Page 27 of Wicked Games

My hands gripped the steering wheel tight, the miles disappearing beneath my tires too quickly. Before I knew it, I was in the car dealer’s lot and in front of a salesperson. In a dark-blue suit and a striped tie, the man with dark, slicked-back hair and bushy eyebrows greeted me with dollar signs in his eyes.

“Welcome to Stan’s Dealership. I’m Tim. How can I help you?”

His wore a wide smile, and I swore he smelled a sale in the air, detecting a sucker—that’s me.

The Range Rover was worth a lot of money, especially since Uncle Lucas had spared no expense when he’d purchased the top-of-the-line models with all the bells and whistles for his sons and nephews.

My gut churned, and it hurt to force the words out. “What can I get for this?”

“Is this yours?” Tim opened the door, glancing inside.

“Yes.”Fuck, this is hard.

“I’ll have our mechanic look it over, then I can quote you. Do you have the title?”

“Not on me.”Could I even get it from Grandad? Not likely.

“Okay, well, if you bring it back tomorrow after our mechanic has a chance to look it over, I can cut you a check. Do you need a less expensive car? I have a sweet deal on the Dodge Charger.”

I glanced to where he’d pointed but couldn’t even see the muscle car with how sick my stomach felt. “Thanks, man. I can’t leave the SUV now, but I’ll return with the title.”

If I even had a chance of prying it out of Grandad’s hands.But what other choice do I have?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WINTER

After a less-than-stellar dinner at the café on campus, I headed to the library. I’d left my phone behind in the dorms after obsessively checking to see if Landon had messaged. Ridiculous. I had way too much to do to be fixating on a boy—even if he was sinfully hot.

I promised myself I would let my guard down and let others in. But the distraction wasn’t helping me get work done. So, phoneless, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and walked across campus.

Once inside, I took in the spacious interior filled with wall-to-wall books, standing bookcases, and scattered tables. Thane’s library was incredible, and the urge to find a few romance books and curl up with them instead of my homework was almost too great to resist. I promised myself that if I finished everything, I could browse the fiction section and find a new one to take home. It was a hidden indulgence I didn’t like to share with others. Brooke knew, and Jaxon because he stole them from my room, but not James, my foster dad. That would have been embarrassing.

I found a quiet table on the second floor in the back corner, pulled out my laptop, and worked on my paper. Two hours later, I had it written, read through, and submitted to my professor.

The days were shorter, and the sun had gone down by the time I glanced out the window. It was dark outside, which would make walking through campus to my dorm suck, but at least the pathways were well lit and usually had a few students doing the same thing. No matter how much I wanted to call it a night, I had that other unpleasant thing to research first.

With Mom’s parole date fast approaching and my memory absolute shit, I needed to read through the old newspaper articles on microfilm from when everything had gone to hell. Then, I could figure out what to do.

I shoved everything in my backpack and found one of the library computers to search through old newspaper articles around the time my sister had died and my mom had gone to trial then jail. I typed the date ranges and her name in the search bar, then I closed my eyes and let the computer do its thing while I got lost in my sparse memories of the past.

My recall was mostly hazy from that day at the lake house. Summer and I had been there before. Mom would drag us to the lake and leave us outside by the creaky dock until she was done doing whatever she did inside the house. All Summer and I knew was that we weren’t allowed inside, even if we had to pee. Too bad.

Summer and I were throwing rocks we’d collected and brought onto the dock. We were facing the water, away from the house. I remembered hearing Mom’s voice. She was angry and too close. Pain exploded across my back, but it was nothing compared to the fear. An ear-piercing scream split the air. I had no idea if it came from my sister or me. Then the water.

Neither of us could swim. That was where things turned murkier in my mind. I remembered opening my eyes and coughing. I lay on the coarse, rocky ground at the edge of the water, struggling to fill my lungs, Beside me, my sister lay sprawled, soaking wet, small stones stuck to her cheek, and unmoving. Then nothing. My brain remained blank no matter how hard I tried to remember. And I’d tried. Over and over again.

I snapped out of it as one article after another loaded on the monitor. Nausea swirled in my stomach as I skimmed them. The details were sketchy. My sister’s murder had happened at McMillan Lake, on the outskirts of the subdivision where I’d lived with my family. Mom was the only suspect, and Summer and I had been alone at the lake when our mother had come out of the cabin. The police believed Katrina Patten had pushed us into the water. She’d maintained that someone else had been there.

None of the articles listed another potential suspect, and only one referenced Mom saying a man had been there. She’d never named him, and no other witnesses could place anyone other than the three of us there.

People in Santa Monica knew about my sister’s murder. It had been headline news, and the trial, a public spectacle. However, I had little memory of it. I only knew that I’d told the police Mom had pushed us into the water.

With my head pounding and a sense that everything would inevitably implode with her upcoming parole hearing, I closed the articles and slung my backpack over my shoulder. A quick stop in the romance section and a book secured in my bag, and I was out the door. I’d had enough. Anything dealing with my mom or my sister’s death destroyed me.

Outside, the fresh air helped get me out of the funk reading the articles had put me in. Rain was expected late that night, and the warm air and the cold front had ushered in a dense fog. It surrounded me, making the faint glow from the streetlamps hazy. The way the fog pressed in around me offered comfort, despite the unnerving shadows when someone neared on the sidewalk. A few feet before we crossed paths, their shape and features took form.

When I opened the door to my dorm, my clothes were damp. Rain would probably come sooner than what had been forecasted. I shoved my hair from my face, looking forward to the sound of raindrops against the window.

---