Page 25 of Pretty Spiteful

“You have to be at the house on Sunday for dinner.”

Wilder scowls, and I can see the excuse forming on his lips.

“You can’t fucking wimp out of this one! You’ve skipped lunch twice this week, and Hadley is worried about you. So you’ll damn well show your face.”

Wilder’s lips pinch as he throws an angry glare my way, but then hisses out, “Fine, but we’re going out tonight.”

“Fine,” I sigh. God knows, someone needs to keep an eye on him.

* * *

“She’s a maneater…”

A very drunk, off-key Wilder sings later that night as I practically drag his ass back to the frat house.

“Make you fall real hard in love. Make you wish you never met her at all.”

I’m pretty sure he’s missing a few lyrics somewhere in there, but whatever. I’m too busy stopping his face from meeting the asphalt to bother correcting him—not that I have any fucking idea what the right lyrics are. I don’t even know what song he’s singing—well, trying to sing.

I do my best to block out his horrific singing skills as I haul him into the frat house and up the stairs to his bedroom next to mine. Finally managing to hold him upright and simultaneously open his bedroom door, I practically shove him onto the bed. He falls onto his back, his eyes already closed as he continues sing-mumbling under his breath, thankfully now too low for me to hear.

As I stare down at his pathetic, wasted ass, a fresh wave of anger crests.Thisis why I was pissed to see Emilia in my kitchen. I haven’t had to deal withthisWilder in a long time. Four years, actually.

If spendingfive minuteswith her has him resorting tothis,then what the hell will happen if they actually spend time together?

“Why did she have to come back?” he mumbles. His eyes are still closed and given how much he had to drink, he’s probably mostly asleep.

“I dunno, man,” I answer anyway, feeling bad for him.

“I was over her.”

Yeah, I don’t think he was, but he’d definitely fooled himself—all of us—into thinking he was.

“Need to get her out of my system.” His words are barely more than a whisper as sleep claims him.

“So do that,” I tell him, even though I’m pretty sure he’s not listening now, and even if he was, he’s too drunk to remember any of this in the morning. “Do whatever you have to do to move on. Ignore her. Fuck her. Punish her. Whatever you need to do.”

Chapter8

EMILIA

Without the routine of work, each day blurs into the next until I lose all track of what day it is. I haven’t seen Hawk or Wilder all week. I’m pretty sure they’re both avoiding me, and I feel equally grateful and guilty for that. I don’t think I can emotionally handle another run-in with either of them—especially Wilder—but I feel bad that they both feel like they can’t come back to their own house.

It’s just been Kai and me alone in the house together all week. There’s still no sign of Richard, and with every passing day, I fear that Kai is right. Apparently, he quit his job the same day I received the unlabeled package, which raises red flags. Richard loved his accounting job. There’s no way he would have just upped and quit. According to Kai, his social media has been dead, too, with no posts or updates.

Richard doesn’t have any family. His parents died in a car accident during his freshman year at Halston, and he was an only child, but I suggested reaching out to some of his friends to see if they had heard anything from him. However, Kai said it was best not to. For now, all we can do is wait and see if he shows up anywhere.

To prevent myself from constantly worrying over Richard, I’ve been spending my days going through the stack of yearbooks or looking at photos of staff members from Halston or any other photos Kai deems relevant while he does whatever it is he does on his laptop, only pausing to make phone call inquiries and give orders to others working for Nocturnal Enterprises. That constant has formed the basis of a familiar, comfortable routine which has helped me not completely lose my shit.

I’ve been able to give him a few names of possible suspects, though I’m not holding my breath that any of them are the right guy. They’re just people from my classes who talked to me at parties or who I noticed around campus. Not exactly anything strange about that.

Honestly, I’m going a little stir-crazy cooped up and staring at faces all day. I’m frustrated that I don’t feel like I’m helping in any way, and I’m sick of being stuck indoors hiding. I’m stressed out over being in the same house as Hawk and Wilder and the tension that I can feel in the air, even though they aren’t around.

“You aren’t even looking at the pictures,” Kai chastises from across the kitchen table when he catches me flicking blindly through the pages in the yearbook.

Sighing, I close the book, knowing he’s right. There’s no point in continuing to search if I’m not actually paying attention.

Reaching across the table, Kai grabs the piece of paper where I’ve been keeping a list of potential stalkers. There are only a handful of names on it, and none are newly added today. He runs his eyes over the list before grabbing a pen and crossing a couple of them out. Ones he must have researched and ruled out.

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