Page 39 of PET

Zeke chuckles, pulling me close to his side. “The most beautiful girl here… besides yourself, Mrs. Goldman.”

She taps his chest. “Oh, Mr. Lungren, always such a charm, andsohandsome!” She pats his cheek next. “If only I were sixty years younger.”

We all chuckle except for Mr. Dickhead, who pins us with a glare as we walk past him. Zeke keeps his hand on the small of my back, letting me walk just ahead of him like he’s showing me off. All eyes are on us as we make our way inside the Dixon Center. It’s the same thing in here—all the rich, elite families of Reaper and the surrounding towns all wear their best tuxedos, while their dutiful wives wear gowns that no doubt came with a hefty price tag.

“Would you like a drink or a dance first?” Zeke asks as we make our way to our assigned table.

My nerves answer for me. “A drink. A stiff one.”

Smirking, Zeke leans down and presses his plump lips against the top of my bare shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch him walk away as my legs collapse and I fall into my chair. The last time I was here, I sat on the other side of the ballroom with my mom and my date—last year’s Reaper quarterback—hoping to make Holden wickedly jealous. But he didn’t even know I was here. I don’t remember who he brought, but it didn’t matter because he only had eyes on Everlee that night.

Clearing my throat and blinking away the building tears in my eyes, I push those memories from my mind. I’m still an important name in this town, but it’ll never be the same. Who I was last year isn’t who I am anymore, and the vultures seem to know it.

When I glance around, looking for Zeke, I see all the angry gazes coming my way. And if they’re not angry, their expressions seem to say, “What the fuck is she doing here?” I still come from one of the elite families, but it’s clear that doesn’t mean shit. I’d like to know whyI’mthe only one being treated like this? As if these motherfuckers have done nothing wrong in their lives? I’d bet my life these assholes have done far worse than my mother has, yet they’re here celebrating their kids while drinking champagne and mingling with the other criminals.

All eyes turn from me, and I follow their glances to see Holden and Everlee walking into the ballroom. At least I won’t have all the attention on me tonight; thank God! Holden is as handsome as ever, and Everlee is stunning in her tight black, v-neck gown that reaches down to her feet. They look like a couple straight out of a dark fairytale.

“I snuck some good stuff in,” Zeke says, setting a champagne flute down in front of me.

Taking it with a shaking hand, I down the entire drink in one gulp. A bit of it dribbles down my jaw and neck before Zeke leans forward and laps it up with his tongue. I shiver from the contact, letting out a small moan when he licks the corner of my lips. His eyes are dark when he leans back, smirking at me.

“How about that dance, beautiful?”

I nod while I stare at his lips, telling myself not to pull attention back to me in a room full of people who hate me. Zeke takes my hand and guides me to the dance floor. A few other couples are here dancing, but I still feel like the center of attention. He pulls me tight to his chest, burying his face in my neck as I wrap my arms around him. I can smell his cologne, making my mouth water.

We move as one across the dance floor, and damn, can he dance. I never knew Zeke had these skills. And when I glance around the room, I see all eyes on us again, but this time they’re not expressions of malice, rather, they’re ones of awe.

But it’s short-lived when a blood-curdling scream explodes through the room, making everyone go on alert. Shrieks and gasps come next, followed by the crowd rushing toward the balcony. Zeke keeps his hands on me as he pushes me behind him, switching into protective mode. The ballroom is empty as all guests stand on the massive stone balcony now.

Zeke slowly moves toward it as we hear hushed tones and whispers, everybody asking what’s going on, others not knowing, and even some who are already crying. And the closer we reach the doors and to those actually standing outside to see what’s going on, the worse the conversation becomes. Several women are bawling, screaming as they clutch onto their husbands.

“Everybody back!”

“Nobody should see this.”

“Has anyone called the cops yet?”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“It’s straight out of a horror movie!”

Everything said as we approach the edge of the balcony has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. And when I shove through the final set of people blocking my view, my hands grip the cool, stone railing as I peer into the back gardens below and inhale a shocked breath.

Lacee is tied up like a scarecrow, her arms stretched out on what looks like a cross. Her shirt has been ripped wide open and symbols are carved into her flesh, blood coating her entire front side. Her blonde hair is matted with blood, hanging so her chin touches her chest. There’s a bowl beneath her, which seems to gather her blood. Animal bones and feathers make a perfect circle around her on the ground, and a row of candles sit within the circle, flickering from the gentle wind.

Zeke places his hands on my arms and pulls me away. “You don’t need to see that shit, Billie. I need to get you the fuck out of here.” He yanks me along through the crowd and back into the empty ballroom.

He’s fumbling for something inside his tux jacket, eventually pulling out his phone. Holding it to his ear, he continues to pull me toward the exit until whoever he’s calling answers.

“Hey, it’s me. Lacee was murdered. We’re on our way over.”

After he hangs up, I ask, “Who was that?” But he doesn’t answer me, pulling me out of the Dixon Center and away from the murder scene.

“W-wait,” I rush out when the room starts to spin. “Zeke, I don’t—”

“Whoa, Billie… What the hell’s going on?”

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