Page 35

Thankfully, Hunter seems determined to get to school as fast as possible, foot pressed down on the gas. I brace myself against the quick turns, thighs clamped tight, fighting Damon’s wandering hands. It’s a relief when we arrive on campus, and I gawk at the big brick buildings. I’ve seen them before, obviously, but now it’s real. I’m a student at Forsyth U.

That same excited energy rushes back through me as we enter the parking lot, the truck towering over most of the other vehicles. It’s crowded but Hunter drives up to a bank of empty spots near the sidewalk. Right before he turns in, I see a design painted on the pavement: the Baron’s pentagram.

“You get your own parking spot?” I ask, looking out the window. There are groups of people walking up and down the path that leads toward the biggest of the buildings. Everyone looks so mature and confident. The opposite of how I feel.

“Apparently it’s one of the perks.” Hunter kills the engine, then mutters, “Or at least one not taken from us.”

Damon snaps off his seatbelt and shifts, facing us; the movement draws his coat back and I see the butt of a gun tucked into his jeans. “A few ground rules before we get out of the car.” The teasing tone from earlier is gone, replaced by a sternness I can see on his face. “No talking to anyone other than me and Hunter. Ever.”

“Not even the other members of BRN?” I ask.

“Not until you’ve proven yourself,” Hunter says, not bothering to follow up on what that entails.

“No wandering off. You stick close at all times,” Damon lists off. “Graves gave us a copy of your schedule, which mostly aligns with ours.”

“What about my dance class?”

“You’ll still go, but one of us will be with you.”

The truth is that I’m okay with this arrangement. Whoever kidnapped me is still out there. I don’t know if they’re watching and waiting for a second chance.

It becomes obvious the moment we step out of the truck that my kidnapper is the least of my problems.

I don’t know where they come from, dozens of people swarm like they’ve been hiding behind cars and bushes, holding cameras and microphones, lights flashing in my eyes.

“Arianette, how did you escape your kidnappers?”

“Do you know who killed Laura Walker?”

“Were you there when Laura Walker was killed?”

“Is it true that your attacker wore a mask?”

“Is the Baron King behind this? Did you see his face?”

“Is there a sex ring in Forsyth?”

The questions come at me like gunfire, rattling off one after the other. The lights hurt my eyes and I hold up a hand, blocking out the blinding light.

“Arianette, do you know anything about the other missing girls?”

I don’t know who asks the question, but the voice triggers a wail. Not one from me but one in my head.

“Is there anyone out there?” The voice echoes off stone. “Please, if there’s anyone else here, answer me.”

The voice ricochets between my ears, leaving me disoriented. I wobble and a strong hand grabs me by the side, jerking me into hard warmth.

Damon.

“Everyone back the fuck off.” Hunter steps in front of us, blocking me from the reporters, but it’s too much. The panic I’ve been fighting off for days–weeks–surges through me. The pain and the overwhelm.

“Will Miss Hexley comment on her kidnapping?” A brave reporter steps forward, holding a recorder out.

“Fuck no.” The voice comes from the side of the crowd. From a massive man, with tattoos covering his hands and arms, all the way to his face. He’s handsome, his stride lazy but powerful. He doesn’t even pretend to hide his weapon under a coat, the silver-handled pistol tucked visibly in the back of his pants. He’s terrifying, and from the expression on every reporter's face, they seem to know it too. “You really think you can come up in here and make demands on Royal leadership like this?” he asks, eyeing the crowd. “Maybe I’ll call my brother and see what he thinks. Little Bird,” he calls out, “you want to do that?”

“I guess.” She flips her pale blue hair over her shoulder before pulling her phone out of her top. “But you know how pissed he gets when his workout is interrupted.”

“Don’t,” the reporter that asked the last question says quickly, taking a step back. “We’ll go.” There’s a soft murmur among the crowd as they scatter, slithering back to whatever cesspool they came from.