Page 86 of Wicked Little Secret

“Move aside, Theron. I can’t… I can’t… okay?”

“Are you hurt? Is he hurting you? Josalyn?—”

“Theron, move!”

She brushed past me before I could stop her. Before I could get to the bottom of what was going on…

It’s not until I pull up outside Nyssa’s apartment that I tune back into the present.

I’m pounding on her door in another second. Damn anyone who sees or overhears.

Even Theo, who manages the building.

“Nyssa!” I hiss outside her door. “Open up!”

But she never does. She’s not home.

She’s… somewhere. Preparing to meet someone.

Her AirTag is useless, telling me she’s left her bookbag in her apartment.

I let myself into her apartment anyway, just to be sure. A thorough search of the place turns up little to no clues, except I uncover a Composition Notebook full of Nyssa’s musings. A list of names that include many students and faculty at Castlebury U and another page with lipstick smudges andmyname doodled among the lines.

I snap shut the notebook and stuff it back under her mattress, where I found it.

My pulse beats wildly in my veins as I rush back to my car and attempt to regain some semblance of rational thought.

I comb through her digital footprint again, searching for meaning. How could I miss this? If she’s meeting someone, then there must be other clues…

It’s not until I reread the text message exchange for the fifth time that I realize what I’ve overlooked.

“Scarlet Room,” I say. Then I google. The search results turn up what I’ve suspected.

Scarlet Room is a nightclub. Some kind of underground club with a reputation for drugs, alcohol, andsex.

Anonymous hookups are so casual and frequent there, people show up with that intention alone.

Now that I think about it, I’ve heard the stories in passing. Read the news articles in the paper, reporting the alleged sexual assaults and druggings.

Night is falling as I hit the roads again and drive toward the club. My mind, once so clear and sharp, is riddled with neurotic thoughts.

Is she cheating on me?

…or prostituting herself? Is she getting mixed up with the wrong crowd?

Does she need money? Why wouldn’t she say anything to me?

My thoughts spiral into insane paranoia. I park outside the club, against the curb, ignoring the derisive snorts and curious stares I receive from people with a dozen tattoos and bright neon-colored hair.

I’m here with one purpose and one purpose only.

Find Nyssa and figure out what the hell is going on.

It’s true that we haven’t discussed exclusivity, but I thought it was implied that we weren’t seeing other people.

We’ve had sexunprotected.

Fury pulses through me by the time I’m descending the steps into the dark, dank, dungeon-like underground club. The music’s so loud, it drowns out all thought.

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