Page 114 of From Hell

No note. No Post-it. No letter.

Keeping my breathing steady, I place the files on the table and drown my sorrow in the hot, bitter coffee. When I put the cup down, almost empty, my jaw tightens, and my heart hardens. Fuck him. Fuck him and the horse he rode in on.

He can go to Hell.

It’s several days before I venture out of the house to meet with Sage and Nola and explain what happened. Sage hugs me like she lost and found me again, and Nola gives me a look that seems to understand what I’m going through.

It’s several weeks before Cash comes home, discharged from the hospital. Presley immediately fucks off, handing over the duty Jaxon assigned him to his brother.

The police have questions about Jaxon but not Berners House since no one knows we were there that night. Another secret to add to my growing collection: It’s good that I’m getting better at keeping them.

I spend the days working admin at Mitre, since what else can I do to occupy my mind? The pub gave my bar job away, and Pierre was distraught after losing the Foundation funding, and I can’t defer the online degree any longer. I’m a little apprehensive about going back to med school, but it’s what I promised myself after it was all over.

It’s only at night when I have to lock myself in the room Cash let me take over that I wonder if it is over. Because…

He’s still out there.

And I’ve still got the evidence. I should give it to the police, but I can’t bring myself to just yet. I want to look him in the eye and ask why he did what he did. What was Jaxon and what wasn’t, I still don’t know.

40

LAINE

Mornings are always gray before the world wakes up. I’m used to it, trudging through the streets of London to meet my dad for Waffle Morning.

The broken red neon of Lucky’s stands out like a blood-red thumb amongst the pumpkin-colored leaves. Walking on them produces a soft, almost hushed rustling sound—a secret shared only with those who pay close attention to the city’s whispers. Commuter faces no longer look like Henry, Geoffery, or Beau. Guilt and the ghosts of my past have faded, just like the scar on my neck.

Every time I see it in the mirror, instead of reminding me I’m a victim, it jolts a memory of Jaxon’s hand squeezing while he did other sinful things to my body.

I was supposed to find him and kill him, but instead, he found me and fucked me. Now I’m stuck in this gray no-go area where wrong and right are mixed up. The world is upside down, and I don’t know how to right it again.

He tried to kill me, and yet, what hurts more is him being gone, like he did all those years ago when he didn’t turn up for the end-of-year ball. I’m like a pathetic, nerdy teenager stood up at a party by the popular guy in university all over again.

And even though I understand why he left, both times, I hate it. And hate him even more. I really will kill him if he ever shows up again.

He’d better not wait another ten years.

At least it’s not raining.

The diner is mostly empty, including our regular table. I slip into the booth and order a coffee, holding the waffles for when Dad can get here so we can order at the same time. When ten minutes pass, and he hasn’t arrived, I check my phone.

Dad:

Something’s come up. Eat without me, and I’ll try and see you later.

There’s also another unread message sent a few minutes ago. As I read it, my heart slams against my chest.

Unknown:

Is this seat taken?

I look around, seeing no one, so I quickly text back.

Laine:

You know that it’s not.

I wait, heart in my throat. A minute later, he strolls into the diner. He’s dressed in a perfectly fitted blue suit that brings out the silver ocean in his eyes. His mouth twitches with a smirk as he takes the seat opposite. The server comes over. He orders a coffee, and I order the house special.