Page 138 of Under the Lies

A single stream of thought goes through my head the closer I get to the gates.

A face and a name. Gray eyes and blonde hair. Sayer. Sayer. Sayer.

Her smiling, her laughing, her scolding and yelling at me.

I can’t stop the moments, of all the hours we spent together and how—

Not going there. I refuse to go there.

It’s quiet out. Not even a bird flutters in the sky. No owls hoot. The sound of branches rattle in the wind, it’s gone. I see them moving, but I hear no sound.

My ears ring of static. Static and the gentle, muffled sound of my hurried, angry steps.

I’m not running fast enough. We’re going to run out of time.

In the home of death is a life. A life I’m going to do any-fucking-thing to save.

I close in on my friends, hearing them gossip in leisure. My veins simmer in fury.

Why are they fucking standing here? We’re not on a picnic. We’re on a rescue mission. I’m about to shout for them to get their lazy asses in gear when I hear Reeve’s smug voice.

“What if she’s dead?” Facing my direction, catching my approaching form, he smiles.

Bastard.

My fists clench. Not close enough to do what I want to with them.

“Don’t smile about that.” Thea smacks his stomach, not hard enough for my liking. He’s not on the ground whimpering in agonizing pain.

“It’s totally possible,” he continues. “You said you tracked her in the ground. That means no air. Which means—”

I come to a stop in front of him. So close I step on his toes, the steel in my boots crunching on his bones. His knees buckle but other than that, he doesn’t show any reaction. Reeve could be bleeding, on the horizon of death and still be laughing.

I level him with a glare. “She’s not dead.” It’s a vow. A resolution. I don’t believe in much I can’t control, but I have to believe this.

Reeve doesn’t cower. He doesn’t show remorse as his lips stretch farther apart. Enjoying the situation while I struggle to keep reign on my composure.

“We don’t have time for this.” Shouldering past their huddle, I march to the gates, kicking them open. Somewhere. Sayer’s somewhere in here.

“I’m just saying.” Reeve follows behind, still running his mouth. “How convenient would that be? She’s already in a grave. Funerals are expensive and it would draw out Harlow, no doubt. It’s a win-fucking-win if you ask—”

“Hey, Reeve?” I growl. “Shut the fuck up.” Before I shove your face into the decaying ground.

He raises his hands, palms up. “Touchy, touchy.”

I’m not touchy, I’m a bomb about to go off. I can feel it. The suppressed wrath being held down by only my worry for Sayer.

It’s strange.

This feeling of caring. Deeper than what I possess for the three people in front of me. Richer and more poignant than how I care for even myself. It’s been so long since another person’s wellbeing has affected my own, it goes past someone taking her. The thirst for revenge doesn’t touch the need to protect her. As if I didn’t already know she had a firm grip on my balls.

I’m scouring what’s in front of me, looking for clues.

“Ah, cemeteries, don’t you just love them?” Reeve slides his hands into his jacket pockets.

“No,” we all answer in unison, Reeve looks disappointed.

“We split up,” I tell them, voice controlled while I feel anything but inside.

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