Page 32 of Vengeful Princess

“Put Mrs. Gia on, Ver.”

Ah. It was Verity, the name Landon had heard. From the way Thea fidgeted, she was deeply unhappy about something.

“Is he bothering her?” she asked a moment later. “Ver says he’s been to visit her twice.”

There was a long pause before Thea relaxed a bit. “OK, good. Use this number if you call me, not the other one… yeah…Of course…thanks, Mrs. Gia.”

The call ended, but Thea didn’t move from her spot by the window. I watched as she stared pensively outside. The sound of music and laughter floated through the halls, but here it was just the two of us.

The connection between us felt different from the ones I’d experienced before. Thea wasn’t innocent. She had teeth and claws. Vicious ones, judging by the video I’d watched a thousand times.

The darkness in her soul called out to mine like a siren song. Thea was meant to be mine. I was certain of it. She didn’t know it yet, but she soon would.

17

Thea

One of the very first things my father had taught me as a little girl was that it’s difficult to prove a crime had taken place without a dead body and a murder weapon. While it was possible to build a case based on circumstantial evidence, such a case would be weak at best. The lack of a smoking gun could easily derail a police investigation.

Dead bodies were a gold mine of DNA evidence. Skin fragments, hair, blood, and more. If the police found a body, they stood a much better chance of identifying the killer.

AKA me.

Staring down at the recently deceased asshole I’d first had the misfortune to meet at the fight club reminded me why having Torrance around was helpful sometimes. Not often, admittedly, but he had a vested interest in making sure I didn’t get arrested on murder charges. When there was an inconvenient dead body, I called him.

At least the dickhead lying at my feet hadn’t attacked me in the middle of town. Concealing my crime would have been much harder if CCTV had captured it in glorious high-definition. Outhere, there were no cameras or witnesses. The only two vehicles on the deserted road back to Abernethy right now were Eden’s car and the would-be rapist’s piece of shit truck.

Eden’s SUV had a dent in the side where the asshole had forced me off the road, but there wasn’t much I could do about that now. She’d understand when I explained. At least I hoped she would, given I’d ‘borrowed’ her car without asking.

Maybe I could make it look like another student had hit it in the college parking garage? I hummed as I contemplated the idea.

Dirk looked like a driver who might struggle with parallel parking. Or anything, really.

If I put Eden’s car back in her spot and then moved Dirk’s so it looked like he’d hit hers, she’d assume it was his fault. The cameras didn’t work in the garage - I’d disconnected them earlier. This meant he’d have a problem proving otherwise.

But Eden’s car was not my priority. I needed to dispose of the dead body lying at my feet, along with the truck.

Fuck my life.

An icy gust of wind screeched through the small, stunted trees lining the road, and I shivered uncontrollably. Why had I left my cozy, warm room and come out on a night like this?

Oh right. Because my father sent me a parcel and the collection locker was in the nearby town. I hadn’t had a chance to see what was in the small box. The moment I tossed it in Eden’s car, the fight club asshole appeared.

He’d clearly been drinking because the idiot had threatened me. I’ll admit it. I laughed. Unfortunately, things then escalated.

Not wanting to get involved in another violent incident, I’d driven away, assuming he’d have the brains to leave me alone. But he hadn’t taken the hint. The stupid dickhead followed me, probably deluded enough to think he could run me off the road and rape me while I was lying in a ditch, mortally injured.

It hadn’t played out that way.

And now he was dead.

Oops.

Small flakes of snow drifted down, dusting my coat with white speckles. The dead man lying on tufts of heather stared up at me accusingly, still wearing an expression of surprise from when I lost patience and stabbed him in the neck.

Maybe I should have stabbed him somewhere less fatal and left him to bleed out on the moor. It had occurred to me, but the risk someone would find him before he coughed his last whiskey-soaked breath had been too high.

Remember the smoking gun I mentioned earlier?

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