Page 44 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

“Freak show, it’s all hearsay. That note doesn’t tell you anything. I mean—” He rubs his jaw, smirking. “—I’ve never even seen that paper before. You very well could’ve planted it. Anything to clear that psycho’s name, yeah?”

I slit my eyes, glaring at the mention of Thatcher.

He’s right—it’s hearsay. I stand on uncertain ground, but one thing I’m certain of, Easton knows more than he’s saying. He knows everything we need and is dangling it in front of me.

Easton steps forward to move past me, ready to walk away, but I grab his shoulder. My nails dig into the material of his shirt, and he slowly turns his gaze to where my hand is on his body.

I’m tempted to do something reckless, like make us the new gruesome story that haunts Kennedy Hall, forever engaged in the history of Hollow Heights. Students will spread it like wildfire, and it will live in infamy along the grounds.

They’ll whisper about how much blood there was. People would argue whether I took his hands or feet first, and someone would get creative and say I frolicked through the snow-covered commons, painting the white ground in red while wearing his intestines as a necklace.

“If it’s not you on a murder spree, hypothetically speaking—” I run my tongue across my teeth. “—why send notes to warn Thatcher? Why when you know it would help us?”

The very first one he’d got told him to leave Ponderosa Springs, which would have cleared his name before the killings started. It had been a warning, not a threat.

I know I should believe Easton is the Imitator, but something about it doesn’t feel right. However, I do think he’s writing those letters. I could be entirely wrong about all this—he could just be the delivery boy. He could be killing people, but I’m going with my gut and hoping I’m not fucking this up.

“Hypothetically or factual, I wouldn’t do shit to help you.” He jerks his arm from my grip with enough force to make me step back.

“Screw you, Sinclair. Sage was right about one thing—you’re nothing but a puppet for your daddy’s sick games. You’re pathetic,” I sneer. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, and I can’t fucking wait.”

“You and those deadbeats you follow around are going to get her killed.” He points his finger, baring his teeth. I can feel the heat of his rage fanning across my face. “I promise you, Lyra Abbott, if that happens, there will be nothing to stop me from ripping you all to shreds.”

I flinch, rearing back at his words.

“Her? Mary?” I ask, confused about what she has to do with this. “Don’t worry, your bitch of a girlfriend isn’t on the list of people to fuck over. She’ll be perfectly fine to continue eating up Sage’s leftovers.”

“She was mine before Rook ever touched her.” A twisted smile tugs at the edges of his lips. “I know all about her pipe dreams, from the way she moans in bed down to her favorite fucking ice cream flavor.”

He was never talking about Mary.

He was talking aboutSage.

“No amount of hate Van Doren has for me will change that. No matter how badly he wants it to.”

My own anger surges at the audacity of him claiming he cares for my friend after everything he put her through. All the hell she endured, and he wants to pretend he cares?

No, men like Easton just get their pride hurt when their toys don’t belong to them anymore.

I scoff. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Sinclair. You want me to believe you did this to protect Sage? You’re goddamn delusional! You sat by while her sister was murdered in cold blood and left her to rot in an institution, content to let everyone think she went crazy.”

All emotion fades, his gaze turning cold.

“Believe what you want.” He shrugs. “We all become what we need to in order to survive the families of Ponderosa Springs.”

HEART-SHAPED BOX

TWELVE

Lyra

“We urge you to abide by the enforced curfew and make sure you’re traveling in pairs. You’re more likely to be targeted if you’re alone.” Odette Marshall stands in front of the rows of seats. “Do you have any questions?”

“Is the Imitator a psychopath?”

I outwardly groan, sinking further into my seat and tugging my beanie over my eyes as more hands shoot up in the audience.

“Yes,” her partner, Gerrick Knight, answers. “A sadist. One who has no regard for human life and is void of feelings.”

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