Page 65 of Oliver

“Which would be what?” Oliver growls and I shiver. Hot damn he’s sexy when he’s menacing.

“Stuff,” Oren whispers.

“What stuff?” I ask, moving to stand. Bad move because my muscles protest vehemently but I’ve searched Dixie’s room. There isn’t anything left.

Again, Oren looks away and I hunch my shoulders. Good god, isn’t this fucked up scenario bad enough? What fucking now?

Before Oren can speak, Oliver lifts him up by his shirt and shakes him like a rag doll. Eyeing them silently, I try so very hard not to admire the lean lines of Oliver’s muscles but I’m only human. Dammit.

“Listen, you little shit. You’re lucky I don’t beat your ass for this. You better fucking say whatever it is and right fucking now.”

Even I shiver at Oliver’s cold as fuck tone as Oren loses all color in his face and blurts, “It’s nothing, just you know, stuff that Dixie had of mine.”

We’re skeptical as we stare at him and Oren drops his head before whispering, “Messages between us, about…”

“Us…who?” I ask.

“Me. Dixie.”

“Enough with the damn mystery shit. Spit it out. What?” Oliver barks.

“Murder,” he whispers, and I shiver. It’s the same thing Matt insinuated. But who’s murder and how was Dixie involved?

Oliver drops him and he falls to his ass with a wince. Dumbly I stare while Oliver runs his hands through his hair. Oliver seems just as shocked as me. Does this mean he wasn’t expecting it either?

“What murder?” I ask.

Oren shakes his head and wipes his snotty nose. Gross. “Don’t know. We never got that far.”

“We,” I say, appalled as Oliver barks, “Let’s go.”

He points up the stairs and I shake my head. “I already searched everything—“

“Go!” he barks.

When I jump, he bows his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please.”

“Huh?” I say. I can’t help it. I’ve never heard Oliver ask for anything so I’m rightfully shocked and maybe a little confused.

When he merely raises his face to mine, I nod. There’s something tortured behind his stare that presses at my chest, leaving me breathless.

It’s slow going because I’m still recovering from my inglorious fall, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the top because although my head throbs, I don’t think I have a concussion.

Once we’re down the hall, I pause and point to the lock, mumbling, “I forgot…”

Oliver’s brows furrow but he doesn’t ask, and I say, “I’ll check my mom’s room.”

After a cursory search, I find the key by her bed and bring it back down the hall. Oliver plucks it from my fingertips and proceeds to unlock the padlock.

Once he’s done, he pushes the door open. While they pass through, I stop in the door and glance around. It’s the same as it always was but given the shit I’ve learned about my sister in the last few days, the air feels ominous.

Dixie’s ruffled bedspread, the one she got for her tenth birthday and practically swooned over, no longer screams childhood innocence. I shiver at the sight of her chunky black boots by the closet door. Did she wear those when she contemplated murder?

While Oliver scans the room with his eagle eye, Oren makes a beeline for the corner of the room, and I shake my head because I forgot about the hidey hole Dixie, and I created when we were kids.

Back then we hid buried treasure there and searched it out in the guise of pirates, complete with Mom’s fancy hats and tin foil swords.

How stupid am I?

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