Page 145 of Speak

I have a serial killer in my house and her two henchmen.

Damon sits back, places an ankle over his knee, and pulls out a cigar, so fucking relaxed in my home, and lights up like he’s at Inferno, offering me one which I decline.

“You look troubled, Maverick. A dollar for your thoughts?”

“Give me her story,” I reply a little too sharply.

“It’s not mine to tell.”

“And you expect her to just open her mouth and tell me?”

Damon grimaces. “Think of everything you’ve read, of what you know of her, of what you’ve seen of her, and think, really hard. Let go of the black. Let go of the white and let yourself think in all the vast oceans of purples there are.”

“The ocean isn’t purple.”

Damon chuckles. “It could be. We were told the sky is blue but is it really?”

I hold in my eye roll at his bullshit philosophical jargon and look down at my drink instead, the scent of his cigar hangs heavy between us. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Damon. I had adetectivecome to my office after class today and showed me videos of a certain someone limping around at a fucking crime scene.” I growl.

His smirk drops as he takes another puff, the end of the cigar glowing a bright cherry red, blowing out the smoke before he takes another sip of the best fucking old fashioned I’ve ever tasted. “It wasn’t her.”

This time I don’t hold back the eye roll. I get back up to my feet, a hand on my hip and shove my hair back, holding it at the base of my skull with the other. “Damon, please. I can’t be in love with a… a-“

“A what?”

“A serial killer. It goes against every single one of my morals!”

“Does it?” He’s slow to stand and keeps his distance from me.

“Yes! If she were… that-“

“Your entire life you’ve had a cog in the machine mentality. Which is your first problem.” Damon interrupts me. “The other problem you’ve had is you don’t even hate the wealthy you hate one wealthy person. You’ve hated her your whole miserable life because she chose a life of wealth, she chose to leave you behind, she chose herself. Your mother-“

“Don’tbring her into this! Do not psychoanalyze me!” I roar just as lightning strikes behind him and the light above us flickers. The news promised the worst storm in over four years and they sure are delivering. “Just tell me her fucking story so I can try to understand!”

There’s a creak coming from the bottom step as Raven steps before us. She’s wearing my FBI hoodie, large on her frame, the sleeves of them cuffed by her fingers. A slap in the face. A good fucking joke and my fury knows no bounds.

When she comes deeper into the living room, Jonas is also in view but behind her, in the shadows, watching silently. He looks exhausted. I stride to her grabbing her face by the chin so harshly her lips pucker like a fish.

“Speak! Tell me you didn’t do it! Speak, goddamn you! Fucking talk to me for once and save yourself! Open your fucking mouth andlie to me!”I break,begging, my breath hitching as I peer into the wide, mesmerizing depths of caramel and gold. My heart aches, because if she would just open her beautiful mouth and lie to me, I could help her.

A tear rolls down her cheek but she doesn’t move. The only noise in the room is the crackling of the fire and the raging storm outside.

“Speak!” I rage again.

There, her lips move and I lessen my grasp as more tears flood her perfect face and she gives me one shake of her head but her face is distorted in pain, as though her heart is splintering right along mine. She won’t even deny it. She won’t lie. She won’t fucking speak to me and I throw the tumbler against the mantle, the glass shattering against it.

“Raven baby, we gotta go.”

I look at Jonas, who grabs her shoulder but she, stupidly and unafraid, marches to me. I push her off but she tries to get to me again and again and when I finally shove her off and she tumbles down, I regret it as soon as it happens and reach for her but Damon catches her, I see the agony on her face that mirrors my heart. I clench my jaw, feeling the muscles ripple.

I don’t miss the anger on Damon’s face and when Jonas comes and punches me square in the jaw, I don’t retaliate.

I deserve that.

“Let’s go, Raven.”

She signs something to him about her binder and with a huff, Jonas gets it and brings it back down along with her backpack and keys, packing up her textbooks after handing it to her.

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