Page 50 of Snitches and Serpents

In the span of a second, all fight seems to bleed out of her. Hopelessness washes over her entire body. Her face falls, her shoulders slump, and she sucks in what looks like a ragged breath. Then tears start sliding down her cheeks.

She bites her lip, as if to stop it from trembling.

That small flicker of regret courses through me again. Maybe this was too much. Maybe I shouldn’t have done this. Maybe, like she tried to tell me back in my bedroom two days ago, it was enough to simply get her kicked out of her sorority and ruin her chances of making friends.

Anger crackles through me like a lightning strike.

No. What the hell am I saying? Of course it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough until she felt what I felt back in high school. Until she learned firsthand what it’s like to lose your entire future.

I clench and unclench my hands in order to suppress the rage roaring through me. Because of how poor my mom was when I was growing up, my life has never been truly my own. It has always come with a set of rules. Things I needed to do in order to earn the food on the table.

And it has also come with a strict deadline. By the time you turn eighteen, you will need to be financially independent, because I will not be able to continue to take care of you. That is what my mom always told me.

I worked my fucking ass off to get the hell out of that damn house, and I created that financial independence in the form of a scholarship. It was waiting for me like a glittering horizon. And then Elle destroyed it all with one careless comment.

My chest tightens with that old pain and hatred and desperation and fury.

She ruined my life. So no, it doesn’t matter that I have begun to realize that Elle is not the picture-perfect princess she has always pretended to be. It doesn’t matter that she feels just as strongly and as fully as I do. And it certainly doesn’t matter that she somehow manages to set my soul on fire when she touches me.

I have waited two and a half years for revenge. And now, I finally have it.

With a cruel smile on my lips, I watch Elle turn around and walk over to the open car door while the stern policeman watches her with eyes of steel. I let out a sharp huff of amusement and wicked satisfaction.

Now, she finally knows what it’s like to have her future destroyed.

And she looks damn good in handcuffs.

19

ELLE

Never in my wildest nightmares could I have imagined something as humiliating as this. I’m being treated like a criminal. Like a liar. And I don’t know how to make them listen to me.

That feeling of utter helplessness is so terrifying that I can barely think straight. Bright lights seem to flash constantly inside my own mind, dulling my senses and making me stupid. I try to draw in a deep breath to clear my head, but the pressure around my chest is so intense that I can barely make my lungs expand at all. It feels as if someone is standing on top of my chest.

“You will be charged with vandalism,” Mike Paulsen says.

He’s the police officer who has been interrogating me. Though I’m not sure if it can be called an interrogation since I have barely said anything. I need to defend myself. I know that. But my mind has just been a jumble of screaming panic since the moment they handcuffed me and put me in their car.

I glance down at my hands in my lap. At least I’m not in handcuffs anymore. But I still feel extremely trapped.

The room around me is quite small and there are only three pieces of furniture in it. A metal table. The hard chair I’m sitting on. And the chair that Mike Paulsen is sitting on opposite me. The walls were probably white once upon a time, but they look more beige in some places now. A few coffee stains are splattered on the wall by the door. I stare at them for a second, trying frantically to compose myself, before I meet my interrogator’s gaze again.

“If found guilty, it could lead to steep fines,” Officer Paulsen continues. His brown eyes are stern and serious as he locks them on me. “And jail time.”

I jerk back as if he had slapped me.

“That got your attention,” he says, narrowing his eyes. He is silent for a few seconds before adding, “You need to start answering my questions. Why did you do it?”

I open my mouth to tell him that I didn’t, but my throat closes up and I can’t get the words out. Squeezing my hands into fists in my lap, I bend forward slightly to try to ease the pressure on my ribcage.

Paulsen slams his palm down onto the table. “Answer me.”

The sound of the hit is like a gunshot through the room. It slams into me and snaps me out of my panicked stupor by sheer force.

I suck in a deep breath, finally refilling my lungs fully.

“It wasn’t me,” I gasp out.

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