist through the drywall next to my head. For a creature so tiny, her vampire was a bloodthirsty little beast and all of that otherworldliness that she now had in place of her humanity was bordering on out of control. "I want the name of that little bitch. The one who did this to me!" She turned her cheek so that I could plainly see where something—it looked as though it were some kind of acid—had melted through half of her face.

  Whatever it was, it was obviously disrupting her vampire healing capabilities because the wound had yet to heal; the right side of her cheek was sunken in and blacked at the edges where pieces of her flesh were missing, revealing the top and bottom row of her teeth all the way back to her molars.

  My lips twitched in amusement. She must have been in considerable pain. A small feminine hand wrapped around my throat and used its hold to yank me forward and slam me back even harder against the frame of the door until the wood cracked.

  "Releasing your anger on me won't get you the name you want any sooner," I said.

  "It makes me feel better," she growled. "Name. Now."

  "How am I supposed to know?" I asked with a shrug. "I wasn't there when you were attacked."

  "Blonde. Short. A bitch. Anyone like that ring a bell?" she demanded.

  Barbie. My mind supplied the information before the rest of me had completely caught up with the description. I couldn't have said why Barbie's name came to me. There were easily a dozen or so other girls I knew that were blonde and short. But as it stood, Barbie hadn't been far from my mind since I'd first met her a week earlier.

  "There are a few people like that at St. Marion's," I answered. "How do you know it's a student from my school?"

  Delia's fingers contracted against my windpipe until it became difficult to draw in air. This was getting tedious. I reached up and grasped her wrist, squeezing until her grip loosened. I gently removed her hand and took a step away from the doorway.

  "She was young," Delia said. "I didn't recognize her as one of the children from your other parties. I want an address, Torin."

  There was no way in hell I would give it to her, but she didn't need to know that. I turned away from Delia towards my sister. "What do you think?" I asked.

  Katalin stared out of the window of the third floor study as if lost in thought. The party had ended barely an hour or so ago. The servants and other employees had all been released until the following afternoon. I knew from experience no one would be coming to pick up their cars until closer to noon. The sun was scheduled to be up within the next forty-five minutes though.

  "If she used holy water, then I suspect she's a hunter," Katalin finally said.

  A figure appeared in the open doorway—Eloise. "I thought Arrius had already taken care of the North American hunters," she said as she made her way over to Delia. "Oh darling, your face is absolutely ruined."

  Delia bared her fangs. "I want her dead!" she shrieked.

  Eloise grimaced, her arm snapping out so quickly it blurred through the air as she took Delia's delicate neck in her hand and squeezed until Delia's eyes widened in shock. "Do be quiet, dear." Eloise sighed, pursing her lips. "You're liable to give me a headache."

  "Vampires don't get headaches," I reminded her.

  Eloise squeezed Delia's throat a bit more as she arched her brow, waiting. Delia nodded quickly and was released. "Still," El replied turning away from her pet as she went to Katalin, "it's annoying."

  Delia, relatively subdued now that her master had exerted her dominance once more, bit down on what was left of her lower lip and hissed out a breath. "She definitely used holy water," she said. "Otherwise, I'd be healing and I'm not."

  "There are those who fall through the cracks of Arrius' plan," Eloise said as she stopped by my sister's side and touched her arm. "You know we have to ensure his will be seen through, darling."

  Kat finally looked away from the window. "What do you suggest?"

  "I think we should let Torin handle this mess." El sent me a grin. Panic laced my veins and a horrible sinking feeling fell to the pit of my stomach.

  "What do you mean by 'handle this mess?’" I demanded.

  "Why, find the hunter and put the poor human out of her misery, of course." El smiled. "As Arrius' son, that should be nothing to you. Besides, the hunter won't expect anyone to come for her during the day. It's the perfect plan."

  "I don't want the little cunt's death to be short," Delia said. "I want her to suffer. I want to rend the flesh bag limb from limb and saw through her throat with a rusty knife and drain her over a bucket."

  "I don't believe you were asked what you wanted, dear," El said.

  Delia rounded on her—all earlier fear of her mistress forgotten as her anger came roaring back to life. "She did this to me!" Delia screamed, gesturing to her face.

  "It's more important for the hunter to be dealt with than for you to get your silly revenge." El frowned. "Tormenting the cattle won't return your face to the way it was."

  "I'm not saying don't kill her," Delia snapped. "But what harm could there be in torturing her a little?"

  "I said nothing about harm or torture," El said. "As long as the hunter is dead, it matters not to me. What about you, dear?" She looked to Kat.

