Page 96 of Terror Tuesday
That earns me a shove. Half-hearted. Her hand ends up over my heart, anyway.
“Yeah, well,” she mutters, her voice husky. “It was dark. I was emotionally compromised.”
“Mm.” I cap the pen and close her diary with care. “Should’ve waited until I started explaining mitosis in butterfly sperm.”
She laughs. Real. Unpolished. Almost girlish. And it fucking guts me. I don’t deserve to hear her laugh like that. But I will. Over and over. As many times as it takes to convince her that I’m the only one who sees her clearly.
Because I am.
It’s alwaysbeenme.
Her eyelids flutter as her face grows slack. I reach over and hide her diary in the drawer again, then turn off her lamp. Ourbreathing matches as we rest together. But I’m not going to sleep.
When I think she’s out cold, she whispers into the dark, “You’re more dangerous now than when you’re fucking me.”
“Why?”
There’s such a long pause, I think she’s fallen asleep when she mumbles, “Because you make me want things.”
My throat tightens at that. If only she knew how much I want her to wanteverythingbecause I’m going to give it to her. Everything this pure soul deserves.
When she’s dreaming, eyes twitching behind her lids, I shift her head onto the pillow, then pull the covers over her frame. I watch her serene expression, then lift my mask and show her my true face.
The one that will betray her.
I press a desperate kiss on her forehead and listen to her for another moment, trying to memorize it for when we’re apart.
Then, I slip back into the night, carrying the haunting weight still heavy between us.
The wind is biting, the lake roaring with it as I cross the rear of the cathedral. Behind a cluster of oak trees, I catch a glimpse of what I believe to be a flowing mantle. But when I look again, it’s gone.
That cloaked fucker almost cost us everything. If I catch him again, I need to be prepared to end him. What’s his game? Helping, then harassing me?
Chaos?
When I hacked into the NU morgue’s database, something caught my eye. Buried among the photographic evidence of the victims was one image I couldn’t shake.
The sister found on the kitchen counter—the one with no surveillance footage of her death? Her intestines had been removed. It was noted in the report.
But not just some of them.
What was missing had been cut into a perfect triangle.
Combined with what happened to theSigmaon Massacre Monday, this seems to be another ritual bloodletting… Another organ piece missing in a symmetrical shape.
Is the caped man responsible?
He didn’t kill thoseOmegas. No. That was all on video. But was he hanging around for another reason? And if he’s removing body parts…
Why?
I don’t like that he’s getting close to Olivia. He’s also seen me with her several times… The cloaked figure is a problem. One I need to handle before too much time passes.
My steps quicken through the darkness until I slip in through the back door ofDeltahouse. It’s rowdy, as always. Some guys are preparing their poker games for Wicked Wednesday. It’s not taking place for a few weeks, but they need to practice the cheats ahead of time to make sure no one suspects a thing.
The house always wins…
When I reach my room, I freeze. The door is ajar.
