Page 45 of Don't Look Away

I sniff and nod, wiping the tears off my cheeks. I’m still terrified by what this all might mean, but at least Roman is by my side. “Thanks,” I say, flashing him a faint smile.

“Get some sleep, baby. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”

As soon as Roman leaves, I crawl back into bed and burrow under the covers. But every time I feel like I’m starting to nod off, a thought about Bree pops into my head, and I’m wide awake again.

What was Bree doing out on the beach? Was she killed somewhere else, and then brought to the beach? In my interview at the police station, the detective confessed that they weren’t sure why she was out there, but because her phone was buried in the sand, a few miles west of where she was discovered, they think she was killed there, and then dumped in the water. Based on the weather information, the current would have pulled her east, and deposited her exactly where she ended up…

Also, there were accounts of her arguing with someone on the beach. A guy with a tattoo on his arm, and a knife with the initials W.H. engraved on it.

None of this is new information, and unless I get something fresh, I’m not going to get any closer to who killed Bree. I need witnesses, tidbits of information.Something. And the only way I’m going to get that is if the members of the society trust me.

But if Roman won’t allow me to take part in the initiation ritual, what other option is there? Members won’t divulge society business to a non-member. Full stop.

I’m not a religious person, but I close my eyes and send a prayer up to the universe. “Bree, help me. Tell me what to do.”

For a long time, I just lay in bed, trying to think of another way to get the information I need, but I keep coming up against a wall. Finally, I can’t stand it anymore, and I get out of bed. I need something to distract me, so I pull out my laptop and start watching random dog videos, but eventthatisn’t satisfying the restlessness I feel.

Blowing out a breath, I set my laptop aside, and glance around Roman’s bedroom. He’s got about a thousand books in this room, all leatherbound, and really old, sitting on built-in bookcases that line three of his four walls. It’s like sleeping in a library. I guess one of his predecessors liked books because there’s a ton more in the study downstairs.

Standing, I scan the bookshelves, running the tip of my finger across the leather and gold foil spines. He has a lot of old books on minerals and geography, but also poetry and world history. As I’m browsing, though, I notice a piece of decorative wood that joins the bookcases together is loose. It looks like a hidden door that hadn’t been shut properly, and when I pull on it gently, it opens to reveal a hidden compartment, about half a foot wide, and as tall as the bookcase. Sitting on a dusty shelf is an old leather-bound book.

Excitement bubbles up inside me. Obviously, this is something secret, and damn, but I’m nosey. It doesn’t even cross my mind to put the wood column back and leave the book alone. Carefully, I reach in and pull the book out. It’s obviously really old, bound in faded red leather with no title etched into the cover, or on the spine. Slowly, and gingerly, I open the cover, and the second I see the handwritten title, I gasp.

The Society of the Burning Crown

Bylaws

Holy shit.

Oh, my God.

I sift quickly through the book and realize these are, indeed, the bylaws of the society, written in several different hands over the years. Some bylaws are crossed out, and corrected, and as the years progress, it looks like more laws are added, the last one added less than a year ago.

My focus is immediately drawn to the initiation ritual, so I carefully leaf through the confusing language, until I get to something that mentions initiation. The handwriting is faded, and the cursive so ornate that it’s difficult to read, but most words are legible.

Disappointingly, it doesn’t saywhatthe initiation ritual is, just that “all duly anointed Sacred Sons of the Society of the Burning Crown must vote unanimously in favor of the initiate unless a son should be recused on the basis of unfair bias.”

I swallow another gasp. That’s it.There it is.If Roman is recused from voting, then I could possibly get voted in by the other three.

Recused on the basis of unfair bias.

His personal relationship with me would qualify as unfair bias, right? I could make a case for that. The question is, though, would the other three dare go against Roman and vote me in?

It’s a long shot,reallylong, but if I can find an angle, a benefit in it forthem, then it might work.

Grabbing my phone quickly, I take a photo of the passage I need, then shut the book, and put it back in its little hidey-hole, making sure the column is securely shut this time.

With my nerves buzzing, I throw some clothes on—jeans and a plain black baby-t with flip-flops—and head downstairs to see who is around.

Walking into the living room, I see several people, but I immediately lock eyes on Christian, who is laughing hysterically at something. As I get closer, I see both Jackson and him are bent over Lucas, who is fast asleep on the couch. They’re placing a fanned-out hand of cards in his limp hand, then backing away to pretend like they’re all in the middle of a card game.

“Yo, dude,” Christian says loudly, shoving Lucas’ shoulder. “It’s your turn.”

No response, so Christian shoves him harder. “Lucas. Your turn.”

That rouses a very confused Lucas, who lifts his head and looks around, finally noticing the cards in his hand. He drops them like they just bit him. “What? What the fuck?” Once he realizes what’s happening, he lunges at his brother. “You guys are fucking idiots.”

Both Jackson and Christian burst out laughing.

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