  Kat shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

  "Then it's settled. Torin will handle this issue." El turned away from Kat and stopped before me on her way out of the room. Her hand lifted, nails scratching down the center of my chest so lightly that it sent shivers of apprehension through me. "I suggest you don't take forever finding the girl and killing her, dear Torin. I'd hate to see what would happen if Delia got to the girl first."

  My gaze shot to the side. The warning was accurate. Despite the fact that I'd been relegated to the hunter of the hunter, I had no doubts that Delia would take it upon herself to find whoever h
ad attacked her before me.

  Once a vampire was on the path of vengeance it was damn near impossible to sway them away from it.

  I hoped like hell that I was wrong about my suspicion, but I didn't believe in coincidences. If Barbie was the hunter, she should have killed Delia when she had the chance. "Give me a week," I said. "And I'll have your hunter." If I had to pay for Barbie to go on the run, then so be it, but it'd take at least a week to gather everything necessary.

  "One week." El held up a finger and waved it in front of my face. "Use the time wisely, dear."

  Eighteen

  Maverick

  Barbie rested her forehead against my sternum, and though she didn’t say so upfront, I knew she was exhausted. I kept my hands light on her spine, not wanting to disturb the spiderweb of bruises I’d seen on her back. It was odd. Less than a full week ago, I’d been ready to have her thrown out on her ass. But now, as her breasts pressed against my abdomen and her soft breaths blew over my side, I was cursing my own stupidity.

  What the fuck was I doing? Something wasn’t right here, and I didn’t just mean Barbie’s bruises and cuts. She didn’t want to tell me the complete story. Fine. But I would find out. I promised her the weekend, and I’d keep that promise, but as soon as Monday hit, I would find out the rest. If not from her, then from someone else.

  Hell, it was Torin’s fucking party, and knowing him as long as I had—there was nothing that went on at his parties that he wasn’t privy to. Try as he might to act the carefree jackass, I knew him on a far deeper level. I knew his fucking soul, even if I didn’t know his secrets. Why he’d suddenly up and quit the football team. Why he’d been with Maryanne. Why he’d walked the fuck away from me.

  “You’re gonna have to loosen your hold there, crusher, or you might pulverize me.” Barbie’s dry voice infiltrated my thoughts and I realized that as I’d let my old anger consume me, my fingers had latched onto her and begun to contract. I released her immediately and as she backed out of the circle of my arms, I found I didn’t really care to let her go. But I forced my hands to my sides anyway.

  I turned and headed for the door. “You should get some sleep,” I called back.

  “Where are you going?” Her voice hitched slightly.

  I paused in the doorway and glanced back. “I’m gonna go watch a game or a movie or something and go to bed myself. I’m not leaving the house,” I assured her.

  “Don’t invite anyone in,” she repeated.

  I sighed, irritated. “I won’t.”

  With that, I left her bedroom and headed for my own. She didn’t have to tell me her secrets. Not yet, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t use the next two days to do my own digging. I paused as I got to my door and thought better of it, turning instead back towards the longer hallway.

  The inside of my parents’ bedroom was dark. I closed the door behind me before flipping on the light and heading to my mother’s vanity. Pulling out the drawers, I searched through, cursing when I didn’t find a damn thing. I left the bedroom and headed for the stairs, moving down and towards the first floor offices. I should have realized, any important files on Barbie or her parents for the adoption would be there. Barbie didn’t know it yet, but I knew that my parents were planning on adopting her. She had probably been told they were just fostering her, and they were … for now. I’d meant it when I told her my parents were well-meaning. They were kind hearted and they viewed her as the daughter they’d never had.

  Perhaps it had been initial jealousy to hate her on first glance, but truly I’d been concerned. They didn’t know her and they had been willing to open their hearts and their home for her. For all they knew, she could’ve robbed them blind and disappeared. I didn’t regret how I’d treated Barbie, but while I still didn’t completely trust that she was being honest, I knew there was more to her now.

  I reached my mother’s desk and sat in the office chair. On the left hand corner was a picture of me and Dad. On the right, a recently taken photo of Barbie. I picked up the identical frame to my photo and stared down at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed vixen. She wasn’t even looking at the camera. She probably didn’t even know this picture existed, much less that my mom had already had it printed out and placed here.

  I put it down and went to work—digging through the upper drawers and then the lower ones before I found a thick stack of files. Plopping them on the desk surface, I opened one and sucked in a breath. Barbie’s background.

  It detailed what she’d told me about her family’s death. Her parents and brother had been in the house and the house was set on fire. Barbie had been next door—or so she’d told the cops. Foul play was suspected, but the case was closed as a robbery gone wrong. The only issue was that it’d been hard for the investigators to determine what had gone missing after the fire. And everyone assumed that Barbie had been the lucky survivor.

