Page 29 of The Vipers and Their Vendetta

I cringe again at the thought of the sex. I really need to stop screwing those men. No matter what the truth might be about Reagan, the fact is they’re bad news.

It still hasn’t fully sunk in that Reagan is dead. It’s like I’ve lost something I never really had. Is it possible to grieve for someone you didn’t even know? She was a real person, but now I feel like she’s been a figment of my imagination all this time. I’m so confused. Confused and heartbroken and scared. I want to find out what happened to her, but at the same time, staying in this place terrifies me. If I want to get my degree and build a different kind of life for myself, I’ve potentially got years here ahead of me. How the hell am I going to cope?

A feminine voice comes from outside the door. “Vani, are you okay? We’re worried.”

I go to answer the door and swing it open to reveal three girls standing in the hallway, each with expressions of concern etched onto their pretty faces.

“Hey, you,” Angelica says. “We heard what happened. Are you all right?” She shoves a giant takeout cup of coffee into my hands. “And we thought you might need this. It’s pumpkin spice.”

I smile at her thoughtfulness and back into the room to allow them in. “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you.”

“It’s the least I could do. I felt terrible that you were so upset about what happened to Reagan. I never expected you to go racing out of here.”

I close the door behind them, not wanting the entire college to overhear our conversation.

“I can’t believe you fell off your bike,” Jarena says. “It’s all around college that you had an accident.”

My stomach sinks. “Really?”

Faith agrees. “Yeah, it’s all anyone is talking about.”

I close my eyes and hold back a groan. That’s the last thing I need. Who the hell is spreading gossip? The only people who know are the Vipers… Then I realize that’s not true at all. There’s also the security guard, and whoever was driving the truck that went to collect my bike. And let’s not forget the Preachers. It’s hardly surprising people are talking.

Plus, if anyone saw the state of my Harley, they’d assume I’d had an accident.

The girls take in the state of my scrapes and bruises.

Angelica makes a face. “Yikes, girl, you really did a number on yourself. Are you sure you shouldn’t be in the hospital?”

“I’m a bit bumped and bruised, but I’m okay.” I take a sip of my coffee. It’s hot and sweet. “Thanks for this.”

The girls settle in around the room, clearly wanting this latest piece of gossip straight from the horse’s mouth.

“And it was the Vipers who found you and your bike?” Jarena asks, her blue eyes lighting with excitement.

I consider how much to tell them. “Actually, it wasn’t the Vipers. It was these weird guys who found me—the ones who spend their time out in that old water tower. Well, one of them found me, anyway. The tall one with jaw-length dirty blond hair.”

Angelica’s jaw drops. “The Preachers? Oh, my God. They’re from North House. They’re a bunch of fucking crazies. It’s lucky they didn’t carve you up into a million little pieces.”

I give a nervous laugh. I wonder how much to tell them. I find myself embarrassed at the thought of standing in my underwear, while they cut my hair and spit into a bowl of my blood. I should have put up more of a fight.

“They were okay,” I lie. “They just used some weird ointment on my cuts and patched me up. Then I left again.”

I leave out the part about how they ended up fighting with Saint, and how I ran, and ended up in Zane’s arms. My cheeks burn with mortification as I remember how I’d rubbed against him like a dog in heat, and then ended up on my knees with his cock in my mouth. What the hell would these girls think of me? I don’t want to get a reputation for being a slut.

“So, why were you so upset about what happened, anyway?” Angelica leans forward, propping her chin on her palm. “Did you know Reagan or something? I know we’re not supposed to talk about her, but I have to ask.”

I don’t know how much to tell them. Can I trust these girls not to spread it all around school? I think of my dad, and Jarl Olsen, and how much I can’t risk my dad finding out about what happened with my mom. As much as I’m desperate to have someone on my side, I can’t risk it.

I nod and sniff. “Yeah, she was a friend of the family.”

The girls exchange glances, their eyes wide.

“You’re friends with the Olsen family?” Faith asks.

“Not exactly friends. My mom knew them a long time ago. I played with Reagan when we were little girls.”

The lies are tripping off my tongue with frightening ease. I hope no one will be able to look into what I’ve said, and that this isn’t enough of a headline news story to make it back to Jarl Olsen, or my dad.

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