Page 84 of The Vipers and Their Vendetta

Our eyes lock, then she pales, and turns and runs.

Fuck, no. She has to know I didn’t do this.

I give chase, taking the stairs two at a time.

I’ll make her listen.

CHAPTER 32

Lex

My fucking car!My baby. My pride and joy.

I hadn’t wanted to believe it when one of the other students came and told me that someone had scratched my car. It isn’t just fucking scratched either. It’s like a goddamned werewolf has attacked the paintwork. Deep grooves run down the beautiful side panels, and there are even marks across the hood.

I won’t let whoever did this get away with it. I’ll find the person responsible. There are cameras all over this place, and they’re bound to have caught something. Of course, if whoever did it thought to wear masks or something, I might be out of luck.

The possibility of masks immediately makes me think of the Preachers. If it was them, I’ll destroy them. I won’t rest until I’ve taken down every one of the freaky sons-of-bitches.

The exterior can be fixed easily, but the interior? The leather and the carpets are covered in milk. Fuck me, this is going to be hell to clean, and I might never get the sour milk smell out.

I sprinkle the baking soda I got from the kitchen, because according to the internet, it’s the best thing for the carpets. My jaw is so tight it feels like it might shatter, and I’m about ready to beat someone to death.

Something cold and wet hits my lower back, and I pull my upper body out of where I’m leaning in the car. I pull my t-shirt back down over where it had ridden up, exposing my skin. The weather has turned on a dime. The sky is dark, brooding, with massive storm clouds gathering, and, as I look up, another big, wet drop hits me.

Fuck my life. I should get inside, but I need to finish sprinkling the baking soda, or the stink of old milk will really set it. I lean back into my poor, destroyed car, planning to work quickly.

The crunch of multiple footsteps on the gravel behind me has me twisting back. I expect, for some reason, I’m going to see Zane, but instead I discover five men approaching. I glance around, hoping to find someone else nearby, but my car is parked in the far lot, by the empty, rarely used smaller gym. There are no classes here, and most students will be checking their mail slots, grabbing breakfast and coffees, or still in the shower at this time.

“One of the Laurant twins,” the tall man in the middle declares. “Just who we’re looking for.”

I recognize him as Jarl Olsen, and his words send a chill to my core.

My mind spins. What the fuck should I do? This doesn’t look like good news.

“What do you want?” I ask.

My cell is in my pocket, but I’m pretty sure it’s on do not disturb. These assholes are never going to let me take it out and call for help.

He’s come to a halt a couple of feet away. “I think you know why we’re here.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Reagan.”

“It was your car she fell on, wasn’t it?” His gaze flicks past me. “This same car?”

It isn’t the same car—that one was written off after what happened—but I don’t think telling him that will help the situation, so I remain silent.

“You and your brother, and that silent freak you hang around with, need to be taught a lesson. Now I’m told you have your sights on another girl. Reagan’s sister. You think I’m going to allow history to repeat itself?”

This is not good.

I hold up both hands. “It’s not what you think.”

He takes a step closer. “No? And what, exactly, do I think? That you and your little fuck-buddy and your brother will drive another girl to suicide?”

“We wouldn’t do that to Vani.”

Wouldn’t we?

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