  Now, I wondered just how lucky she’d actually been.

  Nineteen

  Barbie

  Beth and Jon returned on Sunday evening and by Monday morning, nothing had happened. There was no retaliation. No one banging down the McKnight’s door demanding recompense for my nearly killing a local vampire. The longer it went on, the more anxious I grew. I wished they would just get it over with already and try to kill me. The waiting was worse than actual death or attempted murder at the least.

  My leg jumped beneath my palm as I tapped out a staccato rhythm with my nails. I chewed on my lower lip, watching the streets go by from the window of Maverick’s truck. My nervous fidgeting went on until, finally, Maverick reached over and slapped a hand down over mine. “Stop,” he said. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  I sighed and pulled my hand out from underneath his. “Nothing’s happened,” I said.

  “Did you expect something might?” he asked, lifting a brow and half turning his head in my direction.

  “Yes? No? I don’t know.”

  “Do you think the people who killed your family recognized you?” he asked and then before I could answer, he went on. “I mean, if all you did was fight with someone at the party, I doubt the cops would come calling over something like that unless there’s more you want to tell me.”

  I stiffened and cursed my stupidity. “Yeah, you’re right,” I answered weakly. “There’s probably nothing to worry about.”

  Maverick frowned but didn’t say anything more as he drove the rest of the way to St. Marion. Since we’d left later than usual due to the fact that Maverick didn’t have morning practice, the student parking lot was already half full by the time we arrived. Olivia’s white Porsche was parked towards the front and she rested against the back bumper as Maverick and I approached.

  Flicking a look his way, she twirled her hair around one slender finger and called out, “hey, Maverick.”

  Maverick lifted a brow. “Hey?” I bit my lip in amusement as he waited for something else, but it appeared Olivia’s brain had short-circuited because she simply stared at him, twirling her hair reflexively over and over again.

  I sighed. “See you at lunch,” I said, pushing against his spine to get him moving.

  Maverick—the boulder—didn’t fucking move as he looked back at me. “Are you getting rid of me?”

  “Yes, isn’t it obvious?”

  He pursed his lips, fighting a grin. “You need to work on your people skills, Barbie. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “My people skills are fine!” I shouted as he strode away.

  “Sure they are,” he called back.

  I growled and watched him go until he disappeared into the school building before turning back to Olivia. She didn’t wait for me to say anything. “Oh my GAHD.” She sighed dramatically. “Maverick McKnight is like pheromone overload. I couldn’t think of anything to fucking say.” She collapsed against her car and her hand left her hair. “Jesus, he probably thought I was a ditz.”

  I thought she was a ditz, but I kept my mouth shut, choosing instead to ask her about something else. “How w
as your weekend?” I asked.

  She groaned and turned, snatching her purse off the ground. “Awful,” she confessed. “My parents were pissed about my hangover and I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere this weekend. Thanks for taking me home though.” She bumped my side as we headed for the doors. “Pretty sure my parents would’ve taken my Porsche if I’d gotten a DUI or something. By the way, why were my keys in the front seat?”

  “Because I took it to the Priest party and I didn’t want to wake you up to return them when I dropped it off at your house.” We pushed into the main hall and headed through the throng of people that had already gathered.

  “You borrowed my Porsche?” She blinked at me. “Well, that explains why my seat was pushed so far up. You’re short.”

  I scowled. “I am not short,” I snapped. “I’ll have you know five-six is the average height of the American female.”

  “There is no way you’re five-six,” she shot back.

  “I’m five-five,” I said. “I’m average.”

  “Below average,” she insisted.

  “I—what the fuck?” Olivia and I stopped in the middle of the front hall as two adults I recognized as Mrs. Echolls from my study hall and a woman who I assumed was another teacher escorted a young girl through the students congregating. The girl, a tall willowy brunette with short spiky hair that I recognized as a girl from my Chemistry class was sobbing openly, her body practically collapsed against Mrs. Echolls.

  “I don’t know,” Olivia said, following the scene with a frown. “Hold on, there’s Gabby Dalton. She’s bound to know something.” I nodded but didn’t move as Olivia walked away.

  I was nothing more than human, but for some reason, I had a sick feeling curling in the pit of my stomach like some sort of physical premonition reaching deep down inside of me and warning me of impending danger. Over the crowd, I saw the glittering blonde head of Rachel Harris as she, too, watched the proceedings. While everyone around us was quietly murmuring, Rachel watched the girl go with an irritated expression. Compassion was not one of her strong suits apparently. It was obvious to anyone who watched that girl be led off that whatever had caused her outburst had devastated her. Sympathy for whatever had happened—no matter what it was—was the most basic of human emotions.