Page 29

"Can't wait," I say.

"If I allow it," Declan says. His tone sends chills down my spine—something about it sounds like he's making more of a threat than just sending me home. "Already breaking the rules, aren't you, Teagan?"

I don't answer; I don't even glance over my shoulder in his direction. I'm sure he's talking about Luca—again—but I didn't ask for that. I wonder if he saw him leaving the room or if one of the girls told their daddy on me. He crosses the room and sits beside me on the sofa. Still, I keep my eyes trained on a spot in front of me, refusing to look at him.

It's quiet—too quiet—until my own voice fills the space. I swallow the lump in my throat.

I recognize the video. It's a chapter I read last week fromLet the Right One In, coming from Brady's phone.

"I actually find your voice oddly comforting," Brady says, leaning against Rhett who watches the phone from over his shoulder, as if they're both invested in the story.

"It's very velvety, isn't it?" Rhett agrees.

"Can we not listen to that?" I ask. My tone comes out flustered, bothered, and I immediately recognize my mistake.

"I don't know, I actually really liked the movie," Rhett says. "And we've watched a couple of episodes now—I'm invested."

"Same," Brady says.

"The book is nothing like the movie," I tell him. "But…fine. I'm just going to go lie back down, then."

I start to stand, but a hand closes around my shoulder and forces me back down onto the seat. "I've got a better idea," Declan says.

He grabs a television remote from the table in front of us and fucks around with it until a browser pops up on the screen, and I realize exactly what he's doing.

No.

I watch him type my handle into the search engine and then lower my head, grit my teeth, and breathe through the rage.

"We've still got a couple of hours left in this drive. Why don't we let Teagan read us a story? Rhett, Brady—you guys don't mind if we go back to Chapter One, do you?"

They both shake their heads.

"Not at all," Rhett says.

I cross my arms and lean back in the seat. "Awesome," I say, still refusing to look at him.

Declan's mouth twists into that thing again—the thing that would look like a smile on anyone else—before he pushes play on the video and turns up the volume.

Four-eyed fucker.

I listen to myself introduce the story, feeling my face flush when they laugh at the innuendos. I dig my nails into my arms and wonder for the second time how I got here. I know why I wanted to be here; that isn't what I mean. But there is only one way onto this bus that I know of, and not only am I not sleeping with any of them, I'm not allowed to talk to one of them, and another one hates me.

So, why the fuck am I here?

Does he…know?Oh shit.

But no…this is fine. Even if he does know about my true crime podcast and obsession, who is to say he would connect that to my interest in the band? Neither the police nor the internet sleuth community have shown much interest in them or these girls at all. Maybe this is part of the process—maybe they do this to every new person who steps onto the bus. It could be somesort of hazing. He said something about wanting to see if I'd break. Maybe they all went through something similar with him.

And I can take it. Ican. It's not like this is new to me. It's just that I'm an adult now, and I haven't had to in a very long time.

I lean toward River and whisper, "Is he always like this with new people?"

She shakes her head and gives me a sympathetic look. "No. Never. I'm sorry."

I sigh and turn away, staring at the space below the television screen.

"What's wrong, Teagan?" Declan asks. "This is what you want, right? Attention?"