Page 23 of Not Her Day to Die (Star-Crossed #2)

I t’s been hours.

Separated from Darius, taken by a guard further into the underground prison, I was thrown into a locker room.

Once inside, two women I don’t recognize whisked me through another door into a cold cement bathroom filled with a grid of baths and a line of sinks.

The walls are a dirty white, each tub separated by nearly-clear plastic hanging from the ceiling, the ever-present fans above echoing around the space.

However, the smell was at odds, an array of floral and warm scents overlapping one on top of the other.

Stripped of my clothes I was forced into a tub and cleaned. The two women soaking and wiping and shaving and readying me. They remained silent through the entire encounter, their hair pulled back in neat, tight buns, their eyes dark and lifeless as they focused on the task at hand.

They treated me as if I were simply a job to complete, not a human being.

And then they dragged me out of the tub, dressed me, and left me without a single acknowledgement.

Now I stand in disgusting lingerie back in the locker room and with the crippling realization about what is to come.

I press my ear to the door to the outside, trying to figure out what is going on, how much longer I will be forced to wait.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

For the endless. For the inevitable .

“Here she is,” a guard from outside speaks, causing me to jump back.

With my back pressed flat against the far wall of lockers, I use my arms to wrap around my front. Trying to hide myself as best I can.

“I won’t be long.” I recognize the voice, and it ignites my ire.

Jutting my chin out and squaring my shoulders, I attempt to appear calm. To pretend that I am not terrified.

That ever since I stepped foot in this horrible nightmare, I haven’t been one step away from a complete breakdown.

“Sunday.” William marches until he is right in front of me. He looks over his shoulder through the open door at the guard. “Shut the door.”

The sheriff’s son. Maxwell’s best friend.

William.

“Why are you here?” I ask. My hands come up between us, trying to push him back, but he catches my wrists.

He stares at me with a critical intensity. “I can’t save you too. I can’t save anyone.” Wiliam’s hand comes up to my throat.

Unlike with Axel, this doesn’t cause pleasure. No, it’s crippling fear that rolls throughout me.

But he doesn’t apply any pressure, simply watching me. Staring into my soul.

“Why are you here?” I ask again.

“I fell in love with the wrong girl. Maxwell didn’t like it and so he took her from me,” William says, his eyes unfocused and bleary.

“What does that mean?” My terror twists to confusion.

William isn’t hurting me, he never has.

In fact…

“You were trying to keep me safe.”

His focus snaps to my face, zeroing in on it.

“I told you not to go to the river party, I told you to stay away from all of us. To let it go.” His voice cracks.

“But you wouldn’t listen. Just like your brother wouldn’t.

Just like Tripp wouldn’t. And then Veronica helped Grayson.

Not even the sheriff’s children are protected in a town as broken as ours.

It wasn’t long before Maxwell found out. ”

The wool is pulled from between us and I examine William in a new light. He is just a boy that was dealt a losing hand. Doing anything he can to bluff his way through it.

He leans forward, and for a horrifying second I think he might kiss me, but he stops centimeters away.

“Maxwell sent me here to fuck you. To break you. To use you up before Darius touches you. I need you to act broken. I need you to pretend I did what he asked. Please?” William begs.

“He’ll tell everyone what Veronica did. He’ll take her next. ”

My vision blurs. “Okay,” I croak.

“And Sunday, I can’t do anything myself. You need to help her. To save her.” His eyes turn glassy, tears he refuses to shed. “Because I know you’re going to make it out of here. The other two brothers won’t let you go without a fight.”

“Veronica?”

He shakes his head. “No, the girl Maxwell took from me.” He shoves something into my hand, before turning away. “Leave that here, hide it.”

“Who? Who am I saving?” I whisper.

“Luna.”

When I open my hand, inside is a key.