Page 114 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

TWO DEAD IN ROCKSLIDE

Knox sits forward in a rush, tapping the page. “This is?—”

“Nim’s parents.” I snatch the paper out of his hands. “They were on their way back from the reunion.”

Knox’s face drains of color as he slides off the window seat. “Was Vicky with them?”

“No mention of a third body.” I turn and show him the picture of a Bentley crushed under several boulders. “And I doubt anyone’s crawling out of that.”

“Finally something’s going our way.” Silas musses up his hair and gives us an uneasy laugh.

There’s silence.

“Dude, that’s harsh, even coming from you,” I say.

Silas throws up his hands. “We don’t even know her!”

“Those were her parents.” Knox’s voice is still calm, but it’s clear he also thinks Silas crossed a line.

“I mean, yeah, it sucks, but?—”

“But nothing.” Knox holds out his hand, and I give him back the paper. “This is a tragedy.”

“Christ,” Silas mutters. “I didn’t mean?—”

“We need to call Vicky and find out if she’s okay,” I tell Knox, gingerly cupping my now aching nose.

He’s already reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. Nim’s license falls out, and we all stare at it. Silas bends to pick it up, studies it.

“What are the chances?” he murmurs.

Knox looks grim as he puts his phone to his ear. “Exactly what I was thinking,” he says.

Chapter 8

Nim

Two Months Later

Electronic dance music drowns out the thoughts playing on repeat through my head. I even manage to lose myself in the incessant thump-thump-thump I can feel as much as hear.

Purgatory is quiet tonight, which is a pity because I could really use a better distraction than loud music. I can’t even appreciate the caged dancers hanging from the ceiling—and I’m always cataloging their sexy moves in the hopes that I’d somehow absorb the ability to dance.

Someone slaps my ass, and I wince before I remember my bruises have long since healed. Maybe I have Post Traumatic Spanking Disorder.

Peggy slides her elbow along the bar, leaning in front of me with a cheesy grin on her face. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Waiting for a hot guy to arrive so I can flirt with him,” I tell her before giving my apron a little shake, rattling some coins inside. “I think I’ve made like ten bucks tonight.”

Peggy twists, leaning on both elbows as she stares out onto the dance floor. “Yeah, I was hoping Jackson would be here. That’s a guaranteed tenner, right there.”

She has no shame. The waitresses’ uniform here is a slip of fabric, barely opaque, that does nothing to hide the curves beneath. Thankfully, I’m allowed to wear a short skirt and low-cut shirt—probably because I occasionally have to set a drink alight and I might scorch my nipples if my hand slipped.

“This is pathetic,” I tell her, rolling my eyes. “I love this place, but I’m sure there are better ways to earn money.”

She grimaces at me, and I realize I’ve strayed a little too close to reality for her liking. Of the two of us, she’s the one who’s still trying to cope with the news of my parents’ accident. It was over two months ago, and I moved in with Peggy straight away, so I wasn’t surrounded by memories of my parents every second of every day while I waited to start college.

Which I’m not even sure is still going to happen.

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