Page 60 of Hallowed Eve (The Obsidian Brotherhood 2)

Chapter twenty-five

If they thought I was unhinged before, that was nothing compared to the madness inside me after that night at The Grove. If I worried people before, I terrified them now.

“How did you get here?” I’d asked Tree Girl once we had them all in the boat.

“They took me.”

Taken. Just like Tatum, who—along with Caspian—was now presumed dead. I knew better, and so did Chandler, but to everyone else, their lives were lost in a tragic plane accident. One thing this whole experience taught me was, if the Brotherhood wanted the world to believe you were dead, they made sure the world believed you were dead. There was even a memorial for her and Caspian where people lit candles and brought flowers to the “crash site.” Dad and Kipton attended, wearing the perfectly sculpted masks of grieving fathers. I stood in the background fighting the urge to bury them both alive.

Every day, another puzzle piece clicked into place. Like the gears on a machine or bricks in a wall.

Click, click, click.

Stack, stack, stack.

It all started coming together.

Every night, I scanned the dance floor at a crowded night club, searching for blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that made me want to fall to my knees. It was the same routine every fucking time. I always searched but never found what I was looking for.

Music hummed all around me. Throngs of people moved through the crowd, bumping shoulders, spilling drinks, yelling over the noise. I leaned against the bar, waiting, watching. Until my gaze landed on a petite blonde whose lips parted the moment our eyes met. Not exactly the blonde I was looking for, but still peaches for me. She could have been a tall brunette and it wouldn’t have mattered. I would still wish it was Lyric, no matter what she looked like. I bought her a drink, then took her to my loft and fucked her with my dick coated in cocaine. I covered her body in white powder just to test her limits.

I fucked a girl the same way I’d fucked Lyric just to see if it killed her too.

Maybe that made me sadistic. Maybe it made me a fucking psycho.

I had no fucks to give.

Not anymore.

Something inside me needed to know. It was my twisted way of finding absolution.

The best part? She didn’t end up dead the next day. The worst part? A tiny piece of me wished she had.

Because the alternative meant there was another truth out there, a truth other than the one I’d been living with for the past four years.

What if I didn’t kill Lyric? I never saw a body and she had a closed-casket funeral.

There was never a goddamn body.

What if she was like those girls at The Grove? Like Tatum? What if those bastards had taken her too?

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