Page 120 of Hate So Deep

The poor girl is dead. I mean I suspected but knowing it’s true is completely awful.

“Where?” I ask, glancing at Dirk. “Where was she?”

“Two miles from where her phone last pinged in Turner Park,” he says.

Turner Park? The place where all the kids go to party? How did she end up there?

“Dad said the police aren’t releasing anything but some reports on the news say her cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head,” Colt says.

“So, she was hit in the head?” I ask but of course, he can’t answer my question.

The only person who can is dead, leaving me to deal with the fallout but Dirk’s insinuations circle my soul as I stare at the floor.

Unfortunately, I have no way of proving my brother was trying to set me up either.

I’m fucked. I’m fucking fucked.

“Lala,” Colt says, pulling me from my misery.

“Yeah?” I mumble as he drops to the ottoman before me.

“I need to know…I can’t help if I don’t have all the information. You need to tell me if you did anything, okay?”

Help?

Dazed, I search his bright eyes, but I don’t understand the message staring back at me and I bow my head, saying, “I don’t…I didn’t. I don’t know what happened. I don’t remember.”

Maybe I’m not strong enough to beat up my brother but that doesn’t mean something didn’t happen with Aimee.

Is it possible it was an accident? But how could I have possibly hid Aimee’s body and all the rest while presumably drugged and out of my mind?

I just don’t know, and this is why I know that I’m freaking doomed. I feel so freaking helpless right now and it’s a completely horrible panic pressing at my chest when Dirk says, “Let’s start at the beginning. You need to tell us everything, Lauren.”

Despite everything, I hate that he’s calling me by my name because I sense there’s a message there that I don’t want to understand.

However, I can’t focus on that issue when this one has reared its ugly head. Either way, I’m in a daze when Finn appears, holding a mug in her hand.

When she holds it out to me, I take it with a wan smile, and say, “Thanks.”

The floral notes of chamomile tea that Celia loves to drink before bed hit my noise and I breathe deep, hoping it might snap me out of my shock, which only deepens when the front door blows open and Ramie and Hayden appear.

For once, I’m not bamboozled by Hayden’s good looks as he spreads his arms wide and says, “Let’s get this shit done, fuckers.”

“Tone it down,” Ramie says, and he winks at her before they settle on the couch beside me.

Although there’s a tiny spark of hope burning in my chest, I can’t afford to have it doused, which is why I’m waiting for some explanation as to what the hell is going on.

Since Dirk is pacing by the fireplace and Colt is glaring at him from where he’s leaning against the wall, I turn to Finn and ask, “What’s happening?”

Her lips lift into a smile, and she pats my hand before saying, “Start at the beginning.”

“Why?”

“Because if we’re going to prove you didn’t do this. We need all the information,” Colt says.

When I meet his gaze, he nods and although I’m still confused, warmth fills my chest, temporarily replacing the void that’s been dark since Buck was attacked, or maybe even before.

So, I start at the beginning, going over the events of that morning, including the bloody shirt and bruises on my arms.

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