Page 94 of Diem

When I cross my arms, he picks me up and drops me at the passenger door. I’m considering refusing, just to feel him against me again, but decide it’s probably best if I keep the temptation at bay.

Which is no fun, but no one ever said fun and smart go hand in hand.

With a heartfelt sigh, I open the door and slide inside, glancing around curiously. The interior is much the same as the exterior although he’s changed out the stereo system for something that's closer to this decade.

Idly I pass over the seats before stopping on a pair of bright red panties tucked in the cup holder. My heart stops but I tamp that shit down quickly. If I needed a reminder to move on, this was it.

Hate bleeds through my veins and I’m on him before he’s even in the driver's seat.

“What the fuck do you want this time?” I snarl.

His eyes widen before they narrow, and he barks, “What the fuck is your problem?”

“You!” I mutter. I have the insane urge to rake my nails down his face, make him feel the pain that continues to rocket through my system.

With a harsh chuckle, he grabs my head and says, “Those are yours.”

Huh. Glancing down, I study them more closely. Was I wearing red panties?

“Your sweet little pussy looked fuck hot in them, too,” he growls before revving the engine and pulling from the curb.

I’m not sure what to say because I suspect it’s something along the lines of fuck me, so I change the subject instead.

“Why are you here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be dreaming up something diabolical with Ramsay?”

He eyes me like he knows exactly what I’m not saying, and I squirm in my seat when his mouth quirks. “Nope.”

Odd. Just because Ramsay is not in school, doesn’t mean they’re not usually connected at the hip. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard anything about Ramsay since he stopped coming. What it means, I have no clue though.

“Where are we going?”

“I wanna show you something.”

Glancing at him sideways, I ask, “What?”

“You’ll see.”

Rolling my eyes, I stare out the windshield, my skin humming at the proximity to him. I’ve given up trying to understand and moved on to accepting that I’m just fucked in the head.

I’m examining my wound as surreptitiously as possible, relieved to find its stopped bleeding when we pull down the street that leads to his dad’s trailer.

“What?” I say, pulling up a puzzled frown. Oh shit, is he on to me?

Putting the vehicle in park, he crosses his arms and says, “If anyone was a murdering piece of shit, it was Frank McCafferty, Mae.”

“Oh?” I say licking my lips.

“Yeah, oh. Except, he’s been missing for months. He’s not the one who killed Dixie.”

“Okay.” This doesn’t do much for my psyche because that still leaves my dad as the main suspect.

“Look,” he says, rubbing his face. “Your dad isn’t a murderer. Heisn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw things…things. I was around them when they hung out. Trust me, your dad was disgusted by the shit my dad did.”

“Are you sure?” I ask and he turns to me with a solemn frown.

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