Page 82 of Shattered
CHAPTER 22
Melissa
Garrett: a wealthy club member who wanted to face fuck me and take me to a wedding to meet his father; who stayed with me while I got my first tattoo; someone kind enough to come to my art showing.
Rourke: a masked man who murdered my roommate and countless other men, made my close friend desert the life he knew; the same man who choked me while I came, carved his mark into my arm, and crept into my bedroom night after night, making me think that he saw the real me. That I saw the real him, even if he was hiding behind a mask.
How could they be the same person?
I couldn’t fathom it, and yet at the same time, I didn’t know how I could have missed the signs from the beginning. Garrett was evasive about his personal life, never truly answering a question about himself, to the point that when he gave the barest hint of honesty, it shocked me. And that tattoo hadalwaysreminded me of Rourke. I could see Rourke making fun of himself for getting such an overrated tattoo.
But then there was the wedding. How had Garrett been at the wedding on an island, and Rourke was in my bedroom only hours later? Maybe it wasn’t a livestream at all. Maybe it was a prerecorded video to throw off my trail if I happened to sniff him out.
How could he present himself as two completely different people?
Staring at myself in the mirror, I put in one colored contact. Rourke had convinced me not to wear them, saying that I was hiding my real self behind their false color. Garrett had noticed the next day because he had been looking. Trying to see if he, as Rourke, had successfully persuaded me, manipulated me into doing what he thought was better, more authentic. A clearer version of my true self.
If I threw all of that aside and went with what I knew—that Garrett had openly admitted to being Rourke, and that he sure as hell knew more about what I had done with Rourke than what I had told anyone—then maybe they were the same person.
Which meant that I was right. Rourke, Garrett, whoever the hell he was, was a damn hypocrite. Preaching about what authenticity meant, and yet masquerading as a wealthy billionaire during the day. Or pretending to be this cryptic killer who served justice to those who needed it most, who wasn’t afraid to break the status quo, when really, he just fed into it like everyone else.
No… That wasn’t right. He had to be wealthy enough to join the Dahlia District. That’s the only way he would have gained entry. Still, Garrett never revealed anything, and only showed emotion when Irvine bragged about killing hookers and getting away with it.
Could I call Rourke a hypocrite if he never truly lied about himself, like he, as Garrett, had said?
I took out the blue contact and resorted to the clear ones I had been used to wearing lately. I let my hair down in a bushy tail along my back, thick and red, the dark roots beginning to bleed into vibrant color at my part. I grabbed my suitcase full of lingerie and makeup and headed to the Dahlia District. I was supposed to do a body paint performance today, but my mind was still buzzing with the same questions I had had since leaving the gallery the night before.
Who the hell was Garrett? Who was Rourke? And what did they mean to me?
What didhemean to me?
The Dahlia District was busier than I had come to expect lately. A few club members were chatting in front of the stage, as if they were using the club for a business meeting. Many of the servers were drinking shots in the lounge with their regular club members.
I was running late; I rushed to the Greenhouse and threw on a black bra and black panties. I left my hair down, slipped on some high heels, and searched the main floor, looking for him. Where was he?Whowas he?
I don’t know why, but I had this feeling that if I saw him, the answers would become clear. As I trudged through the club, I hoped, swore,wishedon a damn star that this would all make sense soon, that I wasn’t losing my mind.
I hovered around, going from table to table, booth to booth, knowing I should be friendly, my usual server self, but not being able to. I couldn’t even smile when I came across a booth with Iris, Teagen, and Irvine. Iris motioned for me to join them, but I didn’t acknowledge her and kept walking. I couldn’t stop.
Iris pulled herself away from the booth and tapped my shoulder. She raised a brow. “You looking for someone?”
“Garrett,” I said.
“I think he was here earlier.”
“Really?!” I asked, a little too excitedly. She furrowed her forehead and nodded subtly.
“Why wouldn’t he be? Something happen?” I shrugged, not wanting to get into the details right now. “It looked like he was coming in for a drink. Passing through or something.”
Since Garrett and Rourke were the same person, then that meant that Rourke had posed as Garrett and asked for me at the Dahlia Districtbeforehe killed Colin.
Which meant that Colin’s death and seeking me out at the Dahlia District were no accident. Rourke had always been searching for me. He had hunted me. Just like the rest of the monsters.
Because he knew about Aldrich. And he wanted me to pay for framing him.
I grabbed my stomach. The pain was getting worse.
“You all right?” Iris asked. She put an arm around my back. “Maybe you should sit.”
