Page 128 of Wicked Little Secret

The bed squeaks as the person stands up and lumbers over toward the closet. They grapple with the handle, then jerk it open.

The shadows conceal me enough that I go unseen.

But the intruder isn’t so lucky.

Samson Wicker peers into Nyssa’s closet like the meaty oaf he is before he gives a grunt and then slams it shut. His heavy footsteps begin to fade.

“What are you doing here, Wicker?” I whisper to myself, my knuckles white and clenched into a fist. “And just why have you been watching us?”

25

THERON

THE WHISPER OF FOREST - SURAN

“Theron,the last thing you need is some girl ruining your future,” Theo sighed. “When are you going to wake up?”

“Wake up to what, Theo? Just because you don’t like her?—”

“It’s not about liking her or not,” she interrupted. She dogged my every footstep around my apartment, arms folded.

It was unlike her to care about my personal affairs these days. Struggling in several of her undergrad classes at Castlebury, she had her own issues going on. But she’d made the time this morning to show up and pester me.

I shoved a property law book onto my bookshelf and grabbed a different one.

“I’m trying to get work done.”

Theo frowned at me. “I can’t believe you’re going to ruin your entire life over this. She’s not worth it!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

…she’s worth everything.

The memory fades in the dark, returning me to the deep shadows of Nyssa’s closet. I’m biding my time, waiting for Wicker to leave, urging myself to stay still.

Remain rational.

The brawny oaf’s halfway out of her bedroom when he suddenly stops. He turns his head to the left and stares.

He stares in the direction of where the thermostat’s on the wall.

Peaches, who has watched him closely from where she’s perched on the windowsill, hisses at him. His attention’s drawn away from the thermostat I’ve left in a half put-together state to the hissing cat.

Good girl, Peaches. I knew we were friends.

“Oh,” Wicker says, his tone flat. “It’s just you. Stupid cat. Scram.”

He swipes his arm at the windowsill. Peaches is too fast for him. The ginger cat leaps from her perch and lands gracefully on her feet.

“I said get away!” The oaf starts chasing after her, his face reddening in irritation.

Don’t you touch her. If you touch her…

I’m fuming as I watch through the crack in the closet door, barely holding myself back. I’ve never been the type to solve problems with my fists—no, I’ve always much preferred clever words and sharp wit—but I’m no pacifist either.

Witnessing Wicker chase Nyssa’s cat out of the room like the brute he is makes my blood boil.

It takes my mind back to Halloween night, where he’d knocked Nyssa down into the dirt and almost forced himself on her…

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