Page 60 of Sinister Legacy
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, stepping closer when I inch back.
Wet leaves stick to the soles of my shoes, and the shell of a snail gets crushed as I pocket my phone and slowly back away. “What are you doing here, King?”
“I saw you leave the football stadium.”
“You don’t attend the games.” One more step. I don’t take my eyes off him.
Dressed all in black, King blends with the shadows and moves with lethal power. “Do you seriously think I’m the killer? That I murdered my own friend?”
“You tell me, King. Isn’t it convenient that you show up at the same time the killer is taunting me through text messages?”
King’s face twists with anger. “He’s doing what?!”
“Don’t play innocent with me. I’m not that fucking naive.”
He moves toward me, but I take two steps back. King pauses, watching me closely before charging for me. His thick arms band around my waist, and he easily overpowers me as I continue to struggle.
“Calm the fuck down.”
I kick, claw, even fucking bite.
King grunts from the effort of restraining me, and I soon tire, growing listless in his arms.
“Why are you doing this? Playing these games?” My voice is as choked as my sobs.
Spinning me around, King grips my shoulders. “What are you talking about, Keira?”
“The text messages.”
With a sharp huff, King digs his phone out of his back pocket, lights up the screen, and angles it at my face.
Squinting, I grab hold of the phone and scroll through the history of messages. There’s nothing there. The latest message is from the other day when I left him on read.
King snatches the phone from my grip. “Satisfied now?”
“You could have another phone in one of your pockets.”
King glowers at me, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “Why don’t you go ahead and strip search me?”
When I fail to respond, he shoulders off his jacket and tosses it to the cold ground before pulling the back of his T-shirt over his head. It falls to the sticks and leaves on the damp, trodden trail. His hands come to his jeans button, and he pops that, too.
“What are you doing?” My voice is barely above a shaky whisper.
“Showing you that I have nothing to hide. I’m not the fucking killer.”
“It’s freezing out here, King.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that before you accused me of killing my own fucking friend.” He shoves his jeans down his thighs, then his boxers. “You’re not the one who found him in the woods. I am.” He points at his chest. “I found his gutted and decapitated body.”
I stare dumbly while he kicks off his jeans and boxers and cups his junk.
“Go ahead and check my clothes. Maybe you want to check my ass, too? Maybe I hid it in there.”
I feel stupid now. It’s so cold that my breath puffs out with every exhale as King stands naked before me, visibly shivering.
“Check them.”
“King…” I whisper.
