Page 60 of Virgin Sacrifice

“Merde,” I whispered before lifting my thumb to my lips and sucking the blood off it.

There were too many things going on, too many variables to account for.

My stomach lurched, and I felt sick all over again.

Mami had given me back my life and then taught me how to take control of it.

Because that was what my life was—the good grades, the accomplished resume, the polished looks—I didn’t need a psychologist to tell me that it was all about creating for myself the sense of control and safety I’d never experienced as a child. Maybe in another life, I could have afforded to work through my issues in therapy, given myself some grace, and learned to be okay with just being. But that wasn’t in the cards for me now, not with the things that Mami and I had done.

“I wish you were here,” I cried, releasing the tears I had been holding at bay, my voice cracking.

“You would know what to do, you always knew what to do . . . You would see what I’m missing, you wouldn’t be so hesitant to do what needed to be done . . . you never hesitated . . .”

An uncomfortable tightness started to work its way up through my limbs as the urge to scream or slam something built up in me, and I had to dig my nails into my palms, using the bite of pain to ground myself.

I had almost regained a semblance of calm when my phone vibrated again, immediately sending my heart rate spiking. I could have turned it off, but I was worried about what Autumn would do if she couldn’t reach me.

With a shaky hand, I picked it up and turned it over.

UNKNOWN: We need to meet.

I blinked at the message before I realized that it was from the first unknown number, the one that had messaged me yesterday about Halloween.

The uncomfortable sensation of anger surged through me again, and before I could think better of it, I found myself furiously typing back.

Me: And who the hell is this?

Mami would be disappointed with my coarse language, and frankly, I knew better than to antagonize a possibly dangerous stranger. I didn’t care.

UNKNOWN: 3:00 PM Thursday, Baldwin Hall, south doors.

“This cryptic pendejo,” I growled, typing rapidly as I prepared to take out all my pent-up frustrations on my mystery texter. Before I could, another message came through, causing the air to hitch in my lungs.

UNKNOWN: Don’t make me wait, petite diablesse.

I shouldn’t be surprised he had my number. What I didn’t understand was why he wanted to meet. Usually, the twins simply popped up whenever they felt like it.

I fired back.

Me: Why?

I stared at the phone intensely, as if I could force him to respond, but those telltale three dots never popped back up.

“Bâtard . . .” I grumbled as I lay back down on my bed, massaging my temples.

It would have been nice to eliminate Alister as my stalker since he messaged me from a different number, but I wasn’t that stupid or naïve.

I also didn’t think the timing was a coincidence. Everyone on campus just learned that the police found Sandra’s body, and suddenly one of the men rumored to be one of Hollow Oak’s most infamous killers wanted to see me.

Does he know about the photo?

Despite what people believed, it was more complicated to hack into someone’s phone than it seemed. Just because it was easy for skilled hackers didn’t mean every single computer science major was running around cloning phones. Still, this was Alister Blackwell. If anyone could do it, it was probably him.

Which raised another concern, a much more pressing one—what to do with the incredibly incriminating photo on my phone?

Rapping my nails across the shiny plastic case of my iPhone, I considered my options.

Walking around with a photo of a murder victim on me was a dumb idea. The police hadn’t released any images of the body, and I doubted they would. I knew in my gut the one I received had been taken by the killer or killers, and trying to explain how I came into possession of it would only cause more problems.

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