Page 78 of Virgin Sacrifice

Aaron frowned slightly, maybe unsure of what to make of my response, before pursing his lips. When he finally did speak, he no longer tried to hide the bite in his tone. “Like Nixon Blackwell? You’d take care of assholes like him, too?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Nixon is a pendejo whose presence is wholly unwelcome in my life.”

Aaron looked like he wanted to debate me on that, but I held up a hand before he could interrupt me. “If you have any ideas on how to get one of the supposedly most powerful men on campus to leave me alone, then please, by all means, tell me what to do.”

The energy between us shifted, and I watched Aaron’s brow wrinkle thoughtfully, his irrational irritation with me mollified by the illusion of having been handed control. “I just don’t like how he treated you at the library. You deserve better than some spoiled wannabe thug harassing you,” he said seriously.

Nixon was many things, spoiled certainly being among them, but Aaron was dumber than I thought if he truly believed that Nixon was nothing more than a “wannabe thug.” Killer or not, Nixon had more than enough power to be dangerous. Still, correcting Aaron was hardly going to soothe his wounded ego.

“I appreciate you protecting me,” I said, trying to channel the gentle energy I had seen my mami use to disarm men so many times, “but I could never forgive myself if Nixon harmed you or anyone else we care about. What if he did something to hurt your chances of going to medical school?”

“Fucking prick would do something like that,” Aaron muttered, running his hand over his face. “What kind of nutjob looks up another student’s parents and threatens them?”

The kind you should leave alone, estúpido.

“A loser with nothing better to do than terrorize those he sees as less than him,” I said. “Hopefully, he’ll lose interest soon and all we’ll have to worry about is the killer stalking campus,” I tried to joke, although Aaron didn’t seem to find it funny.

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled as he absently reached down to play with his phone.

“Sorry, but seriously, thanks for standing up for me at the library and for always looking out for Autumn and me.”

His smile returned and his chest puffed out. “Gotta take care of my girls.”

Barf.

“Who would have thought Hollow Oak would turn out to be such a dangerous place?” I said out loud.

Aaron shrugged. “There are psychos everywhere. It was only a matter of time before one of them decided to take on the Blackwells. Not sure who I’m rooting for, to be honest.”

It was an interesting way of looking at it—similar to how the twins had described it—that whoever had kidnapped and killed those girls was doing it to spite the Blackwells. Except that theory didn’t account for where I fit into the puzzle, and it certainly didn’t make me feel any better to think of the girls who had lost their lives over a pissing contest. Still . . .

“You don’t think the Blackwells had anything to do with the murders?” I probed.

Aaron snorted. “The twins are all talk, no action. And you have class with Professor Blackwell. Can you ever imagine the uptight asshole getting his hands dirty? Nah. I suppose some other bastard could have done it for the family, but why draw so much negative attention to the school and Shady Harbor?”

I nodded along dutifully as he continued.

“This is someone else, someone who doesn’t give a fuck about the so-called assassins of the elite . . .”

Or, you know, innocent women.

Aaron’s phone buzzed in his pants pocket, and he pulled it out, only for his frown to return as he looked at the screen.

“Damn it, sorry. I gotta make a call,” he said, standing up from the table.

“No worries, take your time,” I said sweetly as he headed out of the room for some privacy, closing the door that led to bedrooms behind him.

I sat quietly for a minute, unable to hear anything being said, and simply took in the space around me. Most of the cabinets in the kitchen hung loosely from their hinges, painted, of course, in the same ubiquitous white as everything else. The faded laminate countertop was chipped and peeling in places. The sink dripped in the background, and the refrigerator hummed loudly.

The only things in the entire apartment that appeared new were a large TV in the living room and a mini fridge, half tucked under a shelf in the pantry.

Tapping my buff-pink nails against the table, I debated how long I should wait for Aaron.

Maybe I need a glass of water . . .

Steeling myself, I stood up and began searching the cupboards, quickly coming upon a collection of filmy-looking pint glasses. I picked up the least-offensive-looking one, debating whether or not I should give it a good scrub. I didn’t see any dish soap near the sink, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to start digging underneath it given the state of the cupboards.

I chewed on my lip, lightly holding the glass in between my fingers.

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