Page 1 of Crush

Prologue

The Past

Atwistedbastard was what they called him. But they didn’t know Zander like I did. Yes, I was young, but I wasn’t stupid, hecouldbe cruel at times, butneverwithout good reason.

If you broke the rules, you were punished.Thatwas the norm.

Through narrowed eyes, I disdainfully drank in the unfair interruption to my day. I had been in my bedroom, my private space, reading a book when chaos had erupted. I didn’t care that they had flashed their IDs and were there officially. To me, they were strangers. Howdarethey force entry and go through my shit without my permission.

Of all the properties Zander and I had stayed in,thisone was my favourite. It was away from the hustle and bustle of the city, the house overlooking a lake and it was peaceful. Looking over our shoulders had not been necessary in this place. Finally, we’d been left alone,justthe two of us.

Now they were here.

I watched, feeling frustrated as that group of strangers walked back and forth across my soft cream carpet. A policeman was taking photographs and there were a couple of people in white overalls. It lookedexactlylike a crime scene from one of the TV shows I watched, but as far as I was concerned, it was nonsense. No crime had taken place—well—not untilthesepeople had broken into the house.

Why did they want to interfere with Zander and me so much? I imagined they thought we shouldn’t be together but then they didn’t understand. How could they?

“You still haven’t told me what’s going on,” I sighed. I was perched on the edge of my bed, dressed in skinny jeans and ahugejumper but I still felt unsure and exposed.

“All that matters is that you’re safe now, sweetheart, it’s all over,” the woman sitting on the chair before me soothed enthusiastically. Shelly Stephens, she’d introduced herself as. She wasn’t the police, maybe a counsellor or something, and she was making notes, frantically scribbling away on her tiny pad. The woman must have had the smallest writing ever and from my position, I couldn’t read a thing.

Shelly looked like an office worker; her expression was as bland as her blouse. The way she sat contradicted her calming words. The woman looked as uncomfortable as fuck. Good. So, she should, she and her interfering colleagues.

Her words replayed in my head. Safe?

If Iwassafe, and itwasover, why did I feel so lost and alone?

That noise of her pen’s constant scratching against the paper got on my nerves.

I wanted to scream and tell themallto leave, to stop tainting my bedroom with their judgemental bullshit.

At a loud crashing sound, my eyes darted to my dressing table where I stored all my precious gifts from Zander. A tall beanpole-like pig was in the process of putting all my jewellery into a clear plastic bag. What the fuck?

I’ll be getting all that back thank you very much.

Confusion clouded my head. It was like a thick fog up there. One that I was sure wouldneverclear.

“Where is he?” I asked, my tone sharp and demanding.

Shelly, who had pulled over my dressing table chair earlier raised her head.Shehad been the one to call Zander a twisted bastard and Ihatedher for it. Her suggestion that I ‘assist the police as much as possible’ went right out of the window after that.

“Sorry?” she responded.

“Where is he?” I repeated, my voice louder that time.

She looked confused. “Who? Your father?” Silly cow.

A dart of annoyance powered through me. “No, Zander.”

A flash of unease crossed her face and she turned and motioned for a colleague to join us.

“Do you think you have some sort of loyalty towards Mr Harker?”

“I have much more than that,” I snapped, feeling offended by having my feelings questioned.

“You said you and Mr Harker were together?” Shelly stated, reading my earlier words back at me from her pad. “What did you mean by that?”

My brow scrunched, “It’s not really any of your business.”

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